Dying Brand

by Tyson, Wendy

  “Friends.”

  “I didn’t know my uncle to have a lot of female…friends.”

  Allison looked at Shawn, holding his gaze. He stared at her steadily, but there was no real challenge in his eyes. Finally, she said, “Were you close to your uncle?”

  Shawn shrugged. “I haven’t seen him much recently. He and my dad had a miserable relationship.” He smiled. “Adults tell kids to behave, and then they go and act like children.”

  “Yeah, adults are funny like that.” Allison paused. “I know I sound like I’m prying, Shawn, but can you help me understand something? Your uncle…what was he like before he died?”

  “I thought you said you were friends.”

  “Long ago.”

  “Maybe you can narrow down your question?”

  Allison grappled with what to say. What did she hope to gain? Suddenly she felt silly. “I guess I just wanted to connect with someone who knew Scott. I remember him when he was at Mystic Toys. He seemed so ambitious. On the cusp of getting married—”

  Shawn snorted. “That almost didn’t happen.”

  “Oh.” Allison bit her lip reflexively. “Well, it seems like he and Leah patched things up. They even had a baby.”

  “That would be Jessica. I haven’t seen her yet.” Shawn stood and walked toward the paint and feather canvas. He stood in front of it, back to her. “My family is messed up. But what family isn’t, right? Uncle Scott and my dad haven’t spoken in weeks. Leah, well—” he turned around again, “—she hates my dad. And, by extension, me and my mom. We may go to the funeral anyway. Even though Leah made it real clear she doesn’t want us there.”

  Allison remembered the obituary. “When is the funeral?”

  “Saturday. If they release the body. Closed casket. Two o’clock at Saint Andrews.”

  “Do the police have any idea who killed him, Shawn?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “I’ve heard that money or drugs could have been involved. That doesn’t sound like the Scott I knew.”

  “Anything’s possible.” He waved his arm around the room. “Money, or the lack thereof, can make people desperate.”

  True, Allison thought, thinking of her own sister, Amy. Allison looked out the window, at the small yard beyond. The snow had tapered to flurries.

  “Thanks for talking,” she said. “Again, I’m sorry about your uncle. And about your family troubles. I understand how hard that can be.”

  Shawn nodded. “When I was a kid, I thought Uncle Scott was the bomb. He always had something big going on. Always. And even though I was young, he was always willing to let me in on it. You know how that made me feel? Like a man.”

  Allison smiled. That sounded like the Scott she remembered. “It’s too bad you lost touch.”

  Another shift of the eyes. “Yeah, it’d been a while,” Shawn mumbled. Only Allison didn’t believe him.

  EIGHT

  Eleanor’s TomTom said Savannah was just sixty-five miles away. She could make it. She’d just passed Walterboro, South Carolina. Her eyes felt lined with lead, and her heart was pounding from the three cups of black coffee she’d consumed between Baltimore and Fayetteville, but she really had no choice but to get more distance between her and Philadelphia. Ideally, she’d make it all the way to Amelia Island tonight, but her heavy eyelids meant that wasn’t going to happen, caffeine or no caffeine.

  Sixty miles now.

  Eleanor stepped on the gas to get around an eighteen-wheeler. Keep it steady, she reminded herself. No more than five miles above the speed limit. Stay in the right lane. Be innocuous. At least that’s how she figured it was done. She was happy for once that her Jeep Grand Cherokee was an unassuming navy blue. She wanted to blend.

  She heard her cell phone buzz again just as she was easing back into the right lane. She glanced down at the Android, now on the passenger seat beside her. Same number as before. Damn it, she mumbled to herself. She toyed with turning the phone off, but she wanted to keep tabs on things.

  A red Ferrari pulled up beside her, the light over its dash on. A handsome older man smiled at Eleanor before zooming past. She toyed with playing a game of cat and mouse—maybe it would end in company tonight, and she really kind of wanted some company—but she’d promised her sister she’d be in Florida tomorrow, and even more than she wanted company, she wanted to get to Ginny quickly.

  It was after two in the morning when Eleanor finally arrived in Savannah. She made do with a Best Western right off the exit and pulled the Jeep into an open spot in a darkened corner of the parking lot before killing the ignition. She’d just stuffed her phone back into her purse when she noticed the red Ferrari in the parking lot, six cars down. The gentleman in the front seat was still sitting there, alone. She paused before getting out of the car. Coincidence? Possibly. There were only so many hotels off the exit, so he could have arrived first and gone straight to this spot. Or he could have been following her.

  She had no choice, she had to keep going. She couldn’t risk being tailed—by the police or otherwise. Eleanor turned on the ignition and pulled the car out of the lot. She didn’t see Ferrari man follow her, but she wasn’t taking any chances. With a double espresso and a shot of Five Hour Energy, she’d drive all night. Amelia Island, she thought, here I come.

  It was early Saturday morning. The snow from earlier in the week had given way to sunny skies and cool, crisp days. Allison glanced outside. The blue sky overhead promised another beautiful autumn day, far too cheery to be funeral weather. Allison selected a plain black and cream print dress, black Mary Janes and a double string of pearls for the services. She’d pay her last respects and see who else arrived.

  Before she left, Allison dialed Jason’s number. He’d left Friday morning to interview a witness for a case he’d been assigned to and she wasn’t expecting him home until this afternoon. When he didn’t pick up, she left a message and turned off the phone. It was better he not be able to reach her. She’d be busy all day. After the funeral, she had a luncheon meeting for Delvar’s new charity, Designs for the Future.

  Downstairs, Allison found Brutus by the front door, chewing on her black Jimmy Choo. She said, “Brutus!” and he spit it out as though nothing had ever happened. She bent down to pick up the shoe and that’s when she saw the envelope taped to the sidelights next to her door.

  Jaw clenched, she opened the door, hand on Brutus’s collar, and looked outside. No one was there. She tugged the envelope off the window, careful to get all of the tape off, too, and slammed the door shut. She ripped open the seal. Inside, she found an email dated almost four years ago.

  Allison stared at the paper, memories flooding her mind. There was no doubt the email was hers. She remembered agonizing over the wording, feeling the excitement of a new infatuation and the pressing guilt of abandoning Jason. With a heavy heart, she read the words again now:

  Dear Scott,

  I’ve already spoken to your management team at Mystic Toys, so please don’t try to change my mind. In light of our relationship and the events of the last few weeks, I am resigning as your consultant. I have provided Mystic with the names of other comparable consulting firms and have refunded their money 100%. I ask only that you not think poorly of me. This has never happened before. Perhaps it’s my crumbling relationship with Jason or the promise of something new and exciting, but I don’t think so. The feelings I have for you are real. Not well timed, but real. At some point, I need to tell Jason. Until I have the courage to do that, we should refrain from seeing each other.

  With warmest regards,

  Allison

  Behind the email was another photograph. In it, she was resting her head against Scott’s naked chest. A white satin sheet covered her lower torso. Her breasts were bare. It was a beautiful photograph: soft and sultry, with the early morning sunlight bathing her skin in a warm wash of gold. Scott was s
taring into the camera, a tiny, contented, knowing smile playing with the corners of his mouth.

  He knew, Allison thought. These weren’t photographs taken by a private detective who’d been hired by Leah, as Allison first assumed. No, these pictures were his. Allison squeezed her eyes shut. The bastard had been photographing us all along.

  Allison rubbed her temples, giving in to the rage that colored her vision. Thank goodness Jason hadn’t been here to find these. She stuffed the photo and email back in the envelope, more determined than before to get to that funeral and to the bottom of what had happened to Scott. She was more and more certain that his death and these pictures were connected. She just had to figure out how.

  NINE

  Saint Anthony’s was filling quickly. Allison arrived early, after the viewing but before the funeral Mass. She chose a spot on the end of a long wooden pew, toward the back of the church, and watched the mourners as they arrived. She didn’t recognize anyone until Shawn Fairweather entered the church. He walked behind a raven-haired woman and an older man. Although this man was heavier and shorter than Scott, he had Scott’s square jaw and bright, intelligent blue eyes. Shawn and his family sat a few rows in front of Allison, their gazes affixed to the front of the church.

  Five minutes before the service was set to begin, Leah Fairweather made her way down the long aisle, accompanied by her sister, Heather. Behind the two women, an older couple—Leah’s parents?—walked slowly. An infant was cradled against the older woman’s chest.

  Watching the baby, Allison felt her anger wane. The infant slept, perfectly-round cheeks moving ever so slightly while she sucked on two fat, rosy fingers. The picture of innocence. Her life was forever changed, though. She would never know her father. It all seemed so hopelessly senseless.

  Allison joined the mourners in the rituals of the Catholic Mass, taking some comfort in the familiarity of the words and the hymns, and the priest’s voice, which was a soothing baritone. It all seemed so…normal.

  At the end of the ceremony, after the priest performed the final benediction and the soloist sang “On Eagle’s Wings,” a great sob came from someone at the front of the church. Allison heard murmurings, then silence. A voice screamed, “Oh, God, how I hate you!”

  It was Leah’s voice, and she belted out her rage in the same pitch and tone as she’d used to accuse Allison just days before. Only this time, she had an audience. Another hush fell over the mourners before Leah’s sister ushered her back up the aisle, toward the church’s vestibule. Leah stopped feet from Allison. She raised one arm and pointed in Allison’s direction. “You!”

  Mortified, it took Allison a moment to realize Leah was pointing to Shawn and his family, not her.

  Heather grabbed Leah’s arm and pulled her gently toward the double-wooden doors. But not before Allison heard the words that Leah uttered under her breath. “Monster,” she said. “You are a monster.”

  After the service, some guests milled about in the church’s parking lot while others returned to their vehicles to follow the hearse to the cemetery. Allison watched as Leah and her family walked toward the waiting limousine. Leah seemed deflated and emotionless. Her sister held the baby now, and she cradled the little girl protectively, shielding her from onlookers as though she could also shield her from the pain that lie ahead.

  Leah, who had been lingering behind her sister, increased her pace as she passed a small group of whispering mourners who’d congregated by the church’s fence. The change in her gait was subtle, but Allison saw Leah glance their way and, with shoulders hunched forward, hurry toward the security of her family. The group, made up of three men and a woman, watched the family pass with rapt but solemn expressions.

  The woman glanced down at the last second just as one of the men—short, dark-haired and wiry—reached for Leah’s arm. Leah stopped. He held her forearm gently and said something into her ear. Leah nodded before moving on. After Leah passed, the woman in the group looked up and Allison got a good look at her face. She recognized her as Julie Fitzsimmons, one of Scott’s work colleagues from the LinkedIn profiles, and made a mental note to talk to her at some point.

  The hearse drove off, the limo and a parade of mourners behind it. Allison turned around and found Shawn Fairweather next to her. He still looked ruffled by the display back in the church. The older man was with him.

  “Son, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” said the older man.

  “I would if I knew her name.” He smiled at Allison. “She is a friend—sorry, was a friend—of Uncle Scott.”

  “Allison Campbell.” Allison held out her hand.

  “Mark Fairweather,” the man said. “Scott’s brother.” He gave Allison a slow once-over, lingering a moment too long on her face. A flash of recognition crossed his features. He recovered quickly, though, and asked, “How did you know Scott?”

  “We worked together a few years ago.”

  “At Tenure Polk?”

  Allison shook her head. “While he was at Mystic Toys.”

  “Ah,” Mark said. He squinted as though he were trying to place her, but Allison got the feeling he knew quite well who she was. “Your name is familiar. Maybe I met you at one of Scott’s work functions?”

  Allison was about to respond when the raven-haired woman joined them. She placed her hand firmly on Mark’s elbow. “We need to head to the cemetery,” she said. She was younger than Allison thought originally, maybe thirty, and although her features were too harsh to be pretty, she possessed a striking beauty born of strong features and a direct, confident gaze.

  “This is Nina, my wife.”

  Allison and Nina shook hands. Allison noticed precisely-manicured, slender fingers, a three-carat diamond ring and a very limp handshake.

  Nina looked bored. She whispered something in her husband’s ear.

  He smiled indulgently. “Soon, my love,” he said, patting her hand. “Allison was just telling us how she knew Scott. Weren’t you, Allison?”

  “Scott and I were seeing each other at one time. But then, you already know that, don’t you?”

  Mark gave her a tight-lipped smile. Shawn looked away. Nina laughed.

  “Is this the woman?” Nina asked her husband.

  Mark nodded. “One of them, anyway.”

  Nina smirked. “I didn’t recognize her.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Mark said. “She’s the one who got away.”

  Allison drove from the church to Delvar’s luncheon with a stomach full of butterflies and a head full of questions. Around her, the crisp, fall air was blessedly dry and clear. Trees, their leaves a symphony of reds, golds and oranges, swayed in a gentle breeze. It was cool enough to be pleasant, but not cold enough to portend winter. A true autumn day, increasingly rare. But Allison was distracted. Her mind was on the Fairweather family. Leah’s word for Mark Fairweather, Monster, stayed with her, as had the little scene after the funeral. Mark Fairweather knew who Allison was before he’d actually met her. It was not her name he recognized, but her face. Could he have sent the pictures?

  And what about Nina’s words: Is this the woman?

  Is this what woman? If Shawn had recognized her initially, she would have known. It was just Mark. But how had he known of her? Scott…Scott must have told him. Perhaps Mark had even seen the pictures. Unthinkable, but a possibility she couldn’t ignore.

  Allison merged on to the Pennsylvania Turnpike and headed toward Allentown and the Grand Bistro, the venue Delvar had chosen for today’s event. Allentown was close to her parents, so after the meeting, she would swing by and check on her family. Her mother, who had been struggling with Alzheimer’s for years, had been steadily declining. Her father, a loud and abusive man during Allison’s childhood, had devolved into an unruly child. Allison’s older sister Faye, their caretaker, had finally agreed to let Allison hire help. But Allison was afraid the ten hours
a day of nursing care still wasn’t enough.

  Stop dwelling, she thought to herself. Faye has things under control. And Jason would be home tonight. Even though he’d only been gone two days, Allison was looking forward to seeing him. Jason and Brutus. Her makeshift little family.

  A large oak leaf fluttered across the roadway and landed on Allison’s windshield. She watched it shimmy across the glass before it fell away.

  TEN

  The luncheon was a merry affair, or it would have been, had Allison been in the mood. Delvar presided over his Designs for the Future board of directors like a nervous bride meeting her future in-laws for the first time. He bounced from person to person, fussing over tiny details. Allison finally pulled him aside.

  “Are you okay?”

  He smiled. “Sweetheart, do I look okay?”

  They were in a small alcove next to the restrooms. Delvar, as always, was dressed in dark colors: a European-cut suit and Giza cotton button down shirt, all in shades of gray.

  “Why the nerves? You should be used to the spotlight by now.”

  Delvar looked down at his nails. The jagged edges contrasted to the neatly trimmed cuticles. “This is important,” he said finally.

  “And your work isn’t?”

  Delvar motioned toward the private room where twelve people and two reporters were gathered to discuss the new nonprofit. “When I’m designing, it’s all on me. If I fail, I fail on my own terms. I know I can design circles around any one of those people in there. But this—” he shrugged “—this is bigger than me, Allison. Kids on the street who might not get a chance otherwise? I’m their hope. We’re their hope.”

  Allison touched his arm. “And you’re making their dreams a possibility.”

  Delvar shook his head. “You don’t get it. When you gave me a chance, you were established. People listened to you. Me? I’m still a punk kid from a little city in Pennsylvania. Who the hell is going to listen to me? These folks? We have people from all sorts of companies in there. People who are educated, who’ve been around. I can’t make Designs for the Future happen on my own.”