by Wendy Tyson
Allison ignored the sarcasm and thought for a moment. With a normal client there would be at least two or three sessions of interviews, during which Allison would get a sense of the client’s taste and an idea of what he or she wanted to focus on. These interviews would dictate both the sessions that followed and the experts Allison would partner with. Makeup artists. Nutritionists. Personal shoppers. Voice coaches. Allison and her team could help with any number of goals: public speaking, dressing for success, overcoming shyness, returning to the workforce, weight loss. But what she could not do was work magic. She was hoping something would click soon. In the meantime, she’d march onward and hope for the best.
“You pick it,” Allison said.
Maggie just stared at her, head cocked, as though Allison had suggested a flight to Mars.
“You’re joking.”
“I never joke with my clients,” Allison said.
“Ohmyfreakinggoddess. Don’t you get it, Allison? I don’t want to go anywhere with you. That’s the point. I don’t want to be seen with you.”
Allison smiled. “Fine, then I’ll pick.”
Maggie plopped back down on the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “This should be good.”
“Don’t say I didn’t give you the opportunity to choose.”
“Where are we going, Allison?”
Allison stood, pointed toward the door and said, “The zoo.”
“You took her where?” Vaughn put down the file he was updating and stared at Allison. He’d never known her to go off script. Ever. When it came to her clients, the woman towed the line like a rookie in his first World Series. “No offense Allison, but are you nuts? Her father’s a House Representative. He’s paying you to fix his disaster of a daughter and you take her to the zoo?”
Allison flashed him a smile that said I have this under control, but he wasn’t so sure. He watched her smooth her hair back from her face and stretch her long legs out in front of her. She did seem pretty confident. He wished he shared the feeling.
Vaughn glanced at the clock. 7:16. Mrs. T. had to be out of there at 8:00 and he had no one lined up for the night, so he and Jamie were on their own. He’d rented American Pie—Jamie never seemed to tire of its teenage humor—and Vaughn would watch clothes dry if it made his brother smile. But he promised himself he’d get through these files, finish up the billing and check up on the Feldman case today. He had to hurry.
“Fine,” he said. “Then don’t tell me what you were thinking. I’m not sure I want to know anyway. Going to the zoo with that kid?” He shook his head, picked the file back up and stood to return it to the cabinet. Vaughn wished the whole damn family would just go away. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Allison was playing with fire. And taking McBride’s kid to the zoo was, in his opinion, a risky move. “McBride is paying for serious image consulting. He’s going to see a zoo trip as high-priced babysitting.”
Allison shrugged. “Not sure it helped, but how could it have hurt? I was looking for a way to get through to her. Thought maybe a change of scenery would do some good.” Allison stood up and reached for her coat, which lay draped across the extra chair in Vaughn’s office. “Maggie was not happy, but once we arrived it wasn’t too bad.”
“But why the zoo?
“The professional spin or the truth?”
Vaughn closed the file cabinet and turned to face Allison. She looked tired. He wondered about that morning, when Jason had answered the phone. Since their divorce, Jason had never answered Allison’s phone. Did this mean they were together again? He didn’t want to think about Allison sleeping with Mia’s son, but he had to admit, he’d rather see her back with Jason than making the rounds with some other guy who didn’t appreciate her. Jason was good people. Still, it was all a little too cozy.
He said, “Both. Start with the spin.”
Allison held her coat in her hands and sat back down. “I wanted to make the point that one of the things that separates us from the animals is choice. A lion is a lion, a monkey is a monkey. Animals don’t have the wherewithal to change colors. A monkey can’t reinvent itself as a lion. A giraffe can never be an elephant.”
“And? Did she get it?” He glanced at the clock again: 7:22. He put the last of the files away and sat facing Allison across his desk.
“Eventually. At first she took the analogy literally and thought I was saying she was an ugly duckling who could never become a swan. But I think I convinced her that I didn’t mean that at all. Humans have a wondrous ability, unlike those animals, to choose our thoughts and, eventually, change our behavior. All I was saying was that Maggie has the choice, like the rest of us, to set her sights on what she wants to be and make it happen.” Allison shrugged. “So that’s the spin. A bit of hands-on learning.”
“And the truth?”
“I had absolutely no idea what to do with her.”
Vaughn laughed, relieved that Allison had a reason for the zoo trip, bullshit or not. “How’d she handle it?”
“Like any other kid, I suppose. She grumbled and complained. Threatened about a thousand times to tell Daddy. And finally shut up when I bought her a stuffed gorilla and French fries.”
“Ah, bribery.”
She nodded. “She mentioned Ethan Feldman again.” Allison frowned, stood up, and reached for her purse.
“What did Maggie say?”
“They’re dating behind their parents’ backs. The McBrides have forbidden her to see him, and Arnie Feldman had done the same. Arnie caught Maggie and Ethan having sex in the Jacuzzi one afternoon last fall.”
Vaughn said, “Was Maggie upset? About Ethan’s involvement with the police over this murder?”
“Very. In usual teenage fashion, she was overly dramatic about the whole thing: they’re going to run away together, it’s the world against them, she can’t live without him.” Allison looked thoughtful. “I know the police are questioning the Feldman boy about his father’s murder. It’s just odd though—”
“Yeah?”
“Jason said Ethan has no alibi for that night.”
“So?”
“So Maggie let it slip that she and Ethan were together. Why wouldn’t Ethan admit to that?”
The clock read 7:29. Vaughn needed to have left ten minutes ago to get home in time. “Maybe she snuck out later to be with Ethan.”
“Maybe.” Allison opened the door. Vaughn could feel tendrils of cool air reaching across the foyer to where he stood. He shivered, but whether it was from the cool air or Allison’s next words, he wasn’t sure. “Or maybe the kids are lying.”
Vaughn said, “Have you heard anything more about Mia?”
“No, and that worries me. I’m going to call Jason when I get home. I’m not sure whether the shift in police focus to the kids has taken the heat off of her. Do you know?”
Vaughn shook his head, feeling like an ass. Although he didn’t know where the police thinking was currently headed, he did know more than he was letting on. And he hated keeping things from Allison.
Allison looked worried. “I wish Mia’s name was off the list.”
“Me, too.”
Allison made a what-can-you-do gesture with her hands. She said, “Dinner?”
Vaughn shook his head. As much as he would’ve liked to join her, he had to get going.
The corners of Allison’s mouth turned down in disappointment. “A date?”
He looked away from her, toward the door. He hated lying again. But Jamie was his best kept secret. He couldn’t explain Jamie without explaining his own past. And he wasn’t ready to come clean yet, not even to Allison. Especially not to Allison. So Vaughn said, “You could say that.”
On his way home, Vaughn called Mia. Her voice sounded hoarse, as though she’d been crying. “You okay, babe?” he said.
“Sure.”
His heart a
ched for her. He knew the police, the questions, were dredging all of the pain again, it was like a goddamn soul excavation. He wished there was something he could do to make it better.
“Want some company? I have Jamie tonight, but you can join us. We’d love it.”
“No, but thanks, Vaughn.” A pause. “I got another visit from the police. One of Helms’ henchmen.”
“What’s the latest?” he asked gently. He shifted into fourth gear and eased up on the clutch. The night was warmer, and he rolled the window down for some fresh air.
“Same questions, over and over again. And they won’t let up on my whereabouts the night Arnie was killed.”
“Then tell them, Mia. I’m tired of the lies, anyway. It’s time.”
“No.”
“Allison won’t care. And Jason—Jason’s a big boy. He wants you to be happy.”
Mia took a moment to respond. “It’s not just them, Vaughn.”
“Then what the hell is it? We were together the night Feldman was killed. There is no way you coulda been there and been with me. Why can’t you tell the police that?”
“You, Vaughn.”
“Me?”
“Your past. What if they don’t believe we were at my house? If they start digging, they’ll find out about your record. The arrests. Then Allison will find out. Do you really want to risk that?”
Vaughn turned into his apartment complex and killed the ignition. No, he thought, I don’t want to risk it. It’s the reason I haven’t told Allison about Jamie. It’s the reason I live in a goddamn house of cards. But it wasn’t worth Mia’s pain.
Vaughn sighed. “I don’t want to hide anymore, Mia. I paid my dues. We both have. Maybe it’s time to come clean.”
But Mia had other thoughts. “I can’t risk it, Vaughn. Not now. We all have too much at stake. I didn’t kill Feldman. The real killer will come to light eventually.”
Jason sounded frustrated when Allison spoke to him over the phone a little later. “They brought my mother in for questioning. She said Helms treated her with kid gloves, but I don’t like it.”
“What was their angle?”
“She says they just asked a few questions. She was vague.”
Allison had just made herself dinner: celery and peanut butter, cranberry juice and two Fig Newtons. The supper of champions. She sank into a kitchen chair and put her phone on speaker.
“Can’t you ask around at work? Find out what’s going on with the investigation?”
“I’ve tried that,” Jason said. “All I know is that my mother is still a person of interest.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Helms and his staff have a few leads, but right now it’s a process of elimination. And for whatever reason, they haven’t been able to eliminate her. Or the Feldman kid, for that matter.”
Allison smoothed the peanut butter on the top of a long celery stalk. “Then maybe we need to help the police a little.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that we know people. I can call Sally Ann—Sasha Feldman. She was my client once upon a time. I’ll get Vaughn on the case. Between the three of us, we know half this damn town.”
Jason didn’t answer. Allison heard his breath over the phone, pictured his kind eyes as he mulled it over. “Think the widow will talk to you?”
“Eventually,” Allison said.
“It’s worth a shot.” But Allison heard apprehension in his voice. “Just be careful. Mia didn’t do it, but someone did. And that someone is still out there.”
Allison found Sasha’s home number in the White Pages. She glanced at her watch and dialed, feeling slightly guilty for invading the woman’s privacy. Her husband had just been killed. On the fourth ring, a husky male voice answered. The guy sounded too old to be Arnie’s son, Ethan, and too rough to be local.
“Yeah?” said the voice.
“May I speak with Sasha? This is Allison Campbell.”
He hesitated. “Nah, she’s sleepin’.”
“Could you ask her to call me?” Allison left her home and mobile numbers.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll tell her,” said the voice.
Allison hung up, feeling pretty certain that the message wasn’t making its way to Sasha.
She logged into her computer and did another search on Arnie Feldman. Who were his contacts, what were his interests, how did he spend his free time? There were volumes about Feldman online, but from what she could tell, the man had few interests outside of work. On impulse, Allison checked the state’s website for properties held in Feldman’s name. Nothing other than the $1.2 million dollar home he lived in now. So what could be the motive?
Allison was getting sleepy. She did one more search in a referral site for lawyers. She skimmed through a staggering number of reviews. The Custody King was an attorney people sure felt strongly about, and they either loved him or hated him. Allison made note of a few of the comments, largely about child custody, and logged off. She couldn’t shake the feeling that his death was somehow linked to his work. The man courted controversy. And eventually, controversy could lead to trouble.
Fourteen
A week later, Allison woke up with a horrible headache. It was Monday morning. She’d spent the past week tunneling her way around the Feldman murder, getting nowhere. Sasha Feldman hadn’t returned a single call and even Vaughn’s network of Main Line connections wasn’t panning out. On top of that, she’d spent the rest of her week working with Maggie in the hopes that they would forge a connection. She wanted to show Maggie—and the McBrides—what a lovely girl was underneath the Goth snarl. But Maggie resisted—and it was time for Allison to get her own schedule back on track.
She rolled over in bed, carefully to avoid sudden movements, and tried to remember what appointments she had for the day: Judge Lint at noon, his wife at one-thirty, a Dressing for the Seasons presentation at three. Could she get away with another hour in bed? She cradled her aching head in her hands. Yes, she would have to. She was fumbling around the bedside table for her meds when the phone rang.
“Allison Campbell,” she said without looking at the caller I.D.
“It’s me, Allison,” rang Vaughn’s voice. “You sound like a sailor the morning after a bender.”
“I feel terrible.” She glanced at the clock. “I’ll be late today. Wish I could cancel altogether. All I want is a double dose of Imitrex and a hot mug of tea. Anyway, what’s going on?”
“I’ll keep it short. McBride called. He says he needs to speak to you about the direction you’re taking his daughter.”
Allison twisted the sheet around one hand. “Oh, for Lord’s sake.”
“He sounded…curt.”
“Did he say anything specific?”
Vaughn hesitated, which made her think Hank had said a lot more than whatever Vaughn was about to say. “Not really, just that you were not making the kind of progress he had hoped for. Tangible progress, that is.”
Ah, yes. Maggie wasn’t suddenly dressing like Catherine after two whole weeks. Allison could see why he was upset. The sessions of the past week had mostly gone like the first two, which meant Maggie had been as cooperative as a rodeo bronco. Nevertheless, to Hank, Maggie should be hosting her own talk show by now.
Allison said, “Well, he can kiss my you-know-what.”
Vaughn laughed. The sound, usually welcome and comforting, raked through her skull like the tines of a fork down a ceramic plate.
“Anything else, Vaughn? ’Cause if not, I’m going to knock myself unconscious for a while.”
Again, he hesitated before saying no. He was sitting on something. But right now, Allison was in too much pain to even care what—or why. She wanted to feel the fog receding, even if just a little bit. If she took the medicine before a full-blown migraine set in, she could get the pain to ebb, lik
e an outgoing tide. If she waited too long, it grew into a tidal wave. It felt like tsunami time.
She said, “Just don’t book anything else for today. I’m going to take a power nap. I’ll see you by noon.”
“McBride?”
“I’ll deal with him when I get in.”
Five minutes later, the phone rang again. Allison was set to ignore it until she saw it was Faye.
“Hello?” she said tentatively, the smallest noise amplifying the screaming in her head.
“Your birthday is coming up. I’d like to take you out.”
Surprised, Allison said, “That would be nice.”
“There’s a restaurant in the city. Trattoria Bianca. I’ve been wanting to try it.”
“Isn’t Philadelphia a little far for you? We can meet closer to home.”
Faye hesitated. “I’ll be in the city. A routine test. Nothing to worry about. I can meet you there at six-thirty. Will that work?”
Allison thought her sister’s invitation was odd. She never ventured into Philadelphia, much less alone. Why now? But Allison’s head hurt too badly to question. And sleep was calling.
“Sounds nice, Faye. I’ll see you then.”
Allison dreamed of Violet.
Even in sleep, Allison told herself it wasn’t real. The old woman in her dream, for the magic of slumber changed fifteen-year-old Violet into a toothless, graying senior, was pulling at her breast, needing to nurse. Violet’s face morphed into her mother’s face and then into Faye’s, with the features of each sliding and melting into the features of the next. Repulsed, she struggled to wake.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
Allison rolled over. The buzzing seemed to come from her head, from the same depths that produced the perverse women-babies. Allison clutched at her chest. Dry. Clothed. She murmured “Thank God” under her breath.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
The doorbell. Oh, man. Allison swung her feet over the side of the bed and glanced at the clock: 9:45. Still in a dream-fog, she walked to the window and peeked outside. No car. Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz...