by Wendy Tyson
Allison locked the door to First Impressions and started down the steps that led to the parking lot on the ground floor. The air was heavy and humid, the stars hidden by a mask of smoggy haze. Allison’s watch read 9:42. The small parking lot, surrounded by shrubbery and partially hidden by a neighboring property’s fence, was bathed in shadows.
Allison made her way to her Volvo, her mind reliving her conversation with Mia. On impulse, she texted Mia and invited her to join her for a trip to Scranton the next day. Tucking her phone back in her purse, she’d just clicked the fob to unlock the doors when a sound startled her. It was faint—the echo of a car door closing—but in the quiet heat of this summer night, Allison noticed. The street leading into the parking lot was empty. On the other side of the shrubs was a larger parking lot used for a bank headquarters. That’s all I’m hearing, she told herself. Someone leaving work late.
On a Sunday?
Allison re-locked her door and walked toward the row of azaleas that separated First Impressions from its neighbor. Sure enough, over the bushes she saw a white Honda Accord in the lot, a man in a suit, sitting in the driver’s seat, was looking at his phone, face hidden.
Allison murmured to herself under her breath, “Now you’re paranoid, too.” She climbed back into her car and locked the door for safe measure. She turned on the radio—WXPN—and pulled out as Dar Williams crooned about a past love. Three blocks down, she saw the Honda pull out behind her. She increased her speed, opting to skip the back roads and head straight for busy Route 30. Once on the main drag, she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a green Tahoe and, behind that, a moving truck. No sign of the Honda. Relieved, she eased into the right lane and coasted to a stop at the next light, convinced that she was letting events from the last few days get to her.
When the light turned green, she made a right onto a street lined with oaks and maples, stately fences and tennis courts. At the cusp of her street, she made a left. Just a few houses more and she’d be home, wine in hand, soaking in candlelit water.
As Allison slowed to turn into her driveway, she looked up in time to see a car pass the mouth of her street, the vehicle slowing as it passed the turn. Her heart raced.
The white Honda Accord.
Fourteen
“What do you mean by followed?” Mia asked. They were turning onto Kai Berger’s street—at least the address given on the Internet—at 7:51 the next morning. Mia had agreed to accompany Allison on the drive to Scranton, and Allison was happy for the companionship. She’d finally told Mia about the white Honda, a fact she’d hidden from even Jason. But Mia’s reaction was the reason she’d kept mum in the first place. Her friend was irate.
Allison said quickly, “It’s not a big deal. It could have been a coincidence.”
“Did you see the driver?”
Allison shook her head. “It was dark. I could tell it was a guy, though.”
“I don’t like this.” Mia looked out the window, jaw rigid. “You need a gun.”
Allison laughed. “A gun? Are you kidding?”
“I’m not kidding. Something’s going on here, Allison. Wake up. Two clients? And now someone’s following you?
Allison pulled up outside of the address she had for Kai. She considered Mia’s suggestion. No gun. She hated guns. Hated the mere thought of them. But last spring, when faced with a killer with a gun, all she’d had was a can of pepper spray. A lot of good that had done her. Maybe she’d start small. Nunchucks. Or a Swiss Army Knife.
“Did you say this kid lives alone?” Mia said, interrupting Allison’s thoughts on the matter of weapons.
Allison took in the house, one of two dozen in a newer development on the outskirts of Scranton. Two- and three-thousand square foot Colonials on half-acre lots. Manicured lawns, Home Depot lawn furniture, even an in-ground pool here and there. It confirmed her original assumption that this was not a place a nineteen-year-old could afford on his own.
“I wasn’t sure. Seems unlikely, though.”
“You’re certain this kid is only nineteen?”
“No. I’m not even sure he’s dating Tammy. Or, if he is, that this is the right address.” Allison unbuckled her seatbelt. “But there’s one way to find out.”
After three hard raps on the door, a woman answered. She was trim, with thin, straight brown hair, and round brown, heavily made-up eyes that gave her a perpetually surprised look. She wore white dress pants and a blouse in jeweled shades of green, blue and ruby, tucked in and belted with a swath of black leather. Behind her, Allison could see an immaculate foyer and living room: white carpeting, white furniture, matted prints on the walls. In those few seconds, Allison’s immediate impression was that this woman craved order.
“We’re looking for Kai Berger,” Allison said.
The woman’s eyes clouded with fear. She gave Allison a once-over and shifted her gaze to Mia. “What has he done?” Although she didn’t say “now,” the word was implied in her tone.
“Nothing that we’re aware of. We just want to talk to him about Tammy Edwards.”
The woman seemed momentarily confused.
“His girlfriend,” Allison said, and the woman said “ah” under her breath. “Would it be okay if we came in for a few minutes? I’m Allison Campbell and this is Mia Campbell.” Allison handed her a business card. “Tammy’s my client.”
The woman glanced at her watch. “I’m Kai’s mother, Joanne, but I’m on my way out, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.” She shrugged, hands up in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Life of a real estate agent. I have a client who wants to see a house before work.”
“Look, Joanne,” Allison said. “Tammy’s missing. We’re hoping Kai can shed some light on the places Tammy hangs out, her friends. Her family’s worried sick and we’re trying to help them find her. I’m sure you understand? We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” Allison waited. When Joanne still didn’t respond, Allison said, “Is Kai here?”
Joanne shook her head. With a sigh, she finally stepped back. “Come in. But I only have a minute.” They followed her through the foyer, past the dining room and into the kitchen. Granite counters, oak cabinets, a generously-sized stock island. Here, too, everything was spotlessly clean and smelled of lemon disinfectant.
Joanne stood next to the island. A stack of mail—envelopes and circulars—had been placed in a neat pile on one corner. The mail shared the space with a bowl of what looked to be ceramic fruit: pears, oranges, bananas, and apples. No dust on the fruit.
“Kai doesn’t live here. At least not right now.” Joanne walked over to a small desk built into country French cabinetry and removed a pen from a glass holder. She scribbled something on a Post-it Note and handed the pink paper to Allison. “That’s his father’s address. Kai’s with him.”
Allison glanced down at the paper. A Scranton address. “Thank you.”
Joanne walked back to the island and pressed the edges of the mail pile, readjusting what was already a perfectly neat and perfectly straight set of documents. She frowned. “Don’t expect Kai to be of much help.”
“You don’t think he’ll talk to us?” Allison asked.
“Depends on his mood. But even if he does, he won’t tell you anything useful. He’ll just dance around the topic. Just like his father.”
“Have you met Tammy?”
“No, but Kai has mentioned her once or twice.”
“Typical teen, keeping secrets?” Mia asked.
“Sometimes I wish he’d keep more secrets. His judgment is not always the best.”
“Does he get into trouble frequently?” Mia asked.
“Not really.” Joanne glanced at her watch again. “He just gets odd ideas. Like I said, he’s a lot like his dad, Scott. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to go.”
After Allison and Mia were through the front door, Joanne yelled after the
m, “If you do see my son, please tell him I’m still waiting for my key. He can’t have it both ways. It’s my house or his father’s!”
“A little Type A?” Mia asked once they were back in the car.
“Definitely compulsive.” Allison took out her phone and punched in the address Joanne had written on the pink slip. Her GPS gave her a location about four miles away. “She was so cold when talking about Kai that I would have mistaken her for a stepmother if she hadn’t said otherwise. Not to stereotype stepmothers, of course, but, well, that was not a mother’s love I saw in her eyes.”
Mia nodded. “Maybe it’s her feelings toward his Dad showing through. Stereotypical divorce?”
Allison shrugged as she pulled away from the curb. “I don’t care what their story is, as long as they lead us to Tammy.”
The address Joanne Berger gave them led to a bar in downtown Scranton. Allison parked on the street, a block away from the flashing pink neon sign that read “McNally’s.” The bar was wedged between a pizza take-out joint and a consignment shop.
Across the street were a series of derelict row houses and a check-cashing place. A convenience store with a gas pumping station sat on the corner. The dark wooden door to McNally’s led inside to an enclosed foyer. At one end of the foyer was the entrance—a glass door inlaid with a set of security bars. Through the door, Allison could make out four people sitting at the bar top and a long-haired bartender wiping down the counter. All eyes were turned toward the television hung on the wall. Baseball. The Yankees were winning, three to one.
Allison glanced around the foyer. Right inside the entry were two mailboxes. One was marked “McNally’s” and the other “2A.”
Mia pointed to the “2A” and then to a doorway on the right side of the room. “An apartment? That door must lead upstairs.”
Allison reached for the knob. It was unlocked. Mia followed her through the door and up a narrow staircase. At the top was another door, painted an obnoxious shade of fuchsia.
“Not quite what I was expecting,” Mia said. She knocked on the door.
“It is a Monday morning. Maybe they’re at work. Or school.”
“Maybe.” But Mia looked skeptical.
After a few more tries, Allison said, “Let’s try the bar. See if anyone there knows where we can find father or son.”
At the bottom of the staircase, back in the foyer, they were met by the bartender.
She looked to be in her twenties, but if her appearance was any indicator, it had been a hard two decades. Her skin had the loose appearance of someone who’d spent way too many hours in a tanning booth, and tiny wrinkles were sprouting from a full mouth and dull brown eyes. A rose tattoo bloomed from beneath a black tank top. A fading bruise marred her left cheekbone. Three piercings graced her nose.
She said, “Are you ladies lost?”
“We’re looking for Scott Berger.”
From behind her, a deep voice said, “Found ’im.”
The bartender turned around abruptly. Allison caught her wary glance at the man who’d spoken. He was standing in the doorway, and Allison recognized him as one of the men who’d been sitting at the bar, watching the baseball game. He was short, with a wiry build and a head of straight brown hair, slicked back with the aim of hiding a blossoming bald spot. He had a youngish face, reminding Allison of a worn-out Davy Jones.
“I’ve got this, Vicky.”
Allison said, “Mr. Berger, is there somewhere we can chat for a few minutes?”
“About?”
Allison handed Berger a business card. “We’re looking for Tammy Edwards, and as I understand it, she’s dating your son.”
“So?”
“So, we’d like to talk to you. A lot of people are worried about Tammy. We were hoping Kai—or you—could shed some light on where Tammy might be.”
Scott Berger gave one longing glance through the glass door toward the television before giving a resigned nod. “I figured it was only a matter of time before someone came calling.” He looked at Vicky. “Back to work. And make sure Curtis pays.” To Allison, he said, “Come upstairs.”
Upstairs consisted of a tiny two-bedroom apartment with wood paneling, an efficiency kitchen and enough dirty laundry on the floor to double as a carpet. Allison choked back a gag at the smell—part Italian hoagie, part smelly feet. It was a bachelor pad without an ounce of charm.
Scott sauntered over to a brown plaid couch, tossed a pair of running shorts onto a nearby table and sat down. He pointed to a matching loveseat. Mia flicked what looked like a flannel shirt to the side and sat on the edge of the fabric, her face one of practiced neutrality. Allison chose to stand.
“I have no idea where that girl is, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Scott tapped one loafer-clad foot on the ground as he spoke. He looked at Allison but glanced at Mia every few seconds as though he was afraid she was planning an escape. “I don’t even think Kai sees her anymore.”
“He’s listed as her boyfriend on Facebook.”
Scott shrugged. “Wishful thinking?”
“How long have they been together?” Mia asked.
“They hung out for four, five months. Kai gets around. I doubt she was the only one he was hanging with. Good looking boy.”
“Mr. Berger, Tammy’s been missing for several days. No one has heard from her. Is there anything you can tell us about where she likes to hang out?” Allison kept her voice soft, non-threatening, but still Scott glanced at Mia.
“You the cops?”
Allison smiled. “Look at my card, Mr. Berger. I’m the farthest thing from it.”
He pulled her card from his pocket and glanced quickly at the front. His foot stopped tapping. “An image consultant? I don’t even know what that is.”
“Like a life coach.”
“Then why do you care about Tammy?”
“She’s my client,” Allison said. “I want to help find her.”
When he didn’t respond, she said, “Can you at least tell me where to find your son? Maybe he knows something.”
Scott glanced at his watch, grimaced and stood. “You asked for it.”
He disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Allison heard grumbling followed by the screech of a chair scraping against the floor, then a loud, “Fuck!” before Scott finally emerged looking sullen.
“Kai’s not a morning person. He works the nightshift, so he’s pretty tired. Go easy on him.” He walked toward the apartment door, the saunter gone now, and paused before leaving. “You should talk to that girl’s parents. That mother’s a holy roller. A wackadoodle holy roller. I got nothing against religion, but don’t go forcing it down other people’s throats, know what I mean?” His shoulder twitched and he made a fist with his left hand. Allison caught a whiff of barely-controlled rage.
“What do you think the mother’s religious views have to do with her daughter’s disappearance?” Mia asked.
“Who the hell knows? A cult? Some sort of honor thing? I’m just saying some people have funny ideas, and Mrs. Edwards is one of those people. Talk to her. Get her alone.”
He left, shutting the door with a bang. Mia looked at Allison, eyebrows arched, as if to say, who’s the wackadoodle? Allison barely had time to shrug before Kai Berger stomped into the room, dressed in a soiled gray t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Unlike his father, he was tall. His face had a fresh rash of pimples across the chin and cheeks, but when he looked at Allison, she saw a flash of intelligence that gave her hope.
Kai sank into the couch. “Yeah?”
Allison explained who they were. “We want to help find Tammy. Any idea where she might be.”
“Why would I know?”
“You’re her boyfriend.”
Kai shrugged, a gesture that echoed his father’s. “Damn if I know where she is.”
“Has sh
e contacted you?”
Kai’s gaze darted toward the door. “Not since last week, when she was down in Philly.”
Allison said, “With me.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Another shrug. “Look, she called me from the hotel all full of ways she could tell her parents to go fuck themselves. Next thing I know, her mother calls me accusing me of hiding her. She’s always hated me.”
Allison sat on the edge of the couch, across from Kai and as far from a pair of dirty socks as she could get. “Why?”
“Damn if I know. Dad owns a bar, maybe that’s offensive.”
Mia said, “Your father suggested we talk to Tammy’s mother. He said she’s religious. That maybe she had something to do with Tammy’s disappearance.”
“Dad’s crazy. Has been ever since Mom left him.”
“When was that?” Allison asked.
“Three years ago.”
“Do they fight a lot?” Mia asked softly.
“Nah, they just don’t talk. Dad slept with Vicky, his bartender. Mom found out and left him. He’s pissed because she got the better end of the bargain. Lives in a new house, has a new boyfriend. He lives in this shithole. Give him enough time and he’ll tell you all about it himself.”
Allison decided on a different tack. “Have the police contacted you, Kai?”
That made him perk up. “No, why would they?”
“Your girlfriend’s missing. I’d think they would talk to people close to her.”
“Didn’t talk to me. I only heard from Tammy’s mom.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“How would I know?”
“Do you think she ran away, Kai?” Mia asked.
He looked away. “Nah, why would she?”
“I don’t know. But if she didn’t run,” Allison said, “then something bad may have happened to her. Doesn’t that possibility scare you?”