by Wendy Tyson
Allison watched the three men as they finished casing the cabin. Alex looked genuinely worried, Dom seemed angry, and the third man had a take charge demeanor that rivaled even Dom’s domineering persona.
After psyching herself up, Allison took a deep breath and walked through the front entrance. Vaughn agreed to stay behind, watching from outside in case anything happened.
“Looking for me, gentlemen?”
All three turned toward the door, taken momentarily off guard.
“We thought we might find you here,” Alex said. “Jackie said you were asking questions.”
Allison nodded. “Maria called me. She said Francesca was being held here against her will.”
Dom and Alex exchanged a glance. “Then you haven’t heard,” Dom said.
“You found Francesca?” Allison asked, feeling suddenly breathless.
Alex shook his head, slowly, back and forth. “No, Allison. Francesca is still missing.”
“But Maria said—”
Another look passed between the three men. In the light of Alex’s flashlight, Allison got a better look at the third man’s face. He was old and wrinkled, with skin like a Shar-pei. His eyes, his nose, his lips—all drooped downward, as though they had given up on the fight against gravity. But there was a cruelty in his hooded eyes that made a chill run down Allison’s spine. He stared at her like her father used to, as though he were judging her and she was coming up wanting.
She pushed the negative thought away and said, “Tell me what happened, Alex. I got a call from Maria saying Francesca was being held captive in this cabin. But she’s not here. And it doesn’t seem like the police have been here, which is odd because I called them.”
“So it was her who called them,” the third man said to Dom.
“Who is this?” Allison asked. She directed her question to Alex, but it was Dom who answered.
“Reginald. He’s helping us look for Francesca.”
The man with no online record, Allison thought. The family friend.
“Are you here alone?” Reginald asked.
Allison debated what to say.
She didn’t think these men meant her any harm, but it would be better for them to know she wasn’t alone. Just in case. “Vaughn is here, too. He’s outside, looking around.”
Reginald stared first at Dom, then at Alex. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind. Finally he said, “Let’s go back to the house. There’s nothing more to see here.”
As the men walked toward the door, flashlights drawn, Alex shook his head. He looked worn and apologetic, his dark eyes shadowed in the weepy light. She felt an unwelcome jolt when their eyes met.
“I’m sorry you’ve been pulled into this, Allison,” he whispered. “I really am.”
“Me, too. I just wish I understood what this was.”
“Maria is dead. It happened this afternoon at the processing plant.” Dom spoke with a steady coldness that made Allison wonder whether it was controlled grief lying under the surface or if he was glad to see his sister gone. “When we saw your car, we thought you might know something.”
“The police believe it was an accident,” Reginald said. “There was an explosion at the bottling plant. She was trying to fix an industrial steamer and was...well, steamed to death.” Reginald spoke the last words with disdain, as though dying in such a manner was somehow uncouth.
“Do you believe it was an accident?” Vaughn asked. He’d been quiet the entire walk back to the house, a quiet that Allison recognized as distrust and suspicion. Now he made no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice.
“We don’t know what to believe,” Alex said. They were in one of the Benini estate’s parlors. Formal furniture. Lace doilies, urine-colored from age. Family portraits lined up along the wall, tributes to ghosts from the past. Allison sat on a Queen Anne chair next to Vaughn who, like a bird of prey on the cusp of flight, balanced on an ottoman. Alex paced by the window. Dom and Reginald sat on the couch, on opposite sides, and Allison noticed that neither looked at the other. The tension in the room was thick.
Somewhere a clock chimed nine o’clock. It was late and Allison was tired. Her head throbbed, and her right food stung where she had stepped on a bramble.
She was trying to process this new piece of information. First, Francesca disappears while traveling with Vaughn. Then Paolo dies within an hour of their visit. And now Maria was dead, having been killed accidentally after speaking with Allison? First Impressions had become an angel of death. The thought spooked her, and she wrapped her arms around her chest, warding off the thought.
“Why aren’t the police here?” Vaughn asked.
“They were here earlier. They searched the cabin.” Dom said. “Before you were busy trespassing on our property.”
“Jackie gave us permission,” Vaughn said.
Dom’s hand curled into a fist. “Jackie didn’t have the authority—”
Vaughn matched Dom’s body language, stare for stare.
“Gentleman, please.” Alex spun around, features twisted in exasperation. “Allison, what, exactly, did my sister say to you when she called?”
Allison relayed the gist of the conversation with Maria, leaving out the bit about the tracking device. Some things were better left untold.
“Did she sound afraid, rehearsed?”
“She sounded,” Allison searched for the right word, “rushed. Insistent.”
Alex ran a hand through his hair. “What phone number did she use?”
Allison pulled her phone from her bag. Here at the house, she had reception again, and noticed three missed calls from Mia and one from Jason. She gave Alex the mobile number. “I assumed it was Maria’s cell. When I attempted to call back, no one answered and there was no voicemail.”
Alex peered at the number. “That’s Maria’s cell.” He looked at Dom. “She called at 10:14.”
Reginald said, “That answers that question. She must have made the call from the plant.”
Vaughn, posture still rigid, said, “Would she even have reception from inside the manufacturing facility?”
Alex nodded. “Good point.”
“She could have been outside,” Dom said.
“I don’t think so,” Allison said. “I heard factory-type noises. I’m certain she was inside somewhere.”
Allison watched a look pass between brothers. Reginald stood. “I’ll check with the police to see if they have any additional information. In the meantime, they may want to talk to you, Ms. Campbell. You should remain in town.”
“I was only too happy to talk to them earlier. Remember, it was me who called the police. No one seemed to take me seriously then.” She looked from Dom, to Alex and back to Reginald. “Why is that?”
“We have no idea,” Dom said.
Without another word, Reginald lumbered out of the room and down the hall. Dom followed. When the other men were gone, Alex finally sat. “I’m sorry, Vaughn. Again. For my brother’s behavior.”
“He’s upset.”
“Perhaps. That doesn’t excuse his words or his tone.” To Allison, Alex said, “Reginald is right, though. You should probably stay in the area in case the police want to talk to you. They seem to think it was an accident, but you know how these things go.”
She didn’t really, but she was quickly learning,
“You’re welcome to stay here,” Alex said. His eyes were an open invitation. He seemed to catch himself, though. He looked at Vaughn and said, “Both of you.”
That was the last thing they needed: another night at the haunted mansion. Allison replied, “Thank you, but no. If the police want to find us, they know where we live.”
Vaughn jumped from the chair and walked to the other side of the room, lingering by a portrait of a younger woman. Plain features. Somber expression. Dead eyes. “Tell me, Ale
x,” Vaughn said, “Now that the others are gone, do you think Maria’s death was an accident?”
Alex mulled the question. When he spoke, his voice had an ache to it that told Allison there was love between the siblings, despite the apparent conflicts. She believed Alex’s current turmoil, wanted to believe he was a good person. His aunt, his father and now his sister. Almost against her will, she found herself wanting to comfort him. But then she reminded herself that everyone in this crazy family was suspect, even the handsome man sitting before her, looking like a young boy whose first dog had died.
“Maria knew her way around animals and machines. If something was broken, Maria could fix it. Do I think she was in there trying to fix the steamer? Absolutely. But if it was ready to blow, she would have known that. So she was either trying to stave off a disaster, or she was set up.” He looked at Vaughn and then quickly looked away. “I’d like to say yes it was an accident, because that would be easier. But I’m afraid the answer is no. My sister was shrewd, smart, and very mechanically-inclined. She kept our machinery in top-notch shape.”
“So you think she was murdered?”
This time, Alex didn’t look away. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
It was almost eleven when Allison and Vaughn drove back down the winding Benini driveway.
“You tired?” Vaughn asked.
“Strangely, no.”
“Me, either. I saw a twenty-four hour diner about five miles down the road. You in?”
Allison looked down at her grass-stained feet and her soiled clothes. She wanted Brutus’s greeting, Jason’s shielding embrace, and a good night’s sleep. But that would never come tonight anyway. It was too late, and home was three hours away.
“Absolutely,” she said, suddenly certain that she wouldn’t be sleeping in her bed for a while. “Greasy diner food would be a fitting end to this day.”
Twenty-Two
The diner was a Greek mom and pop joint named Opa, situated on a busy throughway. Allison and Vaughn arrived at half past eleven. The restaurant had three large dining rooms, but other than a group of rowdy teenagers and a pair of tattooed truckers, the place was empty. An older waitress with a bored smile showed them to a booth.
“Coffee?”
“Hot chocolate,” Allison said. “And soup. Whatever you have.”
Vaughn said, “I’ll have the same. With French fries. And a piece of pie. Blueberry, if you have it.”
The woman nodded absentmindedly and walked away, still writing.
Vaughn yawned. “Hot chocolate and soup. Comfort food.”
Allison smiled. “My mom used to make hot chocolate when we were little. It was one of her few nods to processed foods. And instead of mini marshmallows, she’d add marshmallow fluff. When my sisters weren’t looking, she’d put extra fluff in my mug. She knew how much I liked it.” Allison shook her head at the bittersweet memory, one of the few good ones she had of childhood. She felt the tears well up at the thought of her mom, and she smiled apologetically. “It’s late and I’m getting sentimental.”
Vaughn didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to—the warmth in his eyes was enough.
She studied her friend. He always wore an armor of reserve, but this current bearing was different.
Tough. Determined. Edgy. This was Vaughn the fighter, and, if she had to guess, it was this Vaughn who’d survived the years in juvenile detention and his time in a gang.
“I want to get a hotel for the night. If you need to go home to Jamie, I understand. I can rent a car.”
“He’s fine. I texted Angela. She’ll stay.”
“She’ll tell him what’s going on?”
Vaughn’s eyes darted toward the truckers. “I’ll email him.”
“You’re keeping him in the dark.”
“I’m trying to keep him safe.”
“Hiding this from him only makes it worse. He can help.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” His eyes flashed with anger. “My brother can’t run away, Allison. He’s a fucking sitting duck, prey for any jackass who wants to make a point. There is only one thing I can do. Understand?”
Allison held his stare and after a moment his gaze softened. “I’m sorry,” he said.”I guess I’m tired, after all.”
“You’re not in this alone. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Do you believe even one of these people? Because I sure as hell don’t. Reginald is a fucking PI? I don’t buy that for a second. And those brothers? Dom with his jacked up attitude. And don’t think I don’t see the way the other one looks at you, like he’s itching to score and you’re a whole pile of the white stuff. And now that crazy sister is dead. Dead, Allison, as in the sun will not be coming out tomorrow.” He shook his head. “What the hell are we mixed up in this time?”
What were they mixed up in this time?
Allison had to think, despite the haze of exhaustion. She combed through her purse until she found a notebook and a pen. “Let’s go through what we know so far.”
“What we know? Jack shit.”
Allison flinched. She could feel her blood pressure rising. Not because Vaughn wasn’t right, but because this wasn’t productive. He needed to focus. And she needed to stay calm. She thought about the questions Jamie would ask, his rational way of dissecting a situation, getting to the crux of what was important.
“One,” Allison said, voice firm. “Francesca Benini contacted us because her brother had a stroke and she’s next in line to run the business. Two, we learned she hadn’t left the house in decades. Three, her family doesn’t want her taking over Benini Enterprises.”
“Four,” Vaughn said, with only the slightest eye roll, “Tammy Edwards’ manager calls days after Francesca signs on.”
“Which could be totally unrelated,” Allison said.
“You said we’re just reviewing the facts. And that’s a fact.”
“Okay, true. Let’s go through Francesca first, then Tammy.” Allison said, relieved that Vaughn was at least humoring her. She finished writing the first four points in her notebook. “Five, Francesca hinted at family strife and maybe even conflict with shareholders abroad. She referred to ‘vultures’ on several occasions. She seemed to like, or at least respect, Maria. She was less positive about Dom. I sensed mixed feelings when it came to Alex.”
Vaughn nodded. “Six, when I arrived to pick up Francesca, I was late. And I spotted Maria in the woods, spying on me as I drove up the driveway. Francesca didn’t like Simone, but seemed okay with Maria.” He paused, unraveling his paper napkin from the fork, knife and spoon around which it was wrapped. “How about you? Did you notice anything strange between Maria, Simone, and Francesca?”
Allison thought back to the dinner at the Benini estate. “There was definitely something going on between them.” She toyed with the edge of the butter knife, running a finger alongside the dull blade. “And Simone seemed overly...seductive. She gave Alex the Chippendale once-over, was dressed pretty provocatively for a family dinner.”
“Think there could be something to that? Maybe an affair?”
“Maybe, but Simone seems to be the one person whose name doesn’t keep cropping up.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
The waitress arrived. Allison eyed the whipped cream overflowing the mug of hot chocolate and decided that calories didn’t count when you were in the midst of a murder investigation. Because suddenly this had become a murder investigation.
When the waitress was gone, Allison said, “Seven, Francesca disappeared from a truck stop near Wilkes-Barre. She gave no indication to you beforehand that she was scared or upset. And she didn’t have a mobile phone.”
“Right,” Vaughn said between mouthfuls of minestrone soup. “And no one we spoke to admitted seeing a woman who fit Francesca’s description.”
Allison glanced down at her notes. She was bothered by Francesca’s disappearance for a number of reasons, but one thing really stuck out to her. “You never discussed stopping at that particular truck stop beforehand? No one at the house knew you were going there?”
“We didn’t even know we were going there until we did.”
“And you don’t think you were followed?”
Vaughn put down his spoon. “I wasn’t expecting any problems, so I suppose we could have had a tail and I didn’t realize it.”
“Do you remember seeing a white Honda?”
Vaughn shook his head. “Even if I had been followed, whoever was following me would have to be pretty savvy. The truck stop was crowded, and Francesca is small and nondescript. Unless there was a tracking device on my car, like Maria said. Or on Francesca.”
“Or in her bags. What if someone had put a tracking device in her purse or her suitcase. Did she have a bag with her when she went into that rest area?”
Vaughn considered this. “I think she took her purse.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Square. Black, plain. Not too big.” He gestured with his hands. “And stuffed. She kept it by her feet in the car.”
“Something that could hold papers?” Including whatever papers Alex had been looking for.
Vaughn shrugged. “You think she was bringing more stuff?”
“Maybe,” Allison said. “And maybe someone didn’t want her to pass papers along. Someone who put a tracking device on your car or one in her bag.”
Vaughn’s brow creased. “That would mean someone in the Benini family is involved.”
“Not necessarily. That’s a big property, and it abuts state game lands. It’s possible someone could have hiked in and put a device on the BMW.”
“But what about her purse? That would have to be an inside job.”
“A device in her purse is just a hypothetical. If one had been on your car, whoever was tracking you could have followed Francesca to the bathroom.”
“Especially if they already knew what she looked like,” Vaughn said. “Like a family member.”