Allison Campbell Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-4

by Wendy Tyson

  Hilda lowered the book, which Allison could see now had a German title. “It was just Diphenhydramine HCl.” When Allison looked at her blankly, she said, “Benadryl.”

  “Why would you give Elle Benadryl?”

  “Because it usually makes people slightly, ah, how do you say, groggy. Calmer. Without any addiction issues. But at times it can have the opposite effect. Perhaps it had the opposite effect on Elle.”

  “How much did you give her?”

  “Just one dose.”

  Allison considered this. She’d given Benadryl to Grace before to fight allergies. Grace had fallen asleep within a half hour. But the doctor had said it could make children hyper. Adults too? Allison didn’t think groggy was the calm Elle was looking for. But if Elle had a history of addiction, and Hilda knew that, perhaps the choice made sense.

  A sharp sound behind Hilda startled the frail woman and she jumped.

  “Karina!” Sam called. “Karina?”

  “Karina’s not here,” Hilda said. She turned to Allison. “I must go.”

  “He’s awake then?”

  “So it would seem.”

  Hilda stepped back and started to close the door. Something fell from her arms.

  Allison watched it hit the carpet. She bent down and picked it up. As she said, “Your book,” Allison saw a figure flash behind Hilda. Long blonde braids, a white t-shirt. White pants. Karina.

  Before Allison could say another word, Hilda closed the door. Allison was left standing alone in the hallway, wondering what Karina was doing in Sam’s bedroom. And why Hilda lied about being alone with Sam.

  Allison texted Jason and let him know she’d be a few more minutes. She didn’t want him worrying or coming upstairs to look for her. Not now.

  She made her way back through the south wing, toward the upper entrance hall, and crossed over into the north wing. The two wings were mirrors of each other, although the north wing was used less frequently—and it showed. Cobwebs hid in dusty corners. Bulbs in the crystal chandeliers were burned out or missing. The wing had a musty, damp smell, from water damage or disuse, Allison wasn’t sure. But this was where Michael stayed, and it was where Vaughn would be. If anyone asked, Vaughn was her handy excuse. She wanted to see his rooms ahead of time.

  The first set of doors was unlocked. She opened them and entered a series of small rooms: a living room area, a bathroom with a claw foot tub and a modern shower, toilet and bidet, and a spacious bedroom. The bed sat unmade, but the rooms looked as though they’d been recently cleaned. The scent of disinfectant was strong. The floors—stone underneath a Persian rug—seemed dust-free, as did the Italianate furniture. Vaughn’s rooms—or so Allison assumed.

  She backed out of the apartment and closed the door softly. Another set of doors was visible down the hall. Again, her heels clicked on marble, and this time the sound echoed loudly, feeding her nerves and causing her pulse to race. She unstrapped her sandals and slipped them off, her aching feet a ready excuse should anyone ask. She skulked down the hall, too aware of the sound of her own breathing.

  She twisted the knob of the first set of doors. They were locked.

  She walked to the next door. Around her, the air was still and stale. She felt trapped in time, closed off from the merry-makers downstairs. She twisted the knob—also locked. She placed her ear against the ornate wood but heard no sounds coming from the other side. She pressed harder. The door gave way. It had been locked, but the latch never caught.

  The sudden motion made her fall forward, into the dark.

  It took Allison a moment to right herself. Breath coming hard now, she waited while her eyes adjusted to the dim light flowing in from the hall. She felt along the wall for a switch. Bingo. Light flooded the room.

  Allison’s hand flew to her mouth. She bit down, stifling a moan.

  The room was torn apart. Couch cushions had been sliced open, and their stuffing littered the carpeted floor. The writing desk sat askew, its drawers torn out and thrown on the floor. Beyond the living area, the bedroom was a mess. Clothes lay strewn all over the furniture, books and papers had been scattered across the bed, a tangle of rope and climbing gear sat on a dresser top.

  Someone had been in here, searching through Michael’s belongings.

  Someone who could still be in here now.

  Allison glanced around, tingles running haywire down her spine and across her shoulders. She crept backwards toward the main entrance, her senses on high alert. At the threshold, she froze. A door closed in the distance, then a sound like clicking reverberated on the marble hallway floor.

  She remained there, quiet, until the sound had passed.

  Who had been in the rooms next door?

  And who might be watching her now?

  TWENTY-THREE

  Balzan arrived an hour later without a translator. He and his people cordoned off the north wing and stayed at the castle until well after midnight. They found nothing—only evidence that someone had ransacked Michael’s rooms. They questioned each of the guests—at least those who spoke some German or Italian. Which meant they questioned everyone except Allison.

  Without the translator, Allison felt uncomfortable sharing her own concerns. Karina offered to translate, but given what Allison experienced in Sam’s rooms, she was not about to trust her worries to Karina. Suddenly, no one at the castle seemed reliable, including her host. Could Elle have done it while high on the drug Hilda had given her? Anything seemed possible.

  Jason held Allison’s hand on the way back to the cottage. “This just cements it,” he whispered. “You need to get out.”

  Allison nodded. Tomorrow she’d speak with Balzan. Friday Vaughn was coming in, and by Sunday Mia and Grace would leave.

  Allison knew Jason was thinking of his own job, of the wedding they’d planned to have in three weeks’ time. She knew he didn’t want to leave his family there alone. She sought words to comfort him, but all she could come up with was a reminder that she’d looked after herself in much worse situations.

  “Not abroad,” he said. “And not with a child.”

  “Michael’s room being torn apart doesn’t make things worse,” Allison reasoned. “To the contrary. It means this is not random. This relates to Elle’s family—or the foundation.”

  Jason stopped walking. He looked at her under the milky light of a full moon and a billion brilliant stars. “Amazing,” he murmured. He glanced at Allison. “And how is that better?”

  Grace and Mia were up ahead, also marveling at the clarity of the night sky. Death and disorder were surely far from Grace’s thoughts, and for that Allison was grateful. She turned to Jason, her heart swelling with love—despite the night’s events. She felt lucky to have him. To have Grace and Mia and Vaughn in her life. Jason was right. Personal or not, she’d see to it that they left, and she’d stick with her plan to be right behind them.

  “Thank you for being here,” Allison said. “I love you.” The words made her ache. He was her rock. Childless or not, she wanted Jason. She wanted to marry him and be a family. A makeshift family was just fine.

  “I love you too, Al,” he said. He leaned in and hugged her. “But I think we should postpone the wedding.”

  Allison nodded. He was right, of course. Even if this mess was to get cleared up sooner rather than later, she had made no headway with her plans. There’d been no time. And Shirin’s death and the oddball antics of the castle’s inhabitants would leave an indelible mark on what was to be a happy day. No, the wedding should be postponed. It didn’t distill their love for one another. It didn’t change Allison’s sense of commitment.

  Still, she was happy for the darkness that hid her tears.

  Just as Julia had described, the police station was on the outskirts of the main town road, up from the young fruit seller who seemed to spend his days hawking produce from a truck parked by the
side of the road. Allison and Jason followed the music—an outdoor concert was taking place in the town square, by the river—and passed the stores and inns that made up the bulk of the village. Inspector Balzan was late for their meeting, however, and the couple sat outside on a stone bench watching the festivities from their perch. Allison felt removed from it all, as though watching the colorful parade while in a trance.

  Jason squeezed her hand and nodded toward the doorway. Balzan was standing there, waiting. He motioned them inside.

  Today there was a breach in the inspector’s normal cool confidence. His handsome features looked bruised and shadowed, his sculpted hair slightly tousled. He led them through a small waiting area and into a tiny office. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke and onions, but the desk—like a matching set of shelves and a bookcase—was orderly. Allison’s eyes were drawn to a photo of a striking brunette holding an infant. Balzan’s family, she assumed. Although the inspector wore no wedding ring.

  Balzan proffered two rickety chairs. They all sat, and silence permeated the room until Julia joined them. The translator was dressed entirely in red today.

  “For the festival,” she said by way of explanation. Her gaze lingered on Jason. She smiled and leaned against a credenza, her ample bottom swathed in crimson satin. “Shall we get started?”

  Allison explained her concerns as concisely as she could. She started with her own version of what had transpired the night before: her visit to Sam’s rooms, the Benadryl, and her walk to the north wing.

  “And what brought you there?” Balzan asked through Julia. “To the northern wing of the castle?”

  “Curiosity.” Allison told the inspector about Vaughn’s impending arrival. “But also to see if Elle was being completely truthful.”

  The inspector looked surprised. “About?”

  “About the laptop.”

  “And what laptop is that?”

  “The one Elle Rose told you about. Her half-brother, Michael, left it behind.” Allison was certain confusion showed on her face. Elle had said again she would tell the inspector about her concerns. Surely she’d shared them last night when questioned by the polizia.

  But the inspector seemed equally as confused. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Campbell. No one mentioned a laptop.”

  “Did you find one in Michael’s rooms?” Jason asked.

  The inspector hesitated. Finally he said, “No. There was no laptop in the rooms when we searched.”

  Allison and Jason glanced at one another. When Allison looked back at the inspector, he was combing through notes, presumably notes his officers had taken the night before.

  “No,” he said again in English. “No laptop.”

  The room’s occupants stayed silent. The sounds of trombones and trumpets could be heard through the station walls, and the thunderous percussion instruments seemed to beat in time with Allison’s heart. No laptop. That meant either the person who ransacked the rooms found what they had been looking for. Or Elle stole the laptop—which would explain why she never mentioned it to the police.

  “Elle believes Michael is still on the premises,” Allison said. “Hiding.”

  The inspector’s eyebrows shot up. “For what purpose?”

  “To mess with their minds, make people believe Sam is crazy. She thinks perhaps he wants his inheritance—before the Pay It Forward Foundation gives it all away.”

  “Wouldn’t there be easier ways to get that done than pretending to leave and staying behind? That sounds like a crazy notion.”

  Allison explained her client’s discovery of the laptop and the reasons she believed her half-brother was lurking in the shadows.

  The inspector looked unconvinced. He said something in Italian that took Julia a moment to translate.

  “Inspector Balzan says perhaps the American is mentally unstable. Or ingesting drugs.”

  Allison stared at the inspector, Elle’s words ringing in her head. “Perhaps. But she also said she felt someone watching her. What if…what if Michael is there? And Elle is in danger.” When neither Julia nor Balzan spoke, Allison took it a step further. “Inspector, have you given more thought to the death of Elle’s husband, Damien? Could the recent events at the castle and Damien’s death be linked?”

  This time, Balzan looked at Allison as though she was mentally unstable. “Mr. Duarte’s death was ruled accidental. He fell. We reexamined the site where he’d fallen and found nothing new.”

  “I know, but—”

  The inspector merely shook his head, unwilling to venture down that path.

  “Inspector,” Jason said. “Do you think the guests at the castle could be in danger?”

  Julia translated Jason’s question, her heavily-mascaraed eyes glued to Jason.

  But the inspector looked at neither Julia nor Jason when he replied in German. Instead, he set his burdensome stare firmly on Allison. “I don’t know what to think or whom to believe,” he said through his translator. “I have a castle full of poseurs and ex pats, not a citizen amongst them. Danger? Perhaps. But who is in danger and who is a threat—that is the billion-dollar question.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Friday brought with it gray skies and rain showers that echoed the heaviness Allison felt when she awoke. Vaughn was arriving later that morning, and Jason was leaving for Innsbruck the next day. Today, however, Allison needed to confront her client—and break the news that this engagement would have to end. Safety was an issue now, and with Grace in the mix, she couldn’t risk it. Allison dreaded that conversation.

  Elle had never appeared on Thursday, holed up with her father in the castle’s south wing—at least according to Hilda. Hilda, whose absence had been felt by Grace, showed up Thursday afternoon and offered to take Grace to the pool. With suspicion fueled by recent interactions, Allison refused to let her niece go alone. Instead, Jason and Mia accompanied the pair, and the foursome spent most of Thursday in a lazy haze by the spa.

  Today, though, would not be a pool day. The forecast, unreliable at best, predicted a clearer sky by evening, but the remainder of the day would be overcast and stormy. Jason offered to take Grace and Mia into the village for the continuing festival, with a ride to a nearby town to look for a hotel. And so Allison’s family left a little after eleven, just hours before Vaughn was expected to arrive.

  Allison dressed in black linen pants, a matching tunic and a print black, white, and pink scarf. She slipped low-heeled sandals on and, with one last fortifying glance in the mirror, left the cottage. She made her way up the path, toward the castle. She’d decided that no matter what, she would see Elle this morning. Even if that meant she had to wake her—or pull her away from something else.

  Allison entered the castle by the kitchen, a servants’ entrance she’d never used, and called out to the staff. She continued through the rear quarters and toward the front portion of the castle, near the ballroom. It was there that Karina stopped her. Karina wore her dirndl today, and her hair had been twisted and tamed into a crown of braids. She wore white clogs on her feet, rubber clogs that allowed her to walk quietly through the marble halls without making much sound, and so she surprised Allison with a gentle tap on the shoulder.

  “You’re looking for Elle?”

  It took Allison a moment to regain her composure. The castle halls felt empty, the rooms darkened by the bleak skies outside. Their voices echoed in the tall chamber, but there was no one to hear their conversation.

  “Yes. I need to speak with her. It’s rather important.”

  “I’m afraid she’s indisposed.”

  “Indisposed?”

  “Sleeping one off, if you must know.”

  “Then please wake her.”

  Karina smiled. “I do not think that is a wise idea.”

  Allison was not accepting no for an answer. Not today. She started toward the front hall, where the wide s
taircase would lead her to the second floor and the south wing.

  Karina again touched her. This time, she laid a hand on Allison’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “If this is about your colleague, Christopher Vaughn, his rooms are ready in the north wing. I can take you to see them if you would like.”

  “I’d like to see Elle.”

  “Did you try calling her?”

  “Yes. And texting her. And emailing her.” Allison spun around. She removed Karina’s hand from her shoulder. “So please take me to her—or I can go myself.”

  Karina studied Allison for several seconds. She seemed to be weighing her next move when all of a sudden a voice broke through the tension.

  “Allison. I’m so happy you came to see me.”

  Allison and Karina turned in the same moment. Elle had just entered the hall, her feet padded in a pair of white slippers. She wore cotton pajama bottoms and a turquoise bra. Lipstick was smeared across her mouth, and her hair, often a disheveled mess, hung around her head in ropes of knots.

  Allison reached Elle first. She took her client by the hand and led her toward the kitchen entrance, back the way she had come.

  “Where are you going with her?” Karina called after them.

  “To my cottage. It looks like Elle needs some fresh air.”

  “You can’t take her out like that.”

  “What, will the paparazzi see me?” Elle joked. She clasped Allison’s arms with dagger like strength. “Get me out of here, please,” she whispered to Allison.

  “Allison! Let me get Hilda,” Karina yelled after them.

  Allison ignored her. Instead she led her client through the castle and out into the rain. The water pouring from the sky ran down Elle’s face in chunky rivulets. Old black mascara mixed with rain, painting stripes down Elle’s chalky face. Between her black-rimmed eyes and red slash of a mouth, Elle looked like a sad, twisted clown. The kind of clown that hides in shadows, and when it jumps out, its victims are unsure if it was there to entertain—or terrorize.