Fatal Facade

by Wendy Tyson

  “Plus, the path comes dangerously close to the edge. It’s easy to believe someone not used to hiking could trip and fall.”

  Jason nodded. He squeezed her hand, then let go. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he stared at the picture he’d taken, then placed his mobile away distractedly. “Would this woman have gone into the woods at night, Allison?” he asked. “Alone?”

  “I don’t think so. She wasn’t much of an outdoor enthusiast.” And that had bothered Allison too. Why had Shirin been there? Had someone been with her? She voiced the question aloud.

  “The police should have seen some sign if there had been someone with her. Footprints, something.”

  “Even if the path was damp?”

  Jason considered this. “I would think so.”

  He grabbed her hand again, started walking faster.

  Allison thought about the trail. “There is another possibility.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The path is lined on the right with trees, but there is a border of ferns and grasses between the trees and the trail. It’s possible someone was with her—someone who lured her into the woods—and that someone stayed off the path.”

  “Hiding their presence.”

  Allison nodded.

  “That could work. There might be trampled ferns, but the police, already predisposed to think this an accident, could miss that—or blame it on weather or animals.”

  “When you really think about it, this all seems a little farfetched. A hidden rock climber, a nighttime walk along a path. Someone would have to be sure she was going to go by at that time. Or they would have had to lure her. And they would have to have time to get themselves in place.” Allison looked at Jason. “Would Douglas have had that time? I don’t know. He was still at the castle when I left.”

  “It’s a question for the police.”

  Allison smiled weakly. “Yes, I suppose it is. We should tell them.”

  They were nearing the spot where the trail forked toward the castle. Allison could hear commotion on the grounds. As the castle came into view, she saw a circle of people standing around one man—Sam Norton. The chopper was gone, but the half dozen police cars and an ambulance remained.

  Allison said softly, “Damien, Elle’s late husband.”

  “What about him?”

  “He died under similar circumstances. What if he was murdered and the killer used a similar tactic?”

  “Then we should check—”

  Only Jason didn’t have time to finish the thought before Karina emerged from the trees beside them, her face flushed and her brow damp. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she said.

  “We were out looking for Sam.”

  Karina said, “He’s been found.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Elle needs you,” Karina said to Allison. She turned away and it was then that Allison noticed the tattoo on the back of her neck. A gothic sun, so tiny that it was barely visible. Even a tattoo looked elegant on Karina’s long, slim neck.

  “Why isn’t she with her father?”

  “She’s upset. She asked for you.”

  Allison nodded, mulling over the reason for Elle’s absence. “I’ll go to her now.”

  Karina nodded. Her back to them, she straightened so that her shoulders squared above thin hips. She was wearing gray hiking pants and a black tank top. Her silky blonde hair was pulled into a bun. Flaxen strands had meandered out of the bun and stuck to the damp skin on her neck. She swatted at the strands like she would an insect.

  “Don’t upset her further,” Karina said over her shoulder.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “She’s in a fragile state of mind.”

  “Okay…because of Sam?”

  “Because of Sam’s condition.”

  They’d reached the clearing where Sam was now seated on a folding chair pulled from the ambulance. The attendant and Hilda were swabbing wounds on his face, hands, and arms. He had a black eye and at least one bruise was blooming along his jawline. He seemed disoriented—at best.

  Allison scanned the crowd for Grace. She was sitting on a blanket beside Mazy Coyne. Relieved, Allison watched Jason jog toward Grace while she found Elle.

  “What happened to Sam?” Allison asked Karina. They were headed toward the castle, where Elle remained. “And why is he outside, not at the hospital, or in his rooms?”

  “He refused to go with anyone. They had to tranquilize him. They’re waiting until he settles down. As for what happened to him?” Karina slowed enough to give Allison a pointed look. “No one knows.”

  Elle was lying flat on her back in her rooms, wearing only her underwear.

  Allison waited until Karina left the suite before saying, “You’re not even dressed.”

  Allison grabbed jeans and a t-shirt that had been haphazardly thrown across a chair. She tossed them on the bed. Elle continued to stare at the ceiling.

  “Please get dressed. It’s only a matter of time before the inspector wants to talk with you.”

  No movement. Allison was reminded of Maggie McBride—much younger, but no less petulant. She found her patience wearing. “Elle, you have thirty seconds before I walk out of this room.”

  “No one talks to me that way.”

  “Yeah, well maybe they should.” Allison picked up one sneaker and placed it next to Elle’s prone form. “You’re over forty and you act like a spoiled fifteen-year-old.”

  “You’re not supposed to repeat that.”

  “Whatever age you want to pretend you are, it’s well north of a child, and that’s how you should be acting. Like the independent, intelligent adult who I know is lurking under there somewhere.” Her voice softer, Allison said, “Look, Elle, I know today was frightening, but you didn’t call me here to coddle you or watch you mope. You asked for me because you know I’ll help you do what you need to do.”

  “Which is?” Voice a whisper.

  “Be the person you envision. You want to reinvent yourself? Now is the time. Take charge. Show the world—or at least your guests and staff—that you’re on top of this.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “What’s the saying? A sign of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results? Want to change? Start now.”

  Elle didn’t move. Allison noticed the skin on her face go from pasty eggshell white to pink to flame-thrower red. Elle was angry, and that was good. Some reaction—even rage—was better than passivity. Or despair.

  Eventually, Elle said, “I think Michael did it.” She sat up, swung her legs over the bed, and pulled on the yellow GAP t-shirt Allison had thrown to her. “I think he took my father outside and left him there.”

  “You know they found your father?”

  Elle smirked. “I may be a basket case, but I’m not completely daft. Of course I know they found him. I haven’t been resting here the whole time, you know.”

  “Why weren’t you searching? I’d have expected you to be the first one out there.”

  “I was helping in my own way.” She blinked, rubbed her eyes. “I hired the chopper. I was really scared that he’d fallen too. Like Shirin. Like Damien.”

  “I can understand why.” Allison pushed the jeans closer to Elle. Elle acquiesced, pulling them slowly over a blue lace thong. Allison wanted to share what Jason had found, but now wasn’t the time. She had to tell the police first. “Where did they find Sam?”

  “By the old church ruins. If you follow a path from the foundation, there is a little nature-made enclave about a tenth of a mile into the woods. It’s quite beautiful, actually. Moss grows on old-growth trees and ferns blanket the ground, providing a little private nook.” She closed her eyes again. “I used to go there with Damien. To talk.”

  “Not the same place where Lara
and Douglas go?”

  Elle smiled. “No. Much closer.”

  “Had your dad been there before?”

  Elle nodded. “I took him and Michael there when they first arrived on this trip. To show them, you know? How beautiful it is.” Her complexion, which had returned to neutral, was reddening again. “That bastard took him there and left him. I know it.”

  “Michael?” When Elle nodded, Allison said, “Elle, Michael’s not here, remember? He left last week.”

  Elle’s gaze strayed to her arm, rubbing the now-faint bruises along the tender skin. “That’s just what he wants you to think.”

  “Are you saying he’s here? On the premises?”

  “I’m not sure he ever left.” Elle sat straighter, as though resigning herself to some unpleasantness. “I thought he was heading back to California. That’s what he told me. But Daddy kept insisting that he was still here. At first I dismissed it as my father’s ever-increasing gibberish—he’s not exactly the most reliable source of information these days—but then I found something.”

  Elle hopped off her bed and made her way to a tall credenza in the corner. She removed a key from a small box on the top and opened the bottom drawer. From in the drawer’s depths, she pulled out a small, slender laptop.

  “I found it when I was going through Michael’s rooms, looking for…well, it doesn’t matter. He had it and a large wad of cash stuffed in an unused suitcase in the closet.” She shook her head. “More importantly, he would never leave without this.”

  Allison sat down on the nearest chair, her mind grasping the implications of her client’s words. “Maybe he has two laptops? That’s not unusual.”

  Elle shook her head. “No way. He always has this with him. I’m telling you, he’s here.” She slid the laptop back. “I need to return it before he figures out I know.” She looked at Allison. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was afraid you’d think I was nuts.”

  Elle’s eye were dilated, her breathing rapid. The topic upset her. She seemed to be telling the truth—at least what she thought was the truth.

  Allison asked, “Why would he do that, Elle? Pretend to be gone when he’s here.”

  “Because he hates me.”

  “Even if he hates you, that doesn’t explain why he’d skulk around the castle, pretending to be gone.”

  “It allows him to mess with my mind.”

  “That sounds pretty paranoid. Why would he want to do that?”

  Elle pulled at a thread on the hem of her jeans. Twirling the thread around her pointer finger, she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “So maybe he’s not really here.”

  “I know he is.”

  “I don’t think the presence of your brother’s—sorry, half-brother’s—laptop is concrete evidence that he’s here.”

  Elle said, “Remember that B movie I was in? The one where I played a spy’s friend?”

  Allison remembered. Vaughn found it and encouraged her to watch it before leaving for Italy. It was awful. While Elle’s acting had not been terrible, she’d run around spouting nonsensical lines and wearing next to nothing. “I know the one you’re talking about.”

  “Terrible, I know. But in the movie when my spy boyfriend was trying to figure out whether his partner was a double agent, he placed a hair in a file he was carrying. The file looked undisturbed, but the hair was gone.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I used that trick, only I placed a strand of red thread in the laptop. When I checked it later, the thread was gone.”

  Allison had to tip her hat to her—that was smart. “So someone opened the laptop. Let’s pretend for a moment that your brother—”

  “Half-brother.”

  “Half-brother is still here. I ask you again, to what end? And why would he lead Sam into the woods and leave him there?”

  Elle sat quietly for a moment, rocking rhythmically back and forth. She frowned, stood. “It must be the money.”

  “Your dad’s assets?”

  “Yes. If something happens to my father, Michael gets half. The foundation only survives if my father is alive and well enough to run it.”

  The foundation again. “So you think he pretended to leave so that he could lead your dad to the spot only a few people knew about?”

  Elle whipped around. She now had a silver paddle brush in her hand and she slapped it sharply across her palm. “Yes. Because my dad knew about the spot too. And if Michael was gone—or believed to be gone—no one could tie him to my dad’s disappearance.”

  “Think about that, Elle. If he really wanted to hurt your dad, he could have done something much worse than leading him into the woods. It’s not winter, and there are no wolves or grizzlies around here. Your dad could live for days. And the chance of him being found? Very high.”

  “What if he intended to do something worse—as in push him over a cliff?” Elle frowned. “Just like Shirin. Just like my husband.”

  Allison thought about this. She asked, “What if Michael’s intent wasn’t to kill him?”

  Elle looked at her sharply. “What other motive could he have?”

  “You said your father is showing signs of dementia. Forgetfulness. Confusion. Irritability.” Allison titled her head, lowered her voice. “I know those signs. My mother passed recently. She had Alzheimer’s.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. But my point is, what if Michael did lead your dad out into the woods. What if he’s trying to underscore your father’s incompetence? Affect everyone’s perception of your father.”

  It took a moment for understanding to dawn on Elle’s face. “So that he’s out of the picture when it comes to the foundation?”

  Allison shrugged.

  “Would that make sense?”

  “Maybe.” Elle sat on the bed. She pulled on one sneaker, then the next, her brow a mass of tiny crinkles. “But why? Michael’s already on the board.”

  “What does he do? Aside from the foundation?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So the foundation is everything to him?”

  “I guess. To be honest, I haven’t paid much attention to the business. And I don’t know him that well. Our connection is recent.”

  “And tumultuous?” Allison pointed to Elle’s wrists, the bruises now faint tracks against pale skin.

  “Sometimes.” Elle stood quickly. She grabbed a hippy-fringed leather purse from a chair near her desk. “We don’t always see eye to eye.”

  “On the foundation?”

  Elle smiled. “On my house. On my—err, our—father. On much of anything.” Her eyes narrowed. “He thinks I’m freeloading.”

  Allison pointed to Elle’s wrists. “He hurt you.”

  “Not really.” She stroked the spot again. “He has an issue with his temper.”

  A son with a mysterious past and rage issues. Two dead people, one missing man. Could it be this easy? “Was Michael involved in some way with Shirin?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “She had bruises similar to yours. On her arm. Remember?”

  “Probably from Douglas. I told you before—he likes things rough. Or maybe she had simply hurt herself.”

  “Maybe.” But Allison was unconvinced. “I think you should share your suspicions about Michael with the inspector. He can check flight schedules and passenger lists and confirm whether Michael actually left Italy.”

  “No way. First of all, Daddy has a private jet, so tracking Michael’s whereabouts will be harder. Secondly, he won’t believe me. Besides, I don’t want the police here anymore than necessary.”

  “It’s possible there is a killer at the castle, Elle. And if it’s Michael, and he wants control of the foundation, you could be a target.”

  “You think my own brother would hurt me?”

  “Half-broth
er. One you didn’t know you even had until recently.” Allison pointed to the laptop. “He gave you bruises, Elle. And if you think he’d risk his own father’s life, what would stop him from hurting you more seriously?”

  Elle considered this. After a moment, she nodded. “I’ll tell Inspector Balzan, but he’s going to think I’m crazy.” She threw her bag over her shoulder, opened the door that led into the rest of the castle, and motioned for Allison to follow. “The spoiled American. I’m sure he sees me that way too.”

  “You can change that, Elle.”

  “Change isn’t easy.”

  Allison closed the door behind her. “It’s easier than living a life of regrets.”

  TWENTY

  The inspector listened without comment. When Elle was finished explaining her theory in passable Italian, Balzan nodded. He said something Allison didn’t understand. She looked to Elle for translation.

  “He says he’ll come back tomorrow with the translator to hear this again. He doesn’t want anything lost because of my poor Italian.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “He also says to tell you that you must remain in Italy.”

  Allison had been expecting this. Nevertheless, she felt the all too familiar throbbing in her head. “For how long?”

  Elle spoke again in labored Italian. The inspector answered with one word, “Indefinitamente.”

  It didn’ take a translator to know what that meant.

  “You have to stay,” Jason said. “Because you were here when Shirin fell.”

  It was the next day, and Jason had spent an hour in the company of Inspector Balzan and his translator, Julia. Allison had spent the afternoon with Elle, working on her plan and skyping with various professionals back home—trying, sometimes unsuccessfully, to focus on work. When Jason was finished, he fetched her from Elle’s rooms, the stern expression on his face enough to tell Allison what had transpired.