Fatal Facade

by Wendy Tyson

  Allison figured he meant witch—or something that rhymed with it—but she reluctantly agreed. The weather was still overcast, and a heavy mist had fallen over the forest, so she decided to forego a walk and head for the spa while Vaughn stayed behind with Grace.

  “It’s customary to be naked in here,” Mia said. She had one eye closed and the other was looking at Allison. “How very American of you to be wearing a towel.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  Mia smiled. She closed both eyes and put her head back. The sauna was heated by a wood stove that sat along the side, and the air, hot and dry, acted as a salve to Allison’s sore muscles—and mind. She joined Mia and sat on the hard wooden bench, pulling her towel tighter around her chest.

  “I saw you chatting with Karina.”

  “Nice woman.” Mia smiled. “Smart.”

  “That’s what Elle said.”

  “I think she’s taken a shine to Vaughn.”

  “‘A shine’?” Allison laughed. “Are you ninety?”

  “I will be soon enough.”

  They sat in companionable silence. Allison was happy to hear Mia so upbeat about Vaughn. Her breakup with Vaughn the year before had been about age. She was twenty years older and hated the idea of him caring for her when she got older. She felt Vaughn needed someone his own age—an opinion Vaughn didn’t share.

  “Yes, Karina seems quite educated.”

  “Did she tell you her background?”

  “Not really.” Mia lifted her head. “In fact, she was reserved about it. Said something about her father being a tradesman back in Austria, where she’s from.”

  Mia stood and stretched. The spa door opened and footsteps clicked across the tile floor. Mia and Allison looked at each other, startled.

  Before Allison could say a word, the heavy wooden sauna door slammed open. Mazy Coyne stood before them. Her clothes were tattered and mud-streaked, her hair a wild mane around her head. Blood ran down the side of her cheek and crusted under her chin. She stared at them, lips quivering, her eyes the size of watermelons.

  Allison sprang to her feet. “Mazy? Mazy, what’s wrong?”

  “Did you fall?” Mia said. “Are you hurt?”

  Only Mazy didn’t move. She stood there, trembling.

  “I think she’s in shock.”

  It was then that Allison noticed Mazy held a backpack out in front of her with an iron grip.

  Allison tried to take the bag from the other woman. Mazy shook her head back and forth. A line of bloody drool ran down her chin. Her arm was straight, board-like. Allison tugged at the bag and Mazy wouldn’t let go.

  Mia ran out of the room and grabbed a white towel. She wrapped it around Mazy’s shoulders. “Come on, Mazy. What happened?” With her eyes she motioned for Allison to take the bag.

  This time Mazy released her backpack.

  The bag was heavy. Allison started to open it but leaves and twigs were stuck in the zipper.

  Mazy kept swinging her head back and forth. Her lips formed the word “no.”

  “Something’s stuck.” Allison tugged harder on the metal zipper. “I think I got it.”

  Like that, the zipper gave way. The front flap disengaged and something plopped out of the bag onto the tile floor.

  It took Allison’s brain a moment to register what the object was. She looked at Mazy, horrified. Mazy fainted. Mia, her hands clutching her towel, let out a howling scream.

  “It’s a severed hand,” Mia whispered. “A man’s, I think.”

  They both stared at the object on the floor. The skin was a ghoulish gray with deep plumb and black streaks running through what was left of the flesh. The fingers had been gnawed on by some woodland creature, as had the flesh along the forearm. The result looked like a bad Halloween costume. Allison felt bile crawling up her throat.

  It was fifteen minutes before Mazy could form words. By that time, Allison had called the local police, and Balzan and his officers were on their way. Elle knew—she was the person Allison called after the police and Vaughn, but they didn’t want to alert anyone else at the castle. They didn’t know whose hand it was, or whether it was simply a hand—or if there was a body out there too. From the look of the hand, it had not been severed that day.

  Mia cradled a still-distraught Mazy while Allison made her tea. The story that unfolded from Mazy was uneventful. Until the finale.

  “I went for a walk by the old church ruins,” Mazy said. “I was working on the plot for a new book, and I was stuck.” She hiccupped. “I thought maybe some fresh air and a change of scenery would help. I heard something in the woods. I thought it was a deer or a fox, and I went off the trail. It felt good to get out. I kept walking, into the denser part of the forest. It was getting late, I should have known better.” She shut her eyes, her hands shaking. “Whatever it was had been digging and clawing at the ground. It ran as I approached. I saw a patch of what looked like freshly turned earth and something sticking up.”

  “It’s okay,” Mia said. “You don’t have to say anymore.”

  But Mazy was shaking her head vehemently from side to side, as though to speak was to purge the images in her head. She continued. “It was hazy and dark in the woods. I couldn’t make out what it was, and I never thought…Anyway, I bent to pick it up, and—well, you see the result.” Her eyes flew open. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. “The animals uncovered the body part. I think there may be more there.”

  Mia said, “What makes you think that?”

  “Like I said, the earth looked freshly turned.” She stared at Allison with horror. “Someone had dug a grave.”

  THIRTY

  It was well after four on Sunday afternoon before Mia and Grace were allowed to leave the property and head to their room in the village. Mazy had been able to lead the inspector to the site in the woods where they found another hand and a severed head—Michael’s severed head. The remains of the rest of his body were unknown. Time of death had yet to be established, but an early estimate cleared Mia. She had not been in Italy when Michael was killed.

  Allison, on the other hand, did not fare so well. She was ordered again to remain.

  After hours of searching and questioning the castle guests, Balzan left two men at the castle, ostensibly for the safety of the inhabitants, but also to ensure that no one left. Vaughn, also cleared, volunteered to stay with Allison. She was grateful for his company.

  For her part, Elle seemed surprisingly calm.

  “I have the records you asked for,” she told Allison in the privacy of Allison’s cottage. “The applicants for the foundation who were denied grants. They’re in my rooms.”

  “Did you look through them?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been kind of busy.”

  Of course. “I’m sorry about your brother,” Allison said. “Did your father take it hard?”

  “We haven’t told him yet.” Elle walked over to the small kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator. She pulled out a carafe of white wine. “Mind?”

  “It’s yours.”

  “I wish you’d stop saying that. It makes me feel like you don’t want to be here.”

  Allison didn’t respond. She didn’t want to be there, but she wasn’t about to say that to Elle. Instead she pulled a glass out of the cabinet and handed it to Elle.

  Elle poured a glass, then asked Vaughn and Allison if they’d like some. When they both declined, she sat on the couch, pulling her long legs under her.

  “Today’s not been a great day. When I went to see my dad, he seemed very disoriented and agitated. Hilda was there. She was medicating him. Which reminds me.” Elle took her phone out of her pocket. She fooled with it for a moment, and then handed the device to Allison. “The medicines he’s on.”

  Allison glanced at the prescriptions. The labels were in Italian, but she thought she recogn
ized a few of the brand names.

  “Do you see something concerning?”

  “Not off the top, but I’m not a doctor. Why don’t you send them to me and we can research them.”

  Elle nodded. She took a gulp of wine, then another. Her shaking hands betrayed the composed demeanor she seemed intent on displaying. “Hilda seemed out of sorts too. I heard her talking to my dad through the door. When I walked in, she clammed up. Seemed upset.”

  “Someone died,” Vaughn said. “Maybe she’s scared.”

  “I guess.”

  Allison said, “But it was more than that?”

  Elle traced the circle at the base of her wine glass. “No, probably not.” She shrugged. “We’re all feeling paranoid. Honestly? You’re the only two I trust right now. You and my father, of course.”

  “I can understand why you feel that way.” Allison reached a hand out to her client. Elle looked downright conservative today in a pair of black dress pants and a silk teal wrap blouse. Her hair had been pulled into a becoming up do. She tugged at the hem of her blouse, fingers nervously worrying the silk material.

  Elle caught Allison looking at her hair. “Karina. She came to check on me today. Did my hair.”

  “It looks nice.”

  “When can we see the reports?” Vaughn asked. He’d been reviewing some information about the foundation on his computer, and his focus was clearly on business—not hair.

  “Whenever you want.” Elle glanced at Allison. “I’ve almost finished my personal plan. It’s a good distraction right now. Do you and Vaughn want to come up to the castle for dinner? We can find a quiet spot and look through the reports. There are pages and pages of names.”

  Vaughn said, “That would be good, but I don’t want to wait. How about if we meet you in an hour? Jamie has some stuff to send me. I’ll go through that first.”

  “Sounds good.” Elle stood to go. “I guess I need to tell my dad about Michael.”

  Allison asked, “Are you sure Hilda didn’t tell him already? Maybe that’s why he was so agitated.”

  “She says she didn’t say a word.”

  Vaughn’s forehead creased. “Did the police question Hilda?”

  “Yes. And Karina and even Dominic.”

  “Will they be searching the entire castle?” Vaughn said.

  “Yes. It’s not a big force. They’re still searching the woods for Michael’s body. When they’re finished, they will turn to the castle.” A flash of lightning lit up the sky. In an instant, rain began pelting the roof and tapping against the windows. “Although I suppose the rain means they’re finished for now.” She hugged herself. “I’m so tired of the rain. I’m glad Balzan is keeping men here.”

  Allison was sure this type of crime was rare for the area. The fact that the murders had not been blared all over the news was shocking. She said as much.

  “Not as shocking as you might think,” Elle said. “When guests stay, Daddy makes them sign a confidentiality agreement like the one you signed. What happens at the castle, stays at the castle, if you know what I mean.”

  Vaughn nodded. “Plus, let’s face it, everyone here is a suspect. Why would they want to mar their own reputations with that by leaking to the press? And we’re pretty remote. Areas used to tourism dollars won’t be all that anxious to highlight things like murder.”

  “I’m sure Mazy will incorporate it into one of her books,” Elle said. “When she can function again.”

  “How is she?” Allison asked.

  “Resting under Hilda’s care.”

  “Hilda’s a busy woman.”

  Elle gave a half-hearted “I guess.”

  When she left, Vaughn said, “Think we should pay more attention to Hilda?”

  “I do, and I’ll tell you why. Balzan’s officers found the head and hands. I’m no expert, but I’m guessing whoever did this buried these parts separately because they could be used to identify Michael.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “It’s not easy to sever a neck or a wrist. It takes a solid understanding of human anatomy—or some very sharp tools and physical strength.”

  Vaughn said, “And who would know better than a medical practitioner.”

  “Right.” Allison thought about the hand she’d seen, the lengths someone had gone to in order to hide Michael’s body. “Mazy said the grave was shallow. A deep grave would have been safer. Maybe the person lacked the strength.”

  “Although whoever did it would have had the strength to saw through a body part.”

  “True, but the trees in these woods are dense, so digging through rocks and roots could be nearly impossible unless you knew exactly where to dig—and were used to that kind of physical labor. Dominic would know where to dig, perhaps. But anyone else? Maybe not. Or maybe they didn’t think hiding the body was that important in such deep woods.” Allison closed her eyes. “I keep going back to the severed hand. The precision it would take to saw that off so cleanly.”

  “Hilda, huh?” Vaughn snapped his laptop shut. “I’ll meet you in my rooms at the castle in forty-five?”

  “Sure. What did Jamie send you?”

  “I forwarded him some photos I took last night. Of Hilda and Karina. I wanted him to run them through his new facial recognition software. See if he gets any hits. He also got his hands on the foundation’s records. I want to see if anything jumps out.”

  “We have a second foundation board member who is dead.”

  “We do, indeed.” Vaughn frowned. “And Shirin.”

  “I keep going back to our earlier hypothesis. What if whoever killed Shirin was aiming for someone else?”

  “You mean you don’t think it was Douglas?”

  Allison stood, stretched her arms over her head. Did she think someone other than Douglas was involved? “Yes. Now that Michael is gone, I’m thinking this has to do with money, not lust or jealousy. Whoever is killing people at the castle is doing so for an age-old reason: greed.”

  “Or another age-old reason: revenge.”

  Neither Vaughn nor Allison had heard the back door open. They looked up to see Jeremy Kahn standing in the doorway. His eyes looked haggard. Pain radiated off him like heat from a fire.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Do you mind if I come in?”

  When Allison didn’t answer, the director stepped inside. “Elle said I could find you here, Allison. I was hoping we could talk.” He glanced at Vaughn. “Alone.”

  “Vaughn is my business manager and friend. Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of him.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Jeremy said, “Very well.” He sat on a stool by the counter, pulled a silver flask from his cargo pants, and took a swig. He was a thin man, with grizzled features and elegant hands. He gestured with those hands when he spoke. “I think we’re all in danger.”

  “All of us?”

  “Everyone involved with the foundation.”

  “Because of Michael and Damien’s deaths?” Vaughn asked.

  “Yes. Clearly someone is angry with us. Someone wants revenge.”

  “I’m not sure it’s so clear,” Allison said. “What about Shirin?”

  “Either she was a mistake, or her connection to Damien and Douglas was enough to make her a target.”

  Allison said, “What if this is a family issue? To play devil’s advocate, Jeremy, Damien was Elle’s husband, Shirin was his cousin, and Michael was Elle’s half-brother.”

  “Coincidence. Sort of.” Jeremy rubbed his hands on his thighs before grabbing the flask and taking another long drink. “I have reason to believe this is about us, the foundation, not Elle or her family. Well, not exactly.”

  “And what reason is that?” Vaughn’s voice sounded stern. Allison was sure he was wondering if Jeremy was trying to shift any suspicion away from himself. Elle w
as right: they were all feeling paranoid.

  If Jeremy noticed Vaughn’s tone, he chose to ignore it. “About three years ago, we received a note. It came in the mail to the LA office. It had been typed in English, and it said horrible things about the foundation. That we played with people’s lives, represented the worst of the wealthy, and that we were self-serving and narcissistic.”

  “Those are big insults considering what you guys do.” Vaughn tapped a finger against the top of his laptop. “You figured it was someone who was refused a grant?”

  “We assumed so at the time. The letter wasn’t signed. It had no return address. All we knew is that it had been mailed from Italy.”

  Vaughn and Allison looked at one another.

  “Here?” Allison asked. “From Bidero?”

  “Near here.”

  “Okay,” Vaughn said. “And then what?”

  “And then nothing. We let it go, figuring it was some disgruntled applicant, as you said. Until six months ago.”

  “What happened six months ago?” Allison tensed.

  “Another letter. This time it went right to Sam. Same claims.”

  “Six months ago,” Vaughn said. “Around the time Damien died.”

  Outside, thunder boomed. Lightning flashed nearby, following quickly. Allison remembered her mother’s trick—count the seconds between lightning and thunder to know how far away the storm was. She counted three. As though to back up her mother, the lights in the cottage flickered off, then came back on again.

  Jeremy glanced up, watching the flickering chandelier. “We should get flashlights together. They’re calling for some big storms the next few days.”

  “Perfect,” Allison mumbled.

  “The letter?” Vaughn said.

  Jeremy sighed. “We—I—assumed Damien’s death was an accident, as the police report indicated. I had no idea about the second letter. Didn’t know until today.”

  “What did it say?” Allison asked quietly. She was afraid she knew.