by Wendy Tyson
Limp with relief, she was about to close the door when a flash of white caught her eye. She bent to find an envelope taped to the bottom of her door.
Carefully, she pulled the masking tape away from her door’s surface. Stomach now a raging river of anxiety, Mia thought of the mafia. She thought of her ex-husband. She thought of all the terrible things a middle-of-the-night visitor and a white envelope could mean.
She opened it. Her breath caught, her temples pounded.
This, she had not thought of. Her son’s ex-wife-turned-lover, Mia’s mentee, in an intimate embrace. With a man who was clearly not Jason.
FIFTEEN
Allison awoke Tuesday morning to the feelings of sun on her face and weight on her chest. After an initial moment of panic, she remembered that this was Simon, the mysterious Eleanor’s cat, and that he was staying with her temporarily. But he had been locked in the laundry room overnight. Why was he here now? And why was he staring at her so intently?
Then she saw the culprit. On the other side of the bed lay Brutus. He was staring hungrily at the cat. She wasn’t sure whether his expression said “Yum! A tasty new treat!” or “Play with me!” Either way, the cat was having none of it.
“Don’t escape and then run to me for safety,” she said to Simon. That was all it took. Next thing she knew, Brutus was upon her, his great, wet tongue washing the sleep from her face. The displaced cat groomed himself from his new perch on Jason’s pillow.
Jason. Where was he?
Allison rolled Brutus off her with a gentle nudge and a “good boy” and grabbed her nightgown from the floor. Last night, Jason had seemed insatiable. Allison had chalked it up to her own distant behavior. But it occurred to her that maybe it was more than that. Maybe something was going on with him, and she’d been too busy playing detective to realize it. She made a mental note to stop by his workplace at lunch. Talk to him. Draw him out.
The doorbell rang six times in quick succession.
“For Lord’s sake,” she mumbled. She slipped on jeans and a t-shirt and ran down the steps, Brutus behind her. Through the sidelights, she saw Mia. Her former mother-in-law looked terrible: no make-up, hair askew, and dressed in dirty sweats. What had happened?
Quickly, Allison unlocked the door. Mia charged inside waving a white envelope.
“I told him to trust you,” Mia said, her voice so tightly controlled it was barely audible. “I told him to give you space. Last year, when you were in the middle of that Benini mess, I counseled him to let you do what you needed to do. I didn’t think what you needed to do was another man.”
“I can explain—”
“How could you, Allison? How could you do this to Jason?”
Mia waved the contents of the envelope in front of Allison’s face. It was a 4x6 shot of Allison and Scott. He was behind her; both their faces were visible. Nothing was left to the imagination. Allison wanted to crawl beneath the table and stay there—permanently.
“It’s not want you think.”
“Really?” Mia’s voice was raised now. “Really, Allison? I think I know sex when I see it. I’m kind of like the Supreme Court in that way.”
Allison tried to take Mia’s arm, but Mia shook her off. So Allison walked out of the foyer and into the kitchen. She put water on for tea and waited until Mia calmed down and joined her. She would, eventually. Allison fed Brutus, who looked confused by the yelling, and the cat, who looked nonplussed. Then she splashed cold water on her face in the kitchen sink and took two Excedrin from the cabinet. She’d inherited migraines from her mother. One was threatening now.
When the water was just at a boil, Allison poured two cups of chamomile tea, Mia’s drink of choice.
“Tea’s ready,” she called.
It was another minute before Mia joined her. She still looked angry, but she had pulled herself together enough to sit down.
“Where did you get that picture, Mia?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. You know me better than this. I am not cheating on your son.”
“Not now…or not ever?”
Allison stared at Mia, her brain searching for a way to explain. Her excuses sounded lame, even to herself. Mia was thinking the worst, and she couldn’t leave like this or the relationship they’d both worked so hard to rebuild would be destroyed.
“Wait here,” Allison said. “Please.”
When she returned, she found Mia standing by the kitchen window, looking outside. The anger had been replaced by a washed-out calm. For the first time since her daughter Bridget was killed, Mia looked even older than her years. Allison knew Jason meant everything to Mia. While she should resent the way Mia came barging in here, accusations flying, she envied her passion. Mia’s love for her son was boundless. Was it that kind of commitment, the gut-wrenching, take-a-bullet-for-you unconditional love that good parenting requires, that Allison was so afraid of?
Mia said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stormed in that way.”
“Understandable, all things considered.” Allison spread her own photos, along with the envelopes, on the table. She chose not to share the email; despite her nudity in the pictures, the words felt too personal.
“Because I don’t think you’ve found a new career in porn, I’m assuming you’re being blackmailed?”
“Not exactly.”
Allison told Mia the gory details of the last weeks, beginning with the call from Leah. She left out little; it was too late for that. It was a relief to share this with someone.
“So you dated him after your divorce?”
“No,” Allison said. This was the part she’d dreaded and she knew Mia would ask. “After we separated, but before the divorce.”
“Does Jason know?”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t tell him.” Mia looked at her sternly. “It’s in the past. Your relationship with this man meant nothing, right?” When Allison nodded, Mia said, “Then it means nothing to you and Jason now.”
“Jason has a right to know.”
Mia looked uncomfortable. She sat, stirred her tea, and then pushed the cup away.
“Wait a few days, okay? Take some time to think this through.” She looked up, brow furrowed. “Do you know who could be sending these pictures, Allison?”
Allison shook her head.
“The timing makes me think it’s related to Scott’s murder. First my name in his calendar, then his death and now the pictures. Clearly, something’s going on. I have no idea what or why I seem to be part of it.”
“This woman…the one who disappeared, maybe she knows something?”
“Maybe,” Allison said. “I don’t know.”
“You need to be careful.”
But it wasn’t safety on Allison’s mind. “Mia, you and I—” Allison hated the need in her voice, but Mia had been a mother to her, more so than her own mom. “We—”
“I’m worried about you, but we are fine. I have to remember I can’t control everything. The young me wanted things a certain way. The older I get, the more I realize just what an illusion control is. What is the old Hebrew saying? Man plans and God laughs.”
True, Allison thought. She hugged Mia and watched her get ready to leave, Eleanor’s cat snaking his way through her legs.
Vaughn stared at the photo. It was Allison, all right. Naked as the day she was born and in the embrace of a man very much not her Jason. Vaughn put the photo down and rubbed his eyes. It was like seeing his sister naked, if he’d had a sister. He felt rage bubbling up, fueled by the tension of the last few weeks. Whoever had sent this to him meant business. The envelope was clean. It’d been delivered with yesterday’s mail.
He remembered the envelope that arrived at First Impressions the week before. Maybe this explained why Allison had seemed so reserved since Delvar’s reception. He’d h
ave to show this to Allison. She wouldn’t like it, but if she was in some sort of trouble, he could help. And if she was having an affair, and the very thought seemed too crazy to be true, she should know she’s being watched.
Vaughn closed the door behind him, leaving Jamie in Angela’s capable hands. Today wasn’t looking promising. His mind again drifted to the booze that would erase everything. But only for the short term, Vaughn reminded himself. Stay strong.
He reopened the door and grabbed the gym bag he kept in the foyer. An hour of sweat at the boxing gym would help. Right now, it was the only real weapon against the urges that threatened to undo him.
Allison finished up with her recently divorced group at 11:38, eight minutes behind schedule. She had a three o’clock appointment with Midge Majors, a recent graduate of the recently divorced group and one of her favorite clients, and a four o’clock appointment with three sales executives from a local pharmaceutical company. Other than that, Vaughn had penciled in time to write the speech she was giving the following week.
Allison said goodbye to her group clients and walked back into her office. Vaughn had been awfully icy this morning, and at eleven-thirty he promptly disappeared. She wasn’t sure what was up with him. It seemed to her everyone and everything in her life were suddenly topsy-turvy.
She picked up her mobile and checked for messages. She’d called Jason three times this morning to see if they could meet for lunch and each time his administrative assistant told her he was busy. This time, she called his cell. Still no answer. She left a cheery voicemail suggesting they meet for dinner and hung up.
Next, Allison did a search for Brad Halloway. She found his work number on the corporate page of Transitions. She dialed and got his assistant, Frank, a gentleman with a crisp, formal tone and very careful diction. He made it clear that Mr. Halloway had no time for unscheduled visitors.
“Brad knows me,” Allison said. “Please. Just tell him Allison Campbell called and ask that he call me back.”
Frank grudgingly agreed. It was clear that he took his role as gatekeeper seriously.
Nine minutes later, Allison’s office phone rang. She jumped, hoping it was Jason, but the voice on the other line was one she hadn’t heard in some time.
“Allison Campbell, so good to hear from you. It’s been much too long.”
“Thank you for calling me back so promptly. I wasn’t sure Frank was going to give you my message.”
Brad laughed. “Frank’s a good egg. Tell me, my dear, how is our friend Delvar?”
Allison filled him in on Delvar’s recent success and the nonprofit he’d started. Back when she first took an interest in nurturing Delvar’s talent, in his last year of design school, Allison had been frustrated with the lack of opportunity for young Hispanic men. Antonia, Brad’s wife, an ardent philanthropist, had been a client for a short period. Through Antonia, Allison met Brad, who at the time was Comptroller for Mango, a clothing manufacturer that specialized in clothes for teens. He’d agreed to get Delvar an internship at his company. Delvar’s talent was noticed by Mango’s management and his career took off. Allison had been forever grateful to Brad Halloway for going out of his way for a stranger.
Allison said, “Paris, Milan, Tokyo…Delvar’s seen more of the world than I have.”
Another chuckle from Brad. “That’s what happens with kids. You help them grow wings and then watch them fly away. If you’re lucky, they visit the nest once in a while.”
“True,” Allison said, warming to the idea of Delvar as a sort of surrogate son. “But Delvar isn’t the reason I called you. I was wondering whether you have some time to meet. About a former client of mine who used to work for your company.”
“Someone we let go?”
“To the contrary. Someone who died.” She paused. “Scott Fairweather.”
“I see.” Brad was silent for a moment, leaving Allison to wonder if she had somehow overstepped her bounds. Finally, he said, “I have some time this afternoon, but I don’t want to meet here. How about the Starbucks in the King of Prussia Mall? Say two-thirty?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Allison. I didn’t know Scott very well, and frankly, I’m not sure why you’re barking up this particular tree. But you and I have been friends for a long time, so I’m happy to talk with you.”
Allison thanked him and hung up. She had a few minutes before she needed to leave. She decided to brush up on her knowledge of Transitions. Whatever spin doctoring Scott was doing for the company could be related. Even if it wasn’t, she wanted to sound knowledgeable when she spoke to Brad. Beyond helping her with Delvar, Brad Halloway had said he would spread the word about First Impressions at a time when Allison needed to find corporate clients—and he did. He was one of those rare gems in the business world: a man who kept his word.
SIXTEEN
Brad Halloway had aged. The last time Allison saw him, he’d been graying around the edges, but his posture had been military-straight and his physique that of an athlete. In his mid-sixties, the Brad who sat before her had slumped shoulders, mottled skin and a paunch that said perhaps he’d traded golf and weight lifting for wine and cheese. But he smiled broadly when he saw Allison and, after a quick hug and an introduction to his colleague, Bic Friedman, motioned for her to pull out the chair across from him.
Friedman greeted Allison with a tepid nod and apprising glance. He was a smallish, hawk-nosed man with a runner’s build and intense, intelligent eyes. Allison recognized him from Scott’s funeral. He’d been standing with Julie Fitzsimmons.
“I’ll leave you two to your business,” Bic said. “Brad, I’ll see you when you get back in the office.”
Brad watched Friedman leave. When the other man was back out into the mall, he turned to Allison. “Would you like some coffee? Maybe a bite to eat?”
Allison assured him she was fine. “It’s good to see you, Brad.”
He nodded. “You look wonderful, Allison. As always.” He raised a cup of coffee to his lips, took a small sip and said, “You want to talk about Scott Fairweather.”
“You knew him?”
“I helped him get his job.”
“I was sorry to hear that he’d died. And under such gruesome circumstances.”
Brad nodded. “His Transitions family was devastated, as you can imagine. But I’m confused what that has to do with you or First Impressions, Allison. You said he was a former client. Was Scott working with you before he died?”
“No. He hadn’t been a client in several years, since he worked for Mystic Toys.”
Brad pressed his lips together in a slight frown. “Yes, Scott jumped around a bit. Talented fellow, though.”
“I heard drugs may have been involved.” Allison paused to let that sink in, but Brad didn’t look surprised. “I guess I’m trying to reconcile the man I knew with a man who would jeopardize everything by getting involved with drugs.”
“Yes, it’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? But unfortunately, those rumors seem to be true.”
“You saw changes in his behavior?”
Brad looked thoughtful. “I’m sharing this because I trust you won’t share it, Allison. Scott’s life had taken a turn. In his last months, he had become paranoid and self-centered. People noticed absences at work, spotty performance. Sometimes he wouldn’t show up at all.”
“Did Transitions send him to get professional help?”
“That’s not our way.” Brad coughed, a smoker’s cough that lasted a full minute. Allison waited it out, cognizant of the other customers who were now watching Brad. Finally, he regained his breath and his composure. “Sorry. I’ve been struggling with some type of cold. Had the flu and it lingered. Now this.” He sipped coffee and sat back in his chair. “By the way, Antonia sends her regards.”
Allison smiled. Brad’s wife was a petite brunette, soft s
poken and kind. She’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis the year before she came to First Impressions. Despite her illness, Antonia had been determined to maintain her job as a public relations specialist for the airline industry. Unfortunately, the demands of the job exacerbated the progressing disease, and she found herself unable to keep up. Allison had helped her through that period, and eventually, with the help of a career counselor Allison hired, Antonia found a job she loved. Allison hadn’t seen her in years.
“How is Antonia?” Allison asked.
Brad’s eyes clouded. “She was doing well for a period, but recently she seems to have taken a turn for the worse. Stress isn’t good for her.”
Brad didn’t say more and Allison didn’t pry. She remembered the Halloways as being generous people, but very private.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about Scott?”
“Why, Allison? Why the questions? He may have been a client once, but…well, frankly, why do you care?”
“I don’t know,” Allison said. And there was some truth to that. It was those damn photos. She knew she could simply turn the photos over to Detective Berry and let the police handle it. But that seemed risky—what if the photos leaked?—and personal. She felt compelled to find out what she could before deciding her next move.
“Allison, I think you’re making a big—”
But Allison didn’t want to hear it. “After talking with Scott’s wife, Leah, I’m just not convinced the Scott I knew would get involved in something so risky. I’m a student of human nature, you know that as well as anyone, and it doesn’t ring true to me.” Allison shrugged. “I hate the thought that I could have been so wrong about someone.”
“Well, you may just have to accept being wrong on this one. We took Scott on as Marketing Director almost two years ago. He looked promising. He’d turned things around at Mystic, was doing great things at Tenure Polk. He had international experience. Just the kind of guy we needed at the time.”
