Dying Brand

by Wendy Tyson

  She stood, pacing the length of the small motel room.

  “But neither Scott nor Eleanor worked for Diamond.”

  “True, and that’s where this becomes a little of a so-what proposition. What Jamie found is interesting, but nothing ties it to Scott.”

  “Other than Eleanor.”

  “Yes,” Vaughn said. “Other than Eleanor.”

  “Who wasn’t even part of Diamond Brands?”

  “Right.”

  “So what does Jamie think?”

  “He thinks something smells when it comes to Transitions. The company is losing money, and he believes many of the U.S. contracts it’s entered into are bogus.”

  “Someone is committing fraud.”

  “And based on her history and the unexplained money in her bank account, that someone would seem to be Eleanor.”

  Allison climbed off the bed and walked to the window. She looked out over the motel parking area. The lot was poorly lit and, other than Allison’s car and two others, empty. The encroaching forest coupled with the darkness lent to a feeling of isolation. Allison closed the drapes, giving in to a sudden chill that tingled its way down her spine.

  “What if there is a conspiracy going on, Vaughn?” He started to say something and she said, “Hear me out. What if the men who were demoted to Transitions—because that’s what it sounds like, a demotion—are colluding to defraud the company? What if Scott found out about it and was blackmailing them? It would have been in their best interest to make sure he couldn’t tell.”

  “So they set him up? Made it look like he was living dangerously and took a hit.”

  “Right.”

  “But what about Eleanor?”

  Allison sat back down, pulling her computer back on her lap. “My first thought is that she’s in on the blackmail scheme, too, which is why she’s on the run. But her connection to Duane doesn’t support that.”

  “A coincidence?”

  “Could be, yes, but do you really think there are any coincidences here?”

  “So you think she set Scott up?”

  “What if she and Scott had cooked up the scheme? She got greedy and wanted it all? She could have had him killed and run, taking the money with her.”

  Vaughn made a “hmmm” sound. “How do you explain Eleanor’s dead sister?”

  “The Philly police think it’s unrelated.”

  “No coincidences, remember, Allison? You said it yourself.”

  “I did.” Allison moved the computer mouse to get her screen running again. “And then there’s the matter of the photographs. How do they fit in?” Allison yawned, exhaustion taking over. “Hopefully Eleanor will have some answers.”

  “If she’s there.”

  “If she’s there.” Allison thought of something Vaughn said earlier. “The men who were transferred from Diamond Brands to Transitions, who were they?”

  Vaughn became suddenly very quiet. “You won’t like this. The Chief Operating Officer was a man named Brian—Bic—Friedman.”

  That name sounded familiar. “I met him. He was with Brad…oh, no…”

  “And Brad Halloway was the CFO.”

  Allison closed her eyes. Of course he was. That was his current role at Transitions. “Then we have our story wrong,” she said. “There’s no way Brad would be involved in something like this. He’s one of the most honor-bound men I know.”

  “As was Diamond.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “What if Halloway and Friedman truly believed they had done nothing wrong? Spent years helping to grow Diamond? The shit goes down overseas and suddenly their golden geese are cooked and their golden eggs are made of concrete. For a man like Halloway, a man who feels justice should always prevail, bringing down Transitions could feel like the right thing to do. He could convince himself he’s acting for good.”

  “I don’t know.” I don’t want to even contemplate that, is what I mean, Allison thought. For a period, Brad had been like a father to her. The thought that he could be behind corporate fraud…unthinkable. Allison recalled her last visit at the Halloway home. His wife’s worsening condition, Brad’s unrelenting cough.

  “He’s sick,” Allison said, knowing in that instant it was true. “Brad’s sick and he’s worried about making sure Antonia can be cared for after his death.”

  “Perhaps. But how does running the company into the ground assure that his ill wife will be taken care of?”

  “The change in control agreements. They’re only triggered if there is a change in control of the company. Maybe he’s trying to force a buy-out. The company does poorly, and someone comes and takes over. Happens all the time.”

  “But his agreement isn’t that lucrative.” Vaughn was quiet for a moment. “But there may be another piece to this. A piece I had dismissed until now.”

  Allison, a feeling of dread creeping up her spine, said, “What’s that?”

  “The third guy, Cummings. His new career? He left and started a venture capitalist firm.”

  Allison processed this new bit of information. “He comes in and buys the company. Suddenly things go rosy and everyone shares in the fruits. Brad and Bic get their severance and maybe even a behind-the-scenes cut in the new ownership structure.”

  “And they have the last say over Diamond.”

  “Scott learns all of this and he and Eleanor blackmail the company.”

  “She gets greedy and has Scott killed,” Vaughn says.

  Allison still wasn’t so sure about that last part, but she didn’t argue. “I bet if Jamie looks at that company Transitions hired to be the U.S. clothing supplier, buried below somewhere he’ll find another shady connection. This time to Cummings.”

  “Mills Manufacturing. I’ll have him look.”

  “This is starting to add up, Vaughn. We’ll talk to Eleanor tomorrow, but even if she’s not there…I think we’re on to something.”

  Allison remembered her promise to Mia—that she would stop after Eleanor Davies. But that was before now, before this new information. If Eleanor wasn’t there, she would turn all of this over to Berry. The detective might dismiss it, but she would have done her job.

  She just wished she understood the photos. If their hypothesis was right, who was sending the pictures? And why? Was Scott reaching out beyond the grave, another element of his blackmail scheme gone awry? Had her name been in his calendar so that he could hit her up for money, only he was murdered before he had a chance to talk with her? If that was the case, maybe Eleanor had sent the photos, and she sent them anyway. But then why no demand for money? The information Jamie had found was critical, but things still didn’t quite come together.

  “Where are you now?” Allison asked.

  “Stopped to get gas and coffee. I’m somewhere in New Hampshire, near Portsmouth.”

  “So you won’t be here for a few more hours?”

  “I guess,” Vaughn said, sounding tired.

  “You’re checked in and paid for. I’m going to hit the sack.” She gave him her room number. “Let’s plan to get up early—say six?—and head over to Doris’s place.”

  “Six? Fine, fine,” Vaughn said jokingly. “I thought my first trip to Maine would be a vacation. Guess I was wrong.”

  “Yeah, things don’t turn out as we think they should, do they?” Allison asked, thinking of Brad Halloway. “Keeps things interesting, I guess.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “Be careful, Vaughn,” Allison said before they hung up. “And thank you.”

  Vaughn laughed. “End of year is fast approaching. I see a bonus in my future. And all I want to do after this is get that Sexy Senior group started. Never thought I’d be so happy to work with Midge Majors.” His voice became serious. “You be careful, too, Allison. And wait for me. I’ll see you in the
a.m.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Allison was ready to shut down her laptop and head to bed when a new email arrived from Delvar. It contained the list of the board members for Designs for the Future along with any of their guests that attended the ceremony. Allison scrolled through the names on the list. The board members were all familiar. As a board member to the fledgling group, Allison had met each of them at least once. But she hadn’t met the guests. One person caught her eye.

  Betty Diamond, guest of Beth Duvall.

  A quick internet search explained the connection. Betty Diamond was Ted’s elderly mother. Beth Duvall was his new wife. Beth Duvall Diamond.

  She went by her maiden name professionally, so Allison never made the connection.

  Allison’s entire body went rigid. Suddenly things made more sense. She thought of Scott at Thirtieth Street Station: the way he’d tried to get her attention. Her trip to New York had been planned and very public. She always took the train, and he’d known that. But based on the photo of Allison and Scott at the station, someone had been watching him. He may have been afraid to go to her home or office, preferring the anonymity of a public place.

  He’d also known about her connection to Delvar. Designs for the Future had been in the paper. Connecting Allison and Duvall to the charity wouldn’t have been hard. He could find them all at the celebration. That was what the appointment book was about.

  Scott wasn’t trying to blackmail anyone. He’d been using Allison to get to Beth Duvall. Diamond Brands—specifically, the Diamond family—still owned a good portion of Transitions. Scott knew he was in danger. He was trying to tell Beth Duvall what was going on.

  He wasn’t a crook; he was trying to be a hero.

  But what about the pictures? Whoever took that photo in Thirtieth Street Station knew about her history with Scott. Leah? Eleanor? If I’m right about Scott’s motives, Allison thought, was Eleanor his partner in the quest for justice or was she in on the scheme? Or had she learned of the scheme and decided to profit from it through blackmail on her own?

  Eleanor’s history said she was an opportunist, and her role at Transitions said she had access and opportunity. Plus, there was the money trail and her connection to Duane Myers. If Duane pulled that trigger, not the boys who were arrested, it would have been because Eleanor paid him to do it. If Scott was threatening to blow the whistle, Eleanor may have had reason to kill him.

  But then who killed Eleanor’s sister? And why?

  Ginny’s death left Allison with the unsettling thought that there was a second murderer out there.

  Allison shut down the computer and turned off the lights. After making sure the door was closed and the window secured, she climbed into bed. Sleep didn’t come easily, the iced tea and knot in her stomach saw to that, but when it did come, it hit her hard.

  Vaughn arrived at ten minutes to midnight. The clerk at the front desk, a thin, anemic-looking woman with ghostly-pale skin and knotted knuckles, handed him a key, an actual key.

  “Room nineteen,” she said with a raspy voice. She avoided eye contact, preferring instead to keep her eyes glued to the television. She was watching one of those home shows where people have to choose between three properties. Vaughn didn’t wait to see which French apartment they picked. He was too tired to do anything but head to his room.

  There, he stripped out of his jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt and put on sweats. He had a bad feeling, one he hadn’t been able to shake since getting off the phone with Allison. He told himself it was left over from fighting traffic in unknown territory. He knew better. And this place out in the middle of nowhere didn’t help.

  Vaughn was a city boy. Too much fresh air made him antsy.

  He set his alarm for five-thirty. One night in the woods would be enough. He was already ready to go home.

  Allison awoke at three-fifty with a burning need to pee. It took her a hazy moment to realize where she was. She rolled out of bed and fumbled her way to the bathroom. Finished, she was washing her hands when something stopped her.

  A man’s refection in the mirror.

  Allison blinked, her vision constricting. Her breath caught in her chest. Had she imagined it? She was suddenly afraid to move. No, someone was in the motel room. She started to turn on the light but stopped herself. Whoever it was might not realize she knew he was there. Surprise was her only weapon. Think. Silently, she reached for a can of hairspray. Weak, but it was all she had. She tucked it behind her and walked out of the bathroom, toward the door. She might be able to escape before he could reach her.

  She had her hand on the knob when she felt an arm around her neck. She tried to turn, hitting her attacker in the ribs with her elbow, but his grip was too strong. He reached down and pulled the hairspray from her grasp before she could use it. She struggled, but it was no use.

  She was trapped.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Eleanor set her alarm for four a.m. Today was the day, one way or another. The money would clear. Doris was primed. She had dollar signs in her eyes, so she was only too happy to cash those checks and be rid of Eleanor. And Eleanor would be off, ready to cross the border and start a new life.

  She was tired, angry and nervous, but she welcomed the adrenaline pumping through her system. Adrenaline would get her where she needed to go. But for now, she needed a release. She’d go for a run.

  In the dark, she slipped off her pajamas and put on a sports bra and her insulated running tights. She ruffled through her bags until she found her Under Armour top, a gray hoodie and insulated socks. Then she slid a headlamp over her forehead. Lastly, she secured a GPS watch onto her wrist, tied her running shoes and put on Doris’s parka.

  With a glance at Doris’s door, still closed, she headed out. She didn’t feel remotely guilty for drugging Doris and the dogs last night. Even if she wasn’t trying to sneak around, the drugs meant Doris went to bed earlier. That meant no stupid television shows, and Eleanor could get to sleep.

  On the landing, the cold air hit her like a shotgun blast. Eleanor pulled gloves from her pockets and pulled them on as she jogged toward the back of the property. She turned the headlamp on and, with the help of the strong beam from the lamp, headed toward the trail.

  She was three feet from the forest entrance when she noticed the car parked on the dirt road that led to Doris’s house. It was around the bend, not visible from the house. But from this angle, she saw the glint of silvery paint through the trees.

  Momentarily panicked, she started to run, unsure where she was headed.

  Something hit her in the back. She stumbled, then fell to the ground.

  “How many times have I told you? You can’t run from your mistakes, Eleanor.”

  The voice stopped her cold. Before she could react, she felt a sharp blow to the head. Then nothing.

  Allison struggled all the way to the car. She couldn’t speak—a hand gripped her mouth—and she couldn’t see because whoever her attacker was kept her facing forward, away from him. She tried to kick at walls as she was forced through the motel, but with each attempt, her assailant increased the vise on her arms.

  Vaughn. She knew he was here. She just wished she had some way to scream.

  She tried biting the hand over her mouth but her assailant was clamping down on her mouth so hard she could barely breathe.

  Outside, the air was frigid. Her attacker pulled her toward a waiting vehicle, a plain black Chevrolet Malibu.

  It was there that he let go, jamming a gun between her ribs. The metal was hard, adding injury to the cold wind that pummeled her half-naked body. She turned to face her attacker, ire in her eyes.

  Mark Fairweather.

  Of course. The matchmaker. Allison spit on the ground, ridding herself of his taste. “You bastard. You betrayed your own brother.”

  “Get in the car.”

  “No.”
/>   He jammed the gun harder. “Now.”

  Allison thought about running, but she was barefoot. If she stumbled, he would shoot her. She considered screaming, but a glance at the sleepy motel told her no one would come to her rescue. Unless Vaughn could hear her. By then, she could be dead.

  The look in Mark’s eyes said he wasn’t screwing around.

  “That’s a girl,” he muttered as she climbed into the front. He kept the gun aimed at her through the windshield as he made his way around. “Nothing will happen if you cooperate. Now, hold out your hands.”

  Allison did so and Mark placed a pair of metal handcuffs securely on her wrists. “When we get there, I’ll take them off.” He looked at her almost apologetically. “You are a hard-headed bitch.”

  “Don’t call me a bitch.”

  Mark’s eyebrows arched up. “All this, and that’s what offends you?”

  “What offends me is that you betrayed your brother. You got him that job at Transitions. Tell me, Mark, did you know from the start that Brad and Bic were scheming to get back at Diamond, or did that come later?” Allison shook her head. “And Eleanor, were you banging her all along?”

  Mark smiled. “Sorry, you got it wrong.” He started the car. “Eleanor and I were never together.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  He glared at Allison, but instead of responding, he steered the car out toward the road. Allison fought a rising sense of panic. “Stop,” she said. “If you go back, I’ll give you the evidence I’ve collected.”

  “Evidence of what?”

  “Evidence that you, Brad Halloway and Bic Friedman have been conspiring to defraud Transitions’ shareholders, including the Diamond family.”

  Mark’s jaw clenched. He slammed on the gas, causing the car’s tires to squeal as he raced from the parking lot. “You have no evidence, Allison, because it’s not true.”

  “Securities filings are public. All it takes is someone smart enough to connect some dots, and a picture emerges. One of greed, retribution and carelessness. Because telling Scott was careless.”