by Wendy Tyson
Although, she reminded herself, as the hunted, not the hunter, darkness was an advantage.
Together, they crossed the ridge. As Eleanor had promised, they came upon a small shed and, beyond that, a dilapidated cottage. Evoking memories of another time, another murder, Allison headed reluctantly toward the cottage. What choice did they have? At least there they could hide.
The scene was pure chaos. Two men down, one woman shot. Vaughn rushed to the woman first. She was older, out of shape, and had the dull look of someone who spent way too many hours watching television, but she was alive. A gunshot wound to the shoulder had rendered her helpless. Vaughn grabbed her rifle and jogged toward the other two forms. One he recognized as Brad Halloway. The other, a dark-haired man in his thirties, was a mystery. Bic Friedman, maybe. Didn’t matter now. He was dead.
Brad was alive, but with the wound in his stomach, maybe not for long.
Vaughn ran into the house and called 9-1-1 from the house phone. Maybe now the cops would show. He should help Doris and Brad, but he had other things to attend to first, like finding Allison.
Allison helped Eleanor to the back of the cottage. With all the might she could muster, she pushed open the rear door and dragged Eleanor into what had once been the kitchen. Allison got three feet inside and stopped. She heard rustling.
“Raccoons,” Eleanor whispered. “Look in the pocket of my parka.”
Allison felt around and found a head lamp. She put it on, directing the light into the room’s interior. Two beady eyes stared back at her from underneath an old table. More rustling, and it was gone.
After gunmen, raccoons were nothing.
“Here.” Allison pulled over an old chair and eased Eleanor down on it. “I think we lost Mark. For now. Let’s look at your leg.”
A cursory examination showed a small wound and a lot of blood. Allison was no doctor, but she could tell Eleanor was close to shock from cold and blood loss. She peeled off the parka and wrapped it around Eleanor. She had nothing to staunch the bleeding, though, unless she wanted to risk hypothermia herself.
“Stay here,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Eleanor put her head back against the wall and shut her eyes. She nodded.
Allison skirted her way around the spot where the raccoon had been and walked gingerly through the rest of the downstairs. Like the kitchen, the house was semi-furnished and full of clutter. Allison went from room to room as quickly as she dared.
In the bedroom, she found what she was looking for: rags, in the form of old sheets. She grabbed them and went back to Eleanor, who was alive but weakened.
Allison used a ragged piece of wood from the old cabinetry to make a tear in the sheet. She ripped a piece off lengthwise and tied a tourniquet, or as close as she could get to a tourniquet, above the wound in Eleanor’s leg.
“Thanks,” Eleanor said.
Allison didn’t respond. All she could think about was Jason. If she made it out of here alive, and that was still a big if, she had some soul-searching to do. This whole mess was her doing. If she hadn’t had the affair, she wouldn’t be here now. It was possible she’d never see Jason again.
“I loved him, you know,” Eleanor said. Her voice was so low that Allison had to strain to hear her. “Before he left me, that is. He wasn’t like other men.”
Allison latched on to the second part of her statement. “Is that why you had him killed? Because he left you?”
Eleanor’s heavy eyes widened. “You think I had Scott killed?”
“Yes, you. You knew Duane from Wilderness Journey—” But even as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she was wrong. Yes, Eleanor knew Duane, but now that she’d met Eleanor, Allison realized she was hardly the type to befriend a kid, needy or not. But Brad was. And who had been involved with more philanthropic activities than Brad and Antonia? Wilderness Journey was just the type of nonprofit Brad would support. Hadn’t Brad taken Delvar under his wing? Perhaps he’d tried with Duane as well, personally or financially. And if Duane hadn’t come around after Brad’s ministrations…well, in Brad’s view, maybe getting him to commit something like murder was justified. A lost cause.
Like Allison.
How easy it would have been to get Scott into the city. How easy to set him up and have him killed?
Eleanor nodded. “Brad,” she said. “All of them, including Mark. Scott had become a liability.”
“Because he was threatening to blow the whistle.”
“Scott had put bits and pieces together.” Eleanor grimaced through some unseen tremor of pain. “He had enough information to have an idea what was going on. Nothing concrete. He called the SEC, but they didn’t listen. He couldn’t offer them anything but theories.”
“So he asked you about it. You’d been in on it all along.”
Eleanor nodded. “After the smear campaign Mark and the others put Scott through, no one would believe him. He needed evidence.”
“And you told him the truth.”
“I saw opportunity. Mark hadn’t been fair.”
Allison suddenly understood. “This was all Mark’s idea?”
“Mark’s a cunning bastard. Brad was looking for legal advice after the news about China came to light. Brad says he knew nothing about the pollution or the labor law violations, and on that point, I believe him. Brad had been blamed. He was angry, hurt, and, most of all, worried.”
“About Antonia. Because of the AIDS diagnosis.”
Eleanor nodded. “I’d known Brad from Wilderness Journeys. I’d had some…relationship issues…with a rich donor. It was a fun fling. The program got money, I got a new house. A win, win from my point of view.”
Eleanor spoke glibly, as though she were discussing a delayed flight.
“The man’s wife didn’t see it that way,” Allison said. She’d been leaning against the far wall so that she could see out the back window, but now she moved closer to the back door, senses alert.
“No, she didn’t. I’d raised a lot of money and positive attention for Wilderness Journeys, so Brad took care of things. I did well in the arrangement. In exchange for my silence.”
“Ultimately branding you as a harlot and a criminal in Brad’s eyes.”
Eleanor nodded. She closed her eyes again, this time for longer. Allison knelt down, risking light from the headlamp to look at Eleanor’s leg. It was still bleeding, although not nearly as badly.
“When they needed a purchasing agent who would look the other way, he thought of me.” She shrugged. “In exchange for quarterly payments, I didn’t bat an eye when Brad signed purchase orders with companies that existed only on the fringes of the imagination.”
“But you got greedy.”
Eleanor’s eyes opened. Allison saw the first flash of real emotion. “I got wise. Between Friedman, Mark, Brad and Cummings, they were going to make a killing. Their plan was so deviously simple: reduce the value of the company, sell it to Cummings’ venture firm, recoup on the backside. My tiny slice didn’t seem fair.”
“But Scott found out, and he wouldn’t play along.”
“Surprising everyone,” Eleanor whispered. “Even himself.” She closed her eyes again. “He’d been pushed too far.”
Eleanor stopped talking. Allison watched as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, illuminating Eleanor’s complexion, which had gone from white to gray. Allison was starting to believe Mark Fairweather wasn’t waiting in the trees for them to emerge. She was starting to believe they would make it.
She bent to check on Eleanor. Her breathing was labored and slow. She needed medical attention.
Allison looked around. There was no way to carry her in this condition. She’d have to hike out to the road alone. She looked around for a weapon, eventually spying a sledgehammer in the corner. The handle was broken. Allison stepped on it, completing the break, and
took the jagged piece with her. It was something.
She covered Eleanor with the sheet, tucking it carefully around her. She felt nothing but pity. To look at the life only through the lens of self and to have such a limited view of love…sad.
Allison walked outside. She felt tired and cold, but also happy to have some closure.
Not everything was settled, but she knew how to handle that, too.
About a quarter of a mile down the road that paralleled Dunne Pond, Allison heard a car. Pulse racing again, she backed into the tree line, blending into the woods, her stick at the ready. But it was Vaughn.
She wasn’t surprised.
FORTY-ONE
Thanksgiving was a bittersweet celebration.
Mia had gone all out: turkey and all the trimmings, dessert, a fire in the large fireplace and enough fine wine to please a Frenchman. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was charged with tension.
Vaughn seemed alternately happy and sullen, staring at Mia with an almost spiteful gaze. Jamie was clearly concerned about his brother. With Angela beside him, there was something different about Vaughn’s twin, something Allison couldn’t quite pinpoint. And Allison’s parents had refused to leave their house, so Allison would be heading there afterwards. They had agreed to let her bring Grace, though, and now Grace and Mia’s dog Buddy were playing fetch in the yard under the watchful eye of Jason.
Allison was washing dishes and Mia was drying in the tiny kitchen overlooking the yard. Both women gazed out at Jason and Grace.
“He’s good with her,” Mia said.
“He wants children badly.”
Mia knelt to put a pie pan in a lower cabinet. “And you?”
“I do, too,” Allison said. “I think.”
Mia didn’t say anything. She straightened, grabbed a plate and continued drying. “And I hear you’re engaged.”
Allison smiled. “We were waiting to make an announcement. Jason told you?”
Mia nodded.
“There are no secrets around here.” She looked at Mia with affection, relieved the cat was out of the bag. “Do you approve?”
A smile blossomed slowly across Mia’s face. “I couldn’t be happier.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes until Allison said, “So I guess you and Vaughn are talking again?”
“Depends on the day.” Mia sighed. “Lots of change for him. Me, Jamie. You.”
“Me?”
“Don’t underestimate the affect your marriage will have on Vaughn.” Mia added quickly, “Don’t look so shocked, Allison. I’m not saying he has feelings for you, but you’re family to him. Vaughn comes across as tough, but you and I both know he’s a marshmallow underneath. Whenever there’s a change as immense as this, there’s bound to be anxiety.” She put the dish away and wiped her hands on her apron. “So be patient with him.”
Allison smiled. “Of course.” How could she be anything else? He was her brother, closer to her than her own flesh and blood.
The door to the kitchen banged open and Jason flew inside. His face was red from the cold. He had a giggling Grace under one arm and his cell phone in the other. He held the phone out to Allison.
“Faye. She tried your phone but couldn’t reach you.”
“Thanks.” Allison kissed him, then Grace, before accepting the phone. “Hi,” she said.
“What time are you coming back?” Faye asked.
Party pooper, Allison thought. “What time do you want us?”
“Grace goes to bed at seven-thirty.”
“It’s Thanksgiving, Faye. How about if I get there by nine?”
“She needs a routine.”
“Fine.” Allison didn’t bother arguing. She’d learned long ago that arguing with Faye didn’t get her anywhere. She would arrive when she arrived and Faye would have to deal with it.
She hung up, determined not to let Faye’s dourness affect the few remaining hours. “Who wants to feed the chickens?” she asked with a glance in Mia’s direction. Mia nodded her consent.
“Me!” Grace screamed.
And out they went.
The next day brought a grouchy sky and wintery cold. Allison drove north thinking of Antonia, Brad’s wife. Brad was now in critical condition at Einstein and Antonia was alone with her nurse. All Brad’s efforts to protect Antonia and, in the end, she’d be left with a caretaker and the knowledge that her husband was a murderer.
With a strong sense of resolve, Allison turned into Lofty Acres. She knew the Fairweather house by now. Leah had promised to be home. Her car was in the driveway—she had kept that promise.
“Come in,” Leah called in response to Allison’s knock.
Inside, Allison found Scott’s daughter asleep in a portable crib and her mother on the couch. Leah was holding a stack of large envelopes. “Sit,” she said to Allison.
Allison chose the seat across from Leah, where she could see her face and Scott’s daughter. The baby was beautiful, all pink cheeks and mewing snores.
“You can stop sending the photos now,” Allison said without taking her eyes off the baby. “It’s over.”
“It will never really be over.”
“I think that’s in your hands.” She looked at Leah, needing to know. Needing closure. “It was because of Mark, wasn’t it? He threatened Scott, said he would tell you about Scott’s affairs if Scott exposed their scheme to defraud Transitions and its shareholders. Before that, you had no idea Scott was still cheating.”
“I thought it ended with you.” Leah shifted in her seat, angling her body away from her child. “I should have known.” She shrugged. “Maybe I did know, deep down.”
“Scott confessed. He even gave you the pictures. His way of making restitution.” When Leah nodded, Allison said, “What a horrible burden to place on you.”
Leah’s face was a blank canvas, devoid of emotion. “Mark helped Scott with the photography. It was their sick little hobby.” She stared at Allison. “You were the first.”
The idea, as repulsive as it was, came as no surprise. It was why Mark had recognized her at Scott’s funeral.
Someday she would get over the feelings of shame and betrayal. Someday.
“Was Shawn involved?”
Leah shrugged. “Probably.”
That was Allison’s hunch, too. Thinking back to that fateful trip to Mark’s office in the city, she realized she’d honed in on the camera bag around Shawn’s shoulder. What a sick family. What a sick way to live.
Allison said, “The important thing is that Scott had vowed to change. He came clean, he broke off his affairs. He tried to right the wrongs. All of them.”
“It was too late.”
“That was a huge step for him, Leah. You have to hold on to that. I think he loved you.” Allison glanced at the baby. “And his daughter. As best he could.”
Leah didn’t say anything else. She stood up and handed Allison the envelopes. “That’s all I have. I’m certain Mark has more, but the bastard wouldn’t turn them over.
Allison reflected back to Leah’s meeting with Mark in the city. Monster. It had been about the pictures for her all along. Leah wanted closure, too.
Allison said, “Mark will be in prison for a very long time.”
“We both know that may not matter.”
True. Allison would have to take her chances. It had been Leah after all, not Mark, who was delivering the pictures, so perhaps that chapter really was over. Leah had wanted Scott’s mistresses to feel her pain and her shame. She wanted to hurt others like she’d been hurt.
Allison stood. “Thank you,” she said. “For these.”
But Leah had already tuned her out.
Back at home, Allison was welcomed by Brutus and Simon the cat. Eleanor would recover, but she’d have to fight Allison to the death for Simon—and she couldn’t very we
ll do that from prison. Simon was Allison’s now. Actually, Allison thought, with a glance at the pair of greeters, he was Brutus’s.
Brutus barked. Simon meowed.
“Food. Yes, I know…you two only use me for my thumbs.” She scooped food for each of them before taking off her coat. Dinner with Jason tonight, just the two of them. He was still sensitive about the pictures, and still smarting over her close call in Maine. But when she’d returned, he too had welcomed her. And she thought she saw something like grudging admiration in his eyes. So dinner tonight would be special, their first real night alone in days.
What to make?
Allison was about to head upstairs to change when she heard the doorbell ring. Pleasantly surprised to see Faye and Grace on her front step, she ushered them in. Grace ran toward the kitchen with Brutus at her heels, but Faye stood in the entryway looking pensive. It was then that Allison noticed the luggage on the porch. There were two large black bags and a pillowcase stuffed with what looked like dolls and toy animals.
“Amy came by again last night,” Faye said. “She was high. It’s too disruptive for Mom and Dad.” Faye glanced toward the kitchen. “We can’t do this anymore.”
“You want me to take Grace?”
“Until Amy can.” Faye’s gaze challenged her. “Can you do that?”
“Of course I can. I would love to have Grace.”
Allison walked outside to retrieve the bags, thinking. After Faye’s lectures, this came as a shock. She looked over at Grace, now on the hallway floor with Brutus, her coat still on. The move made sense, especially given the battles with Amy that were sure to come. Yes, she would take her. Of course she would. But once this little girl came into Allison’s home, Allison knew she wasn’t going to let go without a fight.
Allison lined Grace’s belongings up along the foyer wall and asked, “Is this all she has?”
