by Wendy Tyson
“She was quiet, but seemed fine. But hey, I don’t really know her, so I have nothing to use as a basis for comparison.”
The detective turned toward Allison. “But you met her before. How did she seem to you?”
“Like Vaughn, I don’t know her well enough to say. She seemed...reserved. But I couldn’t tell you whether her mood was depressed or suicidal.”
“You said depressed or suicidal, Ms. Campbell. What made you choose those descriptors?”
“The family. When I spoke to Simone Benini after Francesca disappeared, she said Francesca was depressed. She seemed...uh, concerned...that Francesca had done something to harm herself.”
Razinski stood, his mouth set in a grim line. He walked over to his desk and grabbed a file from the top of a short stack.
He sat back down, his expression never wavering, and pored through several pages from the file. He handed Vaughn a small stack of photographs. Head shots. All men.
Vaughn looked through them, one by one. “I don’t recognize any of these men.” He cocked his head. “Should I?”
“Just checking.”
He slid the pictures back in the file, made a few notations on a piece of notepaper stapled to the inside cover, and then looked up.
“What can you tell me about Tammy Edwards?”
Allison fought to maintain a neutral façade. The newspaper article should have alerted her that Razinski would ask the question. Still, she felt unprepared. But Vaughn was smooth as Italian gelato while he recited, again, the circumstances surrounding his farewell to the eighteen-year-old.
“There was nothing between you? No flirtation? No...interactions of a sexual nature?”
Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“And that was it, Mr. Vaughn. You said good-bye, she disappeared into the house, and you left?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Razinski’s words gave no comfort. Indeed, Allison was certain they were meant to instill the opposite. Silently, she admonished herself for not asking Jason to meet them here. He was at least a lawyer. With his experience in the DA’s office, he could talk the talk. And make sure they didn’t say anything incriminating.
Razinski placed his file back on his desk, adjusted the edges so they lined up with the corners of the desktop. “Do you have any travel scheduled over the next few weeks, Mr. Vaughn? Anything that will take you out of the country?”
Vaughn shook his head.
“Good,” the detective said. “That will be all for now.”
But Vaughn didn’t move from his chair. “Am I a suspect?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What about the travel?”
“Routine. If something changes, we may need to talk with you again. We want to make sure you’ll be reachable.”
Allison glanced from her friend to the police detective, not liking the tone of Razinski’s voice or the detachment in his demeanor. “How can we help the investigation?”
“There is no official investigation, Ms. Campbell. At least not at this point. Francesca Benini is an adult, free to come and go as she pleases. And Tammy Edwards is eighteen. As long as there is no suspicion of foul play—” he glanced ever-so-briefly in Vaughn’s direction “—there is no reason for the police to get involved.”
“Then why the need for today’s meeting?” Allison said.
“Routine. I wanted to tie up some loose ends, meet Mr. Vaughn in person, show him the pictures of local known felons to make sure he hadn’t noticed them in the area where either woman was last seen.” He clapped his hands together and started to rise out of his chair. “But I think we’re finished.” The phone rang. The detective said “just a minute” and picked up the receiver. “I see...yes, of course.” He fixed his stare on Vaughn. “What time? Interesting.” After another minute of uttering phrases that made no sense on their own, Razinski hung up the receiver.
“That was Simone Benini,” he said.
Allison’s heart raced. “They found Francesca?”
The detective shook his head. “No, unfortunately. She was calling about Francesca’s brother, Paolo Benini. He died this afternoon.”
Allison was speechless, the implications barreling over her like a tsunami. This afternoon. They had just been there this afternoon, and while Paolo was comatose, he’d been alive. The detective wouldn’t share details, but he made it sound as though Paolo had died in his sleep. Expected, perhaps. But her premonition, combined with the timing, made her scalp tingle, her legs go numb.
Another coincidence?
Allison looked at Vaughn. His face was a mask of indifference, but Allison saw the rigid posture and slight tremor in his hand that gave away his unease. He must be thinking what I’m thinking, Allison thought. We very well may have been the last people to see Paolo Benini alive.
Tammy. Francesca. Now Paolo. One link: Vaughn.
Twelve
Jason met her at the door with a cool hello and a stack of messages. “I’m beginning to feel like your personal assistant, walking your dog and taking your calls.”
Allison brushed his cheek with her lips. He smelled of spicy musk and wood chips. “It’s called a relationship. And you’ve been at your mother’s.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t mind so much if I felt like I was in a relationship.” He wrapped his arms around her. “And yes, I helped her take down a tree. We put it through the chipper. She’s home now, mulching her perennial beds.”
“How is Mia?”
“She seemed agitated. I didn’t ask why. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a full moon. All the ladies in my life are out of balance.”
Allison laughed and spent a moment petting and reassuring an ecstatic Brutus. The dog’s severe under bite caused his tongue to get caught between his jaws so that the pink end stuck out. He wagged his tail stub wildly with a look of comical madness on his jowly face. He’d been a stray when Maggie, a former client, found him. Maggie had begged Allison—who was, back then, terrified of dogs—to take him in. Over time, Allison had come to love the big lug of a dog. Now, she wiped the drool off her pants and walked back to the kitchen, Brutus in tow.
She scanned her messages. With Vaughn along for the road trip to Ithaca, her messages had come through a service, and so there was none of the context and opinions Vaughn would typically include. The call from her client, Midge—normally marked with a “she’s just worried about you” or some other notation next to the number—said simply, “call immediately.” Likewise, the three media inquiries were not ranked in order of importance, as Vaughn would have done. And so Allison was left with a stack of messages, all of which she would have to handle today because she had no sense of how to best prioritize.
Another reminder of why she so valued Vaughn.
And you should tell him that, she chided herself.
“Did you look through all of them?” Jason asked.
“Enough to know that I’ll have to spend an hour or two returning calls this afternoon.”
Jason had pulled two cans of tuna out of the cupboard and was washing a tomato. “Did you see that one of the Beninis tried to reach you?”
That stopped her. “No. Which one?”
“It’s on there. Alex, I think.” He grabbed a knife from the drawer and examined its edge. “I’ll make tuna sandwiches and you can fill me in on your trip. I want to hear how things went.”
Allison watched Jason slice the tomato with slow, firm strokes. He was tall and slender, with longish brown hair combed back from his face. He watched the world through eyes that shone with compassion and intelligence. But Allison loved his hands best. Jason had broad, masculine hands and neatly trimmed, square nails. Hands that, despite his law degree and the years he’d spent in white collar jobs, weren’t averse to hard work. Suddenly, she wanted those hands on her. She wanted to feel
the warmth of his body...and to forget about the Benini clan for a while.
Allison tossed the messages on the counter. She walked up behind Jason and wrapped her arms around his waist, from behind. Pressing her body against his, she kissed his neck, feeling the muscles in his broad back tighten at the caress of her lips.
“Umm,” Jason said. “I am handling a knife.”
Allison put her hand over his knuckles and gently placed the knife on the counter. She reached one hand underneath his t-shirt and ran her nails softly down his chest and abs, letting her fingers linger at his navel before dropping them to his waist, feeling his excitement. She tugged at his belt.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Jason whispered. His voice was thick with desire.
“Come upstairs.” She felt him shudder.
Jason spun around, grabbing Allison’s waist and kissed her, hard. Coming up for air, he said, “I’ll take you to bed, Ms. Campbell, on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He kissed her again. “You give me a full two hours of your time. No phone, no Nancy Drew detective talk. Just us.” Slowly, he unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse and stroked beneath. “Deal?”
Allison lifted his shirt, lowering her gaze to his toned stomach and chest. “Two whole hours?”
Jason gave her a mischievous smile. “Sweetheart, I can make this last all afternoon if you want.”
Allison laughed. She wanted to give in—she had initiated it, after all. But a collage of events from the last two days played like a slideshow in her head: the message from Alex Benini, Paolo at the hospital, Vaughn’s sad expression. She pushed the thoughts away. Two hours. Jason unclasped her bra. She moaned. She could give him two hours. He deserved that and more. The world would wait.
Alex Benini had been calling to apologize. “While you were here, my brother was very rude. I realize that Francesca’s disappearance has nothing to do with you. But you have to understand...we are all very much on edge. Especially since...” He hesitated. “My father died today. Shortly after your visit.”
“I’m so sorry,” Allison said. She was sitting at her desk at First Impressions. It was after six on Sunday, and her lovemaking with Jason was still on her mind.
Her body felt languid, sated, but as the conversation with Alex progressed, anxiety replaced satisfaction. She came crashing back down to Earth.
Allison toyed with whether to mention the visit to Paolo’s hospital room. She decided not to—it would do nothing but increase whatever suspicions the family already had. Instead, she decided to ask about the private investigator. His name on that hospital check-in sheet continued to bother her.
“Reginald Burr—we haven’t heard from him.”
“Ah, yes,” Alex sighed. “Eventually, you will. He’s another personality, I’m afraid.”
“A friend of your father’s?”
Alex hesitated. Only for a second, but Allison caught it. “More like Dom’s friend. My father never cared much for him. Dom hired him to find Francesca.”
“Is he local to Ithaca?”
Alex laughed. “Are you investigating my investigator, Allison?”
“I did try to look him up. Hey, I’m an image consultant. We always come prepared.”
“And you found nothing on him? That would be the case. Reginald is very...careful. Actually, I called for another reason as well. In addition to apologizing.”
She knew he was changing the subject, but, curious, she said, “Yes?”
“Before Francesca disappeared, did she give you anything?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know, and I’m not sure it matters. To you, at least. To us, it may.”
“She didn’t give me anything that would hint at her current whereabouts, if that’s what you mean.”
Alex was quiet for a moment. Allison heard a car pull into the parking lot of First Impressions, then a door slam. The first arrivals of her Recently Divorced Group? At their request, Vaughn had rescheduled them for seven this evening. But they wouldn’t be arriving this early.
Alex said, “Can we meet?”
The front door opened, then slammed shut. Allison couldn’t see who it was from her office. She rose, her visit from a killer just a few months before still alive in her consciousness. But that was then, she told herself, and you can’t let your fears—or the past—dictate your behavior, however understandable it would be.
“I’m afraid I have to go. I’m expecting clients.”
“Tomorrow, perhaps?” Alex said. “In the evening? I’ll take you to dinner.”
Footsteps on the stairs. Women’s footsteps, light but with the unmistakable click, click, click of heels.
“I don’t think so, Alex,” she said.
“It’s important.”
Allison thought of Vaughn, of Francesca and Tammy. No doubt Alex Benini wanted information from her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn something, too. What could a dinner hurt?
“Fine. It will have to be late. Say seven?” She told him where to meet her.
“Thank you, Allison,” he said before hanging up. She hated that she liked the deep caress of his voice, especially now, with the ghost of Jason’s touch on her skin. Face it, he’s an attractive man, she thought. And that’s clouding your judgment. She walked toward the reception to First Impressions to see who had arrived. Work came first. When you focus on work, she reminded herself, there’s no time for nonsense.
The heels belonged to Mia Campbell, her former mentor and Jason’s mother. She’d apparently left her farm for the ’burbs this evening, and transitioned from crunchy country dweller to chic urbanite for the trip. Her long, gray curls had been pulled into a twist. Sparkling diamond-studded earrings showcased sharp cheekbones and a full mouth. Her slim body was silhouetted by fitted black pants and a black sleeveless blouse, very Coco Chanel, very expensive-looking. Her only nod to color was the rubies in her pendant necklace. Black wedges completed the transformation. Allison greeted her with a hug.
“I couldn’t be happier to see you,” Allison said. “That is you, right? I didn’t recognize you without hemp and cotton.”
Mia laughed. She’d moved to the farm a few years back, after losing her daughter in a car accident and her husband in a nasty divorce. She’d given up her home and business in one wink. It was only recently that she and Allison had reconnected, but it was as though the lost years had never happened.
“I have a group session in a few minutes, Mia, but if you can wait around, we could have dinner afterwards—”
Mia shook her head. “I’m here for Vaughn. Can you spare a few minutes? I’m on my way to his apartment, but knew I’d find you here.”
“Sure.” Allison said slowly. The topic of Mia’s relationship with Vaughn had been a secret for the past two years. It was odd for Mia to show up, unannounced. It was really odd for her to want to talk about her younger lover.
“It’s about the girl. And the woman—the Italian heiress who disappeared. Jason told me what happened. And then I saw this.” Mia laid the Philadelphia Inquirer article on the desk. She’d highlighted Vaughn’s name and any references to First Impressions. Allison skimmed the article. It had been written in a very straightforward manner and dealt largely with the facts of each disappearance. No assumptions or hypotheticals. The last two lines caught her eye, though:
While police have no indications of foul play, missing persons reports have been filed on behalf of both women. Christopher Vaughn, the last individual to see each of the women in question, will be interviewed by police.
Allison looked at Mia, eyes wide. “Vaughn knows about this article. He saw it this morning.”
“Did the police question him?”
“They spoke with him. But he was the last to see each of these women, so who else would they talk to?” Allison tosse
d the article back onto the table. “I wish they hadn’t mentioned Vaughn’s name. It seems...unfair.”
“We’re lucky it’s a procedural piece and not a human interest piece. If it was the latter, every Tom, Dick, and Nosy Nancy who has it in for you would be swooping in for the kill.”
Allison had no words. Mia was right. Tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. She’d seen it happen before. The public loved an underdog, but by and large, the public disliked success. People liked to see giants fall, and although she considered herself a minor player in the wide world of consulting, she knew she’d developed an almost cult following in and around Philly. And that could mean trouble.
Allison said, “Mia, you’re not concerned that Vaughn actually had something to do with it, are you?”
Mia spun around. Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, no! Never that!”
“Then what is it?”
A pause. “Do you know what Vaughn’s number one fear is?”
Allison shook her head. Given all he’d been through—the beatings as a kid, the poverty, his time in juvenile detention, and then the horror of seeing his brother struck down—she didn’t know what was left for Vaughn to fear.
“Not being around for Jamie.”
“Understandable, but—”
“The police, Allison. Jail. Being blamed for something he didn’t do. He is terrified of having something happen to him, something that will result in him having to leave Jamie in the care of strangers.”
“Ah.” And now it made sense. Vaughn’s sadness, his anxiety over these disappearances. It wasn’t simply paranoia. It was the terror of a single parent caring for a child alone. It was the gnawing fear of anyone shouldering total responsibility for someone dependent and vulnerable. “But no one is accusing Vaughn of anything.”
“Not yet, Allison.” Mia wagged her finger. Her knobby knuckles and short, squared-off fingernails contrasted with her clothes. Indicators of Mia’s new life. “But just wait. A black man from West Philly? A black man from West Philly with a criminal background? If things don’t clear up, fingers will be pointed, connections made. And Vaughn was the last person to see both of these women. God help him if either turns up dead.”
