by Wendy Tyson
“What is it?” Allison asked.
Mia continued to stare straight ahead. “Vaughn called. He’s been taken in for formal questioning. In the disappearance of Francesca Benini.” She blinked, and Allison saw tears pooling under her eyes.
“Oh no.”
“It gets worse.”
“How could it get worse?”
“Paolo Benini. Someone at the hospital identified a young black man who visited Paolo with his wife just hours before.” Mia shook her head. “They know it was you and Vaughn.”
Sixteen
They didn’t wait for a call. Allison was on the horn with Detective Butch Razinski before she’d pulled away from the curb. He wouldn’t tell her anything, but she had to believe that the police had little against Vaughn other than circumstantial evidence—he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Three times over.
Allison’s second call was to Jason.
After explaining where she was, she waited for his rants against her amateur sleuth antics. Instead he surprised her by saying, “I’m coming up there, Allison.”
“You don’t need to, Jason. Although I appreciate the offer. We just need the name of a good defense attorney. Just in case.”
“Look, I’ll talk to the detective. See what’s going on. Then we can decide whether Vaughn needs a defense attorney.”
Allison had to admit Jason made sense. “If you’re sure.” She gave him directions. “How soon can you be there?”
“Give me three hours. And in the meantime Allison, please don’t say anything. Wait for me.”
While they waited for Jason, Allison called Alex Benini, determined to cancel their dinner appointment.
“I’m afraid something’s come up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he did sound sorry. “It’s become even more imperative that I talk to you.”
“I really can’t. I couldn’t commit to a time.”
“Look,” he said, “I’m already down here. I drove down this morning. Just call me when you’re free and I’ll meet you.”
She felt her resolve wavering. What could be so urgent he would leave his family now? Surely there were funeral preparations, family matters to attend to. The business. And the search for Francesca.
With a sigh, Allison said, “It will have to be late. But if you can live with the uncertainty, I will call you when I’m done.”
“Thank you. Truly. We’ll talk tonight, Allison. Until then, stay safe.”
Allison tried to decipher if his words were a wish—or a warning.
Allison and Mia sat in the parking lot at the police station until Jason arrived. He strode purposefully over to her car, looking all-business in a summer-weight charcoal suit and crimson tie. He leaned down to give Allison a kiss, then noticed his mother climbing out of the Volvo.
“Really, Mom? Not you, too.”
Mia frowned, waving away his concern. “Just do your job, Jason. And bring Vaughn home.”
Jason and Vaughn were with Detective Razinski for almost an hour. Afterwards, they entered the lobby of the police station alone, their expressions unreadable.
Allison’s mind flitted to twenty different scenarios. They were arresting Vaughn. They wanted to question her, too. Francesca had been murdered. Based on the blank looks on their faces, any of these could be true. Or everything could be fine.
“Ready?” Jason said.
The two women stood. Mia reached out and took Vaughn’s hand. He held it for a moment before letting go. Mia shot a worried shrug in Allison’s direction and Allison shrugged back. Damned if she knew what was going on.
In the parking lot, Jason said, “We need to regroup. I know you have a lot of questions, but let’s meet back in Villanova. It would be better to talk there.” He looked at Vaughn. “Why don’t you ride with me? We can discuss what just happened while it’s fresh.” To Allison, Jason said, “Meet you at home?”
She nodded, at a loss for words.
See you at home. Allison mulled over those words the entire drive back to Villanova. Jason had said it without thinking. The house had been their home, once upon a time. Could they wash away the years since the divorce, start fresh, build a new life together? Was either of them capable of the kind of compromise a healthy marriage required?
Allison wasn’t so sure. She was pretty damn sure that Jason wanted safe, predictable, and normal. Although Allison spent her days teaching social norms, her life—at least lately—had been anything but. Could he live with that?
Maybe she was underestimating him.
And herself.
Mia was lost in a world of worry and said barely three sentences the entire drive.
They pulled up to Allison’s house before Jason and Vaughn got there. Inside, Allison clipped a happy Brutus to a leash and took the dog for a brisk walk while Mia made tea.
In times of crisis, Mia always made tea.
By the time Allison and Brutus returned, Jason and Vaughn were installed in her kitchen, tea mugs in hand. Allison noticed the bottle of rum on the table. In times of real crisis, Mia felt tea deserved rum.
“How did it go?” Mia asked.
Jason looked at Vaughn, who nodded his permission for Jason to continue.
“Obviously they didn’t hold him, but he is on the watch list.”
Mia rose from her chair. “But—”
Jason held up one hand. “But is right, Mom. There is no indication of foul play in either instance. Tammy is outside Razinski’s jurisdiction, but he’s cooperating with the Scranton police in case there’s something larger going on here. But for now, all they have are two missing adults who could have very well left of their own volition. But no one seems inclined to investigate the disappearances.” Jason paused. “My opinion? The police are papering their files.”
“Which is in line with what Mia and I learned today.” Allison turned to Vaughn. “Tammy’s mom doesn’t even want the police involved. How strange is that? If it were my daughter and she was truly missing, I would be looking for help from anyone who was willing. And if the police weren’t onboard, I’d be screaming my head off.”
“If your daughter was truly missing,” Vaughn said.
“Are you saying she’s not?”
Vaughn stood up, walked to the window overlooking Allison’s backyard. “I’m saying that’s how a typical parent would react if they didn’t know where their kid was. What if this kid has done it before? If the mother has reason to believe—or even knows—she’s run away.”
Jason nodded. “Vaughn has a point. I’m actually more worried about the Benini woman.”
“I don’t know,” Allison said. “Tammy didn’t seem like the type to run away.”
“But she did have a conflict with her parents,” Jason said.
“Not really. There was no actual conflict. Tammy did what was expected of her. Even when it wasn’t what was best for her. She wanted to please her parents.” Allison wasn’t buying the runaway theory, at least not for the normal teen reasons. After their initial conversation, Tammy never brought up opera or Juilliard again. She didn’t seem to be scheming, sullen, or upset. Allison had been surprised that she ran. Could it have been anxiety and turmoil over California? Sure. But Allison’s gut said that wasn’t the reason...as easy as it would have been to just accept that premise and stop worrying.
“How about Paolo?” Mia asked.
Vaughn remained standing with his back to the table, still staring out the window. Allison watched him, concerned. His spine was rigid, his shoulders tight. She waited for him to answer.
But it was Jason who spoke. “After Paolo died, the nurse in charge called Simone. She mentioned a visit by Paolo’s niece and her husband. She told them the husband was black.”
“So knowing that Paolo had no niece, that I was in Ithaca, and that I am black, the family put two an
d two together.” Vaughn’s voice was as tight as his spine. “They watched the security tapes and there we were.”
“I’m so sorry, Vaughn,” Allison said. “It was my idea to go there in the first place.”
Jason held up a hand. “There was no evidence of foul play. If there had been, you’d have been hauled in, too, Allison.”
Allison remembered the sudden feeling of dread, the urgent need to escape the hospital. “Is it possible Paolo was drugged? Or suffocated?”
Jason chewed at his bottom lip. His eyes darted to Vaughn. “Either of those scenarios is possible. Paolo died without regaining consciousness. The family has refused an autopsy, so frankly, we may never know.”
“Then why question Vaughn?”
Vaughn spun around. “Isn’t it obvious, Allison?”
“Stop.” Jason held his hand up to Vaughn. “Thinking that way isn’t productive. You were the last to see all three people. Like I said at the outset, the police are papering their file at this point, in case something goes down. They couldn’t very well ignore the connection. But they haven’t charged you.”
“Yet.” Vaughn rubbed his eyes. “Paolo died within forty-five minutes of our arrival, Allison. You knew something was going down, you had that damn premonition.”
“I did.” Allison relayed her reaction to Mia and Jason. “But how could someone else have snuck in after we left? And if it was a family member, he—or she—would have been noticed by the nursing staff.”
“Unless that someone was impersonating a doctor or nurse. Or an orderly,” Mia said. “Hospital staff might not be noticed by the nurses or stand out on the tape.”
Jason nodded. “Good point. The security tape doesn’t record patient rooms. They caught Allison and Vaughn on the elevator. It’s possible someone had his or her face covered. Dressed like a hospital employee, a nun, a priest. Who the hell knows?” He stood. “If the old guy was even murdered. He’d just had a stroke. He was already on borrowed time.”
Jason bent down and kissed Allison on the lips. He waved to his mother and Vaughn. “I have to head back to work for a while.” Looking at Allison, he said, “Dinner tonight?”
She almost said yes and then remembered her promise to meet Alex Benini. “Not tonight. I have dinner plans. I’m sorry.”
Jason nodded. He didn’t look happy.
When Jason had gone, Vaughn said, “Thanks for calling Jason. I felt a hell of a lot better having him there.”
“No problem.” Allison forced a smile. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Hey, I’m a survivor, right? And like Jason said, they have nothing at this point.” But the look on Vaughn’s face didn’t match the bravado in his voice. “I asked Jason to meet here instead of my house because I’d rather Jamie not know too much. Not now. It will only make him feel frustrated that he can’t do more to help.”
“You shouldn’t keep this from him,” Mia said. “Let him help.”
“The less he knows, the better.”
But Mia held her ground. “He’s your identical twin, Vaughn. He’ll sense something is wrong. Don’t do that to him. Tell him. Let him help.”
Vaughn and Mia looked at each other, the language of lovers and friends spoken without the utterance of a single syllable. Finally, Vaughn relented. “What do we need him to do?”
Allison gave him the names of the people they had met today along with a rundown of the conversations they’d had. “Anything he can find out about Tammy’s boyfriend, Kai or Kai’s family would be helpful. And I’d like to know more about the Benini finances. How in the red are they?” She also wondered who served to profit upon Paolo’s death, but decided she’d try to get that information from Alex later tonight.
“Anything else?”
“That’s enough.” Lists of issues were collating in her mind, but she didn’t want to overwhelm Vaughn, not until she had a better sense of the direction she was headed. “For a start.”
Seventeen
It was 8:14 when Allison finally arrived at The Village Pub, a large, noisy restaurant near her house. She wanted noisy and casual. What she did not want was any intimation that her dinner with Alex Benini was to be anything other than an informational exchange. She didn’t trust him, pure and simple.
Alex sat across from her looking elegant in a dark gray European-cut suit, no tie and a collared white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. The suit’s tailoring was impeccable, and it paired nicely with his slightly ruffled hair and the five o’clock shadow on his face. If he was aiming for European model/playboy, he was spot on. If the image he wanted to portray was grieving son/worried nephew, not so much.
They occupied a booth at the back of the restaurant, attended to by a twenty-something waitress with a surly attitude, too-short bangs and buck teeth. Like all of the wait staff, she wore a yellow and red striped rugby shirt. A three-person band played music in the far corner of the restaurant. In the span of five minutes, they covered Springsteen, the Clash, and Van Halen.
“Eclectic bunch,” Alex said. His smile, for once, did not reach his eyes. Allison wondered if perhaps she’d been wrong. That he was in mourning. And trying to hide it.
The waitress took their orders—Caesar salad and iced tea for Allison, a burger and a beer for Alex. After a few moments of informal chit-chat, Alex said, “I won’t beat around the bush, Allison. I had a reason for driving down here.”
“I’m sure you did.”
The corners of his mouth pulled up in a half smile. “But it’s still nice to see you. Even under these circumstances.”
“I would think, considering the circumstances, it wouldn’t be so nice.” She kept her voice light, but she meant what she said. His aunt disappeared while traveling with her employee. By now, he had to know they visited Paolo before his death. How could he be so nonchalant? Even if she knew there were no connections between events, he didn’t.
“Allison, I don’t hold you or your assistant to blame. Francesca will turn up, I’m sure of it. As for my father…his time was coming. He smoked, ate rich food, and drank much too much grappa. He was a time bomb, ready to explode.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t imagine all of you are so willing to forgo blame, deserved or not.”
“If by that you mean Dominic, true. To Dom this all looks very bad, I’m afraid.”
Allison took a long sip of water, eyeing him over the glass. “If I may be blunt, you don’t look worried, Alex. Or particularly grief-stricken. Why is that?”
He spoke without hesitation. “In my line of work, you have to look good. Play the part. Always. Regardless of the circumstances.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m too used to hiding how I really feel.”
Confused, Allison said, “I thought you worked for your father’s company?”
“I’m on the books, of course—we all are. But I’m a musician, too. Sax player.”
“Professional?”
“Well, I try. But the truth is, I mainly play for fun.”
Allison looked at him with heightened suspicion. Musician? Could that be the connection to Tammy? Would a singer from Scranton and a sax player from Ithaca travel in the same music circles?
The waitress came with their drinks. Alex thanked her and took a long swallow of beer. Putting the mug down, he let his head fall to the side and gave Allison a wry smile. “You look surprised.”
“I’m just surprised no one mentioned it before now.”
“Why would we? What does it matter?” He looked over at the band in the corner, now playing Eric Clapton’s Layla, and said, “I still have a role in Benini Enterprises. I’m the so-called resource manager.” He shrugged. “It keeps me on the payroll and gave my father a reason to include me in the succession plan. I show up at the office, review our only HR person’s reports, make a few recommendations. It’s all good.”
Alex smiled, but his smile had that same wistfu
l quality that Allison had seen back at the estate, when she’d first broached the subject of Alex and Benini Enterprises.
She wondered whether it really was “all good,” or whether Son Number Two had gotten the short end of the stick and resented it. A musician and a human resources manager? Not what she would have picked for Alex Benini.
Allison said, “Speaking of the business, Francesca mentioned that it’s not been doing well. She seemed hopeful that she could turn that around, but I never did understand the reason for the decline.”
He sat back in his chair. “Simple. The company had been declining for some time. When the market tanked, it led to even less demand for our products, especially the specialty food goods. They tend to be higher-end and expensive. As consumer discretionary income decreases, so does the demand for luxury foods. But my father was an optimist. He refused to cut expenses and overhead in line with the decline. And he was stuck in his old ways. Dom and I had ideas for new lines that could perhaps have increased sales, but he would hear none of it.”
“What kind of ideas?”
“Products that would seem a better bargain, more accessible. Sold under a subsidiary, if Father didn’t want to change the perception about Benini. And maybe some higher end products marketed to the very rich, people whose discretionary income didn’t change when the market fell.” He searched Allison’s eyes for understanding. “And we considered branching out into other avenues all together.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t want to bore you with all this business talk.”
“You’re not boring me at all. In fact, for a sax player, you sound pretty knowledgeable about the inner workings of Benini Enterprises.”
“You can’t grow up in our household and not be.”
“So why not dive head first into business? Why music?”
