by Tyson, Wendy
“You’re different. I can feel it, Mia. It’s like you’re pulling away. It’s been this way for a while.” He let his hand fall from her face to her shoulder and then traced his fingers along the curve of arm. She was all hard angles and straight lines, but he loved that about her.
When she didn’t respond, Vaughn moved his hand back to her face. It was wet. He ran his thumb along her cheekbones and down to her mouth. She kissed his finger.
“You’re crying,” he said. It came out as an accusation. Abruptly, he rolled out of bed and walked to the window. He lifted the shade. When he turned, he saw Mia standing behind him, hair cascading down her shoulders in the morning light, a look of devastation on her beautiful face.
“Why?” he managed. “Just tell me that.”
She shook her head slowly, back and forth. He knew he was pushing her, but he’d been living with this feeling, this knowing, for so long. He wanted her to say it.
“Why?” he demanded again.
“Our friendship means more to me than anything.” Mia’s eyes were round, beseeching. “I don’t want to be a burden. And someday I will be. You’re young, Vaughn. You can have children if you want, a full life. It’s not too late for you.” She reached out and touched his face, felt the scar he’d had since childhood. “You act like life is over and you’re just biding your time. Stop. Live.”
“I want you.”
“You want to retreat. I’ve become your refuge.”
“No, that’s not true.” He stared at her, angry now. “How can you say that?”
But Mia only smiled. She looked so goddamn ethereal, standing there in her white nightgown, her hair flowing down her shoulders, her eyes wide, wet and pleading. He hated her then. No, he hated himself.
He moved toward the door. Her arm shot out. She grabbed his wrist. “Not like this,” she whispered. “Don’t go away angry.”
But he shook her off. And then he left.
Two hours later, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his dresser. More precisely, he was staring at the six-pack he’d purchased on his way home. He was about to give in when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Vaughn?” It was Angela’s voice. “Are you okay?”
He realized he couldn’t talk. He swallowed, wiped at his eyes and grunted.
The doorknob turned. “Can I come in? We’re worried about you.” Before he could answer, the door cracked open. “Vaughn?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”
Angela opened the door fully and stood in the glow of the hallway. She was a beautiful woman, with glossy black hair, pale mocha skin and almond-shaped brown eyes. But more than that, she was kind. The look she was giving him now, so full of concern, made his heart ache.
“I said I’m fine,” he blurted, hating the bitterness in his voice. None of this was Angela’s fault.
They stared at one another for a moment. Vaughn rubbed his face, massaging his temples with sweaty hands. He realized he was shaking. Angela’s gaze traveled from his hands to his face to the six-pack. She moved into the room.
“You don’t always have to be the strong one,” she said.
Vaughn looked down at the floor, spine rigid. He felt her hand on his shoulder, then he watched out of the corner of his eye as she walked to the dresser.
“Can I have this?” she asked softly without turning around.
When Vaughn didn’t respond, she picked up the six-pack. “I’m going to take your silence as a yes.”
When she left, Vaughn felt his body go limp. His hands, still shaking, found his pillow. He pummeled it once, twice, then held it to his face and let the torrent come.
LOOK AT THIS, read Jamie’s screen. His brother stared at him for what felt like an eon. WHAT’S THE MATTER?
“Nothing.” Vaughn avoided looking at Jamie. He’d washed his face, had some coffee, and now he had himself together—or so he believed. Since they’d been kids, Jamie had been able to see right through him, though.
Jamie was quiet. Vaughn was the first to speak.
“What did you find?”
YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TELL ME.
Vaughn rubbed his chin. Two days’ worth of black stubble made him look worse, he knew. He needed to shave. He said, “What did you find, Jamie?”
FINE, HAVE IT YOUR WAY. YOU ARE A STUBBORN SON-OF-A-YOU-KNOW-WHAT. He paused. LIKE I TOLD YOU BEFORE, DIAMOND BRANDS WAS FOUNDED BY TED DIAMOND. HE WAS A CONTROVERSIAL FIGURE IN HIS TIME. ALIGNED WITH THE RELIGIOUS RIGHT. PRO-GUN. TOOK PRIDE IN A “MADE IN THE USA” TAG-LINE, ANTI-UNION, PAID A FAIR WAGE. TRUTHFULLY, SEEMED TO BE A PRETTY UPSTANDING GUY, A FEW OF HIS POLITICAL CONNECTIONS ASIDE.
“If he was so upstanding, what happened in China?”
I’M GETTING THERE. DIAMOND BRANDS STARTED SMALL. TED DIAMOND AND HIS FIRST WIFE LILY BEGAN WITH A SINGLE SHOP CALLED LILY. SPECIALIZED IN CLOTHING, BAGS AND JEWELRY FOR WOMEN IN THE UPPER ECHELONS OF SOCIETY. IN 1992, THEY ADDED BARLEY & ROW, AN UPPER-CRUST MENSWEAR SHOP. HEARD OF IT?
Vaughn nodded. They had one in nearby Wayne, although he had never shopped there. “And Transitions is the third brand?”
WAS THE THIRD BRAND. THE ENVIRONMENTAL STUFF WAS JUST THE TIP OF THE PYRAMID. THERE WERE ALSO ALLEGATIONS OF CHILD LABOR LAW VIOLATIONS. NOT JUST HYPE, EITHER. SUBSTANTIATED ACCOUNTS OF KIDS WORKING LONG HOURS IN SQUALID CONDITIONS IN INDIA AND CHINA.
“Kids as in how old?”
Jamie’s face darkened. AS YOUNG AS SIX.
Vaughn let that sink in. “Didn’t make Diamond look so good.”
TED DIAMOND CLAIMED HE HAD NO KNOWLEDGE OF THE ABUSES. IN FACT, HE WAS SO CONVINCING THAT THE MEDIA LOST INTEREST. HARD TO CRUCIFY A GUY WHO IS BOTH DEVASTATED AND REMORSEFUL. HE—ALONG WITH SOME PRETTY POWERFUL DOLLARS, I IMAGINE—MANAGED TO SWEEP MOST OF IT UNDER THE RUG.
“Except for the river dumping.”
THERE, THEY HAD MORE PROOF. IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO DENY WHAT HAD HAPPENED, WHETHER OR NOT DIAMOND HAD KNOWN ABOUT IT. PLUS, IT SEEMED THE LESSER OF THE EVILS.
Vaughn thought about Transitions. It was an upscale shop for teens and pre-teens, a preppy, more conservative version of Abercrombie & Fitch. “It’s hard to sell clothes for kids that have been made by kids.” Vaughn stood. “Is Transitions still owned by Diamond Brands.”
DIAMOND BRANDS OWNS A CONTROLLING SHARE AND THE DIAMOND FAMILY OWNS A GOOD STAKE, TOO. BUT TOGETHER, THEY OWN LESS THAN HALF THE COMPANY.
“So the Diamond family retained ownership interest in Transitions, but also sought to distance themselves from the scandal.” Vaughn paced the room. “And you think this has some direct connection to Scott Fairweather’s murder?”
I DON’T KNOW. THAT’S JUST IT. SCOTT WAS BROUGHT ON BOARD TO HELP WITH THE TRANSITION OF TRANSITIONS. A HUGE JOB FOR ANYONE.
Vaughn paused by Jamie’s screen. “What if someone wanted him to fail?”
AS IN…?
“As in someone who had something to gain if the company didn’t make it.”
I HAD THE SAME THOUGHT. BUT WITH A PUBLIC COMPANY, NO ONE WINS IF THE COMPANY FAILS.
“Maybe a foreign contractor? Someone who lost business because of the new image?” Even as he said the words, Vaughn knew they sounded far-fetched. He ran his hand through his hair, thinking. “I know who might have an idea, though, if I can get an audience.”
TED DIAMOND?
Vaughn nodded.
TED DIAMOND PASSED AWAY OVER A YEAR AGO.
Vaughn’s head snapped up. “Murder?”
HEART ATTACK. HE WAS GOLFING WHEN HIS TICKER GAVE OUT ON HIM. MEDICS TRIED TO RESCUSITATE HIM, BUT IT DIDN’T WORK.
“So who’s running the business now?”
Jamie sighed. He said, THAT I DON’T KNOW. THERE’S A NEW CEO, BUT HE’S NOT RELATED TO THE FAMILY. OWNERSHIP HAS BEEN RETAINED BY THE DIAMOND FAMILY, BUT THEY’RE NOT INVOLVED WITH THE D
AY-TO-DAY.
Vaughn stared at the screen, then turned toward his brother. Jamie’s eyes were bright. It was obvious he loved this stuff, especially the puzzle aspect of digging into other people’s lives. “A guy like that?” Vaughn asked. “No kid to run the family business?”
Jamie smiled. NO SON, AT LEAST. TED DIAMOND AND HIS FIRST WIFE, LILY, HAD A DAUGHTER. AMELIE DIAMOND.
“First wife?”
DIAMOND REMARRIED A FEW YEARS AGO. FROM WHAT I COULD TELL, SECOND WIFE IS NOT INVOLVED IN THE BUSINESS, EITHER. CAME INTO THE MARRIAGE WITH HER OWN MONEY.
“How about the daughter? She doesn’t work for Diamond?”
NO, SHE DOESN’T WORK AT ALL, AT LEAST NOT IN THE CONVENTIONAL SENSE. AMELIE DIAMOND IS A BUDDHIST NUN. SHE’S BEEN ESTRANGED FROM HER FAMILY FOR YEARS. HER FATHER DISOWNED HER WHEN SHE CONVERTED TO BUDDHISM. FROM WHAT I READ, SHE DIDN’T EVEN ATTEND HIS FUNERAL.
“Is she nearby?”
PHILADELPHIA. SHE WORKS AS THE SPIRITUAL DIRECTOR OF THE BUDDHIST CENTER ON NINTH AND LOMBARD.
“A far cry from Tibet.”
Jamie frowned. A FAR CRY FROM EVERYTHING SHE KNEW GROWING UP.
TWENTY-FOUR
At one o’clock Sunday afternoon, Allison was out the door when her mobile rang. It was Mia.
“You okay?” Allison asked. She climbed into the Volvo, phone cradled against her shoulder, and snapped her seatbelt in place. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
“Restless, I guess. What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Heading to Chadds Ford.”
“Wine tasting?”
“Ha. Hardly. An old friend lives there. Brad Halloway. Remember him?”
“The man who helped Delvar?”
“That’s him.” Allison pulled out onto her street and meandered her way toward Route 30. Halloway had sounded happy to hear from her. In fact, he invited her down to his house to have afternoon tea with him and she’d accepted. “Want to join me?”
“Is this a social call?”
“Not exactly. Halloway works at Transitions. He knew Scott. I already met with him once, but I have a few more questions. So what do you say? An afternoon of picking people’s minds about a murder? For old time’s sake?”
Only Mia didn’t laugh. Concerned, Allison said, “Hey, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Mia didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “I’ll come with you. How about if I meet you halfway? At the Starbucks off 202, near the stables? I’ll fill you in then.”
Allison agreed. She hung up and pondered the call. Mia hadn’t sounded upset, exactly, just melancholy. Allison thought of Vaughn, of Mia’s little comments about their relationship. She was afraid she knew what Mia was going to tell her. She was afraid for her friend Vaughn, because she knew how devastated he would be.
Mia slid into the car next to Allison and placed a tan leather bag on the floor. She was wearing charcoal gray pants and a soft cream wrap sweater. Her hair had been pulled into a neat chignon, but her skin looked pale and her eyes were swollen and red.
Allison said, “You’re not so great at hiding things. Vaughn?”
Mia didn’t respond at first. She sat with her head turned toward the window, and when she twisted toward Allison, her face was a mask of pain.
“I love him, Allison. You know that. I will always love him.”
“But?”
“I don’t need to tell you all the reasons it won’t work in the long run.”
“None of that is new. The age difference, what you both have been through. Why now?”
“I’m not getting any younger.”
“Neither is he.”
“Exactly.”
Allison let it go. She started the car and pulled out onto the road. Mia would share in her own time. Allison had learned long ago that people tell themselves what they need to in order to get through each day. If Mia was telling herself this was best for Vaughn, there was a reason—perhaps one that Mia wasn’t ready to face right now.
“So what do I need to know about the Halloways?” Mia asked. Her tone said “new topic.”
Allison gave Mia a quick update on their unofficial investigation into Fairweather’s murder, including the missing Eleanor Davies, Eleanor’s sister’s murder and the mysterious Doris Long.
“So you think Halloway may know where Eleanor is?” Mia sounded unconvinced.
“I’m hopeful.”
“I know you’re grateful to Halloway for helping with Delvar, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would get down and dirty with the staff, if you know what I mean.”
Allison looked at her. “You don’t like Brad?”
“I only know him from the few times we met at Delvar’s functions. I can’t say I ever warmed up to him.” Mia smiled. “But don’t go by me. After Edward, I can’t say I see myself as a great judge of male character.”
“There’s Vaughn.” Allison regretted the words the second they were out of her mouth.
“There’s no disputing Vaughn’s character,” Mia said. She smiled again, but this time there was a wistful glaze to her expression. “My judgment, on the other hand, remains questionable.”
Allison hadn’t been to the Halloways’ home for years. The couple had moved since she’d last visited, and their new home was a large, ornate one-story. Tucked into a cul-de-sac in an upscale neighborhood of newer homes, the Halloway house had been designed in the French country tradition: stone façade, a complicated roof line and large divided-light windows. The only nod to his wife’s medical issues was a concrete wheelchair ramp that led from the wide driveway to the front entry.
Brad had done well for himself, Allison thought. If anyone deserved it, he did.
Brad greeted them at the front door. He hugged Allison, shook Mia’s hand and looked genuinely happy to see them both. “Come in, my dears,” he said.
The inside of the house matched the promise of the exterior. A large entryway gave way to a great room/kitchen combination. Off to the left was a formal dining room. To the right, glass doors looked into a home office lined with bookshelves. Next to the office was a hallway. All the passageways were wide, and the hallway was lined with railings to accommodate Antonia’s needs. The home spoke of loving attention, professional designers and excellent house cleaners. Everything sparkled; nothing seemed out of place.
“Is Antonia here?” Allison asked.
Brad smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid she’s not feeling well today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Allison said. And she was. Allison genuinely adored Antonia Halloway. She was one of those rare individuals who seemed to view her lot in life as a blessing, not a curse, and, in doing so, was an inspiration to others. “Perhaps I can visit her another time?”
“She would love that.”
Allison and Mia followed Brad through the great room and into a glass-enclosed sunporch. “Have a seat,” he said.
Allison chose a mission-style oak chair and Mia sank into a loveseat. The room was filled with plants: African violets, amaryllis, aloe, begonias and many others that Allison couldn’t name.
“This is lovely,” Mia said.
Brad smiled. “It’s my wife’s. Antonia struggles these days. This room cheers her up.” He stroked the petals on a white orchid. “Especially the orchids. She loves that they survive indoors when outside it is so cold and desolate.”
Mia smiled. “I can understand that.”
Brad pressed a buzzer by the door. Within seconds, a young woman showed up. Red-headed and heavily freckled, she had the attentive, anxious demeanor of someone new to her job.
“Yes, Mr. Halloway?”
“Can you fetch us some tea, Adriana?” He glanced at Mia. “Chamomile, if I remember correctly?”
Mia nodded. “Thank you.”
“And for you, Al
lison?”
“Chamomile is perfect.”
“Make that one green and two chamomiles,” Brad said. “And perhaps a plate of the biscotti you made yesterday?”
“Of course.”
After she’d left the room, Brad sat on another Mission chair. He looked tired, and Allison felt bad for bothering him at his home.
“We won’t take much of your time, Brad.”
“It’s no bother, Allison. Believe me, I’m happy to see you. We don’t get as much company as we used to. It’s hard. People feel uncomfortable.” He shrugged. “I try to be understanding, but sometimes I get frustrated with her old friends. Even our children.”
Adriana returned with a tray. She set the tray down and then reached into her pocket and pulled out a vial of pills.
“It’s time, Mr. Halloway.”
Almost brusquely, Halloway took the vial, opened it and swallowed a pill with the glass of water. He handed Adriana the pills and glass with a disgusted grimace.
“Don’t let anyone fool you, Allison. It’s terrible getting old.”
Mia said, “I suppose it beats the alternative.”
Brad smiled. “Not always.” He stirred sugar into his tea but didn’t pick up the cup. “How can I help you ladies?”
“Does the name Eleanor Davies ring a bell?”
“Of course. She works for Transitions. Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying to find her. She seems to have disappeared.”
“Is this still about Scott?”
Allison nodded.
Brad studied her. He reached for a plate and a biscotti and took a moment arranging a napkin on his lap. Mia was sipping her tea, eyes on Brad. The tension in the room was suddenly thick, although Allison wasn’t sure why.
Finally, Brad said, “I’ve known you for years, Allison, and I can tell that you’re hiding something now. Why is that?”
Allison was slow to respond, choosing her words carefully. Why was she being so reticent? Embarrassment, she realized. Divulging much more meant telling Brad, a man she looked up to and respected, that she’d had an affair with Scott.
