Dying Brand

by Tyson, Wendy

  “I knew Scott as a client and as a…paramour,” Allison said, struggling to get the word out. “We hadn’t seen each other in years, but the day he died, he had my name in his appointment book.” Allison looked up at Brad. “I want to know why.”

  “That sounds like a matter for the police.”

  “The police know, but they don’t seem concerned.” And then there’re the photos, Allison thought, but chose to leave that detail out. “Anyway, I think Eleanor is the key. Scott and Eleanor were…close. She may know what happened to Scott in the weeks leading up to his death, why he wanted to get in touch with me.”

  “You have no idea?” Brad said.

  “None.”

  “Perhaps it was something simple, Allison. A work referral or a speaking request.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Brad stood. His biscotti and tea remained untouched. Allison hated the way his disapproval made her feel. Unclean, ashamed. He’s not your father, Allison reminded herself. You have no need to please him.

  From across the coffee table, Mia caught her eye. Her look said, caution.

  “Allison, at a company like ours, there are always rumors. Keep that in mind while I share what I know. Rumors are just that, gossip, not necessarily truths.” He paused. “There were certain…rumors…about Scott in the last weeks. One was that he and Eleanor were lovers. Another even less palatable rumor—unsubstantiated, mind you—was that he was stealing from the company.”

  “Embezzling?” Allison looked up, surprised.

  Brad nodded. “As I told you before, some believed he was in debt. Fast lifestyle, new child, a spouse who’d quit her job.” He looked at Allison apologetically, “And mistresses. These things added up financially. Throw in possible drug affiliations, and, well, you have a train wreck.” Brad frowned. “Scott Fairweather was a train wreck.”

  “Did the autopsy show drugs in his system?”

  “Not that I know of, but frankly, I didn’t ask.”

  “How do you explain Eleanor’s disappearance?” Mia asked.

  Brad turned toward Mia. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  Mia said, “If she’s missing, aren’t you worried that she’s a victim, too?”

  “Eleanor Davies is a headstrong, highly independent woman. She knew she was playing with fire, I’m sure, and for all we know she was part of his drug lifestyle. So yes, Mia, to answer your question, foul play could be involved. We—Transitions, that is—are concerned for her safety. So much so that we have alerted the authorities investigating Scott’s death.”

  “Where do you think she could be?” Allison asked.

  Brad walked toward the sunroom window. He looked out onto the well-kept front yard, hands on his hips. When he turned around, he said, “I think Eleanor is embarrassed and probably a little scared. Scott had a duty to Transitions, and sleeping with the purchasing director is hardly the right thing to do. But even more so, he had a duty to his wife and that new baby. He should have been ashamed of his conduct. And Eleanor…she should have known better. No one wins in that situation. Eleanor lost her dignity and Scott, his family and, ultimately, his life.”

  Brad spoke these words with such conviction that both Allison and Mia looked up, startled by the sudden harshness in his voice. Before either could respond, though, the doors into the sunroom swung open and the nurse wheeled Antonia Halloway into the room.

  Antonia’s body was a twisted husk. She sat in just a corner of the chair, a thick fleece blanket on her lap. Bony shoulders were encased in a soft chartreuse wool sweater. Most telling of all, though, were her hands. What had been long, graceful fingers were now claws, arched stiffly in her lap, the nails clipped short so as not to scratch unintentionally. Antonia’s beautiful face was all hollows and jutting bones, made more horrific by brightly inquisitive, empathetic eyes.

  “Hel-ll-o All-i-sss-son.” Antonia struggled to get the words out.

  Allison rushed to her side and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Antonia, so good to see you.”

  “You didn’t tell me we had guests,” Antonia said slowly.

  Brad look chagrined. “You were resting, darling. As you should be now.”

  Antonia’s icy look said otherwise.

  Brad sighed. To Allison, he said, “Sit with Antonia and me and enjoy your tea. Adriana, fetch Mrs. Halloway a cup of tea. Not too hot, please. And perhaps some fresh tea for the rest of us. I’m afraid it’s gotten cold.”

  Brad said these last words in a way that told Allison it was the topic, not just the time passed, that had made the tea cold.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Back in the car, Mia seemed pensive.

  “What did you think?” Allison asked.

  “I may have misjudged him. His wife, Antonia?” Mia shook her head. “Such courage. And he is so tender with her.”

  Allison sighed. “I know. They have always been very much in love.”

  Allison pulled out of the Holloways’ street. The day had turned sharply colder and she pushed buttons on the car’s control panel to turn up the heat. She realized, though, that the chill she was feeling had nothing to do with the fall weather.

  “Brad doesn’t quite seem himself.”

  “His wife is ill. Very ill.”

  “I know,” Allison said. She felt the weight of those words and the sympathy she had for Antonia. “But something’s not right with him. That cough…I’m worried about Brad. And as for Scott, it’s obvious Brad didn’t care for him.”

  Mia chewed at her bottom lip, looking out at the passing landscape. “Has it occurred to you, Allison, that Brad’s right? Perhaps Scott had simply made some very bad choices in life and those choices finally caught up with him.” She glanced over at Allison. “Of anyone, you should know that Scott wasn’t a nice person. He had issues.”

  “How do you explain the pictures?”

  “Maybe Scott arranged to have them sent before his death. Maybe, just maybe, he intended to blackmail you and that’s why your name was in his book.”

  “But they were sent after he died.”

  “He could have an accomplice. Perhaps Eleanor.”

  Allison glanced at Mia. “Perhaps.”

  “It would fit with Brad’s depiction of Scott.”

  And it would. In debt, multiple mistresses, work pressures. He hadn’t exactly shown himself to be a man who adhered to a high ethical standard. Blackmailing her for money seemed right up his alley.

  “In fact,” Mia said, “maybe Eleanor and Scott were blackmailing others, too…others who weren’t as nice as you. She could have run to save her own life.”

  Maybe, Allison thought. “If only we could find Eleanor.”

  “Then what, Allison? What if you do find her?

  “Then I go to the police.”

  “I think you should let this go,” Mia said. “Talk to the police now. Tell them everything. Let the pieces fall where they may.” She reached out and touched Allison’s arm. “This one’s not for you to solve.”

  “The police already know about my name in Scott’s calendar. They questioned me. And Brad said Transitions told them about Eleanor. The only thing I can add is the photos, both the ones sent to me and Julie. I can’t break her confidence, and so far, the press has not received those pictures of me. Sometimes things have a way of leaking once the police are involved.”

  “You could be obstructing an investigation.”

  Allison had thought of that. “I don’t think so. Nothing concrete connects the pictures and Scott’s death. Jason would have told me to hand them over if he’d believed I was breaking the law.”

  Mia didn’t look convinced. “I think you should drop this. Take Brad’s word as gospel and move on. But I know you better than that.”

  Allison smiled. “I need to find Eleanor, Mia. If she can’t shed some light on this, then I may hav
e no choice but to give up.”

  Mia sighed. “If that’s the case, I may be able to help you.”

  Surprised, Allison looked at her. “How?”

  But Mia wasn’t telling. “Just drop me off at my car. I’ll let you know when and if I find something.”

  The Tibetan Buddhist Center took up two three-story brick row homes on the corner of Lombard Street, not far from Pennsylvania Hospital. Vaughn was surprised at the location. He’d envisioned Buddhist monasteries to be high in the mountains in Tibet, not deep in Philly. But a small red and gold sign identified this as the right place.

  The entryway, a plain red wooden door, was unlocked despite the bars on the first- and second-floor windows. Inside was another door made of glass and bars. The vestibule in between was warm and sparsely furnished. There were benches, one on either side of the five-by-five space, and a small table with pamphlets about Buddhism, addiction and abuse. A single carved Buddha sat beside the pamphlets along with a bell. Vaughn picked up the bell. It was large and heavy in his hands. He rang it. Several minutes later, a woman’s face appeared, framed by the glass pane of the inner door. She smiled warmly when she saw him and opened the door.

  “How may I help you?” she asked. She was small-framed and portly, with a round, pleasant face. Her head had been shaved and was covered with a fine, black stubble. Her robes, orange and crimson, rippled when she moved. “I’m afraid the morning meditations have concluded.”

  “My name is Christopher Vaughn.” Vaughn held out a card, which she took. “I’m here to see Amelie Diamond.”

  “I’m Amelie.” A shadow passed across her face. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. I just want to talk with you.”

  The woman studied him, unmoving. After a few seconds, she ushered him inside. The front room was simply furnished, with white-painted walls, and colorful, ornate wall hangings depicting images of Buddha. The room smelled faintly of incense. Amelie re-locked the inner door and turned to Vaughn.

  “I’m no longer Amelie. I haven’t been for years. My name is Tenzin Jinpa Choden.” She smiled. “Am I right to assume you don’t want to talk about the spiritual center or Buddhism?”

  Vaughn gave her an apologetic nod. “Actually, I’m here to ask about your father’s company, Diamond Brands.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve wasted a trip, then. I have nothing to do with Diamond.”

  “If you don’t mind, it won’t take long.”

  “I guess that depends on the nature of your questions. My father has been dead for more than a year. I don’t interact with my family, and I have disavowed any interest in the company.”

  Amelie—Tenzin Jinpa—said all of this in a preternaturally calm way, giving off an aura of tranquility and compassion. Yet Vaughn sensed the slightest edge to her words. Had he hit a nerve? An hour of internet research had told him little about the only child of Ted and Lily Diamond. Born in Allentown, Pennsylvania, raised on the Philadelphia Main Line, educated at exclusive private schools and then, later, Brown University, she had been given everything needed to have a strong start in life. And then at age twenty-seven, she’d disavowed her inheritance and converted to Buddhism. Now she was a nun. Why had she turned her back on her family and the family business?

  Vaughn decided to be forthright. “A man was murdered. A man who had been hired by Transitions to lead the new socially-conscious marketing campaign for the spun-off brand. I didn’t grow up on the Main Line, Ms. Choden, and I know when I’m being played. I’m pretty sure something isn’t as it seems.” When Tenzin Jinpa started to speak, Vaughn raised a hand to stop her. “I’m not saying your father’s business is at the root. I’m just trying to understand some history. How Diamond Brands could have gotten embroiled in such a mess overseas, and why Scott Fairweather was chosen to lead the new marketing charge.”

  Tenzin Jinpa was a small woman, but she held Vaughn’s gaze with a firmness that surprised him. “And your role?” she asked. “Police? Private detective?”

  “None of the above,” Vaughn said. “I’m just looking for the truth.”

  “To what end?”

  “Justice.” Vaughn leaned in, using his height to his advantage. “Some kids are getting blamed for this murder, Ms. Chodin. Kids who probably didn’t have any shot at a good life. The kind of kids you don’t meet at preppy private schools and Ivy League universities.” He looked at her, letting the words sink in. “I just want the truth.”

  Tenzin Jinpa turned suddenly, her robes swirling around her body, and motioned for him to follow. They walked through a white hallway to another door, painted red, and entered a small chamber. The floors were lacquered oak, the walls white. A mural of Buddha painted with splashes of gold, red, crimson and blue hung from a bar at the back of the room. Tenzin Jinpa closed the door before taking two cushions from a stack in the corner. She handed one to Vaughn. She placed the other in the center of the room and sat upon it, curling herself into a small, tight package.

  Vaughn sat, cross-legged, self-conscious of his size and lack of grace in this tiny space.

  When they were both settled on the floor, Tenzin Jinpa leaned forward. Holding Vaughn’s gaze, she said, “When it comes to relationships, Buddhism is, at its core, about love. I have come to think of a relationship as a mirror. For many of us, we see not necessarily what is, but what we want to see. If we are wise, we learn to see people for whom they really are in that moment and love them anyway. We are all journeymen on the path, suffering alongside one another.” She shifted her hips on her cushion and, now still, said, “But we are not always wise.”

  “No, we’re not,” Vaughn said.

  Tenzin Jinpa smiled. “As a child, I wanted to see my father as a great man. Indeed, he was great in so many ways. He had what many might call vision. He dreamed of a great corporate empire and he pursued that vision with relentless focus and a healthy dose of paranoia.”

  “Creating Diamond Brands.”

  Tenzin Jinpa nodded. “First came Lily, named for my mother, whom my father worshipped.”

  “Worshipped is a strong word.”

  “Think of that mirror, Mr. Vaughn. My father wanted to see a beautiful, loving, selfless wife. Someone who would not only look good on his arm, but who would elevate him. For my mother was, in his view, at least, an extension of him.”

  Vaughn said, “That’s a very narcissistic view of marriage.”

  She nodded. “Yes, it is. But that was how my father viewed Lily Diamond, my mother, until the day she died at the unfortunate age of thirty-seven.”

  “So young.”

  “It devastated my father. His view of my mother became even more elevated. She was the saint whom no other woman, no other person, could compare, either in selflessness or integrity.”

  “How old were you when she passed away?”

  “Nine.”

  Which perhaps, Vaughn thought, explained the distant way in which she described her mother’s death. He said, “It must have been awful for you.”

  “Then? Yes, of course. Now? Death is part of the cycle of life. We believe there is no death, really—only change.”

  “But at nine years old, to lose your mother—”

  “My mother was not as my father would have the world believe her to be. I realize now that she was passive, weak-willed, and very sickly. For much of my youth, she was not around. Those preppy private schools to which you referred earlier? That was the only world I really knew growing up. My father was distant, my mother…challenged. Home was not a happy place.”

  The look on Tenzin Jinpa’s face said despite Buddhism’s teachings about relationships, this was not a topic she relished. And while her family dynamics echoed Allison’s own family in many ways—if one replaced a distant father with an abusive one—this conversation was not moving him closer to understanding Diamond Brands and the issues in China.

 
Vaughn said, “How did this impact what happened overseas?”

  “It didn’t, at least not directly. But to understand Diamond Brands, and my father’s reaction to what happened abroad, you must understand my parents.”

  Vaughn waited. He heard footsteps coming down stairs overhead, but if Tenzin Jinga heard them, too, she didn’t react.

  She said, “The company became, for my father, a symbol of his love for Lily. My father viewed himself as a strong Christian, an upstanding citizen. He gave money to charities, offered his employees generous vacation packages and maternity leaves. He became a champion of family and the American Dream.”

  “So to be associated with something as horrific as child slave labor would have been a personal affront.”

  “To him, and to my sainted mother.” Tenzin Jinpa smiled. “So you see, he would have had nothing to do with polluting rivers or enslaving children. Unthinkable for a man like Ted Diamond.”

  “Yet it happened.”

  She nodded. “Yet, it happened.”

  “So your father would have had to either come to terms with what occurred, thus owning it, or he would have had to find a way to disassociate himself from the problems, thus denying his role? Maybe the spin-off was his way of doing that?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  Tenzin Jinpa closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and said, “I converted to Buddhism at an older age. I wish I had found my calling sooner, but if I had, I may not have found the courage to pursue it.”

  Confused by the shift in topic, Vaughn said, “Because?”

  “There is a Buddhist saying, Mr. Vaughn: ‘Good to forgive, the best to forget.’”

  Outside the door, a man was calling, “Ani? Are you okay?”

  “In here, Chodak. You may enter.”

  The door opened and a young Asian man, also in robes, started to come inside. He bowed slightly when he saw Vaughn and began to back out of the room. Without making eye contact with either Tenzin Jinpa or Vaughn, he said softly, “Afternoon meditations will begin shortly, Ani.”