Dying Brand

by Tyson, Wendy

  A 9x13 white envelope. Someone had typed “Jason Campbell” on the front. Allison couldn’t breathe. She knew what would be inside.

  Slowly, deliberately, she removed a picture from the envelope.

  It was the worst she’d seen so far, and not because of the explicitness of the picture—it depicted a fairly tame sexual embrace, more PG-13 than XXX—but because of the look of utter adoration on her face.

  Allison was gazing at Scott with the expression of a woman in love.

  Damn, Allison said to herself. Hot tears stung her eyes. She glanced down at her hand, at the finger that would soon display an engagement ring.

  Oh, Jason, she thought. This should have been a happy time, but a photo like this would call everything into question for him. She’d told him about the sex shots, true. But in a man’s view, wouldn’t sex be one thing and love another? Clearly, Allison had once had deep feelings for Scott Fairweather. Even if she knew the picture was deceiving, that any feelings for Scott had been fleeting and rooted more in her grief over a failed marriage than respect for the man himself, to see something like this would be…devastating.

  The unreturned calls, the unrequited texts. Jason was angry. He had a right to be.

  And then it struck her. What if someone else had seen this picture, someone else who had a stake in this game? Leah Fairweather.

  Was it possible that she’d killed her own husband—or had him killed—because of jealous rage? They’d explored the possibility before, but now, looking at this photograph and imagining her fiancé’s ire, she could see how pictures of her husband’s infidelities could push Leah over the edge.

  Yes, Allison thought. The bereft widow might not be as grief-stricken as she seems.

  But Allison knew she couldn’t chase that tangent right now. She took off her shoes and settled into the small couch. She would wait here for Jason. All night, she thought, if that’s what it took.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Only Jason didn’t come home that night, nor did he go to Allison’s house. At midnight, Allison wrote him a heartfelt email telling him where she was and what she was doing. His simple response was, “Go home, Allison. I just need some time.”

  Where was he spending that time? And what was he doing?

  But she decided he deserved space and her trust, if that’s what he needed, and she returned to her quiet house, thankful for Brutus and Simon the cat.

  The next day, after three morning appointments that were difficult to get through because of a wandering mind and blanketing anxiety, Allison set off for the city and Julie Fitzsimmons. She’d called ahead, hoping that their sisterhood affiliation of Women Who’d Slept with Scott would buy her some time and some candor. She wasn’t yet sure of the latter, but Julie agreed readily to the former. Only she was in the city for a conference and had to meet Allison downtown.

  They met at the Corner Bakery on Seventeenth and JFK Boulevard. Julie smiled wanly as she took the seat across from Allison, a cup of steaming tea in her hand.

  “This is about Scott, I assume?” Julie asked.

  Allison nodded. “I appreciate your time.”

  Julie looked down at her hands as she flexed her fingers. “I can’t stop thinking about him. Even though we were over before he died, he’s always on my mind.” She glanced up. “And I’m still receiving the photos. In fact, I got one yesterday.”

  Around the same time Jason would have received his, Allison thought. “Was there a note? Any written communication?”

  Julie shook her head. “Just like before. The pictures delivered in a plain envelope. No letter, no handwriting.” She sighed. “Eleanor. I still think it’s Eleanor.”

  Allison wasn’t so sure. “Has it occurred to you that whoever is sending the photos could have been involved in Scott’s murder?”

  Julie looked dumbstruck. She blinked once, twice. “Scott’s murderers have been arrested. It was a bunch of kids. Why would they have these pictures? And if they somehow did, why send them to me?” She shook her head vehemently back and forth. “Plus, they’re in jail, Allison. They were arrested earlier this week. How would they have sent me the last one?”

  Allison agreed that the kids who were arrested would not have been involved with sending of the photographs. “But what if they didn’t kill him?” Allison asked. “Or what if they were hired to kill him in order to make it look like a drug-related murder?”

  Julie was quiet. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She chewed at one manicured nail, then stopped herself and placed her hand flat on the table. “But if it’s not blackmail, why bother?”

  “Maybe it’s a warning.”

  “For what purpose?”

  But Allison had no answer. She thought of the first package she’d received. The picture and the hole circled in red. “I guess that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  Julie’s eyes widened. “You’ve received them, too.”

  Slowly, Allison nodded. One more thing bonding them.

  “It’s awful, isn’t it? Not knowing. Realizing that Scott betrayed your trust.” She looked pointedly at Allison. “He did take them without your knowledge, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. I had no idea.”

  “Me, either.”

  They sat for a few minutes, each lost in her own thoughts. It was nearing two in the afternoon and the local lunch crowd was trickling out. An older woman, her shorn hair covered with a pink headscarf, sat in the seat next to them. She pulled out a Stephen King novel and, book open in front of her, dug into a large blueberry muffin.

  “I doubt you came here to talk about the photos,” Julie said with a regretful sigh. “What else can I help you with, Allison?”

  “Does the name Delvar ring a bell?”

  “The designer?”

  Allison nodded.

  “Other than knowing who he is, no. Why, should it?”

  “Do you know whether Scott knew Delvar?”

  “Not that I know of,” Julie said. “Although he may not have mentioned it if he did. When we were together, we didn’t talk all that much.” Her face reddened. “I just mean we didn’t have a lot of time when we were together. Anyway, why do you ask?”

  “Delvar was given an award and honorarium for a charity he’s started. The award ceremony was the first Saturday in November. Do you know any reason why Scott may have wanted to attend that ceremony?”

  Julie shook her head. “We weren’t together then, though.”

  Allison considered the timeline. That would mean Scott had ended things with Julie shortly before he was killed. Had he also ended his affair with Eleanor?

  “Julie, when Scott stopped seeing you, did he say why? I know it was because of Leah, his wife, but why now? What had changed to make him take that step?”

  Julie turned her head in the direction of the older woman in the head scarf. Her pause was deliberate, and Allison sensed that she knew more than she was about to share. Finally, she said, “He didn’t really say.”

  “He didn’t say or you’d rather not tell me?”

  Julie bit down on her thumbnail. “You have to swear not to tell anyone. Especially not anyone at Transitions.”

  “I promise.”

  “Someone caught us. We were…we were together in the copy room. I know it’s cliché, but it was very early in the morning and no one was around. Scott thought it would be fun. The door was closed.” Julie closed her eyes. “He slammed the door open and there we were. It wasn’t pretty. After that, Scott was afraid for his job. His career was everything to him. Everything.”

  “He was afraid he’d be fired?”

  Julie nodded.

  “Yet you said he broke up with you at night. That was the morning.”

  “He came to my house later. We…we did it again. I thought maybe he had come to terms with being discovered. But after we slept together, he told me tha
t was the last time. That he couldn’t risk Leah finding out or losing his position at Transitions. He meant it. We were not together after that. In fact, he barely acknowledged me from that point on.”

  Scott’s reaction to their discovery intrigued her. She recalled Mark Fairweather telling her that Scott had lost his position with Tenure Polk because of an in-house affair. Was this too close to history repeating itself, or was something else at play?

  “Was Scott written up for what happened?” Allison asked.

  “Not that I know of. I know I wasn’t.”

  “And was Scott’s position at Transitions secure?”

  “As far as I know. He and I didn’t really talk about work.” Julie glanced at her watch. “I had better head back to the conference.”

  Allison nodded. She started to collect her coffee cup. “I appreciate your time, Julie.”

  “Sure, although I don’t see how this helps you.”

  “It paints a picture of Scott. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. I’d forgotten…well, I figured he’d changed.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Julie said. She stood up, cup in hand. “Don’t forget about Eleanor. Who still hasn’t shown up, by the way.”

  “He was seeing her at the same time he was seeing you?”

  Julie nodded. “I had no idea.”

  Which made Allison wonder: did Eleanor know about Julie?

  “Who discovered you in that copy room, Julie?”

  Julie’s face contorted. “Brad Halloway, of all people. It was like being seen by my grandfather.”

  Brad? He hadn’t mentioned it. But then, he wouldn’t. “Has he treated you differently since then?”

  Julie gave a sad smile. “It’s like I don’t exist. Before, he talked to me every day. Since that morning, not a word. I guess maybe that’s bothered me, too. That Brad wouldn’t give me the benefit of the doubt.” Julie shrugged. “Like I told you before, it’s hard to be the other woman. The things you gain—companionship, passion—are an illusion in the end. The things you lose, well, at some point you realize that they’re the things that matter.”

  Allison was merging on to the Blue Route when her cell phone rang. She hit the “accept call” button on her Bluetooth without looking to see who the caller was.

  “Thomas is still trying to locate Eleanor’s Doris Long,” Mia said. “He said the name Doris Long brought up a gazillion hits. He’s trying to triangulate based on age and her relationship with Eleanor’s late father. But if the two never married and never owned property together, her location will be harder to pinpoint.”

  “Apparently this Doris Long is a huge gun enthusiast. Maybe that will help.”

  “Hmmm,” Mia said. “Does she own a gun-related business? Something that would create a tax or registration trail?”

  “I don’t know. She participates in gun shows, for whatever that’s worth.”

  “I’ll let Thomas know.”

  Thomas. Allison didn’t miss the use of Svengetti’s first name. She was disappointed. She knew finding Doris wouldn’t be easy. And even if they did locate the right Doris Long, there was no guarantee Doris would lead them to Eleanor. Or that Eleanor would be able to shed light on Scott’s murder or the photographs. But it felt like the best hope they had, so Allison was determined to see it through to the end.

  All of this had felt personal from the time she got that call at Delvar’s award ceremony. But when Allison saw that photograph on Jason’s table…well, that upped the ante. Now, there was really no going back.

  “Thanks to you and Svengetti for the help,” Allison said. “If he comes up with anything else, please let me know.”

  “He did find one other thing of interest, Allison. About your girl Eleanor.”

  Allison perked up. “What?”

  “The woman has money.”

  After exiting the Blue Route, Allison made a right on Route 30 and headed east, toward her house. “She worked for a large company and was pretty far up the food chain. That could equate to large bonuses. And if she lived frugally—”

  “Not that kind of well off, Allison. The kind of well off someone gets very suddenly. Thomas checked her bank records. Don’t ask me how he got access. Frankly, I don’t want to know. But what he found seemed compelling.”

  Allison waited for more. She turned into the Whole Foods parking lot and idled the engine, giving Mia her full attention. “Tell me,” she said.

  “She does not live frugally. The townhome? Paid cash. She’s an adventure traveler, and she’s been all over the world. Her last trip was to the Andes, where she did a two-week guided mountain trek.”

  “I saw some of that on social media.”

  “Know how much a two-week guided mountain trek to the Andes costs?”

  “How much?”

  “A lot,” Mia said. “Which in and of itself is not news. But when you add in a new car, expensive housing, and a fat bank account, you begin to wonder.” Mia paused. “Just in the last year, Eleanor made four deposits. One for $50,000 and another three for $25,000.”

  “Maybe she inherited the money.”

  “Not that Thomas could find. The money was transferred from a bank in the Bahamas.”

  While one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars was not an earthshattering amount of money, the fact that it was deposited by an unknown source from an offshore bank was interesting. “Is there more?” Allison asked.

  “Thomas found a brokerage account containing several hundred thousand in stocks and bonds. Plus, Eleanor owns property in California and Wyoming.”

  Allison mulled this over. “Maybe she’s staying at one of those properties.”

  “He checked. Both are rented. Long-term arrangements, so it’s unlikely she’d go there.”

  Allison considered the little she knew about Eleanor. “Does her job history match the money at all?”

  “Svengetti is still looking at her background, but he doesn’t think so.”

  “So what I’m hearing you tell me,” Allison said, “is that Eleanor has unexplained wealth. Which could equate to unethical behavior.”

  Mia agreed. “At the very least, she has a sugar daddy or sugar momma out there somewhere, a benefactor who has been more than generous. Or—”

  “Or she’s being paid off.”

  “Either now, or for something in the past,” Mia said. “Or she’s embezzling money.”

  “Brad accused Scott of embezzling.” Allison thought about Eleanor’s job. Purchasing Director for Transitions. She’d have access to money, authority over its disbursement, and the connections needed to defraud her employer. “But with such large sums, I question that angle,” Allison said, still thinking. “If you were embezzling, wouldn’t you do it a little at a time?”

  “But what if she had? What if the Bahamian accounts were where she kept the stolen assets?”

  “And she transferred it to her U.S. accounts from time to time?”

  “Exactly.”

  Allison put her head back on the leather seat rest. “If she has that kind of cash, she could be anywhere. Doris Long may be a dead end.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Mia said. “The money is still sitting there. Last night was the first time she’d attempted to transact in weeks.”

  The implications behind that statement hit Allison. “So wherever she is, she’s planning to run again.”

  Mia said, “That very well may be her plan.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Back at the office, Allison was in for another surprise. Vaughn was back from his trip to Philadelphia to visit Edith Myers and her grandson. The Myers family had skipped town.

  “We just talked to them recently.”

  “We did, but that doesn’t change anything. They’re gone.” Vaughn had a mug-full of peanuts in his hand and was crunching them, one after the other.
“No welcome mat, no cross on the door, no sign of anyone. I knocked on the front and back doors and waited. Nothing. I even hollered for Edith, which is why a neighbor came outside. A lady from two doors down.”

  Allison held a cup of hot coffee. She placed it on Vaughn’s desk. “And what did she say?”

  “Nothing kind.” Vaughn popped a handful of peanuts in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He glanced into the empty cup and frowned. “Always forget how much I love peanuts.”

  “The neighbor, Vaughn,” Allison said.

  “Yeah, the neighbor. Single woman by the name of Kaneesha. Despises Edith and is happy to talk about it. Called her a grouchy old woman—I’m rephrasing because there’s a lady present. That would be you.” He smiled. “Kaneesha may have used a few words that are sometimes selected to describe lady parts. Anyway, no love lost for Edith Myers.”

  “But did she know where Edith went?”

  “She did not. Just said she hadn’t seen either Edith or her grandson in days and wasn’t that just great because now some junkie or pimp would move in and destroy that house, too.”

  Allison studied Vaughn. He had a cat-who-ate-the-canary look about him. “What else did you find out?”

  “Kaneesha may have mentioned that Duane had been on the path to the straight-and-narrow, despite a childhood spent robbing, assaulting and participating in other unlawful activities. But she didn’t believe he’d changed.”

  “Why was that?”

  “She claims he assaulted her.”

  “He beat her up?”

  “So she says.”

  “But she didn’t report it?”

  “Nah. Only thing she seemed to distrust more than Duane and his grandmother is the police. Said she ‘handled him,’ whatever that meant.”