by Wendy Tyson
Jason’s eyes widened. “I didn’t tell you,” he said.
“Tell me what?”
“I told my mother. I thought I told you, too.”
“Tell me what?”
“Because there was no breaking and entering, and because of certain pieces of evidence found at the scene, the authorities think it was someone Arnie knew well. Maybe even someone in the family. Ethan has no alibi for that night. They’re questioning him, Allison. But if he’s involved, they don’t think he acted alone.”
Allison woke up in a sweat. She turned over and patted the empty space next to her. Damn. Her head throbbed, her tongue felt like sandpaper. Friday night came back in a rush: casual conversation had led to a bottle and a half of Pinot Noir and a home viewing of Shawshank Redemption. Too drunk to drive home, Jason camped out in the guest room. Only at two in the morning, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d wandered in and asked him to join her in her room. So much for resolve.
Sleep. That was all she wanted. Strong arms holding her, the feel of muscles against her back, someone to ward off the loneliness of the night and the recurring thoughts that came with it. Had it led to more? She peeked under the blankets. Her pajamas were still on. After two years, it would have been weird or wonderful or awful but certainly memorable. She’d have remembered.
Relieved, she swung her legs to the floor and stretched. Last night had been stupid, plain and simple. She and Jason were dangerous together. Obviously he thought so too or he wouldn’t have taken off so early, scrambling out of her house like a sorority sister doing the walk of shame. They made great friends, true, but as lovers and especially as partners, it was Chernobyl on a bad day.
Allison peeled off her top and her pajama bottoms. A hot shower would feel good. Then she’d treat herself to coffee and a croissant at Starbucks and check in at First Impressions to catch up on paperwork and set up the book signings her publicist had been nagging her about.
She stood naked at the window and lifted the shade just enough to see bright sunlight, a clear sky. What a perfect spring day.
The home phone rang. She considered running for the handheld but decided against it. Whoever it was could wait until after her shower. The ringing stopped. She was three steps from the bathroom when her bedroom door swung open and Jason walked in. He smiled when he saw her there, arms wrapped reflexively around her chest, naked as the day she was born.
“Jason.”
He stood there, her phone in his outstretched hand. He turned his head, but not before Allison caught that look of longing again. He said, “It’s Vaughn. He says it’s important.”
Allison backed up and grabbed a bathrobe from the closet. “Can you just find out what he wants?” When the robe was safely cinched around her waist, she focused on the brief conversation occurring between her ex-husband and her colleague.
Jason clicked off the phone and handed it to her. “Hank McBride is looking for you. He wants to see if you can spend some time with Maggie today. Vaughn said it sounds like yesterday went well and he wants to build on that foundation.” Jason used two fingers to put air quotes around the last four words.
She nodded, still too rattled to speak. With the bedroom door open, she could smell the dueling aromas of coffee and bacon coming from downstairs. This was all too much.
Jason said, “I made you breakfast. Thought you might like something hardy after last night.”
She found her voice. “Did we...”
Jason smiled tenderly. “You drank too much wine and came on to me. I saved you from yourself.”
“Very funny.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek. She pushed him away playfully.
“Funny, Al. But true.”
When Allison arrived at First Impressions, the door was already unlocked and Vaughn was sitting in his office. He looked worn. Allison tapped twice on the doorframe and then took the seat opposite him, propping her elbows on the desk.
“Busy morning?” she asked.
“You could say that.”
“It’s Saturday, my friend. You shouldn’t even be here.”
Instead of answering, his eyes seemed to size her up. Suddenly, she was conscious of her unwashed hair, thrown up in a pathetic excuse for a ponytail, and her lack of make-up, without which she still looked like she was twenty and not in a good way. She’d needed to get out of her house, away from Jason. She would shower later, at the gym, once she’d had a chance to work out her feelings with honest sweat and physical discomfort.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with Hank this morning.”
“My job.” He picked up a pen, scribbled something on a piece of paper, and handed it to her. She looked at him questioningly.
“McBride’s office number. He wants you to collect Maggie from his house at two o’clock. He wouldn’t get off the phone until I promised you’d be there.”
Allison made a face. “So soon?” She filled Vaughn in on the happenings of the night before, including Maggie’s revelation that Ethan Feldman was her boyfriend.
“I spoke to my buddy at the police department. Ethan was brought in for questioning yesterday, Allison. That’s not good.”
“No, I don’t imagine it is.” Allison was thoughtful for a moment. “I can’t figure the McBrides out. Hank’s a bully. Sunny seems to kowtow to him, yet there is something distant about her. But I believe she cares about Maggie, she just doesn’t know how to reach her. And Catherine is clearly her father’s daughter. That leaves Maggie to play the family scapegoat.”
“You sound like you like the kid.”
“Like?” Allison smiled. “She has such a tough shell, but I think there just may be a decent kid underneath it all.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t need to like all of my clients. I just need to understand them.”
“Ah, yes.”
Allison sat back. “You’re awfully icy this morning.”
Vaughn took a deep breath and let it out. His eyes looked tired and red, as though he hadn’t slept—not unlike her own before she’d put drops in them in the car. What drove him? She’d never met anyone so willing to work, so utterly committed to his job and his paycheck. Not even the executives she coached displayed Vaughn’s single-mindedness. It wasn’t ambition exactly, or a need to prove himself. To Allison, it seemed more like a desire to lose himself in work.
Allison wondered about this man with whom she trusted her business, both professional and personal. And she did trust him. That was one of the few things she knew about Christopher Vaughn. She trusted him with her life.
Allison raised her eyebrows. Vaughn smiled. This time when he spoke, his voice was softer, without the accusing edge. “Sorry. Rough night.”
“Girlfriend troubles?”
“Not exactly.” He picked up a pen and twirled it around his fingers. He seemed suddenly sad and wise, like a man burdened with knowledge beyond his years. Allison regretted the flippant question. Clearly something was troubling him, but she knew he wouldn’t share it. Vaughn generally kept mum when it came to his own personal life and it looked like today would be no exception.
“Aren’t you wondering why Hank McBride contacted you, Allison?” he said after a moment. “At the same time that there’s a murder of a prominent person in the community? And now we learn that his daughter is dating the victim’s son. Coincidence?”
Allison felt her face heat up. “You think Hank had something to do with Arnie’s murder?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“The man is a bastard, I’ll give you that. But why would he risk his career to kill Feldman?”
Vaughn held up a hand. “I’m simply wondering why McBride is so insistent that you work with his daughter, that’s all. I don’t trust the man. You are brilliant at what you do, Allison, but it sounds like that girl needs a lot more help than you can give her.”
Vaughn was right. She pr
obably couldn’t help Maggie any more than she had helped Violet. And Hank’s timing was odd. But Allison thought she understood.
She remembered the first time she met Sunny and Hank, the way Sunny looked at her, desperate for some kind of help, some form of hope. She remembered her own father, his desperation to end his pain all those years ago, desperation that led him to drive over that embankment, a stupid, insane act.
Allison didn’t know if Hank’s dogmatic pursuit of her was out of love for Sunny or just a desire to appease his wife, but whatever his motivation, Sunny was the reason, not Maggie. But how could she explain that to Vaughn without explaining her own family life? She couldn’t.
“Look, we have a business here,” she said. “Hank McBride is willing to pay us a ridiculous sum of money to work with his daughter. She’s difficult, it’s true, but I don’t see how this can hurt.” A headache hovered behind her temples. She stood to leave. “Would you mind calling Hank for me? I’m going to go to the gym. Tell him I’ll pick Maggie up at two. Lord knows what I’m going to do with her today. I need to find some way to connect.”
Vaughn nodded, still looking glum. Allison placed a hand on his shoulder. “Go home,” she said. “Get some rest. There is nothing here that can’t wait.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “No one dies over image consulting, Vaughn. Go home.”
Allison bristled. The nerve. After making her wait for hours on Friday with no apology, no thanks, just that half-hearted excuse about their housekeeper, McBride was late today too? Allison said she’d pick up Maggie, but now that she’d worked out, showered, and had some time to clear her head, she was having second thoughts. Maybe Vaughn was right. Hank’s disrespect for her time indicated a lack of cooperation. Image consulting couldn’t work without some level of mutual ownership. Here, not only was the kid defiant, but so was the parent.
She rang the McBride’s bell one more time. When no one answered, she walked back to the Volvo and climbed in. It was a sunny day, and with the windows down, the musky scent of spring was strong. She could be doing some yard work. She could be working on her next book. She could be doing a lot of things that didn’t involve the McBrides.
Allison had her hand on the cell phone. She was ready to dial Hank’s number, to tell him no in a way he could understand, to explain politely, but firmly, that she called the shots. The sound of the phone ringing jolted her into awareness.
The caller I.D. said it was her sister, Faye. Still smarting from the last situation, she picked up.
“Mom fell.” Faye said without introduction.
The tension Allison had shed at the gym returned.
“She’s all right,” Faye continued. “We met with a social worker after the fall. The social worker is concerned that next time it will be more serious. She’s recommending we start looking at nursing homes. Just in case. And Dad, well.” Another deep breath. Faye’s voice sounded unusually calm and even and that fact alone troubled Allison. “While the social worker was here, Dad called 9-1-1. He told the operator he was being held hostage by a group of drag queens.”
Allison laughed, despite herself.
“It’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry, but you have to admit, it is kind of funny.”
“It’s not funny when you’re living it. I shouldn’t have called. You’re obviously not willing to help. You can’t even take it seriously.”
Allison rubbed her face. It wasn’t funny, but it was all so absurd, so pathetically, unreasonably absurd. And unfair. What could she do but laugh? It beat crying.
“So then what happened?”
“The operator called back, thinking it was a prank, so no cops showed up, thank God. Daddy said later he thought the social worker was a man in drag, she was so ugly. Luckily, he waited until she left to make that proclamation. But he was such an itch during the entire interview, vying for my attention, spouting off about the liberal left and the good old days when a woman was a woman and a man was a man. He’s more of a problem than Mom, I think.”
“What do we need to do?”
“The social worker laid out our options. We can put Mom in an institution that accepts Medicaid.”
“Or…?”
“A private nursing home. We’ll have to sell the house either way, but then what do we do with—”
“—Daddy.”
“Exactly.”
Or you, Allison thought. What will you do, Faye?
Allison chose her next words carefully. She knew she had to make the offer with the right mixture of nonchalance and sincerity or Faye would be offended.
“When the time comes, you and Daddy can live with me. We’ll sell the house to pay for private care for Mom.”
Silence.
“Realistically,” Faye said, “even selling the house won’t pay for more than a month or two at a reputable place. The neighborhood is rundown, and Daddy has almost as much debt as the house is worth.”
“Then you could all live with me. We’ll hire a private nurse.”
“Listen to yourself, Allison,” Faye said. “You don’t really mean it.”
Allison was quiet for a second. She did mean it. It’s what she should do, what was expected of her. Then why the trouble breathing at the mere thought of such an arrangement? So she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect. She had, after all, spent the last twenty years trying to escape her childhood. She didn’t have to like the arrangement to offer it willingly.
“I have extra bedrooms, Faye. We could sell Mom and Dad’s house and invest the money. Then, when we can no longer care for Mom, we use the money to pay for a private nursing home. A state institution is out of the question.”
“You couldn’t handle Daddy, Allison. You’ve never been able to handle him. Do you think I didn’t see that growing up? No. We’ll find another way.”
Allison twisted in her seat. She thought about Maggie. Maybe she wouldn’t be saying no to the McBrides today after all. Together with her savings, the sum the McBrides were offering would help pay for private nursing care right there in her parents’ home—for a while, anyway. Her mom and dad could stay put and Faye would have help. And, most importantly, no depressing institution.
“Let’s find a private nurse, then.”
“How in the world will we pay for that, Allison? Use your head.”
Allison refused to bite. “You find the right person, Faye, and let me worry about the finances. Okay? If need be, I’ll sell my house.”
Faye didn’t speak, but Allison could hear her breathing, more pronounced now, on the other end.
“Faye?”
“Okay,” Faye said finally. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
Allison hung up and put her head back against the car seat. She would think of her mother when dealing with McBride. That would temper her pride.
Thirteen
“Daddy wants to be president, you know,” Maggie said.
“Stay still for just a minute, Maggie. I need one more measurement.” Allison wrapped the tape around Maggie’s upper arm and made a notation in her notebook. “There, you can get down now.”
Maggie stepped off the dressmaker’s platform, turned a chair backward and straddled it. She wore a pleated black peasant skirt and the stiff material bunched around her thighs, exposing thick, black-stockinged legs. A jagged runner ran the length of one calf, ending at the edge of a polished Doc Marten.
“That’s the real reason for this bullshit,” Maggie said. “He doesn’t care about the Senate race. The selfish jerk doesn’t want any skeletons in the closet in six years when he tries to become the big cheese.”
“He’s still your father, Maggie, so maybe you could try talking about him without the derogatory terms.” Allison stretched backwards, taking care not to snag her own stockings. “He may have trouble showing it, but I suspect there’s at least a littl
e concern in there for you somewhere.” Allison winked. “He did hire me, after all.”
Maggie snorted. “Please. He thinks your corporate brainwashing will fix his only skeleton. Me.” Maggie shook her head. Allison had to wonder. While she certainly didn’t believe everything that came out of Maggie’s mouth, she’d heard rumors that McBride viewed the Senate as merely a stop along his political train ride.
The air in the office of First Impressions felt stuffy, and the scent of patchouli drifting in waves off Maggie’s body made Allison faintly nauseous. She opened two windows. Fresh air. From outside, she heard the sounds of traffic and a wailing police siren, reminding Allison there was a world out there, a world that included the Main Line Murderer. One glance at the morning’s papers had told Allison that the rest of the Main Line was as worried about catching the killer as she was.
She toyed with asking Maggie what she knew but thought better of it. She doubted Ethan was involved and, anyway, she didn’t want today’s session to get off to a bad start.
“He’s not my real father, you know.”
Startled, Allison turned from the window. “Who?”
“Hank. I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s not my real father. We’re nothing alike. He has blond hair and blue eyes and is left-handed. My mother must have gotten so tired of him and his crap that she went out to a bar one night and slept with a musician or an actor. Or maybe a famous scientist. That would explain my interest in the occult.”
Allison had no idea how a scientist-father would explain Maggie’s interest in the occult, but she decided to stay quiet on the lack of obvious connection. Instead she said, “Maybe you just wish he wasn’t your father, Maggie. That’s not such an odd thing for a teenage girl to want.”
Maggie shot her a you-don’t-know-anything look. “Trust me. He’s not my father.” She scooted backward off the chair, stood up, and picked up her sack of a purse. “Now what? More catalogues? Another fun trip to the mall? What’s the next chapter in Maggie Makeover 101?”
