by Wendy Tyson
“What’s with the gun?”
“She kills animals that attack her chickens.”
Francesca’s eyes were closed. She’d leaned her head back against the leather and had her hands spread out in her lap. She seemed focused on her own breathing.
“Would you like some music?”
“What kind?” Francesca asked without opening her eyes.
He ran through a list of options. She settled on Mozart.
They sat quietly for a long leg of the trip. Traffic had returned to normal, and while Vaughn drove, he thought about his date the next night with Mia, Allison’s former mentor. Things had been easier now that their relationship was out in the open, but Mia wanted to have “a talk,” which, in his experience, was never a good thing.
Francesca sat inert beside him. After some time, she said, “So tell me, did you talk to my niece?”
“No. She was coming over the hill, from the stable. Before she got close enough to say anything, you were ready to leave.” He chose not to mention that she’d been following him in the woods.
“It’s better that way. I wouldn’t want your image of our family clouded by your impression of Maria.”
He smiled. “Not your favorite relative?”
“To the contrary. Of Paolo’s kids, I suppose she’s my favorite. She’s at least candid about her intentions.”
“And what are those intentions, if I can ask?”
“You can and you may. Maria wants to run Benini Enterprises.”
“Is she capable?”
“If being feisty and having street smarts makes you capable.” Francesca sighed. Her tone softened. “Maybe with training. Now, she is too impulsive and impatient, like Simone.”
“Simone’s her mother?”
“Yes. Although mother is a term that suggests maternal feelings and nurturing behavior. I don’t think Simone has ever exhibited either. She’s more like an older sister competing for attention.”
Vaughn looked at her with a half-smile. “No love lost between the two of you?”
This time, Francesca opened her eyes, although she kept her head back against the seat rest. “Is it that obvious?” She smiled, but it was a sad smile and Vaughn felt a tug of empathy. “I was raised by nuns in a convent boarding school. I started when I was five years old. Five, Mr. Vaughn. My own mother was weak-willed. She let her mother-in-law, my grandmother, make the decisions. And my father’s mother was, well, let’s just call her opinionated. She had strong views about the role of girls.”
“Seen but not heard?”
“Neither seen nor heard.” Francesca pursed her lips. “My family is from Calabria. Paolo, my brother, was raised to believe he could do no wrong. Not by my father—he was a smart man who took a small plot of land and turned it into an empire. No, it was not my father. It was my grandmother and, by way of submission, my mother.”
“Paolo runs Benini Enterprises?”
“He ran the company. For the last thirty-one years, since the death of my father. Now, I’m afraid, Paolo’s tenure is over. The stroke may not have robbed him of his life yet, but the doctors are quite certain it has robbed him of his faculties.”
“And the company?”
Francesca smiled, with a pained twist of the lips. “After all these years, that burden is mine.”
“If you don’t want the burden, why take this on? Why not just let one of Paolo’s kids run Benini Enterprises?”
“Why indeed.”
Vaughn slowed as the traffic before him rounded a bend on Route 81. He thought about the distraught woman who’d called him for Allison’s help. Somehow he couldn’t reconcile that Francesca with the one who sat next to him, quietly confident and oddly unemotional.
“You and your brother are close?”
“Very. Paolo is older than I am. He’s long been my protector and advocate within the family, first when it came to my grandmother and, later, his wives. It was Paolo who invited me to live at the family’s American estate when it became clear to everyone that I was not meant for marriage or a so-called normal life. And it was he who insisted I stay connected to the business when our father died.”
“But he didn’t let you help run the business?”
Francesca didn’t answer. Vaughn was thinking he had pushed the line of inquiry too far when she said, “Learned helplessness.”
He searched for the connection. “Seligman’s work?”
“Yes, those awful experiments where animals were taught that they couldn’t help themselves no matter what, so they simply learned to endure. That’s me, Mr. Vaughn. I have learned over the years—through many different lessons—that life is not fair. I stopped thinking I could change things.”
“Until now?”
Another silence. Francesca’s eyes were closed again. “Perhaps.”
“Can we stop?” Francesca said. They were still on Route 81, somewhere between Scranton and Wilkes Barre. “I’d like to use the ladies room.”
“Of course,” Vaughn said. “I’ll get off at the next exit.”
The next exit took them toward Pittston and a truck stop off Route 315. By now it was dark outside and the vast parking lot surrounding a Perkins restaurant and connected service area looked like a truck graveyard.
Vaughn pulled up outside of the restaurant area. “Are you hungry, Francesca? Would you like to stop for dinner?”
She had unbuckled her seat belt and was slowly stretching her legs out in front of her. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to get where we are going. Although if you want something—”
He didn’t and he said so. They agreed to meet back at the car in fifteen minutes. Vaughn watched the older woman enter the truck stop. Then he took out his mobile and called home. Once he was certain Jamie was fine, he dialed Allison’s mobile.
“Things going well?” she asked.
“As well as can be expected. Although it will be close to midnight by the time we arrive.” He filled her in on the traffic and on their discussions so far.
Allison was quiet for a moment. “At least she opened up to you. It’s a start.”
“I think you’re going to have a long haul with this one. Her goal seems so unattainable. She’s definitely motivated, though.” He flashed back to the look on her face when she mentioned that the business was her burden now. “Motivated in the way of a martyr going to the grave for her god. Or something.”
“Something is right. That house…her family. But we enjoy a challenge, right Vaughn?” Allison laughed. “So I’ll see you in about two hours?”
“Give or take.”
Vaughn took another look at his watch. They were supposed to meet back at the BMW at 9:25, but it was 9:35 and Francesca still wasn’t there. He was reluctant to leave the car in case she returned. He hadn’t asked for her cell number. Stupid on his part. He’d wait a few more minutes and then go look for her.
At 9:45, tired of waiting, he scribbled a note to Francesca, tucked it under the windshield and walked inside. To the left of the entrance was the restaurant. He scanned the crowd, looking for his client, but didn’t see her. Same luck in the convenience store and coffee shop. Finally, refusing to acknowledge the tennis ball lump in his belly, he asked a truck stop employee to search the women’s restroom for someone who matched Francesca’s description.
“Is that the only bathroom?” he asked when the employee came out alone.
“There’s a shower area in the rear and a bathroom in the restaurant.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the woman agreed to check each of these. Ten minutes later she returned. “I’m sorry, sir, but I looked twice in each location and checked every stall. I didn’t find anyone who looks like your friend.”
Vaughn asked to see the manager. He explained the situation to a skeptical-looking older man with a thick mustache and bald head that glistened under
the fluorescent lighting, providing a detailed description of Francesca, down to her clothes and the leather-banded watch she was wearing. The manager chewed his lip. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll make an announcement.”
Vaughn heard the cackle of the intercom, listened to Francesca’s name being called, and waited. After ten endless minutes, he knew he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. He dialed Allison’s number. After a quick explanation of what had happened, he asked for Francesca’s cell phone number.
“She doesn’t have one.”
“Shit. I was afraid of that.”
Allison asked, “You’ve searched the entire place?”
“We’re still looking.”
“We’ll have to contact the family. She may have called them or they may know something.” She paused. “But I’ll wait until I hear back from you.”
“I’ll call as soon as I can.”
Vaughn asked the manager to contact security. Together they scoured the outside parking areas and outbuildings, questioned sleepy truckers, but no one admitted to seeing her.
Vaughn couldn’t overcome the rising dread boiling in his gut. From tennis ball to bowling ball, and growing.
Where the hell was Francesca?
Vaughn finally called Allison back at 11:48 p.m.
“Yes?” Her voice was not quite so even now.
“No sign of her.” Vaughn took a deep breath. He could hear the weariness in his own voice. “It looks like Francesca is missing.”
Allison didn’t respond. Vaughn heard her mumble something to someone in the room with her. A second later she was back on the line.
“Vaughn, I’m afraid there’s more.” She hesitated. “Denise Carr called about twenty minutes ago. Tammy wasn’t at the house when her parents returned tonight. They haven’t heard a word from her. They think she ran away from home.” Another pause, and Vaughn swore he could hear the beating of her heart through the phone. “Or she was kidnapped.”
Six
Allison opened her eyes, hoping for a brief second that it had all been a nightmare. But Jason’s worried face said otherwise. He was sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in cargo shorts and a Patagonia t-shirt. The day-old stubble on his face gave him the haggard appearance of a new father. He smiled weakly when Allison sat up, and he handed her a cup of strong coffee.
“The police called me back about Tammy Edwards. Nothing so far. They’ve filed a report with the NCIC.”
“And nothing from Francesca’s family?”
He shook his head. “They’re not being particularly cooperative.”
“What does that mean?”
“The sister-in-law insists that Francesca has been clinically depressed for years. A danger to herself. That this was the first time she was really left unattended and…well, now this happened.”
“She thinks she ran away?”
“Not exactly.”
Horrified, Allison said, “Not suicide?”
“She hasn’t actually used the word. But yes, that’s what she’s suggesting.”
“That’s quite a leap. And what about a body? She couldn’t have gotten far. It would have turned up by now.”
Jason smoothed the covers out around Allison’s legs, picked at a microscopic piece of lint. “Maybe. Although it was a truck stop. She could have gotten a ride before Vaughn even started looking for her.” He gently pushed the hair away from Allison’s face with the back of his hand. “How well do you really know this woman, Al?”
“Francesca? Not well at all.”
“So, it’s possible that she took advantage of the situation and did something drastic. Ran away, hurt herself?”
“Why go to all the trouble of arranging to meet me? Why not just do something from the house in the Finger Lakes?”
“Opportunity. Impulse. We both know people’s reasons for things don’t always make sense.”
Allison took a sip of coffee. It was searing and rich and, despite how appreciative Allison felt that Jason made it for her, it flowed into her stomach like an acid bath. Allison closed her eyes. She flashed back to others whose actions didn’t make sense…murdering two people, framing a young girl. No, it was certainly a bizarre and often cruel world.
The beginning of a migraine wormed its way into her brain. It wouldn’t be long before the throb was all encompassing. Add to that a pleasant side of nausea.
She forced another swallow of coffee and said, “Anything from Tammy’s family?”
“I figured you would reach out to them when you woke up.” He looked at his watch. “It’s eight-thirty. You didn’t get to bed until well after four. If you want to sleep a little longer, I’ll cover for you.”
“No, I’m fine. Maybe a migraine med, if you don’t mind. Then give me a half hour and I’ll be ready to roar.”
At half past nine that morning, Allison was tired of waiting for a call back from the Edwards family, so she dialed Denise Carr’s mobile number.
Tammy’s manager answered on the third ring.
“No one is blaming you,” Denise said immediately, insinuating, of course, that everyone was blaming Allison.
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” Allison sank into the oversized chair in her living room, a relatively new purchase. Actually all of the living room furniture was new. Her own nod to moving on, she wondered? Brutus curled on the floor next to her, his giant head on her foot. “I assume then that she hasn’t shown up?”
“Nothing. Nada. Zilch.” Denise gave an overly-dramatic sigh of frustration. “The Scranton police say they are investigating, but I’m sure they hear teenager and immediately think runaway. Plus, she’s eighteen. Technically an adult, free to come and go as she pleases.”
“Do her parents think she ran away?”
“Her parents don’t know what to think. She’s incommunicado, sure, but a runaway?” Denise made a clucking sound. “Doesn’t seem like it. And why now, before her dream competition?”
Yes, indeed, why now? “I’ve tried to call the parents, but they haven’t returned my calls.”
“Like I said, Allison, no one blames you.”
“Blames me for what?”
“Look, it may seem incriminating. She goes to you, spends a few nights, you do your head stuff with her and the next thing we know, whoosh. She vanishes. But let me be clear. No one blames you.”
That’s a relief, Allison thought. She could hear the biting sarcasm in her own internal voice. Brutus began licking Allison’s bare feet. Allison pushed him gently away—it tickled—and tucked her legs up under her. She wasn’t getting anywhere with Denise Carr other than a new appreciation for the skill of passive aggressiveness.
“When she returns home, please let me know,” Allison said.
“Wait. How did things go, anyway? With the image consulting?”
Allison debated what to say. Anything positive would sound contrived at this point. She decided to stick with vague.
“We made progress. She’s a sweet girl. Painfully shy, but then, you know that.”
“Do you feel like we could have her ready for September?”
“All things considered, Denise, that’s something we can talk about when she comes home.”
Denise didn’t respond. From the other room, Allison could hear the low murmur of Jason’s voice as he spoke with someone on his mobile. She listened, feeling a sudden and overwhelming tenderness for her lover. Despite this mess, despite the craziness that had marked the last year, he was here. She still felt the warm, lingering whisper of his fingers against her face.
Just days ago, he’d asked to move back in. Afraid things were moving too fast, she’d said no. Allison watched Brutus lick the top of one paw with long, lazy strokes. She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she a fool? Perhaps.
“Did Tammy mention running away, Allison? Or being angry with her parents?”
<
br /> Allison blinked, focusing back on the here and now. “Nothing at all about either.”
“Was she sullen?”
“I’d characterize her as quiet, but not sullen. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just wondered if she resented working with you. Not that we blame you, of course. Or that assistant of yours. Vaughn.”
“No, of course not.” Allison un-tucked her legs and stood up. “Look, Denise, be a dear and call me when she returns, okay?”
“Yes, yes. No worries, Allison. I have your back.”
Allison hung up, all too happy to end that call. She tried Mrs. Edwards one more time. Still no answer. She left another voicemail.
Two clients. Two disappearances. Too much of a coincidence?
Vaughn’s apartment was hot and stuffy, as though the heater was battling it out with the air conditioner—and winning.
Allison followed Mrs. T, Jamie’s favorite nurse/caretaker, through the living room, past the kitchen and into Jamie’s bedroom. Paralyzed from the neck down since age nineteen when he’d received a bullet meant for Vaughn, Vaughn’s identical twin had been sentenced to life inside these four walls until last spring when Jamie’s research helped nail a killer. The local police force hired him as a consultant and, finally willing to journey outside the apartment, Jamie spent three days a week in the police precinct in a specially-equipped office.
Now he looked drained. When Allison walked in, she instinctively looked at the large computer monitor by Jamie’s bed. Jamie couldn’t speak. He used a special mouthpiece that caused his words to appear on the screen.
HELLO, ALLISON. I HOPE YOU’RE FARING BETTER THAN MY BROTHER TODAY.
Allison smiled her hello. She glanced to the back of the room and saw Vaughn propped on the couch. His tight facial expression said it all.
“I’m holding up okay, Jamie,” she said. She kissed his forehead before joining Vaughn. She plopped down on the couch and patted Vaughn’s leg. He managed a half-hearted hello. “Unlike this guy.”
HE BLAMES HIMSELF.
Allison nodded. “Looks that way.” Clearly Vaughn was going through something. She had never seen her colleague, her rock, her friend, look so down.
