Allison Campbell Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-4

by Wendy Tyson

  She could understand why. Two missing clients, and Vaughn was the last to have seen both. But last night, Allison asked him to walk through the details of his day, through every excruciating word that had been uttered and every minute gesture made by each of her clients, until they were both cross and exhausted, and still she could see no point at which he’d demonstrated poor judgment.

  Either it had been a day of bad luck, and both women, for their own reasons, had left of their own accord—in which case one or both women would likely return with some plausible story regarding their whereabouts—or foul play was at hand.

  Vaughn said, “I should have gone in there with Francesca.”

  “To the bathroom, Vaughn? Listen to yourself. Francesca is a grown woman. And before you even mention Tammy, let me remind you she’s eighteen. Legally an adult. She works, babysits…and will be headed off to California on her own soon enough. You did nothing wrong for either client. Period.”

  Vaughn nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. The truth was, until they knew who or what caused each woman to disappear, they couldn’t really say whether Vaughn might have prevented it. Or whether she might have. Had she done or said something to trigger a flight response in either client? But as experience taught her, hindsight was not only 20/20—it was absolutely worthless.

  IT’S NOT EVEN BEEN 24 HOURS.

  Vaughn wasn’t looking at his brother’s screen, so Allison read the words to him. Vaughn shook his head. He sat up and glanced over at Jamie. “Gut sense. Something happened to Francesca. I feel it in my bones. And it’s driving me...well, I need to do something.”

  HER FAMILY SEEMS A LITTLE ODD, VAUGHN. SHE’S BEEN COOPED UP IN THAT HOUSE FOR DECADES. MAYBE SHE WANTED HER FREEDOM.

  “No. She was too concerned about the family business to leave.”

  Allison said, “Concerned in what way?”

  “She was clearly anxious. She spent most of the ride with her eyes closed, regulating her breathing.”

  “Probably because she was leaving the Benini property for the first time in years.”

  AGORAPHOBIC?

  “Not necessarily. Her behavior might have been an attempt to calm her anxiety. And anxiety under those circumstances would be a normal reaction.”

  Vaughn said, “But when she talked about Benini Enterprises, there was determination in her voice. Anger. Maybe even a little desperation.”

  IF SHE WAS AGORAPHOBIC, THE DESPERATION COULD HAVE BEEN A REACTION TO LEAVING THE SAFETY OF HER HOME.

  “I don’t know,” Allison said, thinking of the woman she’d spent time with during those first fateful encounters. “I worked with an agoraphobic in graduate school. Although it would be hard to say for sure unless I saw her outside her safe environment, Francesca didn’t exhibit the anxiety levels I would associate with an agoraphobic. To stay there for so long, her disorder would have been quite advanced. There would be more...symptoms.”

  SO WHAT IF HER FEAR WAS CAUSED BY SOMETHING ELSE?

  “You mean what if she was in some kind of danger?” Vaughn asked.

  YES. MAYBE SHE’S BEEN HIDING ALL THESE YEARS.

  Allison looked sharply at Jamie. “If she was in hiding, perhaps coming to me wasn’t just about learning the skills she’d need to lead Benini Enterprises.”

  I AM WONDERING ABOUT HER MOTIVATION FOR CONTACTING YOU.

  Vaughn sat up straight. “She could have been escaping to us for safety. Maybe the danger was in her house. Contacting us was a way to get out of the house.”

  ALLISON, DID YOU GET THE SENSE FRANCESCA WAS BEING FORCED TO STAY THERE AGAINST HER WILL?

  Allison considered her stay at the estate. The tension between Francesca and family members. Alex’s scorn over his aunt’s choice to remain a recluse for so long. That large, lonely old house. The odd sense of being lost in time.

  “No, I didn’t get the sense she was forced to stay. She talked about vultures, though,” Allison said. “At the time, I assumed she meant it metaphorically. You know, that without someone manning the ship the sharks would start circling, that sort of thing. But what if she was referring to someone specific?”

  CREDITORS?

  “Or other family members. I keep coming back to her family.”

  Vaughn sat forward. “She was pretty clear that she disliked her family when we talked in the car.”

  VAUGHN, DID SHE SAY ANYTHING ELSE IN THE CAR THAT MAY SEEM IMPORTANT NOW?

  “She talked about growing up in Italy, about a cruel grandmother and an overly-passive mother. I told Allison all of this. Francesca was sent to boarding school at five years old, by her grandmother.”

  Allison pondered that. Five years old. A childhood spent at a school, away from family, away from home. How would that affect a person?

  HOW ABOUT AFTER SHE FINISHED SCHOOL? DID SHE GIVE YOU ANY CLUE ABOUT HER LIFE AS A YOUNG ADULT?

  “No,” Vaughn said, agitated. “Actually, maybe she did, in a roundabout sort of way. I’d forgotten about that. She talked about Seligman’s experiments.”

  “Learned helplessness?” Allison said, recalling the research from her days as a graduate student in psychology. She’d thought the trials cruel then. Now, just thinking of them in the context of her client made her legs feel weak.

  Vaughn nodded. “Compared herself to those animals.”

  THAT COULD MEAN ANYTHING.

  “She said life was unfair,” Vaughn said. “That she’d learned to endure and to stop trying to change things.”

  MELODRAMATIC?

  “No. If anything, understated.” Vaughn looked at Allison. “You met her. Francesca seem the dramatic type?”

  “Not really. More like quietly enduring.” Allison remembered their conversation in the library, the way Francesca evaded questions about her family life and her past. “Although at one point, she said some would view her as dramatic. She didn’t say how or why. Told me she’d share more when we met.”

  They all sat in silence for a moment. Vaughn was the first to break the spell. He stood up and headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to do something.”

  “But what?”

  “I’m going to look for her.”

  “Vaughn, she could be anywhere by now.”

  “Then what do you suggest? I can’t just sit here. She disappeared on my watch. I feel like a caged animal.”

  A caged animal…like Francesca?

  Maybe that was it, something they could both do. It was a Saturday. Allison could cancel the few weekend plans she had scheduled.

  “How about we head north for the weekend, Vaughn? I’ll ask Jason if he wants to join us. We can stop in Scranton and talk with Tammy’s parents, if they’ll see us. And then go up to Ithaca, to the Benini estate. We still have Francesca’s suitcases anyway. And I’d like another opportunity to meet the family. Ask some questions. Try to figure out whether Francesca really was a willing houseguest for all those years.” Or a caged animal, waiting for escape, Allison thought.

  Vaughn’s eyes searched hers. His jaw clenched, then unclenched. He nodded. Allison understood his need for action. She wasn’t sure what they were doing would help, but it seemed more productive than sitting here.

  Vaughn walked toward Jamie’s wheelchair. Allison knew he wished his brother could join them, and while Vaughn had made strides in increasing Jamie’s mobility, the equipment Jamie needed for everyday survival still made overnight travel nearly impossible without adequate planning.

  “Mrs. T will be here for the weekend, Jamie. Will you be okay?”

  I’LL BE FINE. ANYWAY, SOMEONE SHOULD LOOK INTO FRANCESCA’S PAST AND BENINI ENTERPRISES. I’LL EMAIL YOU WHATEVER INFORMATION I CAN FIND.

  Vaughn squeezed his brother’s shoulder—a gesture Jamie could see but not feel. “That would help.”

  Vau
ghn and Allison were out the door of Jamie’s bedroom when they heard a loud, shrill shriek. Vaughn turned, panicked. But Jamie still had something to say and had gotten their attention the only way he could.

  Allison read the words on the computer screen.

  PLEASE BE CAREFUL. IF—BIG IF—FOUL PLAY WAS INVOLVED, SOME BAD PEOPLE MAY RESENT YOUR INVOLVEMENT.

  Allison, another set of murders still weighing heavily on her mind, didn’t need reminding. “We’ll be careful, Jamie.” She walked back in and hugged him. His body felt so frail, like her mother’s. “You be careful, too.”

  But even as she made her way back out to her car, Allison couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding Jamie’s words had awakened. She prayed there wasn’t a killer out there this time.

  Because if there was, her client’s fate had already been decided.

  Seven

  Allison and Vaughn were on the road by two o’clock that afternoon. The sky had darkened to the color of overripe plums and small lightning explosions lit up the distant horizon. Allison drove, the coolness of her Volvo’s interior a marked contrast to the suffocating humidity outside.

  Next to her, Vaughn was quiet. Jason couldn’t go—he was preparing for a trial—so it was just the two of them. Although Allison still had not heard back from Tammy’s family, the Edwards’ residence was their first destination. They arrived at 4:30 p.m., accompanied by the storms that had been threatening for hours. Allison parallel parked in front of Tammy’s home and climbed out of her car, careful to avoid the raging river next to the curb.

  “Full house,” Allison said, pointing to the three cars in the driveway—a full-size van, a smaller sedan and a Cadillac that Allison recognized as belonging to Tammy’s manager, Denise Carr.

  Vaughn led the way up the steps and onto the broad porch. He knocked twice. Almost immediately, a man opened the door. He was tall and hulking, with thinning reddish hair, a neat mustache and a curdled expression on his face. He stood in the doorway for a few moments before opening the screen door to let them in.

  “Is it Tammy?” a voice called from somewhere in the back of the house.

  “No, Jane. I’m sorry, it’s not. It’s that image consultant. And her driver.”

  The man nodded at Allison and Vaughn and, without another word, turned to walk toward the voice. They followed him inside, entering what appeared to be the family’s living room. An L-shaped brown couch stood against the wall to the left, on top of stained beige carpeting, its fibers long past their prime. To the right, a large entertainment center, its wood nicked and scarred, housed an old-fashioned television and a VCR.

  Next to the entertainment center stood a rocking chair. Scattered toys lay claim to the center of the room, all seven or eight feet of it. Legos, blocks, plastic baby books and small green soldiers arranged in elaborate army battles.

  Behind the living room was the dining room. No table, just more toys, a desk with an old computer and a sewing machine on a card table. The carpet, in noticeable contrast to the living room rug, was a navy blue shag. Allison and Vaughn glanced at one another before following Tony Edwards through both rooms and into the kitchen beyond. There, two women, one large-boned and brunette, the other, Denise, petite and blonde, sat at an oval wooden table. A baby gurgled contentedly from its nest in the brunette woman’s arms.

  “Allison.” Denise Carr stood and shook Allison’s hand, then Vaughn’s. “We were just talking about you.” Denise turned toward the other woman. “This is Jane Edwards, Tammy’s mother. And you met Tony.”

  Jane nodded but didn’t stand. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. Allison felt her stomach clench at the sight of this mother’s pain.

  “We don’t want to intrude,” Allison said. “We were just hoping...well, we were hoping that Tammy had come home.”

  Jane shook her head. She placed her cheek against her daughter’s downy head and started to sob.

  “Not yet, but she will,” Tony mumbled. He knelt next to his wife and patted her back awkwardly. “Jane’s having a hard time. Lizzy here is only three months old, so Jane’s still pretty hormonal.”

  Jane gave him a caustic look. He stood, removing his hand from her back. Hastily he said, “Not that she doesn’t have a right to be upset. Tammy’s never done this before. Leave, I mean.”

  “Do you want to sit?” Denise asked Allison and Vaughn.

  “Oh yeah,” Tony said. “Sorry.” He pulled a chair from against a wall and pushed it toward Allison. He slid another chair from underneath the table, wiped crumbs from the seat, and handed it to Vaughn.

  Denise said, “Is there anything else you can tell us, Vaughn, about what happened when you dropped her off?”

  Vaughn shook his head. “Nothing, I’m sure, that Allison hasn’t already told you.”

  “Once more, so Tammy’s parents can hear it themselves?”

  So Vaughn recounted the entire trip, from the time they left Villanova, to Tammy’s “bye” when he left her Scranton home.

  “Hmmm,” Denise muttered. “Was she texting anyone while you were driving?”

  “No. She never even took out her phone. Maybe you can use her cell to find her.”

  Denise glanced at Jane before shaking her head. “Tried that.” She frowned. “Was anyone here when you arrived?”

  “Not that I could see. Mr. Edwards’ car was in the driveway, but Tammy said he’d gone to work.”

  Denise looked from mother to father and back again. “What time did you get home, Jane?”

  Tony spoke for her. “Nine-thirty. My mom was watching the kids. Jane had a funeral to play for.” He turned toward Allison. “My wife plays piano and organ for the church. They pay her to do weddings and funerals, right Jane?”

  Jane nodded. Her face was turned toward the kitchen’s only window and, in profile, she resembled Tammy. Her hair was stale brown, like Tammy’s, and had been pinned into a neat bun. She wore an old-fashioned satin blouse in jade green, its neck bow serving as a toy for the infant in her arms.

  Allison would have called her handsome rather than pretty, but there was something distant and unreachable about her. Grief? Or her normal persona?

  Tony said, “Do you want coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Vaughn looked at Jane. “Does Tammy have a boyfriend, Mrs. Edwards?”

  Denise cleared her throat.

  Allison looked up in time to see Denise trying to make eye contact with Vaughn in a way that said don’t go there. Tony’s pale skin flushed a bright crimson and Jane was looking cuttingly at Vaughn now, the dazed expression supplanted by something hard.

  “Did Tammy say she had a boyfriend?” Jane spoke for the first time. Her voice was high-pitched and nasal—no hint of her daughter’s honeyed vocals.

  “No, she didn’t. I was just wondering.”

  Allison threw Denise a questioning look. The other woman mouthed “later” and shook her head slightly. Allison changed the subject.

  “Tammy sang for me. Her voice is magnificent.”

  Tony smiled. Jane looked back down at the baby’s head.

  “Did you know she can sing opera?”

  Tony nodded. “It’s something, huh? I don’t know where that came from. Opera. Imagine. She once asked to go to college in New York.” He shook his head, but the look on his face hinted at pride, not judgment. “Wish we could afford it.”

  Abruptly, Jane stood. “New York is too far away.” She threw a condemning glance at Denise and said, “California is really too far away.”

  “We talked about this, Jane.” Tony threw a pleading glance at Denise. “This is her big chance.”

  “She’s too young. Too naïve. And Hollywood is a gussied-up name for Gomorrah. You know that as well as I.” Jane busied herself mixing formula while she spoke, the baby still spooned in one arm, against her hip. Jane wasn’t as tall or skinny as her daughter, but she
was close. Thin ankles peeked out beneath a calf-length black skirt and ended in flat black loafers. She pulled the skirt up slightly now, spun around and said, “The baby needs to eat.”

  The accusation in her voice—aimed at her husband—said they’d overstayed their welcome. Allison rose to leave. Given the dissension between her parents, perhaps Tammy had run away. Her heart clearly was not set on the reality show. Maybe she’d decided to find another way to get to Juilliard. Teenagers were not known for their sound judgment or their impulse control.

  But why now? They’d made progress. Or at least Allison thought they had.

  “Thanks for your time,” Allison said. She shook Tony’s hand, then Denise’s. Jane continued shaking the baby’s bottle, her back toward them, shoulders squared in a posture of dismissal.

  Denise walked them to the front door. “I’m sorry they aren’t more hospitable.”

  “Their daughter’s missing,” Allison said. “We can certainly understand.”

  “Maybe,” Denise said. “But this is how they always are. He can be overbearing and she’s not very warm.”

  Allison heard the angry murmurs coming from the kitchen. Were they arguing over Allison? Or had the mention of a boyfriend rehashed old battles? Feeling like an interloper, Allison hurried outside. Denise followed.

  At the Volvo, Denise said to Vaughn, “If you think of anything else...anything...please call me. This kid has a real future ahead of her. Why she would run now, I have no idea. It doesn’t make sense.” She arched her eyebrows inquisitively. “And if there’s anything you want to share, Allison. Anything she may have told you...not that we’re blaming you, of course.”

  Enough already, Allison thought. Standing tall in her black Ferrigamos, she said, “Denise, if you have something to say to us, please just say it.”

  Denise tossed her hair. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You keep saying that no one is blaming us. Clearly you’re blaming us.”

  Denise took a step back. She smiled sweetly, but the smile failed to reach her eyes. “The kid is money to a lot of folks. Her voice, her naiveté, it’s a fabulous ugly-duckling-to-swan, rags-to-riches story. One we all can be a part of, if you know what I mean.”