by Wendy Tyson
“The police?”
“No. Them.”
“Maria, there has to be someone up there who can help. If Francesca is being held captive on your property, explain that to the police. They can send someone in undercover.”
“Look, I’m going to get her myself. Like I said, calling you was just for insurance. I need someone who’s not involved. If something happens to me, you’ll know why.”
Allison caught Vaughn’s eye, but he looked as confused as she felt. “Maria, who is they? Who is holding your aunt captive?”
“There was a tracking device on his car. That’s how they followed him. That’s how they nabbed Francesca. I saw it.”
“Who, Maria? Who did that?”
“I don’t know who. I tried to tell Dom and Alex, but they don’t believe me. I was in the woods. I couldn’t see who did it, but I saw the device.” Through the phone, Allison heard a door slam. Maria whispered, “I have to go.” The line went dead.
“Shit,” Allison said. She looked at Vaughn. “Is the BMW here?”
He nodded.
“Come with me. And bring your cell.”
Before heading outside, Allison asked her client if she could reschedule. She explained that it was urgent and offered him two free sessions. He agreed, but she still felt guilty. But not as guilty as she would feel if something happened to Francesca because of her. They waited until he left before heading outside.
On the way, they called Detective Razinski. He agreed to contact the local police, but he sounded skeptical. It did sound far-fetched, even to Allison, and she had been on the receiving end of Maria’s call.
Vaughn’s car was parked near the fence. Allison took off her shoes and got down on her hands and knees. If they could find a tracking device, that would be a concrete lead. It would also help to clear Vaughn’s name.
“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” Allison said. “I’m an image consultant, not a damn investigator.”
Vaughn was on other side of the car, examining the wheel well. “Anything unusual. A small box, most likely. It’ll probably be under the car. My car was locked while I was there, so it couldn’t be on the inside.”
Allison felt under the vehicle. She mimicked Vaughn and felt the inside of the wheel wells, around the front bumper, anywhere that looked like a potential hiding spot. Other than dirty knees and grimy hands, she had nothing to show for it.
Neither did Vaughn.
“Damn,” he said, clearly disappointed. “That woman is nuts.”
Allison stood. She looked across the fence toward the bank beyond, remembering the white Honda. “Maybe not,” she said. She told Vaughn about her stalker a few nights prior.
His eyes grew wide. He leaned one arm against the car. “A white Accord?”
Allison nodded. “Have you seen one, too?”
“I thought I was going crazy. Three times now. And the first time, I could have sworn the guy inside was watching me.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
Vaughn shook his head. “No. Couldn’t get the license plate either.” He arched his eyebrows. “Are you thinking the driver of the white Honda took the tracker off my car?”
“If Maria’s telling the truth, then that would make sense. Whoever put the tracker on your car is happy to have Francesca viewed as a flight risk. It wouldn’t do if the police knew you’d been followed. A tracking device would lend credence to the argument that they should be searching for a kidnapper. Or a killer.”
Vaughn started back toward the office.
“Where are you going?” Allison called after him.
“We’re heading to Ithaca. To talk with Maria Benini in person.”
Nineteen
But Maria wasn’t there.
Allison and Vaughn couldn’t find a convenient flight that would get them to Ithaca before the next day, so they drove. They made the trip in record time, arriving at the Benini estate before nightfall. As they snaked their way up the long driveway and around the circular portion in front of the house, Allison realized she’d been holding her breath. She half expected to see police cars and detectives searching for Francesca. Instead, they were met at the door by Jackie, the chef. It took Jackie a moment to register who they were before she opened the door and let them inside.
“Paolo’s funeral is not until Friday,” she said.
“Actually,” Vaughn said, “we’re here to see Maria. Is she around?”
Jackie’s eyes widened. “I haven’t seen her since this morning. She comes and goes like the wind, sometimes I don’t see her for days.”
“Is it possible she’s in her room?” Allison asked.
“I doubt it, but I’ll double check.”
While she was gone, Vaughn and Allison stood looking at one another, enveloped in heavy silence. Allison glanced around the house. It struck her again how much like a museum this home was, as though nothing had been disturbed for a hundred years. Was that because it hadn’t? Was it possible that time had stood still once Gina Benini died?
Jackie came back down the marble steps, shaking her head. “I’m afraid Maria’s not there.”
“Could she be down at the barn?”
“Probably.” Jackie glanced at her watch. “I have a soufflé in the oven.” She lowered her voice. “Why don’t you two take a walk down. Just don’t go in the horse stalls, okay?”
Allison nodded. She was about to head out the door when she stopped the cook. “Were the police here today, Jackie?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but I just arrived this afternoon.”
Allison studied the older woman, trying to determine if she was being truthful. Jackie looked sad, tired and a little rushed—but she gave no indication that she was lying. “Maria mentioned an old hunting cabin on the property. Do you know where it is?” Allison asked.
“Past the grotto about a quarter mile or so. I haven’t been back there in years. It’s rundown and hard to get to, covered by brambles and fallen trees. Why would you want to go there?”
Allison and Vaughn exchanged a glance. “We don’t,” Allison said. “Just curious.”
Jackie still looked perplexed, but she didn’t push. Afraid the cook would change her mind about letting them walk down to the barn alone, Allison thanked her, said, “We’ll see ourselves out,” and left.
Vaughn practically sprinted toward the barn to check for Maria or any clue regarding her whereabouts, a man on a mission. Allison struggled to keep up, wishing she’d brought sneakers. When would she learn to give up style for comfort in these situations? Instead, she looked down at her open-toed wedges and muttered “damn” under her breath. Her feet ached already.
“What the hell, Allison. No police? Nothing? What’s going on around here? I feel like we’re in the goddamn twilight zone.”
The barn and chicken coop were visible over the hill and across a pasture. They’d have to go all the way around the fence to the gate, which was on the far side of the barn, or climb over the railing to get there. Allison glanced down at her work outfit for the day: brown linen pants and white summer sweater. She was happy brown was the color of dirt, because it looked like they were about to get dirty.
“I know. I have no idea what’s happening. Let’s see what we can find before Jackie has an unfortunate change of heart.”
“Maybe she thinks they’re as strange as we do.”
“Or maybe she’s in on it. Whatever it is.”
Vaughn took the split rail fence in one quick leap. Allison stood facing it, every tortuous, humiliating gym class from her youth replaying in her head. It was an understatement to say she hadn’t been athletic. The only sport she’d played willingly as a kid was Kick the Can, and even at that, she was always last.
She looked into Vaughn’s eyes and recognized a sense of urgency.
“I’ll help you,” he said, and held ou
t a hand.
Allison shook her head. “I can do this.” She hopped up and swung one leg over the railing, straddling the fence. She teetered for a moment before hopping down onto the other side.
Vaughn smiled, eyes kind, before striding ahead in the direction of the barn. Allison followed. The inside of the hulking structure was dark. The sweet-sharp smell of hay mingled with musty animal smells, reminding Allison of Mia’s farm. In their stalls, the horses stood placidly watching Vaughn and Allison as the duo walked the length of the building. Allison stopped in front of a chestnut-colored colt with a white star splashed across its long face, the same horse she’d seen her first day at the estate. The horse nuzzled its head against her shoulder. Unsure of herself around large animals—she was just getting used to dogs—Allison ran a hand along the top of its head, feeling the smooth hair that ran between its eyes, and down to its nose. The horse closed its eyes and leaned in toward her caress.
“You’ve made a friend.”
Allison looked up to see Vaughn staring at her, tenderness in his eyes. She gave the horse another stroke, pausing to tickle the soft spot under the horse’s chin, and said, “What if we misjudged Maria? What if she was the sane one in this house?”
Vaughn looked at the horse, then at Allison. He seemed tired, his body posture a little wilted, his dark skin a little ashen. “What if we misjudged Maria and she’s a killer?”
He was right, of course. There were so many what ifs in this case. Nothing was as it seemed. It was like a house of mirrors, with each passageway leading off into a thousand directions—or nowhere at all.
Reluctantly, Allison left the horse and made her way toward the far end of the barn where four empty stalls were doubling as storage sheds. Objects covered in tarps, a cedar chest, rows of standing tools—shovels, pitchforks, and rakes—crammed into small spaces. The barn was quiet, and tendrils of dread crept down Allison’s shoulders and crawled into her belly. Lots of places to search.
Where to start?
Vaughn began pulling a tarp off a large, oblong object. A small tractor that had been left in the back corner of the barn to rust. He re-covered it quickly before moving on to a multi-pronged farm tool Allison didn’t even recognize.
“Two city folk. We could be looking at anything.” Vaughn turned to her and smiled.
Allison returned the smile. “I was thinking the same thing.”
They worked together to peek under every tarp, look behind every stack of hay bales, every bundle of tools. Rakes, scythes, boards, old saddles...no animate objects other than a mouse that made Allison spring backwards.
“Not a damn thing,” Vaughn muttered.
“Not sure what we expected. She did say the hunting cabin, not the barn.” Allison glanced at her watch. They’d only lost a half hour, and she didn’t think either of them was anxious to head into the woods.
“Well, I expected the police. So either Razinski didn’t call the local cops or the local cops didn’t bother to check this out. Which is it?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say Razinski made a half-hearted call to the locals and they dismissed it.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Maybe they thought she made this up.” Allison had a thought, not a pleasant one. Considering Maria’s hysteria at dinner, her allegations that Gina Benini’s ghost still prowled the halls of the estate, what if this wasn’t the first time the police had heard her name? “Maybe Maria has made calls in the past. The local cops could have her pegged as a girl who cries wolf.”
“But even if that’s the case, in this instance, her aunt’s missing. They’d have to do something.”
“True. Maybe they called Simone and she told them not to come. Or maybe they’ve come and gone—Jackie arrived late, so she may have missed them.” Allison shrugged. “Who knows.” She glanced at the horse, now standing against the wall in his stall, her mind spinning with possibilities. Such a calm animal. Calm and well cared for. Maria had clearly loved her horses. “Maria kept saying ‘they.’ They put a tracker on your car. They were holding Francesca. I wish to hell she’d said who they were.”
Vaughn looked at Allison. “You gave Razinski the number that showed up on your cell, right? The number Maria was using to call you?”
“I did.”
“Did you do a reverse phone number check to see where she was calling from?”
“I did. It was just a mobile phone. That’s all that came up.” She saw the frustration in Vaughn’s eyes and said, “Let me try it again now.”
But out here, in the barn, Allison’s phone had no reception. And neither did Vaughn’s.
“Dead zone,” he muttered.
“I heard machinery in the background when Maria called. Francesca mentioned that Benini had a bottling factory in the area. Maybe Maria had been calling from there.”
Vaughn studied his watch. “We’ll never get there and get back here in time to search the hunting cabin.”
Ugh. Allison had been dreading this. “Do you want to head out on our own? Before we look for Maria? For all we know she could be there.”
“We have no idea where we’re going. This property is huge.”
“Jackie said it’s a quarter mile past the grotto. We’ve been to the grotto.”
Vaughn started pulling aside tarps, searching for something. After a second he muttered “gotcha” and pulled a long, heavy flashlight from a cabinet.
“Saw it earlier.” He looked at Allison’s outfit, gaze lingering on her shoes. “You know, if you’re going to play detective, you’d better start dressing the part.”
Allison smiled. “I had the same thought earlier. Although frankly, I think this is just a short career detour.”
The chickens and sheep had been fed, the garden weeded and her afternoon chores completed. Mia pulled off her gardening gloves and closed the door that led from her front porch to the small kitchen. The bungalow was warm in the summer heat, but the stone walls kept the kitchen cool—as long as she didn’t light up the AGA stove. So she’d have salad for dinner, and maybe a glass of white wine. The French bottle that she’d been saving.
Mia walked through the kitchen and into the short hallway that led to the living room. Off it, one door opened to her bedroom, and the other, stairs into the basement. The original owners of the house had set up a second canning kitchen down there, so it was spacious and cool. She used it as a wine cellar and a place to store winter vegetables.
As she made her way down to the basement now, her thoughts drifted to Vaughn. They needed to end their affair. She hated the thought, but it was the right thing for both of them. But not now. Now, he had bigger things on his mind. He needed her support. Mia pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and called his mobile. When she got no answer, she tried First Impressions. A cordial answering service employee told her that the office was closed for the day. Concerned, Mia dialed Allison. No answer there, either. Even Jason was a dead end—his secretary said he was in court.
Frustrated, Mia decided to forgo the wine and the salad. She ran back up the cellar steps and grabbed her purse from its resting place on the dryer.
Maybe Jamie would know where they were.
Twenty
The grotto seemed farther than Allison remembered. Once again, she and Vaughn started down the path by the house, where the trail was just a wide swath of wood chips winding its way toward the woods. Once in the trees, the path changed to packed dirt and then, eventually, to loose humus and fallen leaves. The canopy of trees overhead blocked most of the remaining daylight. Unfamiliar sounds like a cacophony of animal noises assaulted Allison’s anxious ears. The forest would come alive in the night, and while Allison was grateful for Vaughn’s surefooted presence, she didn’t think her city boy was any more used to dealing with wild animals than she was.
They trudged along in silence, neither Vaughn nor Allison saying m
uch until they reached the grotto. There, Allison sat on the bench to pull a twig out from inside her shoe and Vaughn tried his mobile again.
“Still no service?” Allison asked.
“Nah. We’re screwed.”
But Allison knew the worried look on his face had more to do with Jamie than their situation. He didn’t like being unreachable in case there was an emergency. She didn’t blame him. And under current circumstances, their inability to communicate made her feel especially vulnerable. She hadn’t told Jason where she was going.
And they couldn’t even call 9-1-1 if they did find Francesca.
“Ready?” Vaughn said. He eyed the sinking sun. They had maybe an hour of daylight left. Maybe.
Allison stood. She tried to get her bearings. “I think the old cabin must be that way.” She pointed to a spot where the flattened path re-entered the woods, behind the small koi pond and over the bridge.
Vaughn nodded. “Lead the way,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
Jamie was awake when Mia arrived an hour later. He grinned, happy to see her. Using his mouthpiece, VAUGHN’S NOT HERE appeared on his screen.
“I figured as much, Jamie,” Mia said. She sat on the couch. “Do you know where he might have gone?”
BACK TO ITHACA.
“Why?”
Jamie showed her an email that contained a brief summary of the phone call from Maria and their subsequent attempts to contact police.
“So they went to talk with Maria?” Mia asked.
IN THE HOPE THAT FRANCESCA HAS BEEN FOUND. Jamie’s handsome face darkened. ALTHOUGH THAT SEEMS UNLIKELY.
“Why?”
WE WOULD HAVE HEARD SOMETHING BY NOW.
“True.” Mia felt her anxiety level rising.
She crossed her legs and leaned forward. She really wanted someone to talk to, and Jamie was always logical, but she didn’t want to betray Vaughn. How much did Jamie know?
Vaughn was trying to keep some of this from him, to lessen Jamie’s worry, but she also knew he was damn smart and he’d probably figured out more than he was letting on.
