Allison Campbell Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-4

by Wendy Tyson

  Not just about the Benini family, but also about Jason.

  He was going to be irate. He wanted her home and out of this mess now. Hadn’t he said as much? She’d had the window in her home repaired immediately, but if he found out about that, too, there really would be hell to pay. She couldn’t blame him. Last year, her foray into detective work had nearly ended her life. He was still smarting from that. But what was she supposed to do now? Throw up her hands and let Vaughn take the fall for something he didn’t do—if it came to that? Take the risk that something could happen to two of her clients?

  Stop it, Allison, she thought. You’re a big girl. You can make your own decisions. And Jason is not your husband anymore.

  Ah, but he wants to be, she thought. And maybe I want him to be, too.

  She placed the electronic key against the key pad and opened the door into a well-appointed suite. A bedroom flanked a small sitting room and full bath, both adorned in saturated shades of plum, khaki and green. Allison dropped her small bag on the desk and then headed for the bathroom. There, she turned on the water and started filling the oversized tub.

  In the bedroom, she slipped off the jeans and simple brown t-shirt she’d purchased at Target, the most convenient shop they’d found. Naked, she was padding her way back toward the bathroom when her cell rang. Thinking it was Jason, she braced herself and grabbed the device. Denise Carr’s number flashed on her phone.

  Anxious for news, Allison said, “Hello?”

  “This is Tammy’s manager. Denise Carr. I’m just checking in to see whether you’ve heard anything.”

  Disappointed, Allison said, “No. Nothing. I was hoping...I was hoping perhaps you had something to share.”

  “We haven’t found her, if that’s what you mean.” Denise’s voice was a nasally mix of disappointment and frustration. “Are you in your office?”

  “No, I’m up north. But if she’d tried to reach me, I would have known.”

  Denise paused. “If you hear anything, Allison, anything at all, I hope you’ll call me. This is serious. No one blames you, of course, but the family...well, the family is broken up. If Tammy did run away, she owes it to her parents to come back. They’re worried sick. We all are.”

  “Of course,” Allison said, and hung up. But her mind was already elsewhere.

  She turned off the spigot and sank down into a hot froth of bathwater, relishing the warmth that enveloped her skin. She thought about Tammy Edwards, the girl’s ties to Kai Berger and Scott Berger. The Edwards’ reaction to the mention of a boyfriend.

  Denise said that Mrs. Edwards was bereft, worried sick. That wasn’t how Jane Edwards seemed just a few days ago. Was Denise being honest?

  Allison heard a knock at her door. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the tub, dried off quickly, and slipped into the white bathrobe thoughtfully placed on a hook in the bathroom.

  “Coming!” she yelled. She wrapped the robe tight across her naked chest and did her best to wipe the water from her eyes.

  She opened the door, expecting Vaughn. But it was Alex Benini who stood in the hallway.

  Mia tried to ring the last contact, a journalist who’d written about the Tarasoff take down. His name was Michael Jiff and he was not answering at the number Svengetti had given her. She left her cell number on his voicemail and sat in the truck, neck against the head rest, contemplating her next move. It was early evening, and while the sun was still shining, it wouldn’t be long before the shadows would lengthen. She didn’t relish a drive home in the dark.

  Mia knew she needed to talk to Allison and Vaughn. It was imperative that they trade notes, because she was certain that wherever they were, they were collecting information just as she was. She hoped something she’d discovered would mesh up with their findings. Because right now she had a whole lot of so what.

  Mia dialed Jason’s number. He picked up right away.

  “Where the hell are you?” he said.

  “Nice way to greet your mother.”

  “I swear, Mom, I think you’ve all gone insane. I stopped by your house after work. Your neighbor was there, feeding Buddy. She seemed to think you were going to be away overnight.”

  “Thank goodness for Mrs. Crumbly.”

  “Well, are you? Going to be out all night?”

  Mia laughed. “Since when are you so worried about me?”

  “Since you also decided to play detective. And don’t tell me that’s not what you’re doing. Are you with my w—”

  But Mia heard it. He’d started to say wife and stopped himself. Like that, the old heartache returned. Jason was still madly in love with Allison, and while Mia had forgiven Allison for the divorce, she was all too aware of the hurting the younger woman could put on her son if this relationship went south.

  Her voice softer, Mia said, “I’m not with Allison. I have no idea where she is.”

  Mia heard her son’s breathing, slow and steady, calming himself the way he’d done as a child. But he isn’t a child, Mia reminded herself. He’s an adult who needs to take care of himself—and manage his own relationships.

  “Look,” Mia said. “Allison is with Vaughn. I’m not sure what they’re up to, but she’ll be fine. You need to trust her, Jason. She can take care of herself.”

  “Like she did last spring?”

  “Need I remind you that she came out of that fine? And people were jailed because of her efforts—and an innocent kid avoided prison. Stop thinking of Allison as something fragile that needs protecting. If she feels compelled to be part of this, then you need to support her.”

  Jason was silent for a moment. When he spoke, he sounded resigned. “What do you suggest?”

  “Run whatever reports she needs. Take care of Brutus. Be there to talk through the facts. This is serious, not just for her, but for Vaughn. I’m terrified for him. And so is Allison.”

  Jason let out a sound like a low moan. “I don’t want to lose her again.”

  “I know, baby,” Mia said. “So don’t.”

  It was a full minute before either of them said anything else. Outside, the temperature had cooled and the sun extended orange tentacles toward the horizon. The Scranton streets were pockmarked with bumps and bruises, and a haze of misty humidity wafted from the pavement. Mia turned her attention from the city to the paper on her lap. She glanced at Michael Jiff’s number.

  She said, “Are you at a computer, Jason?”

  “I’m at Allison’s house.”

  “Can you do me a favor? Run a name for me?”

  “You still haven’t told me where you are.”

  “I’m in Scranton, following up on something. I should be home tomorrow.”

  She heard another deep breath. With a sigh, Jason said, “What’s the name?”

  “Michael Jiff. He’s a journalist.”

  “Okay, give me five. I’ll call you back.”

  Mia hung up and waited. But it was only a minute or two before Jason rang her mobile.

  “This guy has a ton of stuff on the Internet. What do you need?”

  “His address.”

  “You can’t just pop in on a guy like that.” The suspicion had crept back into Jason’s voice.

  “Jason, you need to trust me, too. I did have a career handling people.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “An address, please.”

  Mia could hear Jason typing. “I have no idea if it’s right, but I’m emailing it as we speak.”

  “Thanks, Jason,” Mia said. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Another bout of silence. “Trust, huh?”

  “Trust.”

  Jason sighed. “When you love someone, trust can feel an awful lot like letting go.”

  Vaughn heard the knocking. He’d been sitting on the bed in his room, staring at the wall. Worrying. Damn, what a waste of fucking time worrying was. H
e was starting to feel trapped, imprisoned in his own head. He needed to think. And it was so hard to think with all this adrenaline pulsing through his body.

  So when he heard the insistent knocking out in the hallway, he sprang up, hands clenched. He leaned against the door, listening. He heard voices—one of which was unmistakably Allison’s. Vaughn opened the door to his room in time to see a man walking into Allison’s suite. Jason? He couldn’t tell.

  Better safe than sorry, and all that clichéd horseshit.

  Vaughn grabbed his key off the dresser and made his way down the hall toward Allison’s room. Outside her door, he leaned in, listening for voices. Hearing nothing, he raised his hand and knocked. His body felt coiled like a snake ready to spring. When no one answered, he knocked harder. He was starting to feel a little foolish, afraid it was Jason and he and Allison were...otherwise engaged.

  But then he heard murmurs. Allison’s voice said, “We’re fine, Vaughn.”

  “Who’s in there with you?”

  She hesitated. “Alex Benini.”

  “I want to see you.”

  “I said we’re fine.”

  “Just let me see you, Allison, and I’ll leave you alone.” He didn’t want to admit it, but he was worried.

  His brow felt moist with sweat, his pulse raced.

  Were Allison and Alex Benini together? He hoped to hell not.

  That would be too much. The Allison he knew wouldn’t cheat on Jason. The Allison he knew wouldn’t get physical with a kidnapping suspect. And in Vaughn’s mind, all of the Beninis were suspects. Even Francesca.

  “Allison!”

  The door slammed open. Alex Benini stood in front of Vaughn, head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised in exasperation. But Vaughn didn’t want to see Alex, he wanted to see Allison. And there she was on the bed, legs curled under her, a book spread open on her lap.

  “Did he hurt you?” Vaughn asked.

  Allison shook her head. “Relax, Vaughn. No one has hurt anyone.”

  “Then what are you doing?” He shot a look of suspicion Alex’s way.

  Allison glanced at Alex, who nodded. She said, “This is Gina Benini’s diary. Alex brought it for me to read.”

  Confused, Vaughn said, “How did you know we were here?”

  “Dom is having you followed.” Alex said it so matter-of-factly that Vaughn couldn’t react. Alex looked at Allison and Vaughn saw longing reflected on his face. Longing for Allison? Or longing for help?

  “Let me come to your room later, Vaughn,” Allison said.

  “Do you hear this guy, Allison? They’re having us followed. Two people are dead and one woman is missing. Missing, Allison. And you’re in here alone with him.” Vaughn stopped himself. He knew he was letting his anger and fear—yes, fear, although he hated to admit it—get to him. He needed the mask of calm that he wore every fucking day, now more than ever.

  “Vaughn, I’m fine.” Allison spoke slowly, signaling her displeasure at his outburst. “If I don’t get back to you in an hour, you have my permission to burst back into my room.” She smiled, softening her tone. “Okay?”

  Vaughn stole one more look at Alex. The guy’s face was as neutral as Switzerland, but as Vaughn walked out of Allison’s suite, he could have sworn he caught the tiniest bit of a smirk. Bastard, Vaughn thought. Two can play at that game.

  Twenty-Nine

  Alex closed the door. He stood with his back against the wood, a half smile playing on those lips. Allison wasn’t immune to the wanting in his eyes, but despite what Vaughn might think—and she sure as hell saw the concern on Vaughn’s face—she had no intention of allowing anything physical between Alex and her.

  She saw Alex Benini’s appeal. But she wasn’t interested.

  Alex had come in here full of explanations and apologies. Dom was having her followed while she was up here, he’d explained in a rush, for her benefit as well as his own. It would be harder to point fingers at First Impressions if their whereabouts were accounted for, he’d said. She would have been more angry if she hadn’t half expected it.

  And then Alex pulled out the diary.

  “What’s this?” she’d asked before starting to read. She’d excused herself and changed back into jeans. And those were the last words spoken by either of them until Vaughn showed up at the door.

  Now the small leather book was burning her fingers. Gina’s diary. She skimmed the last few pages, then put the book aside, tracing its roughened edges with the tip of a nail. Gina Benini had only been a few years older than Allison when she took her own life. Allison was plagued with questions, most of all, why would a woman with two children kill herself?

  Alex walked across the bedroom, slowly. He pulled the chair away from the small writing desk and sat down.

  “Satisfied?” Alex asked.

  “Satisfied with what?”

  “You’ve been asking questions, Allison. We know you visited my uncles, Enzo and John. We know you stopped by the bottling plant. You obviously felt you needed to know more about my mother. Now you know.” He looked away, the expression on his face all echoes of pain and sorrow. Allison knew true grief. She’d seen it painted in the lines of Mia’s face, in the rage on her father’s eyes when her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, in the mirror whenever she thought about Violet, her former patient whose short life had been marred by abuse and violence. She wasn’t sure what she saw on Alex’s face was grief. She’d made a career of reading people, yet he was inscrutable.

  “Alex, what could your mother’s death possibly have to do with Francesca’s disappearance?”

  “Nothing. It has absolutely nothing to do with my aunt’s decision to flee.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because it happened years ago. You can stop asking about my mother because she has nothing to do with any of this. And that diary proves they weren’t very close. In fact, my mother disliked Aunt Francesca. Read it. You’ll see.”

  “You’d think two women of similar age living in the same house would be close.”

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t know why they didn’t get along. With no one else around, maybe they were fighting for the attention of my father.”

  “That’s a rather chauvinistic view. Surely your mother wasn’t jealous of Paolo’s sister?”

  “Think about it, Allison. Two women, alone in that house with two small boys and one man. Who else would Francesca talk to?”

  “Gina. That’s my point.”

  “For all her faults, my aunt is somewhat of an intellectual. My mother was not.”

  Allison studied Alex, the tension in his shoulders, the sudden coldness reflected in his eyes. “Were you close to your mother?”

  “I was young when she died.”

  “That’s not an answer, Alex.”

  He stood. “It’s the only answer I have.”

  He held his hand out for the diary. “Please. I should be on my way.” He glanced at the door. “And you don’t want your personal knight to come looking for you again.”

  “When we visited Enzo, he seemed,” Allison searched for the right word, “affected when he talked about Francesca. Is there any possibility that Enzo and Francesca were lovers?”

  Alex laughed. “Doubtful. I’m pretty certain Enzo is gay.”

  “Then why would he react?”

  “Maybe they are friends. The fact is, it doesn’t matter.”

  Allison didn’t buy his easy dismissal. She saw a flash of discomfort in Alex’s eyes and believed that perhaps she’d hit on some nugget of truth, some tie that bound Enzo and Francesca, whether it was sex or love or shared history.

  “Can I keep the diary, Alex? I’d like to read all of the entries.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You said yourself that there’s no connection between Gina and your aunt’s disappeara
nce. So how could it hurt?”

  “Why do you want it?”

  Allison shrugged. “I don’t know.” And that was the truth. She didn’t know why, but she did know that she wanted to read it thoroughly. Maybe it would be a looking glass into the life and death of Gina Benini.

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t suppose there is any harm. I’d need it back before my brother realizes it’s gone.”

  “I can bring it by tonight.”

  Alex seemed to think about this. After a pause, Alex said, “Dom is away tomorrow. Why don’t you come by his house and I’ll make you dinner? You can ask me whatever questions you want then. Seven tomorrow night? That will give you a full day with the book.”

  “Vaughn?”

  “I’d prefer if you come alone.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a great idea.”

  “Vaughn is protective of you, and he strikes me as a man who isn’t thinking straight right now.” Alex held up his hands. “No judgment, but if you want the diary, stop by alone.” He smiled, eyes alight with amused intelligence. “I promise not to hurt you.”

  Allison flushed at the double entendre implied in his tone. His words left no room for debate. But Vaughn would balk if she suggested she go alone. She could tell him the truth, or she could make it impossible for him to insist on going too. Would that be foolish? Was this man dangerous? Recognizing that dangerous could have several meanings, she blushed again. Maybe the better question was whether she could trust herself.

  Allison thought of Jason. His broad smile, his warm laugh, the feel of his muscular back against her fingertips when they were making love. Jason was her friend first. As lovers, they were rediscovering each other. It was an awkward journey, filled with all the little hurts they’d left littered in their wake like so many tiny landmines. But any relationship was work—and Jason had been a part of her life for so long. She cherished their friendship. And she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their rekindled love affair.

  Allison weighed all of this in a split second. In that same flash, she saw Francesca in her home the first day they’d met. She heard her say again that the vultures were circling. Those words had taken on new meaning. Had her client been aware of some undisclosed danger? Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seemed likely. She could be suffering...or worse. All Allison and Vaughn had were data points. Lots and lots of random facts. They had to tie them together. They had to find the links.