Allison Campbell Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-4

by Wendy Tyson

  Allison laughed. Spikes tore through her eye sockets. “I think Uncle Jason can handle it.”

  Allison was standing to get her migraine medicine when she heard her phone buzz. A text from Vaughn. Call me, was all it said.

  “No luck,” Vaughn said. “Your girl, Karina? Nothing that matches your description. It’s a pretty common name, though, so Jamie’s still looking. May be that she keeps a low online profile.”

  Allison sat on the bed in the small cottage with the windows and door closed. It was good to hear Vaughn’s voice, but she didn’t want to take a chance on anyone overhearing.

  “Could it have something to do with privacy laws in Austria? Maybe records are harder to access?”

  “Good thinking. I’ll check. We can also do some paid searches. That may turn up something.” Vaughn hesitated. “Is it possible you have her age wrong? Maybe she’s older or younger than you think.”

  “It’s possible. She looks pretty young, but it can be hard to tell. Especially if she’s had work.”

  “Let me know if you want me to keep going.”

  “Hold off for now.” It seemed unlikely to Allison that a famous celebrity—even someone removed from the limelight for as long as Elle—would hire a complete stranger without checking up on her. Unless Karina wasn’t a complete stranger.

  “Tell you what: I’ll try to grab a photo of her and send it your way. Maybe that will help the search.”

  “Perfect. Jamie may be able to use facial recognition software to get a lead. He’s been itching to use it.”

  Allison laid down on the bed, enjoying the softness of down against her aching head. The medicine was starting to kick in. Like an outgoing tide, she could feel the waves of pain ebbing. Slowly. She willed it to be gone.

  “What do you have on the brother, Michael Norton? I’m worried about his relationship with Elle.”

  “Bigger trail for Michael. That family lives its entire life onscreen and online.” Vaughn recounted the basics. Younger than Elle, Michael was the child of Sam Norton and Clarice McCue, both Americans. Sam and Clarice married in 1998 in San Diego. Wedded bliss didn’t last much longer than the ceremony itself, and the pair divorced later that year, before Michael’s birth. Michael connected with his father a few years ago during one of Sam Norton’s “personal inventory” phases. The two bonded, and Michael became a board member of Sam’s charitable foundation, Pay It Forward. Michael never married, no known kids. Little was known about his personal life other than his connection to Sam. “That’s about it.”

  “How about Michael’s mother?” Allison asked. “Clarice.”

  “Died four years ago. Car crash.”

  “Was Michael in business before taking over the foundation?”

  “Business degree from UCLA. Graduate degree—MBA—from some small college in California.”

  “Current residence?”

  “San Diego. La Jolla to be exact.”

  Allison thought of the bruise on Elle’s wrist. “Any history of violence? Criminal record?”

  “I didn’t check, but I will if you need that information.”

  “Do it.” Allison sighed. “And thank you. Sorry to pepper you with requests.”

  “No problem, but what’s going on? This is supposed to be an easy gig, remember?”

  Allison filled him in on the conversations she’d had with Elle and Karina. “We did a lot of reading and research on Elle before I ventured over here. I know the media can’t be trusted to give an accurate portrayal, but by reading everything—and between the lines—I felt like we had a sense of who Elle was.”

  “She’s not that person?”

  “It’s not that. Something Karina said rang true. Elle seems…off. At first I chalked it up to not knowing her and grief over losing her husband. But the more I think about it, the more I think there’s more to it. She’s surrounded by people who don’t seem to care about her. Her father is a recluse. I still haven’t met him. And then there’s Damien, her late husband. She’s convinced it wasn’t an accident.”

  Allison heard a sharp intake of breath. “Any truth to that?”

  “I have no idea. But that’s why I thought I’d do some digging.”

  “’Cause you don’t have enough to do?” Vaughn made a fake coughing sound. When he spoke again, his voice was more serious. “Could it be drugs, Allison? Elle has a history of using. Pot, cocaine, ecstasy. She was no stranger to raves in her youth. And the accident reports on Damien said he had drugs in his system.”

  Allison thought about the dinner party the first night they were there. The party-goers, the flowing alcohol. Who knew what else was floating around? “Could be.” Allison sat up, cradling her head. The crashing waves had calmed to a steady, gentle surf. “I guess we’ll see.”

  Vaughn hesitated. She heard the concern in his silence. “Promise me you’ll avoid trouble. You and your family need some peace right now, not mayhem.”

  “Promise.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “You should. I have no intention of doing anything other than helping Elle, planning a wedding, writing a book, and loving my niece. Anyway, how are you, Vaughn?”

  “Hey, you know me. I’m a survivor.”

  Allison wanted to ask if he’d seen Mia, but the pain in his voice still rang through loud and clear. Instead she wished him well and listened as he hung up the phone.

  The mountain air was warm and humid, the hottest it had been since they’d arrived.

  “This is not typical,” Dominic said as he set up more lounge chairs for them by the pool. Perhaps because of the heat, perhaps because it was a sultry, lazy kind of day, the pool was crowded. Michael was there, talking in a corner with a Speedo-clad Jeremy and a skinny, bird-beaked man whom Allison didn’t recognize. Lara lay topless by the side of the pool, her perfect body marred only by the tiny triangle of leopard skin print that acted as her bikini bottom.

  Douglas Alden was there too—working at a table, his broad bare shoulders reddened from the sun. And Mazy Coyne was writing on a laptop from her perch on a lounge chair. She’d traded beige linen for a mauve, hooded terrycloth cover-up. She was the only one who looked up when Allison and her family arrived. She frowned when she saw Grace.

  “There are extra towels and robes in the spa,” Dominic said.

  Allison nodded. “When do you think Elle will be ready to see me?” The sooner she could get her client on track, the sooner she could start planning her own small wedding.

  Dominic gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Elle is not feeling well. Maybe an hour? Maybe two?” He grunted his disapproval. “Enjoy the pool. Go for a walk. I’ll bring you some food and a nice glass of Pinot Grigio.” He glanced at Grace. “And some strawberry gelato for the little one.”

  Allison said, “Thank you, Dominic. Do you think I could check in on Elle in a little while? Maybe around noon? I can come to the main house—”

  Dominic waved his hand again. Allison noticed arthritic knuckles, longish yellowed nails scrubbed clean, blunt fingers—a working man’s hands. No wedding ring.

  He said, “Please Ms. Campbell, wait for me or Karina to get you. And enjoy yourself. If you’re not here when she’s ready for you, that’s fine. She’ll make the time for you to meet.”

  Allison lowered her voice. “Is she okay?”

  Dominic looked confused by the question, which made Allison think a late Elle was not an unusual occurrence.

  “I mean, is she really ill? I saw the bruise on her wrist yesterday and was afraid she’d hurt herself.”

  If Dominic was concerned, he hid it well. “No need to worry. Miss Rose will be fine. The important thing is that you enjoy your time here. South Tyrol is a very special place. Take some moments to see the sights.”

  Allison thanked him. But as she took her spot on the lounge, she had to wonder about
a woman who spent thousands of dollars to fly a consultant around the globe only to cancel her appointments. A sign of irresponsibility? Or something else?

  EIGHT

  When Elle had still not sent for her by eleven thirty, Allison decided to get a glass of lemon water and a piece of fruit and mull over her next steps. The pool had emptied out, and it was only her, Jason, Grace, and Mazy by the water’s edge. As peaceful as the environment felt, she wasn’t there to lounge. They were wasting valuable time. She needed to have a talk with Elle, but what to say to a client you barely knew?

  She left Jason in the saltwater pool with Grace and headed for the spa. She was pouring ice-cold lemon water into a tall glass when she felt a presence behind her. She swung slowly around and was confronted by Shirin Alden. Completely nude with a white cotton towel slung over one toned shoulder, Shirin tossed her a curt hello. She bent down and began wiping water from her legs, then stood and dabbed the towel against the smooth skin of her neck.

  Shirin said, “No clothes in the sauna or steam room.”

  “I’m just grabbing some water.”

  She stood. “Pity. Steam will do wonders for your skin.” She wrapped the towel around her waist, leaving her breasts exposed. “I had just gone for a walk. Douglas is busy”—she frowned—“so I went alone.”

  Thinking of Damien, Allison said, “Isn’t that dangerous? Walking in these woods alone?”

  “Not really. The path is well marked. I usually stick to the perimeter.” Shirin stretched perfectly muscular arms over her head, bending her head back as she did so, completely oblivious to her nudity. Or not caring. “The view is still spectacular. And fewer bugs. You simply must go. There are trails. Follow the main path through the old gate, past the cliffs, and down to the ruins. It’s marvelous. A wonderful history lesson for the little girl.”

  “The cliffs. Isn’t that where—”

  “Damien fell? Yes. But he was strolling about at night. Go in the daylight and I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just watch for the storms. They can really sneak up on you.” Shirin squinted. “I was here you know. The night Damien died.”

  “Really?”

  Shirin readjusted her towel, pulling it taught. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Many of us were here. Douglas, of course. We were here for another bloody board meeting. Mazy. Michael. Even Jeremy, without his wife.” She winked, leaving Allison to imagine the young woman who had taken Lara’s place. “Tragic accident.”

  “Must have been devastating.”

  “He wasn’t found until the next day. A couple of hikers spotted him.” She let out a cross between a sigh and a laugh. “Elle hadn’t even realized he was missing. Can you imagine?”

  Allison put a hand over her mouth. “That’s awful.”

  “Clueless.” Shirin shrugged. “That’s Elle.”

  Allison turned to leave, but Shirin’s hand shot out, stopping her.

  “If you see my husband on the trail, tell him I was inquiring on his whereabouts, will you?”

  “I’m not even sure we’ll be hiking.”

  “If you do.”

  Allison agreed to her request, although something about the entire conversation made her feel dirty.

  2:19. Still no Elle. Grace was down for the count. Four hours of playing in the pool and a heavy lunch of cheese dumplings with brown butter, sausage, and fried potatoes had knocked her little body out. Allison covered her with a fresh towel and angled the umbrella so that she was completely shaded from the midday sun.

  “We should put her to bed for a nap,” Allison whispered to Jason.

  They were the only guests left at the pool, and while Allison appreciated the alone time, she was worried about the effect of the heat and sun on Grace, who wasn’t used to being outdoors so much. But Jason waved away her concerns.

  “The fresh air is good for her. But if you want, we can head back to the cottage. I’m getting a little restless myself.”

  By 2:40 they had Grace changed and tucked beneath a sheet. Allison loved watching her niece sleep. She looked so much like a young Amy, before drugs—and the harrowing lifestyle that went with them—had stolen her sister’s youth. Allison was terrified for her sister. Secretly afraid that it was too late for Amy, not because she couldn’t change, but because she didn’t seem to want to change, Allison hoped that Grace would have the start in life she deserved.

  “How about a walk?” Jason interrupted her thoughts. He was standing in the doorway with his hiking boots dangling from one hand. “It’ll be like a date.”

  “We can’t just leave Grace here. And I don’t want to wake her.”

  “Hilda arrived. She apologized, said she got caught up with an emergency at the house, but she’s free now. She can watch Grace.”

  An emergency? Elle? Or the mysterious Sam Norton?

  “If she’s sure she won’t get called away again.” Allison recalled her conversation with Shirin and earlier with Dominic. A walk around the property and the surrounding trails would be nice. “There are the ruins. We could head down the trail toward the old church. But what if Elle comes looking for me?”

  “Seriously? She’s hours late. You think she expects you to sit around and wait? Bring your phone.”

  Allison had no idea what her client expected. But Jason was leaving for Innsbruck tomorrow, and she wasn’t about to sit there waiting for a woman who might never show up.

  “You’re right. Are the ruins okay? Or do you want to go through the pasture and down by the river?”

  “Wherever is fine. You can lead the way.”

  The path started out easy to navigate: a wide trail formed by packed humus and gravel with rolling green meadows on either side. It angled up, over a hill, before descending toward an old stone wall. There was a break in the wall, and the remnants of a wooden gate could be seen lying by the largest boulders. In the distance, the sharp edges of the Dolomiti—those pale, rugged peaks formed by coral and marine sediment millions of years ago—rose out of the forest like Neptune’s hand rising from the water. It was a haunting landscape that made Allison feel inconsequential by comparison.

  “Looks like the mountains are covered with snow,” Jason said. He stopped at the entrance of the woods and pulled a water bottle from the small pack on his back. “But it’s just the type of rock.”

  “Dolomite,” Allison said. “Like limestone.” She could see specks on one of the smaller mountains. Climbers heading up before the afternoon storms set in. “Imagine climbing those peaks.”

  “Imagine falling from those peaks.”

  Allison smiled. “I’d rather not.” She took a sip of the water he offered her. Hands on her hips, she walked in a 360-degree circle, taking in the magnitude of the landscape. From there, the trail seemed to narrow and was paved with packed dirt, not gravel. Allison could hear the rush of the river below, on the other side of the cliffs where it came down from the north. Clouds formed frothy gray waves between the mountain peaks. And when she turned completely around, she could see the castle looming from afar.

  Jason continued walking. Allison followed. Within a hundred yards, the trail darkened, its path shadowed by the canopy of trees overhead. The forest felt moist and smelled of wood and peat. Earthy smells, heavy and pleasant, became more pronounced the deeper into the vegetation they went. The trail itself was well-worn and even, though it dipped into a valley before starting the steep climb to the first outcropping. Within fifteen minutes, Allison’s lungs burned. It was a far cry from spin class.

  About a quarter of a mile in, they came to a crossroads. To the left: a steep climb up, but the trail appeared well-maintained. To the right: the trail trickled to a narrow band of rocky dirt, but the climb was significantly gentler. Jason looked at Allison. She said, “Your call.” He followed the path to the left.

  “I think this leads along the cliffs,” Jason said. “Lara told me the view is spectacu
lar.”

  Allison tried not to bristle at the mention of the supermodel. “I’ve heard the same.”

  They continued to climb quietly. Allison’s mind focused on her client’s unreliability and the strange conversations she’d had with Karina and then Shirin. She was afraid she’d gotten in over her head with Elle. It wouldn’t help her reputation if a high-profile client like Elle left the relationship unsatisfied. But Allison could only do so much with a client who wouldn’t cooperate.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Jason said. He, unlike Allison, was barely out of breath.

  “Hard to talk and pant at the same time.”

  “Is that it?”

  Allison stopped walking. They’d come to a small stone fountain. The water poured forth from a spigot set in rock and tumbled into a deep metal basin. The water was clear. Allison figured it was for hikers—access to fresh spring water for bottles or pets. She had to admire the Europeans’ focus on access to the outdoors. They made it easy.

  Allison dipped a hand into the water. The frigid liquid shocked her system. She splashed water on her face, then pulled a bottle from her own pack.

  “I don’t know. I guess it worries me that Elle is so uncooperative.”

  “We’ve only been here a few days. Isn’t it a little early to come to that conclusion?”

  “Maybe.” Allison chose to withhold her conversation with Karina, but she did share Shirin’s tidbit about the night of Damien’s death. “She said Elle wasn’t even aware that he was gone.”

  “His death was terrible, Al, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t worry me. But when it comes to image consulting, how does that affect your engagement?”

  “What if Elle didn’t realize he was gone because she was stoned or drunk? I’d been banking on grief as the reason for her behavior. It sounds like this behavior predated her husband’s accident. She may need rehab before anything else.”

  “Good point.” Jason leaned against a tree and stretched his hamstring. “Are you thinking of your sister?”