Allison Campbell Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-4

by Wendy Tyson

  Allison locked the cottage doors, front and back. She placed Elle on the couch before drawing a warm bath in the claw foot tub. When she returned to the living room, Elle was in the kitchen, helping herself to a slice of Gruyere.

  “Good, you need to eat,” Allison said.

  Elle nibbled mechanically, her bites so tiny Allison was unsure how she could taste the food.

  “Why don’t you get in the tub and wash up. I have a robe here you can wear. I think a good soak will refresh you.”

  Elle nodded. She allowed herself to be led into the bathroom, where Allison left her to wash herself. She kept the door slightly ajar, though, afraid her client would try something desperate—or accidentally drown.

  After thirty minutes, Allison knocked.

  “Coming,” Elle said.

  It was another fifteen before Elle emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed and more alert. The robe, which fit Allison just right, hung loosely on Elle’s thin frame, and Elle’s doll-sized wrists stuck out beneath the terry sleeves like matchsticks. But without the garish makeup, Elle’s skin glowed pink and healthy, and her hair, once a mass of tangles, hung down her back in soft wet waves.

  “It’s good to see a person under there,” Allison said.

  Elle nodded. “Coffee? Please?”

  “Sure.”

  While Allison made coffee, Elle walked around the living room, looking at the few books and pictures Allison had put out when she and Grace arrived.

  “The child. She belongs to your sister?” Elle asked.

  “Yes, she’s my niece.”

  “But she lives with you?”

  “For now.” Allison turned on the coffeemaker and pulled two cups from the cabinet overhead. “My sister has some issues.”

  “Drugs.” It was a statement, not a question. “Well, Grace is lucky to have you and your fiancé.”

  “We love her very much.”

  “Then don’t let her go.”

  Allison stopped what she was doing to look at her client. “I’m not sure we’ll have much choice.”

  “You always have a choice, Allison.” She smiled weakly. “Look, I’m hardly the one to tell you how to live your life. But I grew up with a drugged-out father, and I’m as fucked up as they come.” She shrugged. “Fight for the kid.”

  Allison pulled heavy cream from the small refrigerator. Elle’s words cut to the quick, but she couldn’t think about that now. Not with what was going on. “I spoke with the inspector yesterday. I went to his office in Bidero.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sit down, Elle. We need to talk.”

  Allison carried two coffees, cream, and sugar on a tray she’d found in the cupboard. She placed the tray on a small side table and sat in a chair near the couch, across from Elle.

  Elle picked up a cup. She stared into it, seemingly intent on the color of her coffee. “What did he say?”

  “He said he knew nothing about Michael’s laptop.”

  Elle continued staring.

  “You said you would tell him.”

  “He’d have thought I was crazy.”

  And he had, Allison thought. Allison gave voice to the thing that had been weighing on her: “Did you go into Michael’s rooms searching for some proof that he is here and steal the laptop?”

  Elle looked up sharply. “Of course not.”

  “Then who took it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The rain that had been pelting the windows slowed, and a sliver of light flowed in through the curtains. The sound of a tractor whirred outside. Allison half expected Karina to come crashing through the cottage door at any moment, looking for her charge.

  “Were you not feeling well yesterday?” Allison asked.

  “I was fine.”

  “Then why did you refuse to see me?”

  Again, Elle seemed stymied. “When did you come to the castle? No one told me.”

  “They said you were with your father. That you were under the weather.”

  “They?”

  “Hilda. Karina. Dominic.”

  “Ah.”

  “It wasn’t true?”

  “I was with Sam, but no, I wasn’t under the weather.” She tugged at the sleeve of her robe. “Well, maybe a little bit.”

  “Elle—”

  “My father is worse, okay? He’s the worst I’ve seen him. He says things that make no sense. He has tremors. I think he needs more care than he’s getting here.”

  “So take him back to the States.”

  Elle nodded. “I know, I know. He’s been refusing, but we need to do it anyway. As soon as we can leave, I’ll make arrangements.”

  The tractor engine got louder, and Allison rose to look out the window. Dominic was riding across the meadow, toward the stables. He’d just passed their cottage, and she watched as the man and the machine grew smaller in the distance. She turned.

  “Elle, we need to rethink this. You brought me here for a purpose, and we’ve barely been able to focus on you.”

  “No.” Elle stood so fast she knocked the cream pitcher over onto the hardwood floor. The china shattered into sharp tiny pieces.

  Allison rushed over. “I’ll clean that up.”

  “I can do it.” Elle clutched the robe across her chest. Voice louder, eyes closed tight, she repeated the words. “I can do it.”

  “Okay.” Allison backed off, surprised by her vehemence.

  She waited while Elle mopped up the cream and swept up the porcelain. When the mess was contained, Elle said, “You can’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

  “I’ll return the money. You can just pay me for time spent.”

  “It’s not the money.”

  “I know you’ve been trying. But the time’s not right, Elle. Surely you can see that—”

  “I haven’t cooperated. I haven’t focused, I know that. You have a right to be upset.” Elle’s eyes beseeched Allison to understand. “But you can’t go. We have work to do. You have a wedding to plan.” Elle paused, perhaps noticing the pain in Allison’s eyes. “You’re not getting married here?”

  Allison shook her head.

  “I’m sorry.” Elle sat down heavily on the couch. “It’s my fault. All of it. But please, let me make it up to you. I’ll get myself together. I’ll pay attention. I’ll do what you ask.”

  Allison peered into her eyes. “Are you using, Elle?”

  “Absolutely not. Really. I’ll prove it to you.”

  “It’s okay, Elle. I ask because I’m worried about you.”

  Elle rocked back and forth in the seat, hugging herself as she did so. “I will prove it. You’ll see. I can pay attention. I can do this.” Then, more quietly, “I need this.”

  “Elle, it’s not that simple. You have to want to change. You have to be ready for it. You have to work at it. And it’s hard, hard work—like little else you will do in your life. Because change is painful. Old ways beckon, and you have to be strong enough to ignore that call.” Allison stopped, letting that sink in. “The woman I saw earlier today isn’t ready to take control of her life.”

  Elle looked ready to argue. Instead she nodded, defeat written across her face. Defeat that served as a punch to Allison’s gut. She always rooted for the underdog, and in this moment she saw Elle—spoiled, childish, dramatic Elle—as the underdog.

  Elle asked, “When will you go?”

  “Once the police clear me to leave.”

  “That could take a while.” Elle looked up. Her eyes were watery. “Can we work while you’re still here?”

  “I’m not chasing you anymore.”

  Elle nodded. “I understand.”

  A commotion outside the cottage caused Elle to look up. Allison walked to the front door and glanced outside. There was Dominic, and behind him, Vaughn. Allison co
uldn’t suppress a grin. She felt like home was coming to her.

  She opened the door. “Vaughn.” She hugged him, clutching him close.

  Dominic stood by with two large suitcases. “I will place these in Mr. Vaughn’s rooms,” he said to Elle.

  She nodded, pulling the robe tight against her torso with one hand, and smoothing her damp hair back with the other. Her full attention was on Vaughn.

  Vaughn’s full attention was on Allison. He caught her eye with a look she recognized from years of working closely together. They needed to talk.

  Allison introduced Elle to Vaughn, and then she said, “Dominic, can you walk Elle back to the castle?”

  Elle didn’t argue. Allison asked her if she wanted to change, and when she refused, Allison watched as the older man and a robe-clothed Elle trudged along the path. Once they were out of sight, Allison turned toward Vaughn.

  “You must be exhausted. Come in and I’ll make you coffee and something to eat.” She headed back toward the kitchen. “You have no idea how thrilled I am to see you.”

  “I’m happy to see you too. Especially in one piece.”

  The deadpan of Vaughn’s tone stopped Allison in her tracks. “That sounds ominous.”

  “It should.” Vaughn placed his laptop bag on the counter and fished inside for his computer. “You have a bad guy in your midst.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “I’m afraid you’re a little late to the party, Vaughn. We know we have a bad guy here. That’s why I can’t leave the area.” Allison smiled, trying to lighten her friend’s mood. Vaughn was having none of it.

  “I have something to show you.” He booted up his computer, and while it warmed, he pulled a stool over to the counter.

  “So much for getting acquainted with the region.” Allison placed coffee in front of Vaughn.

  “Thank you.” He took a long sip of the hot liquid. “I imagine there will be time for that later.” Vaughn put down his cup and scrolled across the bottom of his laptop. He clicked the mouse. “Look at this.”

  Allison was staring at a picture of a woman. She was young and brunette, her hair tied in a knot on her head, the confident smile of a high school cheerleader or class president plastered across a pretty, freckled face. This was a young woman with a promising future ahead of her. Only the words below her photo told another story. The person in the picture was dead. Her body, discovered by a passerby, had been tied to a pole under a bridge, her torso covered by a sheet, only her delicate hands visible.

  The online newspaper was the London Gazette, but the article wasn’t recent. “This is old.” Allison looked up at Vaughn. “I don’t understand.”

  “Keep reading.”

  Allison bent closer to the computer to read the fine print. Amelia Dabbs, formerly of London, found dead after sexual assault. “Okay?”

  “Now scroll down and read the last paragraph.”

  As Allison read the words, her eyes widened. “Douglas?”

  “Douglas Alden, formerly of London. Dating one Amelia Dabbs.”

  Allison sank onto a stool. She read the entire article, her heart heavy. “It says here he was acquitted.”

  “Keep reading. He was acquitted on a technicality.”

  When Allison was finished scanning the piece, she pushed the laptop back. “I assume you have more?”

  Vaughn nodded. “Jamie sent this to me last night, while I was sleeping on the plane. He pulled up a number of articles on Douglas. I’ll email them to you.”

  “Rape. Suffocation. Involuntary manslaughter.” Allison ran a hand through her hair, thinking. According to the article, the prosecution alleged that Douglas had raped his girlfriend while she was bound during a sex game gone wrong. She died. He moved her to a public location to make it look like a random act. He denied everything. In the end, he got away with it—whatever it had been. “How did Jamie connect Douglas to this woman?”

  “Mia. She remembered where she’d seen Douglas’s face in the middle of the night last night. She’d read about him in the news. She wasn’t positive, though. She didn’t want to alarm you.”

  And I would have been alarmed, Allison thought. “I imagine this is what the Italian police have. But why haven’t they arrested Douglas?”

  “They probably don’t have enough to pin his wife’s death on him. Even with the bolt Jason found.”

  Allison nodded. The path was used by many hikers and alpinists, not just those that stayed at the castle. While seemingly unlikely, it was possible that someone else had rigged Shirin’s fall. Or that the bolt was a coincidence—left behind by an errant hiker.

  “Well, you’re just the bearer of good news.”

  Vaughn laughed. Allison liked the sound of his laugh. He took a gulp of coffee, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood. “Jamie sends his love.”

  “And Angela?” Allison smiled.

  “And Angela.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Probably, but I’m tired and not thinking straight.” Vaughn’s eyes softened. “Is Mia around?”

  “She went into the village with Jason and Grace. There’s a festival going on.”

  Vaughn’s face fell. “Yeah, I saw the people all dressed up when I drove through. Mind if I take a rest?”

  “Please do. I’ll walk you up to the castle.”

  “I was thinking maybe I could just crash here.”

  “Of course. You can take Grace’s room.”

  Once Vaughn was napping, Allison returned to the living room and pulled out her own laptop. She thought about Douglas Alden and his ties to Pay It Forward. While acquitted, he had been the prime suspect—and all but jailed—for the rape and death of his lover. Now his wife was found dead. What would a legitimate business be doing with someone like Douglas on its board? Was it simply because of the connection between Shirin and Damien? Or was there another reason the foundation wanted Douglas Alden?

  Two deaths. One rapidly deteriorating rich man. A surprise son. A ransacked bedroom. And a whole lot of creepy. What next?

  Thunder boomed overhead.

  Allison rose to close the windows. The air was heavy with moisture, the sky black and purple. Lightning shot through the sky.

  I guess a hell of a storm is next, Allison thought. And after that…who knows.

  Mia, Jason, and Grace hustled into the cottage two hours later, wet and laughing. The laughter died the second they eyed Allison and Vaughn sitting around the kitchen counter, their computers and papers spread before them, faces drawn in deep concentration.

  Jason slammed the door shut against a driving wind. “Looks like you two have been having fun.” He strode the ten steps across the living room to kiss Allison and shake Vaughn’s hand. “I take it Allison has roped you into what’s been going on.”

  “I wouldn’t call it roping, exactly. I’m generally a willing accomplice.” Vaughn stood, unfolding his six-foot-plus form, and nodded to Mia. She, in turn, smiled and quickly disappeared into a bedroom with Grace.

  “I guess you guys had a nice time?” Allison asked.

  “We did. Grace got to see people in local dress, she tried some interesting foods—including stinging nettle dumplings, which she loved, by the way—and we did some shopping.” Jason pointed to a bag on the couch. “Grace wanted a Dirndl like Karina’s.”

  Allison smiled. “Thank you for taking her.”

  “Pleasure.”

  Jason poured himself some coffee. While in the small kitchen, he said casually, “I also stopped by the police station to speak with Balzan while in town.”

  Allison looked up. “Oh…and?”

  “He wasn’t there. But his translator was.”

  Remembering the way Julia had ogled Jason, Allison assumed she’d opened up. Allison said as much.

  “I wouldn’t say she was an open book, but she did let
a few things slip. When I asked her if the inspector was following up on Michael’s whereabouts the night Shirin died, she said should couldn’t speak about it, but ‘things are coming together.’”

  “Meaning they have their suspect?”

  Jason placed his coffee cup on the counter and walked behind Allison. He rubbed her shoulders as he said, “That’s how I took it. She wouldn’t say more, but if I had to guess, I’d say they aren’t taking Elle’s concerns very seriously.”

  “So what are they doing?”

  “She didn’t say much more than that. When I pressed, Julia said, ‘the inspector believes history has a way of repeating itself.’” Jason kissed the top of Allison’s head and returned to his coffee.

  “Which also makes me believe they have someone in mind.”

  Vaughn said, “We think we know who that someone is.”

  Allison pulled up one of the pieces on Douglas Alden. She spun her laptop toward Jason. “The husband.”

  “Why is it always the husband?” Jason stared at the screen. His jaw clenched as his eyes scrolled down the screen. “Well he sounds like a real peach. Why did Shirin marry him, and why the hell does Sam Norton’s foundation have someone like that on the board?”

  “Good questions.” Vaughn tapped away at his computer. “I may have found something that sheds light on the reasons. I’ve been researching Douglas’s work history, and Jamie’s been diving into his background as well as Shirin’s. We already know that Shirin Alden was Damien’s cousin, and Damien and Sam went way back. It looks like Shirin’s family and Douglas’s went way back too. May explain why she married him, despite what happened to his girlfriend.” Vaughn paused. “Give me a second and I’ll send you a summary.”

  Allison doubted anything that connected the two families could explain the marriage. While they waited, Allison checked on Grace and Mia. She found them both asleep in the privacy of Grace’s small room. Her niece’s face was a vision of peaceful innocence, and her head was nestled against Mia’s shoulder. A copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses lay next to Mia’s hand.