Deadly Assets Read online

  Allison didn’t want to believe that his skin color or the mistakes of his youth would matter. Didn’t want to but...well, she’d been around town enough times to distinguish idealistic poppycock from reality.

  Mia said, “I’m headed over there now, to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. But I don’t like this, and I am here to help. Whatever I can do. Anything.”

  Thirteen

  It was well after eight when Allison finally finished with her clients from the Recently Divorced group and had a chance to sit and think. Her mind felt cluttered. She wanted a warm bath and a glass of wine, but she couldn’t help but mull over Mia’s visit. Mia had been right, all of this would be even more stressful for Vaughn because of his brother. Not that Jamie couldn’t find a way to care for himself, he was brilliant and resourceful, but Vaughn felt responsible...and they were the only family each other had.

  She thought about Tammy “Swallow” Edwards. Had the girl run away as her parents and manager believed? Was there any way her disappearance could be connected to Francesca’s?

  Allison sat down at her computer and navigated to Google. She tried a few searches, linking the Edwards family and the Benini name. Nothing of significance came up. She tried a number of other combinations, using any grouping of Scranton, Ithaca, Benini and Tammy Edwards as search terms. Still nothing.

  Frustrated, but not surprised, she thought about teenagers and the things they did online. She typed in Tammy’s name by itself and came up with a host of hits, including her try-out video and Tammy’s photos for the upcoming talent competition. In every picture for the talent show premier, Tammy looked lovely: hair tastefully coifed, appropriate clothes, just enough makeup.

  No doubt the television producers had a hand in the makeover, but nonetheless, the pictures gave Allison pause. She considered how awful Denise Carr had made her client sound. Yet these photos seemed at odds with the portrait Denise had painted. This Tammy didn’t look like a train wreck of a client.

  Allison clicked on the link for Tammy’s Facebook page. Her profile shot showed a grinning girl sitting on a mountain bike, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, no makeup on her face. She had a slight sunburn and her nose was a healthy pink. One hand was gripping her handlebars, and the other was extended toward the camera as though she were telling the photographer to stop taking the picture.

  It was a shot that spoke a thousand words. It showed a happy teenager comfortable in her own skin. A kid who liked to be outdoors and who was capable of having fun. A girl who, perhaps, felt more at home in sweats and a t-shirt than a party dress.

  A girl who loved opera?

  Tammy’s privacy settings wouldn’t allow Allison to dig much deeper on her page. Next to “Relationship,” there was a link to a boy named Kai Berger. Allison clicked on Kai’s name and Facebook linked her to his page, which was not restricted.

  Allison sat forward in her chair and tried to swallow her excitement. She knew the chances were slim that Kai Berger’s Facebook page would lead to Tammy’s whereabouts, but it was at least a window into her life. She thought about Jane Edwards, her reaction to the mention of a boyfriend. Was Kai the reason?

  Kai was an undernourished teen with a hawk nose and a mop of straight muddy-blonde hair. In his profile picture, Kai wore jeans and a flannel shirt. He didn’t list Tammy as his girlfriend, but she was in a half dozen shots posted to his wall. In most of them, Tammy was balled up on an ugly tweed couch, wearing a black hoodie, with her hair in her face. In one shot, she was holding a half-empty plastic cup of what looked like beer.

  Kai’s wall was littered with quips from friends, things like “Hey TB, u goin 2 K’s tonight? Party out back.” The most recent had been posted two days ago, the day after Tammy disappeared. “Bro—try calling once in a while” had been written by someone named Nicky D. There was nothing on his Facebook homepage about a missing girlfriend.

  Nothing at all.

  Allison typed Kai’s name into Google and found what appeared to be an address but no phone number. Was he living on his own? His birthday would make him nineteen. It was possible. The satellite view of the house showed a posh neighborhood in the Scranton area. It seemed unlikely that a nineteen-year-old would be able to purchase a house in that neighborhood on his own.

  Allison opened her calendar and studied her schedule for the next day. Other than a meeting with an Allentown company in the late afternoon, her day, like the days after, had been blocked for Francesca. She could reschedule the Allentown meeting. She scrawled a note to Vaughn and left it on his desk. She’d take a ride up to Scranton first thing in the morning and see what Kai Berger had to say about Tammy. Vaughn could cover the office. She would have sent him an email, but he checked his email constantly and would insist on going with her. Allison figured it was best if he stayed on the sidelines.

  Allison locked the door to First Impressions and started down the steps that led to the parking lot on the ground floor. The air was heavy and humid, the stars hidden by a mask of smoggy haze. Allison’s watch read 9:42. The small parking lot, surrounded by shrubbery and partially hidden by a neighboring property’s fence, was bathed in shadows.

  Allison made her way to her Volvo, her mind reliving her conversation with Mia. On impulse, she texted Mia and invited her to join her for a trip to Scranton the next day. Tucking her phone back in her purse, she’d just clicked the fob to unlock the doors when a sound startled her. It was faint—the echo of a car door closing—but in the quiet heat of this summer night, Allison noticed. The street leading into the parking lot was empty. On the other side of the shrubs was a larger parking lot used for a bank headquarters. That’s all I’m hearing, she told herself. Someone leaving work late.

  On a Sunday?

  Allison re-locked her door and walked toward the row of azaleas that separated First Impressions from its neighbor. Sure enough, over the bushes she saw a white Honda Accord in the lot, a man in a suit, sitting in the driver’s seat, was looking at his phone, face hidden.

  Allison murmured to herself under her breath, “Now you’re paranoid, too.” She climbed back into her car and locked the door for safe measure. She turned on the radio—WXPN—and pulled out as Dar Williams crooned about a past love. Three blocks down, she saw the Honda pull out behind her. She increased her speed, opting to skip the back roads and head straight for busy Route 30. Once on the main drag, she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a green Tahoe and, behind that, a moving truck. No sign of the Honda. Relieved, she eased into the right lane and coasted to a stop at the next light, convinced that she was letting events from the last few days get to her.

  When the light turned green, she made a right onto a street lined with oaks and maples, stately fences and tennis courts. At the cusp of her street, she made a left. Just a few houses more and she’d be home, wine in hand, soaking in candlelit water.

  As Allison slowed to turn into her driveway, she looked up in time to see a car pass the mouth of her street, the vehicle slowing as it passed the turn. Her heart raced.

  The white Honda Accord.

  Fourteen

  “What do you mean by followed?” Mia asked. They were turning onto Kai Berger’s street—at least the address given on the Internet—at 7:51 the next morning. Mia had agreed to accompany Allison on the drive to Scranton, and Allison was happy for the companionship. She’d finally told Mia about the white Honda, a fact she’d hidden from even Jason. But Mia’s reaction was the reason she’d kept mum in the first place. Her friend was irate.

  Allison said quickly, “It’s not a big deal. It could have been a coincidence.”

  “Did you see the driver?”

  Allison shook her head. “It was dark. I could tell it was a guy, though.”

  “I don’t like this.” Mia looked out the window, jaw rigid. “You need a gun.”

  Allison laughed. “A gun? Are you kidding?”

  �
��I’m not kidding. Something’s going on here, Allison. Wake up. Two clients? And now someone’s following you?

  Allison pulled up outside of the address she had for Kai. She considered Mia’s suggestion. No gun. She hated guns. Hated the mere thought of them. But last spring, when faced with a killer with a gun, all she’d had was a can of pepper spray. A lot of good that had done her. Maybe she’d start small. Nunchucks. Or a Swiss Army Knife.

  “Did you say this kid lives alone?” Mia said, interrupting Allison’s thoughts on the matter of weapons.

  Allison took in the house, one of two dozen in a newer development on the outskirts of Scranton. Two- and three-thousand square foot Colonials on half-acre lots. Manicured lawns, Home Depot lawn furniture, even an in-ground pool here and there. It confirmed her original assumption that this was not a place a nineteen-year-old could afford on his own.

  “I wasn’t sure. Seems unlikely, though.”

  “You’re certain this kid is only nineteen?”

  “No. I’m not even sure he’s dating Tammy. Or, if he is, that this is the right address.” Allison unbuckled her seatbelt. “But there’s one way to find out.”

  After three hard raps on the door, a woman answered. She was trim, with thin, straight brown hair, and round brown, heavily made-up eyes that gave her a perpetually surprised look. She wore white dress pants and a blouse in jeweled shades of green, blue and ruby, tucked in and belted with a swath of black leather. Behind her, Allison could see an immaculate foyer and living room: white carpeting, white furniture, matted prints on the walls. In those few seconds, Allison’s immediate impression was that this woman craved order.

  “We’re looking for Kai Berger,” Allison said.

  The woman’s eyes clouded with fear. She gave Allison a once-over and shifted her gaze to Mia. “What has he done?” Although she didn’t say “now,” the word was implied in her tone.

  “Nothing that we’re aware of. We just want to talk to him about Tammy Edwards.”

  The woman seemed momentarily confused.

  “His girlfriend,” Allison said, and the woman said “ah” under her breath. “Would it be okay if we came in for a few minutes? I’m Allison Campbell and this is Mia Campbell.” Allison handed her a business card. “Tammy’s my client.”

  The woman glanced at her watch. “I’m Kai’s mother, Joanne, but I’m on my way out, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.” She shrugged, hands up in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Life of a real estate agent. I have a client who wants to see a house before work.”

  “Look, Joanne,” Allison said. “Tammy’s missing. We’re hoping Kai can shed some light on the places Tammy hangs out, her friends. Her family’s worried sick and we’re trying to help them find her. I’m sure you understand? We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” Allison waited. When Joanne still didn’t respond, Allison said, “Is Kai here?”

  Joanne shook her head. With a sigh, she finally stepped back. “Come in. But I only have a minute.” They followed her through the foyer, past the dining room and into the kitchen. Granite counters, oak cabinets, a generously-sized stock island. Here, too, everything was spotlessly clean and smelled of lemon disinfectant.

  Joanne stood next to the island. A stack of mail—envelopes and circulars—had been placed in a neat pile on one corner. The mail shared the space with a bowl of what looked to be ceramic fruit: pears, oranges, bananas, and apples. No dust on the fruit.

  “Kai doesn’t live here. At least not right now.” Joanne walked over to a small desk built into country French cabinetry and removed a pen from a glass holder. She scribbled something on a Post-it Note and handed the pink paper to Allison. “That’s his father’s address. Kai’s with him.”

  Allison glanced down at the paper. A Scranton address. “Thank you.”

  Joanne walked back to the island and pressed the edges of the mail pile, readjusting what was already a perfectly neat and perfectly straight set of documents. She frowned. “Don’t expect Kai to be of much help.”

  “You don’t think he’ll talk to us?” Allison asked.

  “Depends on his mood. But even if he does, he won’t tell you anything useful. He’ll just dance around the topic. Just like his father.”

  “Have you met Tammy?”

  “No, but Kai has mentioned her once or twice.”

  “Typical teen, keeping secrets?” Mia asked.

  “Sometimes I wish he’d keep more secrets. His judgment is not always the best.”

  “Does he get into trouble frequently?” Mia asked.

  “Not really.” Joanne glanced at her watch again. “He just gets odd ideas. Like I said, he’s a lot like his dad, Scott. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to go.”

  After Allison and Mia were through the front door, Joanne yelled after them, “If you do see my son, please tell him I’m still waiting for my key. He can’t have it both ways. It’s my house or his father’s!”

  “A little Type A?” Mia asked once they were back in the car.

  “Definitely compulsive.” Allison took out her phone and punched in the address Joanne had written on the pink slip. Her GPS gave her a location about four miles away. “She was so cold when talking about Kai that I would have mistaken her for a stepmother if she hadn’t said otherwise. Not to stereotype stepmothers, of course, but, well, that was not a mother’s love I saw in her eyes.”

  Mia nodded. “Maybe it’s her feelings toward his Dad showing through. Stereotypical divorce?”

  Allison shrugged as she pulled away from the curb. “I don’t care what their story is, as long as they lead us to Tammy.”

  The address Joanne Berger gave them led to a bar in downtown Scranton. Allison parked on the street, a block away from the flashing pink neon sign that read “McNally’s.” The bar was wedged between a pizza take-out joint and a consignment shop.

  Across the street were a series of derelict row houses and a check-cashing place. A convenience store with a gas pumping station sat on the corner. The dark wooden door to McNally’s led inside to an enclosed foyer. At one end of the foyer was the entrance—a glass door inlaid with a set of security bars. Through the door, Allison could make out four people sitting at the bar top and a long-haired bartender wiping down the counter. All eyes were turned toward the television hung on the wall. Baseball. The Yankees were winning, three to one.

  Allison glanced around the foyer. Right inside the entry were two mailboxes. One was marked “McNally’s” and the other “2A.”

  Mia pointed to the “2A” and then to a doorway on the right side of the room. “An apartment? That door must lead upstairs.”

  Allison reached for the knob. It was unlocked. Mia followed her through the door and up a narrow staircase. At the top was another door, painted an obnoxious shade of fuchsia.

  “Not quite what I was expecting,” Mia said. She knocked on the door.

  “It is a Monday morning. Maybe they’re at work. Or school.”

  “Maybe.” But Mia looked skeptical.

  After a few more tries, Allison said, “Let’s try the bar. See if anyone there knows where we can find father or son.”

  At the bottom of the staircase, back in the foyer, they were met by the bartender.

  She looked to be in her twenties, but if her appearance was any indicator, it had been a hard two decades. Her skin had the loose appearance of someone who’d spent way too many hours in a tanning booth, and tiny wrinkles were sprouting from a full mouth and dull brown eyes. A rose tattoo bloomed from beneath a black tank top. A fading bruise marred her left cheekbone. Three piercings graced her nose.

  She said, “Are you ladies lost?”

  “We’re looking for Scott Berger.”

  From behind her, a deep voice said, “Found ’im.”

  The bartender turned around abruptly. Allison caught her wary glance at the man who’d spok
en. He was standing in the doorway, and Allison recognized him as one of the men who’d been sitting at the bar, watching the baseball game. He was short, with a wiry build and a head of straight brown hair, slicked back with the aim of hiding a blossoming bald spot. He had a youngish face, reminding Allison of a worn-out Davy Jones.

  “I’ve got this, Vicky.”

  Allison said, “Mr. Berger, is there somewhere we can chat for a few minutes?”

  “About?”

  Allison handed Berger a business card. “We’re looking for Tammy Edwards, and as I understand it, she’s dating your son.”

  “So?”

  “So, we’d like to talk to you. A lot of people are worried about Tammy. We were hoping Kai—or you—could shed some light on where Tammy might be.”

  Scott Berger gave one longing glance through the glass door toward the television before giving a resigned nod. “I figured it was only a matter of time before someone came calling.” He looked at Vicky. “Back to work. And make sure Curtis pays.” To Allison, he said, “Come upstairs.”

  Upstairs consisted of a tiny two-bedroom apartment with wood paneling, an efficiency kitchen and enough dirty laundry on the floor to double as a carpet. Allison choked back a gag at the smell—part Italian hoagie, part smelly feet. It was a bachelor pad without an ounce of charm.

  Scott sauntered over to a brown plaid couch, tossed a pair of running shorts onto a nearby table and sat down. He pointed to a matching loveseat. Mia flicked what looked like a flannel shirt to the side and sat on the edge of the fabric, her face one of practiced neutrality. Allison chose to stand.

  “I have no idea where that girl is, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Scott tapped one loafer-clad foot on the ground as he spoke. He looked at Allison but glanced at Mia every few seconds as though he was afraid she was planning an escape. “I don’t even think Kai sees her anymore.”