Deadly Assets Read online

“Yeah. Breaking and entering, assault and battery, harassment. Drugs. Crazy shit.”

  “Did he do time?”

  “Here and there. Nothing like what he deserved. Must have had himself a very good lawyer.”

  “Or a patient and forgiving judge. Wink, wink.”

  Allison thought about her visit the day before, the bruise on his bartender’s face. Could Scott Berger be violent? Could he have done something to Tammy?

  She handed the sheets back to Vaughn, who said, “And this.” He passed Allison a list of properties owned by Joanne Berger.

  In addition to the house in the Scranton suburb, she owned a rental property in Mount Pocono and a beach house on the Jersey shore.

  “Notice the dates of purchase,” Vaughn said.

  All three properties had been bought in the last two and a half years. “And they divorced three years ago?” Allison asked.

  Vaughn nodded.

  “Anything on Joanne? How long has she been a realtor?”

  “Sixteen years. She’s won awards for being one of her agency’s top sellers.”

  “Hmm. She’s been in the biz for sixteen years, and just now has the funds to buy three new properties? I smell fish.” Allison frowned. “How about Scott’s bar? Was Jamie able to get any info on how well it’s doing financially?”

  “He’s still working on it.”

  “Has Scott owned that bar for long?”

  “About four years. Bought it six months after his last jail stint for harassment and intimidation of a material witness.” Vaughn smiled. “Interesting, huh?”

  “Let me get this straight. Scott Berger has been in and out of jail for decades. He was married to a successful real estate agent who was clearly the bread winner in the relationship. They divorce, and suddenly he buys a bar and she has enough money for three properties.”

  Vaughn nodded. “So your next question is—”

  “Where the hell did the money come from?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “What did Scott Berger do before he owned the bar?”

  “He worked at the Kremsburg landfill, about twenty miles from Scranton.”

  “The same place Tammy’s father works?”

  “Yep.”

  “Possible they knew each other back then?”

  “Possible and probable. Scott worked security. Tony Edwards, maintenance.”

  Allison looked down at the papers, her mind turning over the possibilities. She knew the jail sentences, the petty crimes and lenient judges suggested one thing.

  “So Scott Berger is on a Mafia payroll?”

  Vaughn nodded slowly, eyebrows arched. “Looks that way.”

  “Who owns the landfill?”

  “Gretchko and Sons is registered to Andrei Gretchko. But it’s his son, Nicholas Gretchko, who runs it now.”

  “Anything obvious there?”

  “Nothing so far.” Vaughn picked up the file. “I don’t know what the Berger family’s connection is to Tammy’s disappearance, if anything. But I will be damned if I’m going to leave a single stone unturned.”

  Allison didn’t say anything. She was too busy thinking of the bartender’s bruised face. And of all the places you could hide a body at a landfill.

  Later that morning, Allison was working on intake for a new client when Vaughn popped his head into the client room. “I’m sorry to bother you, Allison, but you have an urgent call.”

  Allison looked from him to the man in front of her, a fifty-six-year old former vice president in the position of having to reinvent himself after being laid off. She felt for him. It wasn’t easy to admit that the very thing you allowed to define you—your business success—was now gone.

  Having given up so much to get where he was, he was grieving his former life. And Allison didn’t want to leave him in the middle of his first session.

  But Vaughn knew only to interrupt her in the most dire of circumstances. So she gently excused herself and followed Vaughn into his office.

  “My mother?” Allison said, nearly choking on the words. Ever since her mom’s Alzheimer’s had taken a turn for the worse a few months back, Allison lived in fear of getting that call. But it wasn’t Allison’s sister, Ann, who was on the line.

  Vaughn shook his head. “Maria Benini.”

  Allison took the phone. Why was Maria Benini calling her? But Vaughn just shrugged and said, “She wouldn’t talk to me. She said it was urgent, though.”

  Allison put the receiver to her ear and immediately heard the whir of machinery in the background. “Hello?”

  “About fucking time. Look, I can’t stay on the line. I know where Francesca is.”

  Allison straightened. “Where?”

  “I’m only calling you as insurance. In case something happens to me.”

  “Why would anything happen to you?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. Please just listen. There’s an old abandoned building at the back of our property. It used to be a hunting cabin. They have her there.”

  “Who’s they, Maria. And if you know she’s there, call the police.”

  “I can’t call the police.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re watching me, too. I know it.”

  “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 b
ank 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 out 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 sp
ring 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.