Deadly Assets Read online

  “I heard machinery in the background when Maria called. Francesca mentioned that Benini had a bottling factory in the area. Maybe Maria had been calling from there.”

  Vaughn studied his watch. “We’ll never get there and get back here in time to search the hunting cabin.”

  Ugh. Allison had been dreading this. “Do you want to head out on our own? Before we look for Maria? For all we know she could be there.”

  “We have no idea where we’re going. This property is huge.”

  “Jackie said it’s a quarter mile past the grotto. We’ve been to the grotto.”

  Vaughn started pulling aside tarps, searching for something. After a second he muttered “gotcha” and pulled a long, heavy flashlight from a cabinet.

  “Saw it earlier.” He looked at Allison’s outfit, gaze lingering on her shoes. “You know, if you’re going to play detective, you’d better start dressing the part.”

  Allison smiled. “I had the same thought earlier. Although frankly, I think this is just a short career detour.”

  The chickens and sheep had been fed, the garden weeded and her afternoon chores completed. Mia pulled off her gardening gloves and closed the door that led from her front porch to the small kitchen. The bungalow was warm in the summer heat, but the stone walls kept the kitchen cool—as long as she didn’t light up the AGA stove. So she’d have salad for dinner, and maybe a glass of white wine. The French bottle that she’d been saving.

  Mia walked through the kitchen and into the short hallway that led to the living room. Off it, one door opened to her bedroom, and the other, stairs into the basement. The original owners of the house had set up a second canning kitchen down there, so it was spacious and cool. She used it as a wine cellar and a place to store winter vegetables.

  As she made her way down to the basement now, her thoughts drifted to Vaughn. They needed to end their affair. She hated the thought, but it was the right thing for both of them. But not now. Now, he had bigger things on his mind. He needed her support. Mia pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and called his mobile. When she got no answer, she tried First Impressions. A cordial answering service employee told her that the office was closed for the day. Concerned, Mia dialed Allison. No answer there, either. Even Jason was a dead end—his secretary said he was in court.

  Frustrated, Mia decided to forgo the wine and the salad. She ran back up the cellar steps and grabbed her purse from its resting place on the dryer.

  Maybe Jamie would know where they were.

  Twenty

  The grotto seemed farther than Allison remembered. Once again, she and Vaughn started down the path by the house, where the trail was just a wide swath of wood chips winding its way toward the woods. Once in the trees, the path changed to packed dirt and then, eventually, to loose humus and fallen leaves. The canopy of trees overhead blocked most of the remaining daylight. Unfamiliar sounds like a cacophony of animal noises assaulted Allison’s anxious ears. The forest would come alive in the night, and while Allison was grateful for Vaughn’s surefooted presence, she didn’t think her city boy was any more used to dealing with wild animals than she was.

  They trudged along in silence, neither Vaughn nor Allison saying much until they reached the grotto. There, Allison sat on the bench to pull a twig out from inside her shoe and Vaughn tried his mobile again.

  “Still no service?” Allison asked.

  “Nah. We’re screwed.”

  But Allison knew the worried look on his face had more to do with Jamie than their situation. He didn’t like being unreachable in case there was an emergency. She didn’t blame him. And under current circumstances, their inability to communicate made her feel especially vulnerable. She hadn’t told Jason where she was going.

  And they couldn’t even call 9-1-1 if they did find Francesca.

  “Ready?” Vaughn said. He eyed the sinking sun. They had maybe an hour of daylight left. Maybe.

  Allison stood. She tried to get her bearings. “I think the old cabin must be that way.” She pointed to a spot where the flattened path re-entered the woods, behind the small koi pond and over the bridge.

  Vaughn nodded. “Lead the way,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  Jamie was awake when Mia arrived an hour later. He grinned, happy to see her. Using his mouthpiece, VAUGHN’S NOT HERE appeared on his screen.

  “I figured as much, Jamie,” Mia said. She sat on the couch. “Do you know where he might have gone?”

  BACK TO ITHACA.

  “Why?”

  Jamie showed her an email that contained a brief summary of the phone call from Maria and their subsequent attempts to contact police.

  “So they went to talk with Maria?” Mia asked.

  IN THE HOPE THAT FRANCESCA HAS BEEN FOUND. Jamie’s handsome face darkened. ALTHOUGH THAT SEEMS UNLIKELY.

  “Why?”

  WE WOULD HAVE HEARD SOMETHING BY NOW.

  “True.” Mia felt her anxiety level rising.

  She crossed her legs and leaned forward. She really wanted someone to talk to, and Jamie was always logical, but she didn’t want to betray Vaughn. How much did Jamie know?

  Vaughn was trying to keep some of this from him, to lessen Jamie’s worry, but she also knew he was damn smart and he’d probably figured out more than he was letting on.

  “So,” Mia said, deciding to trade coy for pointed, “Anything new about Tammy?”

  Jamie ran through the information he’d discovered about Tammy’s boyfriend’s father, Scott Berger—the petty crimes, the connection to Tammy’s father via the landfill.

  Mia interrupted him, “Wait a minute, Jamie. Did you say the landfill in Kremsburg?”

  YES.

  “Who owns it?”

  NICHOLAS GRETCHKO AND HIS FATHER, ANDREI GRETCHKO.

  Mia searched sideways in her mind for a connection. Why did the Kremsburg landfill ring a bell? And that name seemed familiar. An alarm went off in her head at the mere mention of the dump.

  MIA.

  Mia looked up to see Jamie staring at her, his face stern.

  “Yes?”

  DON’T WORRY ABOUT MY BROTHER. HE’S SMART AND RESOURCEFUL. AND HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. SOON EVERYONE WILL REALIZE THAT.

  Mia stood. She walked over to the bed and held one of Jamie’s lifeless hands. His skin was dry and papery. She felt a surge of love for this boy—for, God help her, she viewed him as a boy—and wanted to keep him safe.

  “You really believe that, don’t you? That the world is just?”

  As soon as she said it, she regretted the words. Because wasn’t Jamie’s motionless body evidence that the world was a very unjust place?

  But he simply smiled.

  IT MAY TAKE A WHILE, MIA, BUT JUSTICE DOES PREVAIL. IN THE HERE AND NOW…OR THE HEREAFTER.

  When Mia got home, she gave Buddy a quick head pat and sprinted for the living room. There, against the back wall, sat an antique Mission desk and her computer. She turned the machine on and waited for it to come alive, regretting her decision not to upgrade. The damn thing was slow.

  Kremsburg Landfill.

  Gretchko. Benini.

  Two ethnic names with no obvious connection. But she couldn’t ignore that worm of doubt wiggling its way through her brain. She was missing something, some clue that existed in the farthest recesses of her memory.

  Years of image consulting, hundreds of clients. She couldn’t be expected to remember every one of them. But, damn it, she was wishing she’d taken her gingko or ginger or whatever the hell was supposed to boost memory. She felt the clock ticking on this one.

  When the computer was finally booted, Mia typed in Google and searched for “Kremsburg” and “Gretchko.” She pulled up references to the landfill, a few business-oriented links, and two or three 5-K times, races that the younger Gretchko must have participated
in. Nothing ominous, and nothing that triggered her memory.

  She tried “Andrei Gretchko.” Still nothing.

  Buddy ran into the room, and Mia rubbed behind his hound ears, the way he liked it. He leaned into her and gazed at her with adoration. He’d been a stray, showing up weeks after she moved to this property, after her daughter had been killed at the hands of Mia’s drunk-driving husband. At first she’d resented the dog’s presence. Buddy needed care and attention, and she’d had little will to provide either. But now she realized that the dog had saved her life as much as she had saved his.

  “What do you think, Buddy?”

  The dog opened one eye, hoping, Mia was sure, that if he ignored her, she would keep on rubbing.

  “Andrei Gretchko? Kremsburg Landfill?” She said the names over and over to an oblivious Buddy. And that’s when it dawned on her. She stood, pulse racing, the veil of a memory hanging over her eyes like moth-eaten silk. A woman. Tall, broad, blonde. The landfill rang a bell because Mia knew the woman who had inherited the business. The only daughter of the prior owner. A woman who went by a different last name. Not Gretchko.

  Katerina Tarasoff. A former client.

  And the only child of a certain mobster.

  Vaughn and Allison reached the cabin fifteen minutes later. The trail led from the grotto, through the woods and into what once must have been a clearing, but was now so overgrown with weeds and brambles that Allison could only make out the ghostly remnants of a wooden fence and a dilapidated outhouse, a crescent moon carved high on one side. An uprooted tree crossed the trail, its roots leaving a crater-size hole in the earth. Allison stepped carefully over the trunk, making her way quietly toward the hunting cabin. Its front fascia torn and mottled so that it resembled a child’s depiction of a haunted house, the building itself teetered on the edge of viability at the back of the ragged clearing.

  The cabin was small, not much bigger than a child’s playhouse. Another uprooted tree had fallen against the roof on one side, and green moss ran a carpet-like line along the side of the debris.

  “Man,” Vaughn mumbled. “I really do not want to go in there.”

  They stayed crouched in the brush, out of the line of sight of anyone who was in the cabin. An unnecessary precaution, Allison thought, because the windows and only door were boarded shut. Unless there was a peephole, she thought. All good kidnappers need a peephole.

  Allison glanced up at the darkening sky. Considering the meandering path they had taken to reach the cabin, she didn’t think they had much time. Even if they hurried, they might not make it back to the house before night fall. And if someone was in there...well, they needed a plan.

  Although most of the windows were shuttered, the one on the right corner looked accessible. Its wooden cover was broken and hanging from two hastily-placed nails. Unless they wanted to pry the front door off, noise and all, it was the best option.

  “Come on,” Allison whispered.

  As they got close, Allison slipped her shoes off. She pointed to the narrow window opening, which sat about four feet off the ground. “Hoist me over.”

  “No way, Allison. I’ll go.” Vaughn whispered. He started to climb in, but Allison placed a hand on his chest.

  “You won’t fit without pulling more boards off and that will make noise. Let me go. I’ll be fine. Be my look-out.” When he shook his head, Allison said softly, “Francesca could be in there, Vaughn. If she is, we’re wasting time. I’ll be fine.”

  Vaughn frowned. He glanced up at the sun, now an orange ball nestled behind the trees. Finally, he said, “Fine. Hurry.” He handed Allison the flashlight. “One peep and I break in.”

  Before Vaughn could change his mind, Allison ducked through the window opening and squeezed herself through, dropping down on the other side as quietly as she could. The inside of the cabin was dark. Allison braced herself against the wall and waited for her vision to adjust to the light, alert for any sounds that would indicate movement. Other than a faint scratching noise coming from the ground near her feet, she heard nothing. A mouse?

  She forced herself to stand still. What was a tiny rodent when your feet were bare? As long as it was a tiny rodent. Stop, Al, she said to herself. Pull up those big girl panties and get a move on.

  After her sight finally adjusted to the murky light, Allison studied the room. A wreck of broken furniture and cobwebs.

  “Are you okay?” Vaughn hissed through the window opening.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She felt her way around the room, hands against cool walls, toward the doorway that led to the front portion of the small house. She gritted her teeth against the sensation of sticky cobwebs on her face and tried not to think of creepy-crawlies that hid in corners of places like this. There could be a kidnapper, and you’re worried about spiders, she thought. Sheesh, Allison.

  Momentarily disoriented, she closed her eyes and pictured the layout. From the look of the place on the outside, the cabin had two rooms and maybe a kitchen and/or a bathroom. She wouldn’t pull out the flashlight until she was sure no one else was inside.

  Her heart raced. Sweat trickled down her face and between her breasts. Allison’s bare foot touched something cold and furry. She stifled a scream, shuffled two steps to the left, and forced herself forward. The room smelled of rot. Her stomach lurched. If Francesca was being held captive here, she must be terrified. The thought propelled Allison forward, toward the other room.

  The door between the front and rear rooms was closed. Night was quickly closing in and Allison had to squint to see anything at all. No flashlight, though. Not yet. Her head began to pound, the pressure a vise on her forehead.

  Conscious of her own breathing, she made her way to the door. She pressed her ear up against the scarred wood, but heard no sound coming from the other side. With a deep breath, slowly, carefully, she opened the door a crack, every cell in her body bracing for an explosion of sound or violence. But there was nothing.

  Encouraged, she opened the door further. She raised the heavy flashlight, the only weapon she had, and swung the door wide, hoping like hell that Vaughn had her back.

  The room was empty.

  Allison felt first a wave of relief, then a stabbing disappointment.

  Had Francesca ever been here? It seemed like Maria was nuts after all.

  A square hole where a stove vent had once lived allowed the last remnants of daylight to seep into the room. Allison glanced around. She was facing a small area, about 10’ x 10’. Like the back room, its windows and only door were boarded up. A kitchenette had been situated against the far wall. A single set of kitchen cabinets, doors ripped off, insides empty, stood next to an old-fashioned once-white refrigerator, its hinges sagging. A gaping spot in the cabinetry, like a missing tooth, marked the spot where the stove once stood. A stained basin must have been the sink at one time. There was no faucet.

  An old metal bed frame leaned up against a filthy wall. Its mattress was on the ground, stained and torn. A single table was wedged next to the kitchen cabinet. Otherwise, the room was bare.

  Allison let out her breath. She was about to yell for Vaughn when a sound startled her. She jumped, clutching the flashlight. The sound was coming from one of the boarded up windows at the back end of the room. Vaughn coming in?

  Allison stepped gingerly across the torn wooden floor. The sound was scratchy, more like birds or rodents than a person. Allison flicked on the flashlight and ran the light along the perimeter of the board. It was nailed from the inside, but, when she looked closely, it seemed like two corners had been recently disturbed. With one finger, Allison pulled at the corner of the board. It came away easily. She did the same to the other side. The board fell sideways, exposing a small area. The stink emanating from the space made her choke.

  Allison trained her flashlight beam into the room, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. Please don’
t let it be a body, she thought. Please don’t let it be Francesca.

  “Allison!”

  She jumped, swirled around and came face-to-face with Vaughn.

  “What the hell is taking you so long? I was worried.”

  Allison nodded toward the small cubby. Vaughn moved closer. He put his hand to his mouth. “Oh, man. That stench.”

  Allison swept the flashlight across the interior. It was a bathroom, the source of the smell was a broken toilet ripped from its mooring.

  “The hole”—Vaughn pointed—“raw sewage.”

  Allison tried not to breathe in. She started to back away, then thought of those loose nails. Could someone have been using this space? For what? No person could stay in there. The smell was simply overpowering. But someone could hide something in there. A package. A small body. A clue. She decided to do one more sweep of the small room. That’s when she saw it.

  She pointed to the wall next to the broken toilet. “Look!”

  Vaughn leaned in, his hand still across his mouth and nose. In small block letters, the word “GINA” was written in blue marker. Other words, written in the same blue pen, had been smeared to illegibility. Vaughn turned, eyes wide. “Think Francesca wrote that?”

  “Maybe,” Allison said. She looked again, aiming the light directly over the word. The writing was fresh, letters painted on top of the grime.

  Allison said, “But if she did, Maria was telling the truth when she said that Francesca was being held here against her will. We need to find Maria.”

  “But why would Francesca write ‘Gina’?” Vaughn said. “What the hell does a dead woman have to do with Francesca’s disappearance? Wouldn’t you just write the name of your captor?”

  “I don’t know.” Allison took a picture of the wall with her camera phone, about all the damn thing was good for out here, and started back toward the other room and the open window. “But it certainly seems like the past is connected to the events of the present, doesn’t it?”