Deadly Assets Read online

  Allison glanced back at Francesca, evaluating her with an image consultant’s eye. Not only was Francesca small, but she had a stocky, muscular build that would be tricky to clothe. Right now she wore black polyester pants and a loose short-sleeve sage sweater. Allison pictured her in a tailored pantsuit, something that would lend credibility and an air of power. Francesca’s head was covered in short, thick, wiry curls, peppered with gray—nothing a shapely cut couldn’t handle. She had pug-like features and pale skin, with moles dotting her cheeks and neck. Like her niece and nephew, her best features were almond-shaped eyes fringed by long, lush lashes. Her irises were deep brown like Maria’s, although they lacked both Alex’s perpetual amusement and Maria’s disdain. Instead, Francesca Benini projected the resolve of a woman on a mission.

  Allison said, “How can I help you, Ms. Benini?”

  “Let’s do away with the formalities, shall we? Call me Francesca. “

  Beneath the crisp words lurked the faint, melodic remnants of an Italian accent. Allison knew that Francesca was from a village in Calabria, in Italy. Her older brother, Paolo Benini, the CEO and President of the family business, Benini Enterprises, had a stroke less than two weeks prior. That’s all Francesca shared with Vaughn when she’d called the week before, upset and demanding to be seen right away.

  “Do you like wine, Allison?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you have a favorite?”

  “I’m no connoisseur, but I suppose it would be Pinot Noir.”

  “A fine choice. We grow Riesling here in the States, both dry and sweet. But that’s primarily for house use. These grapes can’t compare to those grown in Europe. Other than California, the U.S. climate’s just not right.” She turned toward the window again and rubbed her palms up and down along the length of her thighs. “In Italy, we grow six different types of grapes. That’s just on our property. We own half the land in our town, but we also own acreage in other parts of Italy and Europe, and we pay growers in Greece, Macedonia and other Balkan countries to raise grapes. In addition to wine, we’re importers—specialty foods from Italy, olive oil from Greece, home goods. But it all began with a small vineyard, sixty-five years ago.”

  “Your father started the business?”

  “Yes. With help from my grandmother. She was a shrew, but she had a keen sense of business and knew how to turn nothing into something.”

  “And now your brother runs the business?”

  “He ran the business. Make no mistake, Allison. Paolo won’t recover from this. Despite the fact that they”—she gestured back toward the main part of the house, and Allison could only assume she meant Simone and Paolo’s kids—“don’t seem the least bit concerned, he is not going to make it. Even if his body survives, he’ll be a vegetable. This company is mine, too. It was my father’s intent for me to run it if something happened to Paolo. I have to do my part.”

  “And that’s where First Impressions comes in?”

  Francesca nodded, but her eyes held a resigned, wary expression. Allison wondered about the sudden shift. What wasn’t she sharing?

  “So what’s your main goal, Francesca? We should start there.”

  “I need to take command. Although we are a privately-held company, we still have shareholders, some of whom are very powerful in their own right. I have to instill confidence in these people, especially those in Italy. Our families go way back. Seeing a woman at the helm will be tough enough. But if it’s me? I’m afraid it will take a miracle.” She stared at Allison. “You must be that miracle.”

  Allison considered this. Alex had made it sound as though Francesca’s world had been very small—limited to the walls of this massive, intimidating home.

  Perhaps she was agoraphobic or suffered from social anxiety. Perhaps she simply disliked people. Whatever the reason, she’d have to leave this house if she wanted to change. And change could be painful and laborious.

  “Can I ask you a candid question, Francesca?”

  “If we’re to work together, I would expect nothing less.”

  Allison paused. She appreciated Francesca’s pointedness—was it sincere? “How much time do you feel you have to…well, to make these changes? A month? A year?”

  Francesca’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, heavens, not that long. The business is failing and the vultures are already circling. A lot is at stake. Weeks, maybe.”

  “You’ll need to come to Philadelphia.”

  Francesca’s hands danced wildly in her lap.

  Allison continued. “My office is outside the city. We’ll arrange for a suite nearby. You’ll be comfortable and well-attended. We can meet regularly over the course of several weeks, until you feel you’re ready.”

  “And what, specifically, will we do?”

  “That depends on you, Francesca. You’ll decide, with guidance from me and my team.”

  “Team?”

  “I oversee everything, of course. And I can help you with public speaking, dressing for success, navigating corporate culture, things of that ilk. But we also have a whole cadre of specialists who can help. We can even get you a business tutor, if that’s what you decide you need, someone from a local MBA program.”

  Francesca frowned. “Oh.”

  “Not what you expected?”

  “To the contrary. Simone, my sister-in-law, bought me your book for Christmas. From the Outside In. Simone’s very thoughtful that way.” Francesca’s sour expression said that Simone was anything but thoughtful. “I know exactly what to expect.”

  “But?”

  “No ‘but.’ It’s just a lot to take in, that’s all.”

  Allison chose her next words carefully. “Are you afraid to leave this house? Because if so, that’s okay. Sometimes people have anxiety issues that require treatment and even medication. We can help you, but it will take time. Treatment doesn’t happen overnight.”

  Francesca laughed sharply. “Oh, that’s priceless. I’m not agoraphobic, if that’s what you mean. Alex may have filled your head with such hokum, but it’s far from the truth.”

  “He did mention that you haven’t left this house in years.”

  “And I have my reasons for that. But things have changed and now, it seems, I have no choice.” She offered an empty smile, the venom gone as quickly as it had arrived. “Tell me, can we start today?”

  Surprised, Allison said, “Today was just an initial consult.”

  “The gentleman I spoke to said you would be prepared to get started right away.”

  Allison shook her head. She’d already been making arrangements in her mind, sorting through her new-client to-do list. But she hadn’t planned to start immediately. “If you really want to do this, we can pick you up and take you to Villanova. Next week?”

  “Sooner. Today. I don’t have a minute to waste.”

  Curious, Allison pulled out the next day’s schedule. Open until the afternoon. Vaughn had blocked almost two days for the trip, anticipating travel time, and so Allison had packed an overnight bag just in case. It made a certain sense to start the intake process right away. And although the woman’s request was unorthodox, given her situation and sense of urgency, Allison could accommodate it.

  “I’ll need to make hotel arrangements.”

  Francesca dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “I won’t hear of it. We have beautiful guest quarters. You’ll stay here.”

  Allison hesitated. “If you’re sure.”

  “I couldn’t be more.” Francesca stood. “I’ll see you to your room. I’m afraid we no longer have full-time help. Connie left the last time Paolo tightened the belt. But we have a cook. That’s something, yes?”

  Allison smiled. “Shall I make arrangements for next week as well? At my offices?”

  Again, that look of wary resignation. “Will I need to book a car? I don’t fly.”

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nbsp; “That won’t be necessary. We can come and get you. It’ll require a little time to line everything up. Next Friday? Then we can get started over the weekend so that we don’t lose any time.”

  “I guess that will have to do,” Francesca said. She led Allison back toward the main portion of the house. “But no longer than that. Once the vultures smell rotting meat, it doesn’t take long before the carcass is picked clean.”

  Two

  Clouds pressed in, painting the sky with a heavy coat of gray that matched Allison’s mood. It was nearly six o’clock on Thursday evening. Allison was unpacking her small overnight bag and placing her few belongings on padded hangers in the guest walk-in closet. She had nothing formal for dinner, so her pink suit would have to do.

  She hung up black pants and a cream blouse for tomorrow and carefully tucked her platform slingbacks under a foot stool. After a quick call to Jason, her ex-husband and current boyfriend, asking him to take care of her dog Brutus, she sat on the lounge chair in her suite and looked around.

  True to Francesca’s word, the guest quarters were generous. Two rooms—a bedroom and a study—flanked a full bath. The bedroom was furnished with heavy antiques. A four poster canopied bed, with down mattress, comforter and richly upholstered shams, stood against one wall. On the opposite wall sat an ornate, carved dresser topped by a thick slab of champagne-colored marble. A chaise lounge completed the bedroom.

  All of the suite’s linens, bedding and fabrics wore a designer touch, with coordinating patterns of cream, butterscotch and brown. The overall effect lent a comfortable charm to the decidedly masculine rooms.But the bathroom was Allison’s favorite. Nearly as large as the bedroom, it had two sinks, a bidet and a Roman-style sunken bath that hinted at the wealth the Beninis must have once had. Allison eyed the bath longingly. No time for that now.

  Leaning back in the lounge, Allison tapped her colleague Vaughn’s phone number. Vaughn answered on the third ring. “Guess where I am?” Allison asked.

  “Hawaii?”

  “Funny. At the Benini estate.”

  “Still?”

  “Still. I’ll be here until tomorrow.” She gave Vaughn a quick rundown of her meeting with Francesca. “She’s in a hurry to get started.”

  “You’re staying at her house? Isn’t that a little…weird?”

  Allison laughed. “Under normal circumstances, yes. The Beninis have the room, though, and I could use the crash course in Benini culture if I’m going to work magic in such a short time. I need you to do some things.”

  “Name ’em.”

  “We need to come back up and get her next Friday. Do you think you can clear my schedule for next Saturday? Maybe a portion of Sunday, too? After that, find a few hours a day for the next two weeks. And start to line up the gang. Errol for hair, Natalie for make-up, Kenneth for voice and diction. Call Neiman Marcus…try Annette for personal shopping.”

  “So you want the works?”

  “No nutrition, at least not for now. But include Dr. Keith for a psych consultation. Francesca may balk, but truthfully, she’ll need all the calm she can get. Dr. Keith’s good at helping people deal with anxiety.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thanks.” Allison thought through her intake checklist. “What am I missing?”

  “It’s not what, it’s who. You received another urgent call today. From a woman named Denise Carr.”

  “Don’t recognize the name.”

  “She manages musicians. She’d like you to meet with her client, Tammy Edwards, next week. She asked for today or tomorrow, but I explained that you were in Ithaca.”

  “Why the urgency?”

  “Tammy Edwards—she’s known as Swallow, how do you like that for a nickname?—will be on the next season of America’s Next Pop Star. Heard of it?”

  “Of course. It’s one of those reality shows. People sing in the hopes of becoming famous.”

  “Yep. According to Denise, Tammy was discovered by a music executive while singing a solo in her church’s choir during a wedding he attended. He signed her on the spot and had her audition for this show. She made it.”

  “So why the image consulting now? Isn’t it a little after the fact?”

  “It’s all a little odd because Tammy already has a music contract. But the show doesn’t prohibit it, and her manager thinks the show will be good exposure. Denise—that’s the manager—says the kid has no stage presence. That she was basically raised by wolves.”

  Allison rose. She walked to the window, parted the heavy drapes and looked outside.

  The sky had darkened to a surly charcoal and although dusk was more than an hour away, it looked like night had fallen prematurely.

  “Where’s she from?”

  “Scranton.”

  “What’s wrong with Scranton?”

  “Nothing.”

  Allison let the drapes fall. “I’ve known you for a long time, Vaughn. I can hear the hesitation in your voice. What’s up?”

  “Ignore me,” he said. “Denise Carr just rubbed me the wrong way. It’s nothing.”

  Allison doubted it was nothing, but she knew Vaughn wouldn’t tell her until he was ready. “So when did you get Tammy in?”

  “Monday.”

  “So soon?”

  A weary sigh from Vaughn. “Afraid so. You’ll get back tomorrow, you’re giving a speech at that business luncheon on Saturday and beginning on Monday, you start long sessions with Tammy Edwards.”

  “Well, at least I have next Sunday night free.”

  “Actually-”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I had to reschedule your Recently Divorced group. I made it for Sunday night.”

  “Were the ladies okay with that?”

  “I offered to refund their money, but they requested that timeslot instead.”

  Allison laughed. “Who likes to relax?”

  “Relaxation is overrated. Besides, you’re up there in the beautiful Finger Lakes. Have some wine. Enjoy the view.”

  Lightning flashed outside. Seconds later, Allison heard the distant rumble of thunder. The lights in the suite flashed off and on.

  “Sightseeing’s not in the cards.” Allison glanced at her watch. “Dinner in fifteen, then a session with Francesca afterwards.” She closed the drapes as the lights flickered again. “I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m on my way back?”

  “Please. And don’t let the ghosts get you. I read something about the old Benini estate being haunted. Someone died in that house.”

  “Lovely,” Allison said. She slipped her shoes on and looked around the room. Shadows danced in the falling gloom. “Ghosts I can handle. It’s Francesca’s vultures I’m concerned about.”

  Dinner was a tense affair.

  Allison arrived at the dining room to find Francesca and Maria sitting side-by-side on one end of an enormous walnut table. At its center was a bouquet of white roses surrounded by tiny white candles. Twenty matching carved armchairs sheathed in worn velvet surrounded the table, and an eight-armed chandelier hung low over the table’s center, its spray of crystals reflecting the centerpiece’s candlelight like so many scattered diamonds. Allison imagined this room had been beautiful during the height of the Beninis’ wealth, but right now, with the storm raging outside and the shadows cast by the candles, Allison felt a chill that she was certain had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

  Allison sat across from Francesca. Next to Maria, another woman perched on the edge of her seat as though ready to fly.

  With a note of rancor, Francesca introduced her as her sister-in-law, Simone Benini. Simone was an older, less wild version of Maria. Just as beautiful, despite the age difference, she had thick ebony hair tamed into a chignon, accenting sharp cheekbones and a softly-bowed mouth. A fitted black dress with lace overlay left little to the imagination.

 
Simone regarded Allison in an almost feline manner—mildly interested, mildly contemptuous. “Thrilled to meet you,” she said.

  Outside, the sharp crack of thunder followed a flash of lightning. Francesca rubbed the back of her neck before glancing at the pocket doors that led back into the hallway. She’s nervous, Allison thought, and wondered whether her client was anxious about their upcoming sessions—or something else. Something that was feeding the strain in this room.

  “Allison, I trust you found your room comfortable?”

  Allison smiled at her host. “It’s lovely, Francesca. Thank you.”

  Francesca fluttered her fingers, waving away the compliment. “It’s nice to have company. Isn’t it, Simone?”

  Before Simone could answer, Alex Benini walked into the room. He nodded his hello to Allison and kissed his aunt on the cheek, ignoring Simone and Maria. Allison watched him hesitate by the head of the table, but only for a second. He slid the chair back and sat to Allison’s left. As he was positioning his chair, he leaned toward her and whispered, “Now begins the fun.”

  “Where’s Dom?” Francesca asked her nephew. “With Paolo?”

  Simone and Maria exchanged a glance.

  “I don’t know where my brother is, but I doubt he’s with Father. Jackie, do you know?”

  A plain-faced woman with short, gray hair had entered the room carrying a massive tray. She put the tray on the buffet and began placing salads on each charger. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Allison looked down at the beautiful arrangement on her plate. Field greens, roasted beets, candied walnuts and goat cheese, topped off with a single nasturtium. She wished she felt hungry.

  Maria grunted. She shoveled a forkful of salad greens into her mouth, keeping her linen napkin balled in her fist on the table. Simone glanced over at her daughter, grimaced in disgust, and picked up her own salad fork. She traced the tines across a slice of beet and looked over at Alex.

  “Are you staying here tonight?” she asked. With a knowing smile in Allison’s direction, she said, “He only stays when it’s convenient. The rest of the time he goes catting at those clubs with his brother. Isn’t that right, Alex?”