Deadly Assets Read online

  “Not that I could see. Mr. Edwards’ car was in the driveway, but Tammy said he’d gone to work.”

  Denise looked from mother to father and back again. “What time did you get home, Jane?”

  Tony spoke for her. “Nine-thirty. My mom was watching the kids. Jane had a funeral to play for.” He turned toward Allison. “My wife plays piano and organ for the church. They pay her to do weddings and funerals, right Jane?”

  Jane nodded. Her face was turned toward the kitchen’s only window and, in profile, she resembled Tammy. Her hair was stale brown, like Tammy’s, and had been pinned into a neat bun. She wore an old-fashioned satin blouse in jade green, its neck bow serving as a toy for the infant in her arms.

  Allison would have called her handsome rather than pretty, but there was something distant and unreachable about her. Grief? Or her normal persona?

  Tony said, “Do you want coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Vaughn looked at Jane. “Does Tammy have a boyfriend, Mrs. Edwards?”

  Denise cleared her throat.

  Allison looked up in time to see Denise trying to make eye contact with Vaughn in a way that said don’t go there. Tony’s pale skin flushed a bright crimson and Jane was looking cuttingly at Vaughn now, the dazed expression supplanted by something hard.

  “Did Tammy say she had a boyfriend?” Jane spoke for the first time. Her voice was high-pitched and nasal—no hint of her daughter’s honeyed vocals.

  “No, she didn’t. I was just wondering.”

  Allison threw Denise a questioning look. The other woman mouthed “later” and shook her head slightly. Allison changed the subject.

  “Tammy sang for me. Her voice is magnificent.”

  Tony smiled. Jane looked back down at the baby’s head.

  “Did you know she can sing opera?”

  Tony nodded. “It’s something, huh? I don’t know where that came from. Opera. Imagine. She once asked to go to college in New York.” He shook his head, but the look on his face hinted at pride, not judgment. “Wish we could afford it.”

  Abruptly, Jane stood. “New York is too far away.” She threw a condemning glance at Denise and said, “California is really too far away.”

  “We talked about this, Jane.” Tony threw a pleading glance at Denise. “This is her big chance.”

  “She’s too young. Too naïve. And Hollywood is a gussied-up name for Gomorrah. You know that as well as I.” Jane busied herself mixing formula while she spoke, the baby still spooned in one arm, against her hip. Jane wasn’t as tall or skinny as her daughter, but she was close. Thin ankles peeked out beneath a calf-length black skirt and ended in flat black loafers. She pulled the skirt up slightly now, spun around and said, “The baby needs to eat.”

  The accusation in her voice—aimed at her husband—said they’d overstayed their welcome. Allison rose to leave. Given the dissension between her parents, perhaps Tammy had run away. Her heart clearly was not set on the reality show. Maybe she’d decided to find another way to get to Juilliard. Teenagers were not known for their sound judgment or their impulse control.

  But why now? They’d made progress. Or at least Allison thought they had.

  “Thanks for your time,” Allison said. She shook Tony’s hand, then Denise’s. Jane continued shaking the baby’s bottle, her back toward them, shoulders squared in a posture of dismissal.

  Denise walked them to the front door. “I’m sorry they aren’t more hospitable.”

  “Their daughter’s missing,” Allison said. “We can certainly understand.”

  “Maybe,” Denise said. “But this is how they always are. He can be overbearing and she’s not very warm.”

  Allison heard the angry murmurs coming from the kitchen. Were they arguing over Allison? Or had the mention of a boyfriend rehashed old battles? Feeling like an interloper, Allison hurried outside. Denise followed.

  At the Volvo, Denise said to Vaughn, “If you think of anything else...anything...please call me. This kid has a real future ahead of her. Why she would run now, I have no idea. It doesn’t make sense.” She arched her eyebrows inquisitively. “And if there’s anything you want to share, Allison. Anything she may have told you...not that we’re blaming you, of course.”

  Enough already, Allison thought. Standing tall in her black Ferrigamos, she said, “Denise, if you have something to say to us, please just say it.”

  Denise tossed her hair. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You keep saying that no one is blaming us. Clearly you’re blaming us.”

  Denise took a step back. She smiled sweetly, but the smile failed to reach her eyes. “The kid is money to a lot of folks. Her voice, her naiveté, it’s a fabulous ugly-duckling-to-swan, rags-to-riches story. One we all can be a part of, if you know what I mean.”

  Allison knew all too well what she meant.

  Vaughn said, “She’s not a commodity.” He made no attempt to hide the disgust in his voice.

  “I’m not saying she’s a commodity. I’m saying she represents opportunity. Everyone likes a winner, especially if they start out a loser. She has potential written all over her. And now she’s missing.”

  Allison kept her voice even. “You think I said something to make her go?”

  “I think it’s odd that she spends five days with you and bolts. Why would that be? It was your job to stick to the message. To help her become more social, not less.”

  “My loyalty is to my clients. I want what’s in their best interest. I didn’t realize I was hired to spin a message.”

  “If Tammy wins, we all win. The message is about winning. That’s best for Tammy, and for the rest of us. Including you, Allison.”

  Allison shook her head. Denise Carr was a manager, used to brokering deals and selling entertainment, whatever the cost to the artist rendering it. She would tell herself that her interests and her clients’ interests were aligned because it no doubt let her sleep at night. But the truth was even those paid to represent others could have their own selfish interests at heart. And although Allison didn’t know Denise Carr well, she was pretty certain that she was of that ilk. And no amount of discussion was going to change that.

  “How did Tony Edwards find you?” Vaughn said.

  Denise held Allison’s stare a moment before moving her gaze to Vaughn. She was short, and even in stilettos, she didn’t come up to Vaughn’s chest. But Denise had a street toughness to her that seemed to bring out the street in Vaughn. His hands clenched at his side, his scarred face was a mask of anger.

  Denise shrugged. “How would I know? The record label? I manage other artists.” She ran through a list of somedays and has-beens, a few of whom Allison recognized.

  “So Tammy could be your big break, too.” Vaughn sneered. He looked menacing when he sneered and Allison didn’t like where this was headed. She put her hand on Vaughn’s arm.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Tammy could make you rich. She could help her parents out big time”—Vaughn gestured toward the house—“and all the while, who’s looking out for the kid?”

  Denise compressed her lips into a frown. “It certainly wasn’t First Impressions, now was it, Mr. Vaughn?”

  Allison watched as Vaughn took a deep breath, clearly gearing up for a showdown. The tension of the last two days was surfacing and Vaughn, with a conscience too finely honed after years of atoning for his perceived sin against Jamie, seemed ready for battle.

  Allison stepped between Vaughn and Denise. She held up a hand. “We’re all on the same side here. We want Tammy home, safe and sound. Let’s stay focused on that goal. Arguing won’t help Tammy.”

  With a frustrated harrumph, Vaughn shook his head and walked away. He climbed into the car, stony face forward. Allison said a brief good-bye to Tammy’s manager and joined him. She started the vehicle and pulled away from the curb with
out another glance at Denise or the Edwards’ home.

  After a few minutes, Allison said, “What the hell, Vaughn? It’s not like you to let emotion win.”

  “I don’t like that woman.”

  “Clearly.”

  “That kid means nothing to her.”

  “She’s her manager, not her aunt.”

  “And something’s off about that family.”

  “They seemed nice enough to me. Salt of the earth sort.” But then, who am I to judge when it comes to odd families, Allison thought.

  “Ugh-ugh. The father, he’s not too bright. And that mother...friendly as Newt Gingrich at a feminist rally.”

  “Her daughter is missing.”

  Vaughn shook his head. “There’s more going on. It felt like we walked smack into the second act of a play.”

  Allison thought about that.

  What could be hiding under the surface? Working class family with seven kids has child with amazing voice. Child is discovered and family connects with a manager. In the midst of preparing for the kid’s big shot, she disappears.

  Teenage opposition? Or something more sinister?

  “What about the boyfriend?” Allison said. “I meant to ask Denise why all the tension when the topic came up, but I got distracted.” She gave Vaughn a gentle punch. He responded with a half-smile.

  “There’s that, too. The kid’s eighteen, after all. Why shouldn’t she date?”

  “Unless she was dating and they just didn’t like the guy.”

  “Maybe.” Vaughn looked troubled. “Something just doesn’t compute. I’m telling you, Allison. Tammy may have run away. It could be that simple. But my radar is up.”

  Allison sighed. “I hear you, Vaughn. If she ran away—and until we have reason to suspect otherwise, I’m going with that—what can we do about it? Like her family, we need to wait for her to return.”

  Vaughn didn’t respond. Allison knew that meant he was thinking. And that he didn’t necessarily agree.

  But there really was nothing else they could do at this point. Right?

  She had two missing clients and one giant headache. It seemed to her that there was at least a likely logical explanation for the missing teen. Boyfriend, anger at her parents, fear over competing…all plausible reasons for her disappearance. A missing sixty-something eccentric, on the other hand? Different story.

  “For now, let’s put our energy into Francesca. If something changes with Tammy, we’ll re-visit, okay?”

  Vaughn nodded, but something told Allison it was a battle cry, not a gesture of agreement.

  Eight

  The storms that plagued them in Pennsylvania continued to follow them through the foothills of the mountains and into the Finger Lakes region. By evening, a heavy dusk had given way to night. Lightning like unwelcome fireworks accompanied veils of biting rain. Visibility was poor. Allison wanted to greet the Benini family early on Sunday, and so they kept going until they were near Ithaca, close to the estate. They pulled into the parking lot of the only motel they could find with a vacancy—a tiny motor court that advertised rooms by the night, week or month.

  “At least it doesn’t say by the hour,” Vaughn said.

  Allison smiled. She was thinking of bed bugs and other creepy crawlies and wondering why she hadn’t packed her hotel sleeping bag.

  Neither she nor Vaughn was particularly hungry, so they’d opted for a handful of granola bars from a convenience store during the last gas run. Vaughn yawned. It was only 8:32, but they were both operating on empty after the previous night’s vigil.

  “Turn in?” Allison said.

  Vaughn nodded.

  “You hear from Jamie?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call when I get in the room.”

  Allison grabbed his hand. She gave a squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Vaughn. They’ll both turn up.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Allison gave him a quizzical look.

  “How will they turn up? Alive...or in a pair of body bags?”

  An hour later, Allison finally reached Jason on the phone. He sounded tired and cross, not typical for her laid back ex-husband.

  “Don’t forget that Brutus needs his skin medicine,” she said. Her Boxer was still recovering from a nasty bout of allergic dermatitis he’d gotten while living as a stray. Hard to believe that was five months ago. The dog had become such a part of her life.

  “Covered.”

  “And he likes a treat before bedtime.”

  “I know, Allison. I’m here often enough when he goes to bed, remember?”

  “What’s with the grumpies?” Allison asked. She’d changed into a pair of cotton pajamas and was flipping through the channels on the television, the sound on mute. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you going to make me pull it out of you?”

  He sighed. “Really, Al? Where to start? My girlfriend, who was nearly killed a few months ago, is off playing Sherlock again.”

  “I invited you to come along.”

  “Not the point, Al.”

  Allison took a calming breath. “Then what is the point?”

  “You know what the point is. I want to move in. I want to get married again. I want us to—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Have children.”

  Allison turned off the television and tossed the remote across the bed. “Now you did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “Started an argument.”

  “We’re not arguing.”

  Allison lowered her voice. “But we’re about to. Listen, sweetheart. I’m not ready. We went through a lot before the divorce. I couldn’t be happier that we’re back together, but we need time. I need time. We’ve only been dating again for a few months. Let’s move slowly.”

  Jason said, “I think we—” but before he could finish, there was a loud knock on Allison’s door. “Saved by the bell?” he said instead.

  Allison smiled, despite her frustration at her ex-husband’s insistence they move into domestic bliss at what felt to her like warp speed. “Hold on.” She looked through the peep hole in the motel room door and was greeted with a fish bowl view of Vaughn’s face. He was scowling.

  “It’s Watson. I’d better go.”

  Jason said “wait” without the sharp edge of anger, and Allison felt herself softening.

  “Yes?” She unlocked the door and let Vaughn inside.

  “I’m mostly cranky because I’m worried. I thought I was going to lose you last spring. I never want to go through that again.”

  “Oh, Jason.” Allison sighed, remorse washing over her. What happened last spring had been terrifying for them all. The Main Line murders. The accusations against her client. And those final moments when she didn’t think she would live through the ordeal. But she couldn’t sit by now without doing something. Anyway, she told herself this was different. No one had died. At least not yet. “I love you,” Allison said. “Don’t worry about me. I have no desire to repeat history.”

  “I love you, too,” Jason whispered, but Allison heard the hurt in his voice and it made her ache. She looked at Vaughn and wondered why men needed to be so damn complicated.

  Vaughn sat down on the spindly arm chair tucked into the corner of the room, next to an old tube-style television. He still wore jeans and a Temple University t-shirt, and his handsome face was lined with worry.

  “Jason?” he asked.

  Allison nodded. “He’s not too happy with me right now.”

  Vaughn shook his head. “I don’t know how he puts up with you at all.” He smiled.

  “You’re funny.” Allison sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around her knees. “News from Jamie?”

  “Something like that.” Vaughn pulled out his mobile, tapped the scre
en a few times, and began to read. “Benini Enterprises: layoffs in three countries spark shareholder conflict. Benini Enterprises management accused of misappropriating funds. Stop toxic waste dumping: local companies must take responsibility.”

  “Headlines?”

  Vaughn nodded. “Italian press. Jamie found quite a bit on Benini Enterprises, not much of it good. Francesca was truthful when she said the company has been declining steadily for some time now.”

  “Yeah, she made it sound as though they’re on the edge of bankruptcy. Did that ring true?”

  Vaughn tapped a few more times. “It’s a private company, so only so much is publicly available. It has a fair amount of market share in the specialized food industry.”

  Allison considered the list Vaughn had read aloud. “What about the toxic dumping? Seems odd for a food exporter.”

  “I asked Jamie about that. He couldn’t find anything beyond a reference to Benini in a long list of other offenders. It was related to Greek yogurt.”

  Allison sat up. “Greek yogurt?”

  “They manufacture it. One of the byproducts is acid whey. They were allegedly dumping into streams. In large quantities, it can be toxic to aquatic life.”

  “Hmm. Was this in the States?”

  “No. Italy.”

  “How about here? Anything touching the Ithaca headquarters?”

  “Nothing directly about Ithaca, but he’s still looking. Mostly some allegations of fiscal mismanagement by board members. No charges were ever brought, though.”

  “Against Paolo?”

  “He’s the brass, but nothing specifically pointed to him. Even if it was Paolo, or Dom, why would Francesca be the target?”

  “Unless someone doesn’t want her in charge.” Allison stood, walked to the window, and peeked outside between heavy striped curtains. The harsh glare of a parking lot lamp illuminated sheets of driving rain. “Who would stand to benefit with Francesca out of the way?”

  “Her family.”

  Allison nodded. “First people I think of, too. Specifically Dom, the most likely to take over if Francesca is out of the picture.”