Deadly Assets Page 8

  “Too obvious.”

  “Is it? Mentally unstable aunt panics and runs. Potential suicide. With no body, there are a million ways he could spin this. Simone is already planting those seeds with her talk of Francesca’s depression.”

  Vaughn looked skeptical. “But with no body, they could spend time in court, fighting over who is in charge. Wouldn’t it be cleaner to kill her? Make it look like an accident?”

  “I guess. But she’s always at home. Killing her there would dirty the pen. If she’s kidnapped and simply disappears, they can say she ran. Try to prove that even if she returns, she’s too unstable to run the company. Years of being a recluse would certainly back that up. It’s not like she’s been a pillar of her community.”

  “But who is they? The whole family?”

  “Dom?”

  “I don’t know.” Vaughn stood, paced. “You mentioned that Simone is planting the seeds about Francesca’s mental health. But Francesca mentioned that Maria also aspires to run Benini. And Simone is Maria’s mother, not Dom’s. Maybe Simone and Maria are in on this together.”

  “Maria? She doesn’t seem like the corporate type.”

  “Maybe not, but Francesca told me Maria’s ambitions are transparent. She wants to run that company. She’s young, aggressive and sneaky.”

  “Sneaky?”

  Vaughn reminded her about his ascent to the Benini estate, the woman on horseback, the woman with a gun.

  “Why would Maria be spying on you?”

  “I don’t know. I never mentioned it to Francesca. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I was too worried the BMW was going to lose its undercarriage on that damn driveway. But the more I think about it, the more certain I become that she was stalking me. In the woods. On horseback.”

  Allison recalled her initial meeting with Maria Benini. The dead hawk. The rifle. The cold way she bagged the bird. Her insolence at dinner. Maria’s insistence that the estate was haunted.

  She said, “Speaking of Maria, did Jamie find anything about Gina Benini, Paolo’s first wife?”

  Vaughn smirked. “The ghost?”

  Allison smiled. “Yes, the ghost. I can’t imagine she has anything to do with any of this, but I’m still curious.”

  “Other than the small mention I’d found? I don’t know. I’ll ask him in the morning.”

  Allison yawned. The day was catching up with her, and from the tired set of Vaughn’s eyes, it had caught up with him long ago.

  She said, “I’d been planning to call Alex Benini, give the family notice that we’re coming. I’m rethinking that.”

  “Want to catch them by surprise?”

  Allison nodded. “The more I think about it, the more I wonder who Francesca’s vultures are.”

  Vaughn put his hand on the doorknob. He turned before leaving and said, “But vultures only come in after the kill is made. I wonder if we’re not looking for a different kind of bird. One that does the killing.”

  Like a hawk.

  Allison thought about her conversation with Jason, her promise not to repeat history. Outside, thunder boomed, rattling her nerves. So much damn rain. “Let’s remain optimistic,” she said without enthusiasm. “Everything will seem brighter in the daylight.”

  Nine

  Only nothing seemed brighter in the morning. Instead, Allison was greeted by another rap on the door. She opened it, bleary-eyed and with a hopeless case of bed-head, to find Vaughn waiting, hands clenched, anger pinching his features into an ugly scowl.

  “The police want to talk to me.” He brushed past her into her room.

  “Sure, come on in,” Allison said. She blinked, trying to wipe the sleep from her eyes and the cobwebs from her mind.

  “Damn it, Allison, you know what this means.”

  “Calm down, Vaughn. It makes sense that they’d want to talk to you. You were the last person to see Francesca. That doesn’t mean a thing.”

  He paced. “You and I both know that’s bullshit. They’ll take one look at my history and suddenly I’m gonna look real good as a suspect.”

  “A suspect in what? There are not even allegations of wrongdoing at this point.”

  “Does that matter?”

  Allison grabbed his arm and led him to the chair. “Sit. And listen to yourself. What in the world would you have to gain by kidnapping Francesca?”

  “What about Tammy? She’s still missing.”

  “What about Tammy? Even her parents think she ran away.”

  “Fuck, Allison, don’t be so naïve.” He handed her his phone. On it was a web article from The Philadelphia Inquirer drawing a link between two sudden disappearances. And that link was Vaughn. “Someone must have alerted the media. The two events were too distant. How else would they know?”

  Allison sat on the bed, heavily. Her stomach broiled. “Oh, man. I’m sorry, Vaughn.”

  He turned away and said, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take this out on you. It’s just...well, I’ve spent a long time putting myself on the straight and narrow. But the past doesn’t just go away. And I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure out what the hell happened last Friday, but I keep coming up blank.” He buried his head in his hands. “This is a damn nightmare.”

  Allison let him have a moment. As a kid, he did time in a juvenile delinquent center for everything from assault and battery to dealing drugs. When his twin brother took the bullet meant for him, Vaughn was snapped rudely into reality. But he, more than anyone, could not forgive his past transgressions. Allison put a hand on his broad shoulder and squeezed gently. He reached up and laid his hand over hers.

  Allison stood. She whispered in his ear, “We will work this out.”

  She pulled a pair of gray pants and a French blue sleeveless wrap blouse from her suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom. There, she tamed her hair into a ponytail, washed her face, brushed her teeth and got changed, concentrating on these everyday actions so she wouldn’t have to think about their predicament. When she came back into the hotel room, a different Vaughn was sitting on the edge of the bed, scratching notes on a yellow legal pad.

  He said, “Let’s stick with our initial plan. Today the Benini estate. On the way back, we’ll stop by the police station.”

  “Will they wait?”

  “I called the detective who contacted me this morning and told him I couldn’t make it there until later today. He said as long as I show up by five that was fine. They want to show me some pictures.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. His dark eyes searched hers. “It doesn’t sound like I’m a suspect at this point.”

  “Of course you’re not. I suppose it makes sense that they’ll wait until later.” But did it? Allison wondered. Wealthy Italian heiress disappears in their jurisdiction. Time may be of the essence. Wouldn’t they want to push things along? “We can go there first, Vaughn. If it will help the investigation.”

  He shook his head. “It’s early. If we leave soon, we can be at the police station well before five.” He shrugged, his face back to an impassive mask, his shoulders squared in a posture of power. “Besides, I want to approach the Benini family now, before they have more time to come up with reasons and excuses. Catch them off guard.”

  Allison packed her few belongings back in her bag. She slipped two silver bangles on her wrist and glanced in the mirror. Tired eyes stared back.

  “Let’s go, then. Another trip to Ithaca. I like the Finger Lakes, but this is getting to be a bit much.”

  As Allison and Vaughn made their way north, the constant drizzle stopped, giving way to heavy fog and impenetrable gloom. Shifting, morphing clouds cast an ominous feeling on the day. Nature’s melancholy was echoed in the interior of the Volvo.

  Allison and Vaughn drove in silence, the quiet whir of the air conditioner and the occasional growl of distant thunder the only sounds. They
grabbed breakfast from Dunkin’ Donuts—coffee and a sesame bagel for each, although both bagels sat nearly untouched in a bag in the center console. It was 8:48 when they arrived in Ithaca, and another thirty minutes to the Benini home. At the mouth of the driveway, Vaughn was the first to break the silence.

  “Game plan?”

  Allison shrugged. “Guess it depends what we find.”

  Vaughn gave her a long look. “Chances are we’ll find nothing.”

  “Ah, what happened to optimism?”

  Vaughn smiled. “That was your word, not mine.” He checked his mobile.

  “Anything else from Jamie?” Allison asked.

  “Not yet.” He looked up, toward the house looming on the hill in the distance. “Ready?”

  Allison said, “Sure.”

  The winding driveway seemed friendlier today, despite the low-lying mist. The Volvo crawled along the path, rounding the switchbacks with only faint complaining. Allison watched for movement, anything that might suggest Maria was out there spying. But she saw only the browns, greens and grays of a stormy summer day in the country. They found the iron gate open. A single car—a cherry red Porsche—sat in the driveway in front of the double-doored entranceway. It was parked several feet from the curb, blocking anyone from leaving without backing down the circular driveway.

  “Do you know whose car it is?”

  “I assume the older brother, Dom. Arrogant bastard,” Vaughn mumbled. “Even parks arrogantly.”

  Allison assumed it was Dom’s, too. Maybe she’d finally get to meet him.

  Allison pulled up behind the Porsche, jammed on the emergency brake and killed the engine. The two climbed out, back into stifling humidity. Overhead, clouds gathered at an alarming rate, their watercolor edges a wash of angry black. She hoped the rain would hold off.

  Vaughn followed Allison up the steps. They rang the bell and waited several minutes before the cook answered, her gray hair mostly hidden under a crisp white kerchief, eyes like dark hollows. A simple silver crucifix lay against her chest. She glanced down at the red suitcases, surprise and recognition registering on her sun-weathered features.

  Allison introduced Vaughn. “We’d like to speak with Simone. We’re returning Francesca’s things and, well…we were hoping you’d heard from Francesca.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Jackie kept a wary eye on Vaughn and said, “Last I saw Simone, she was headed out by the grotto. I suppose I could take you there.”

  “We would appreciate that.”

  Jackie glanced down at Allison’s shoes, strappy leather sandals not made for walking. “It’s a bit of a hike—”

  “I have sneakers in the car.”

  The cook nodded. She looked at the watch on her wrist, and then turned to look back in the direction of the kitchen. She seemed to be mulling something over. “Go outside and get your sneakers. I hope the rain waits, but I’ll grab some umbrellas just in case. I’ll meet you out there.”

  The path turned out to be a hiking trail that started by the western corner of the house and hugged the edge of the flower gardens before leading into the woods. Allison and Vaughn followed Jackie, who managed the pathway like a pro, skipping over the roots and detritus that rose up like rocks in a creek bed. The morning air was still damp and hazy, and only the loud buzz of a chainsaw interrupted the silence.

  They walked for fifteen minutes before the grotto came into view. Easily ten feet tall, it had been built with rough stones, and the rocks, worn smooth over time, were crisscrossed by green moss that traced intricate tracks across their surface. Statues of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph stood inside the grotto, near a half-buried wooden platform topped with a rusty iron ring. The statues were protected by a low wrought iron fence, its rails twisted into ornate pillars that ran along its width and served as the resting place for plastic flowers—Easter lilies, chrysanthemums, sunflowers and something that looked like a Poinsettia with petals washed to a splotchy pale pink.

  The air smelled sharply of pine and humus. Jackie stood in the center of a bed of cedar chips, which made an eight-foot ring around the grotto. Two wooden benches had been placed on the outer edge of the ring. An empty koi pond, fed by a small creek, formed a semi-circle behind the benches. The area was accessible by a twenty-foot wooden bridge that crossed a small stream and the koi pond. On the other side the vestiges of an old stone foundation, reclaimed now by the forest. The forest was hushed by the gentle sounds of nature, deadening even the insistent churn of the chainsaw.

  Jackie turned in a circle, scoping out the area, before facing Allison. “It looks like I was wrong. I could have sworn she said she’d be here.” Face pinched with worry, she said, “Frannie loves it here. That’s why I thought it was odd that Simone would come.”

  “They didn’t get along?”

  “They’re not close. And no one comes out here, really. Just Frannie.”

  It was strange to hear such a familiar version of Francesca’s name. “Do you have any idea where Francesca might have gone?” Allison asked.

  “None whatsoever.”

  “She didn’t say or do anything unusual in the days before she left?”

  “She did a lot of things that were unusual. For her.”

  Vaughn had been scanning the grotto area as though searching for a sniper. He turned his attention to Jackie and asked, “Such as?”

  “She left, for one thing. I’ve been in this house for nine years and I’ve never seen Frannie go anywhere, not even when Paolo fell ill.”

  “So she didn’t visit him in the hospital?”

  “Not once.”

  “Why do you think she stayed here all those years?” Allison asked.

  Jackie poked a white-sneakered toe at something on the ground. After a moment, she said, “Fear? Contentment? I don’t know. It never came up in conversation.”

  Allison didn’t believe her. “Did you talk often?”

  Jackie nodded. “Of the family, she was the only one who took the time. The others are very self-absorbed. Maria comes into the kitchen, but only to make requests or to steal food from the cupboards. She’s like a wild animal, that one. No manners. Which is why she prefers the animals, I suppose. She’s always out there with the horses.”

  “But Francesca’s not like that?” Allison asked, careful to use the present tense.

  “No, Francesca is always kind. She asks about me, my family.”

  Vaughn said, “What do you know about Gina Benini, Jackie? Is what Maria told Allison true? Was Paolo’s first wide murdered?”

  Jackie looked away, toward the bridge. “We need to get back. By now, Dom will have seen your car. He’ll want to talk to you.”

  And we’ll want to talk to him, Allison thought. “Just one more question. How about the family? Did Francesca get along with everyone else?”

  Jackie’s mouth hardened until all that was left was a slash of crimson. “Does anyone get along with everyone in their family?” She moved quickly toward the trail that led back to the house. “I’ve been here for nine years, Ms. Campbell,” she said over her shoulder. “I know enough not to talk ill of my employers. I will say this, though. Ghosts, skeletons, demons...they are all part and parcel of the same thing. People hiding things, things they shouldn’t have done, secrets that need the cleansing light of day.” She skipped over a puddle and onto the wooden bridge. “This family is no exception.”

  Back inside the house, Jackie, all business once again, led them into a small parlor, where they waited for Dom. But it was Alex, not Dom, who came into the room fifteen minutes later. He shook Allison’s hand with a warm but regretful smile, and then shook Vaughn’s hand before saying, “What brings you back here, Allison?”

  “Francesca. We brought her things.”

  Eyebrows raised, Alex said, “The police didn’t take them?”

  “No. They said she was an adult, and
until there was evidence of a crime, they seemed uninterested in searching her belongings.”

  “Who has them now?”

  Allison said, “We left them with Jackie. But we’d still like to talk to you, if you have a few minutes.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Where are my manners? Please. Sit.”

  Allison and Vaughn sat on the two armchairs facing the door. Alex remained standing. He looked fresh today, clean-shaven and smart in black dress pants and a white button-down shirt. His gaze seemed more guarded than before, but when their eyes met, Allison saw that same amused half smile.

  “Have you heard anything?” Allison asked, irked, for some reason, by his easy manner. “Anything at all?” With sudden insight, she realized she wanted him to look bereft. She wanted one family member she felt she could trust.

  “I’m afraid not. We filed a missing persons report, of course, and the police have been here for a chat, but beyond that, we have no clue where she could be.”

  “You must be worried sick.”

  “We’re all concerned. Francesca must have wandered off and lost her way. Perhaps gotten confused. She’s not used to being out in the real world.” Alex’s brows drew closer, and he looked at Vaughn. “It would be easy to lose track of her.”

  “She didn’t seem remotely confused to me,” Vaughn said, tight-lipped and tight-fisted.

  “No need to get defensive, Mr. Vaughn. That was Francesca’s gift. She could hide it.”

  Just then, the door slammed open and in stormed another man. He had a full head of cropped graying hair, a bulbous nose and a neatly-trimmed beard. Unlike his handsome brother and beautiful sister, his looks hinted at peasant, not patrician. But for his contemptuous manner, he could have been just another visitor—but his cocky bearing gave him away. He was shorter than Alex, five-foot-nine or ten at most, but carried himself with an angry energy that demanded attention.

  “Why are they here?” he said to Alex.

  “Dom, I don’t believe you’ve met Allison Campbell and her colleague, Christopher Vaughn.”