Killer Image (An Allison Campbell Mystery) (13 page)

Vaughn sighed. “I don’t want to hide anymore, Mia. I paid my dues. We both have. Maybe it’s time to come clean.”

But Mia had other thoughts. “I can’t risk it, Vaughn. Not now. We all have too much at stake. I didn’t kill Feldman. The real killer will come to light eventually.”

Jason sounded frustrated when Allison spoke to him over the phone a little later. “They brought my mother in for questioning. She said Helms treated her with kid gloves, but I don’t like it.”

“What was their angle?”

“She says they just asked a few questions. She was vague.”

Allison had just made herself dinner: celery and peanut butter, cranberry juice and two Fig Newtons. The supper of champions. She sank into a kitchen chair and put her phone on speaker.

“Can’t you ask around at work? Find out what’s going on with the investigation?”

“I’ve tried that,” Jason said. “All I know is that my mother is still a person of interest.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Helms and his staff have a few leads, but right now it’s a process of elimination. And for whatever reason, they haven’t been able to eliminate her. Or the Feldman kid, for that matter.”

Allison smoothed the peanut butter on the top of a long celery stalk. “Then maybe we need to help the police a little.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that we know people. I can call Sally Ann—Sasha Feldman. She was my client once upon a time. I’ll get Vaughn on the case. Between the three of us, we know half this damn town.”

Jason didn’t answer. Allison heard his breath over the phone, pictured his kind eyes as he mulled it over. “Think the widow will talk to you?”

“Eventually,” Allison said.

“It’s worth a shot.” But Allison heard apprehension in his voice. “Just be careful. Mia didn’t do it, but someone did. And that someone is still out there.”

Allison found Sasha’s home number in the White Pages. She glanced at her watch and dialed, feeling slightly guilty for invading the woman’s privacy. Her husband
had
just been killed. On the fourth ring, a husky male voice answered. The guy sounded too old to be Arnie’s son, Ethan, and too rough to be local.

“Yeah?” said the voice.

“May I speak with Sasha? This is Allison Campbell.”

He hesitated. “Nah, she’s sleepin’.”

“Could you ask her to call me?” Allison left her home and mobile numbers.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll tell her,” said the voice.

Allison hung up, feeling pretty certain that the message wasn’t making its way to Sasha.

She logged into her computer and did another search on Arnie Feldman. Who were his contacts, what were his interests, how did he spend his free time? There were volumes about Feldman online, but from what she could tell, the man had few interests outside of work. On impulse, Allison checked the state’s website for properties held in Feldman’s name. Nothing other than the $1.2 million dollar home he lived in now. So what could be the motive?

Allison was getting sleepy. She did one more search in a referral site for lawyers. She skimmed through a staggering number of reviews. The Custody King was an attorney people sure felt strongly about, and they either loved him or hated him. Allison made note of a few of the comments, largely about child custody, and logged off. She couldn’t shake the feeling that his death was somehow linked to his work. The man courted controversy. And eventually, controversy could lead to trouble.

Fourteen

A week later, Allison woke up with a horrible headache. It was Monday morning.  She’d spent the past week tunneling her way around the Feldman murder, getting nowhere. Sasha Feldman hadn’t returned a single call and even Vaughn’s network of Main Line connections wasn’t panning out. On top of that, she’d spent the rest of her week working with Maggie in the hopes that they would forge a connection. She wanted to show Maggie—and the McBrides—what a lovely girl was underneath the Goth snarl. But Maggie resisted—and it was time for Allison to get her own schedule back on track.

She rolled over in bed, carefully to avoid sudden movements, and tried to remember what appointments she had for the day: Judge Lint at noon, his wife at one-thirty, a Dressing for the Seasons presentation at three. Could she get away with another hour in bed? She cradled her aching head in her hands. Yes, she would have to. She was fumbling around the bedside table for her meds when the phone rang.

“Allison Campbell,” she said without looking at the caller I.D.

“It’s me, Allison,” rang Vaughn’s voice. “You sound like a sailor the morning after a bender.”

“I feel terrible.” She glanced at the clock. “I’ll be late today. Wish I could cancel altogether. All I want is a double dose of Imitrex and a hot mug of tea. Anyway, what’s going on?”

“I’ll keep it short. McBride called. He says he needs to speak to you about the direction you’re taking his daughter.”

Allison twisted the sheet around one hand. “Oh, for Lord’s sake.”

“He sounded…curt.”

“Did he say anything specific?”

Vaughn hesitated, which made her think Hank had said a lot more than whatever Vaughn was about to say. “Not really, just that you were not making the kind of progress he had hoped for. Tangible progress, that is.”

Ah, yes. Maggie wasn’t suddenly dressing like Catherine after two whole weeks. Allison could see why he was upset. The sessions of the past week had mostly gone like the first two, which meant Maggie had been as cooperative as a rodeo bronco. Nevertheless, to Hank, Maggie should be hosting her own talk show by now.

Allison said, “Well, he can kiss my you-know-what.”

Vaughn laughed. The sound, usually welcome and comforting, raked through her skull like the tines of a fork down a ceramic plate.

“Anything else, Vaughn? ’Cause if not, I’m going to knock myself unconscious for a while.”

Again, he hesitated before saying no. He was sitting on something. But right now, Allison was in too much pain to even care what—or why. She wanted to feel the fog receding, even if just a little bit. If she took the medicine before a full-blown migraine set in, she could get the pain to ebb, like an outgoing tide. If she waited too long, it grew into a tidal wave. It felt like tsunami time.

She said, “Just don’t book anything else for today. I’m going to take a power nap. I’ll see you by noon.”

“McBride?”

“I’ll deal with him when I get in.”

Five minutes later, the phone rang again. Allison was set to ignore it until she saw it was Faye.

“Hello?” she said tentatively, the smallest noise amplifying the screaming in her head.

“Your birthday is coming up. I’d like to take you out.”

Surprised, Allison said, “That would be nice.”

“There’s a restaurant in the city. Trattoria Bianca. I’ve been wanting to try it.”

“Isn’t Philadelphia a little far for you? We can meet closer to home.”

Faye hesitated. “I’ll be in the city. A routine test. Nothing to worry about. I can meet you there at six-thirty. Will that work?”

Allison thought her sister’s invitation was odd. She never ventured into Philadelphia, much less alone. Why now? But Allison’s head hurt too badly to question. And sleep was calling.

“Sounds nice, Faye. I’ll see you then.”

Allison dreamed of Violet.

Even in sleep, Allison told herself it wasn’t real. The old woman in her dream, for the magic of slumber changed fifteen-year-old Violet into a toothless, graying senior, was pulling at her breast, needing to nurse. Violet’s face morphed into her mother’s face and then into Faye’s, with the features of each sliding and melting into the features of the next. Repulsed, she struggled to wake.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Allison rolled over. The buzzing seemed to come from her head, from the same depths that produced the perverse women-babies. Allison clutched at her chest. Dry. Clothed. She murmured “Thank God” under her breath.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

The doorbell.
Oh, man
. Allison swung her feet over the side of the bed and glanced at the clock: 9:45. Still in a dream-fog, she walked to the window and peeked outside. No car.
Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz...

“What the heck?” Allison grabbed her robe and threw it on as she ran down the steps. “Coming!”

She heard a dog bark, and then the sound of pounding joined the buzzing. She knew she should’ve been cautious, there was, after all, a killer loose on the Main Line, but she never heard of a killer announcing himself with such a racket. She threw the door open. She was about to yell at whoever was pounding when all at once she took in the scene before her.

Maggie, a gash on her left arm and a bleeding wound on her hand, stood on the step with a monster of a dog next to her. Maggie was leaning over, grasping the dog’s frayed collar in her good hand. She wore a school uniform—pleated green skirt, white polo shirt, knee socks—and her school backpack was flung over one shoulder. Tears stained her face.

“Help me.”

Allison couldn’t take her eyes off the dog. Her pulse racing, she pushed the door open wider and motioned for Maggie to come inside.

“Just you, Maggie. The dog stays outside.”

“He’s the reason I’m here. Please?”

The dog looked up at Allison, its lip curled in what looked like a sneer. It was truly the ugliest creature she had ever seen. It looked like a Boxer but had an oversized head and a severe under bite. Its teeth, yellowed and sharp, stuck out from its bottom jaw like an uneven picket fence. Drool dribbled from its mouth down to the front step. What looked like gum and tar matted the dog’s fur. A large bald spot in the shape of Florida was splayed across the beast’s back. Allison shook her head back and forth and backed away. Cujo looked ready to pounce and she doubted Maggie’s ability to hold onto him.

“I don’t do dogs, Maggie. I’ll get you some rope and you can tie him—”

“Please? Pleeeeease?”

“No.”

“Come on, Allison. Please?”

Just then the dog broke free of Maggie’s grasp and ran into the house.

“Get him!” Allison slammed the door shut, leaving Maggie outside. Then she remembered Maggie and opened it again. “Come in here and get him! Hurry!”

Maggie called, “Here Brutus! Brutus, come!”

“Brutus?”

Maggie shrugged. “That’s what the collar says!”

Allison could hear the dog in the kitchen. “Get him!” Allison ran for the powder room and locked herself in. Her hands shook. She had to get hold of herself and then call Animal Control. What the hell were Maggie and some dog doing here anyway? Her heart pounded itself right into her throat. She couldn’t breathe.

Allison pressed her ear to the door. Silence. What was she going to tell Hank McBride if Brutus ate Maggie?
I’m sorry, but I hid in the bathroom while a wild dog mauled your daughter?
She had to get out of there. She willed her hand to the doorknob and turned just as she heard a tap on the door.

“You can come out now,” Maggie said.

Allison opened the door a crack and peeked out. She saw Maggie but no sign of the dog.

“Is he outside?”

“Sure.”

Allison tucked her robe around her waist and pulled the belt tight. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm, and opened the door. Still no Brutus, a good sign. But then she saw a granola bar wrapper on the floor near the kitchen. She was bending to pick it up when she saw a yogurt container. A few feet from that was an empty meat wrapper—she recognized the brown paper that once covered the hamburger she’d pulled out for dinner. Her head started to pound again.

“The truth, Maggie. Where is he?”

Maggie’s lips turned up in an apologetic smile. Then Allison heard it: the slurp-chewing of a wild boar. She followed the sound to the kitchen. The dog was eating out of her newest All-Clad pan—raw beef, cinnamon granola, All-Bran and yogurt.

“He was hungry, is all.” Maggie went into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. “He must’ve been half-starved.”

Allison grabbed the doorframe. She wanted the dog out of her house. “Hand me the phone.”

“Why?”

“I’m calling Animal Control.”

“You can’t! They’ll put him to sleep.”

“He’s obviously unhappy, Maggie. Look at his teeth. He can barely breathe. He needs to be taken care of. “

As though he understood her, Brutus put his head up and looked at her. A black paste of ground food stuck to his jutting lower teeth. Breathing and eating seemed to be competing needs and he choked and snorted his way through the food in his mouth as he stared at Allison. She looked away, half-convinced he was pleading with her, too.

Maggie stood in front of the phone, blocking it with her body. “No way, Allison. Just listen to me. Please?”

Maggie took the receiver off the wall and, phone in hand, crawled over to the dog. She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled his head against her own.

“Maggie, be careful! Not while he’s eating!”

Maggie ignored her. Brutus licked her cheek and then returned to the bowl. Allison had to admit, despite his disgusting table manners, he didn’t
seem
vicious.

“Now will you listen to me?”

“Fine, talk.”

Allison pulled out two kitchen chairs, placing one between herself and the dog. She sat on the other while keeping a watchful eye on Brutus. “But keep that mutt over there.” She sniffed. “He smells like the local dump.”

“He’s homeless. What would you expect?”

Allison glanced at Maggie’s arm, alarmed. “Did he bite you?”

Maggie shook her head. “He was standing in the middle of traffic when my friend and I were driving to school. We stopped. I chased him through the woods and cut myself on a branch or something.” Maggie’s eyes started to water again. “He was shaking when I found him.”

Allison steeled herself against Maggie’s tears. She had a dog in her house. No dogs were allowed in her house, especially not huge, teeth-baring dogs in need of doggie deodorant and an orthodontist. No way. This was simply another of Maggie’s attempts to manipulate.

“You should have brought him to
your
house.”

Maggie snorted.

“Why bother? Daddy hates animals. He would never let me keep him. He would have had my mom take him to the pound or he would have shot the dog himself.”

Allison cringed at her last statement. She could certainly picture Hank being less than accommodating. But then, she didn’t want to deal with the dog, either.

She remembered Vaughn’s phone call, the fact that Hank had contacted her earlier that day. She hadn’t called him back. And now Maggie was here, not in school and injured by her run-in with Brutus.