SEVEN

  

Allison awoke with a throbbing headache and a pain in her left foot. She turned over and reached for Jason only to find the bed empty. She crawled out of bed and fumbled for the light robe she’d brought with her. Her fiancé and her niece were in the living room dining on omelets, bread, and fresh berries.

“Well, look who’s finally up,” Jason said. He smiled, handing her a cup of milky, sugary coffee—American-style. “Looks like you may need this.”

Allison kissed him, then Grace, and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t remember overdoing it last night.”

“Just jet lag.”

“Hmm.” She eyed up their plates, then the spotless kitchenette. “Where’d the grub come from?”

“Dominic brought it. Said Elle would be late today and he didn’t want us to go hungry.”

“Thoughtful.”

“You sound skeptical.”

Allison sank down into one of the living room chairs. “I just wonder whether it was Elle who sent it or Karina.”

Jason shrugged. “Either way, it’s tasty.” He stood. “I have some eggs in the oven for you.”

“Migraine medicine first.”

Jason put his hand on her forehead. “You haven’t had a migraine in months.”

“Pressure changes maybe? Feels like the air is heavier today.”

Jason frowned. “They do get some massive storms in the Dolomites in the summer months. But I’d put my money on jet lag. Why don’t you go back to sleep.”

Allison had considered it. But then she thought of the pool and the spa. She looked at Grace. “I have a better idea. Give me thirty minutes for the medicine to kick in. Then let’s go swimming.”

“Really?” Grace squealed.

“Really.” Allison grabbed Jason’s hand. “Uncle Jason is leaving tomorrow for Austria. We can get another romp in the pool.”

“I don’t know,” Grace said. She crinkled her tiny nose and tried—without success—to suppress a grin. “Yesterday I beat Uncle Jason in the pool. I don’t want to make him feel bad if I do it again today.”

Allison laughed. Spikes tore through her eye sockets. “I think Uncle Jason can handle it.”

Allison was standing to get her migraine medicine when she heard her phone buzz. A text from Vaughn. Call me, was all it said.

  

“No luck,” Vaughn said. “Your girl, Karina? Nothing that matches your description. It’s a pretty common name, though, so Jamie’s still looking. May be that she keeps a low online profile.”

Allison sat on the bed in the small cottage with the windows and door closed. It was good to hear Vaughn’s voice, but she didn’t want to take a chance on anyone overhearing.

“Could it have something to do with privacy laws in Austria? Maybe records are harder to access?”

“Good thinking. I’ll check. We can also do some paid searches. That may turn up something.” Vaughn hesitated. “Is it possible you have her age wrong? Maybe she’s older or younger than you think.”

“It’s possible. She looks pretty young, but it can be hard to tell. Especially if she’s had work.”

“Let me know if you want me to keep going.”

“Hold off for now.” It seemed unlikely to Allison that a famous celebrity—even someone removed from the limelight for as long as Elle—would hire a complete stranger without checking up on her. Unless Karina wasn’t a complete stranger.

“Tell you what: I’ll try to grab a photo of her and send it your way. Maybe that will help the search.”

“Perfect. Jamie may be able to use facial recognition software to get a lead. He’s been itching to use it.”

Allison laid down on the bed, enjoying the softness of down against her aching head. The medicine was starting to kick in. Like an outgoing tide, she could feel the waves of pain ebbing. Slowly. She willed it to be gone.

“What do you have on the brother, Michael Norton? I’m worried about his relationship with Elle.”

“Bigger trail for Michael. That family lives its entire life onscreen and online.” Vaughn recounted the basics. Younger than Elle, Michael was the child of Sam Norton and Clarice McCue, both Americans. Sam and Clarice married in 1998 in San Diego. Wedded bliss didn’t last much longer than the ceremony itself, and the pair divorced later that year, before Michael’s birth. Michael connected with his father a few years ago during one of Sam Norton’s “personal inventory” phases. The two bonded, and Michael became a board member of Sam’s charitable foundation, Pay It Forward. Michael never married, no known kids. Little was known about his personal life other than his connection to Sam. “That’s about it.”

“How about Michael’s mother?” Allison asked. “Clarice.”

“Died four years ago. Car crash.”

“Was Michael in business before taking over the foundation?”

“Business degree from UCLA. Graduate degree—MBA—from some small college in California.”

“Current residence?”

“San Diego. La Jolla to be exact.”

Allison thought of the bruise on Elle’s wrist. “Any history of violence? Criminal record?”

“I didn’t check, but I will if you need that information.”

“Do it.” Allison sighed. “And thank you. Sorry to pepper you with requests.”

“No problem, but what’s going on? This is supposed to be an easy gig, remember?”

Allison filled him in on the conversations she’d had with Elle and Karina. “We did a lot of reading and research on Elle before I ventured over here. I know the media can’t be trusted to give an accurate portrayal, but by reading everything—and between the lines—I felt like we had a sense of who Elle was.”

“She’s not that person?”

“It’s not that. Something Karina said rang true. Elle seems…off. At first I chalked it up to not knowing her and grief over losing her husband. But the more I think about it, the more I think there’s more to it. She’s surrounded by people who don’t seem to care about her. Her father is a recluse. I still haven’t met him. And then there’s Damien, her late husband. She’s convinced it wasn’t an accident.”

Allison heard a sharp intake of breath. “Any truth to that?”

“I have no idea. But that’s why I thought I’d do some digging.”

“’Cause you don’t have enough to do?” Vaughn made a fake coughing sound. When he spoke again, his voice was more serious. “Could it be drugs, Allison? Elle has a history of using. Pot, cocaine, ecstasy. She was no stranger to raves in her youth. And the accident reports on Damien said he had drugs in his system.”

Allison thought about the dinner party the first night they were there. The party-goers, the flowing alcohol. Who knew what else was floating around? “Could be.” Allison sat up, cradling her head. The crashing waves had calmed to a steady, gentle surf. “I guess we’ll see.”

Vaughn hesitated. She heard the concern in his silence. “Promise me you’ll avoid trouble. You and your family need some peace right now, not mayhem.”

“Promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“You should. I have no intention of doing anything other than helping Elle, planning a wedding, writing a book, and loving my niece. Anyway, how are you, Vaughn?”

“Hey, you know me. I’m a survivor.”

Allison wanted to ask if he’d seen Mia, but the pain in his voice still rang through loud and clear. Instead she wished him well and listened as he hung up the phone.

  

The mountain air was warm and humid, the hottest it had been since they’d arrived.

“This is not typical,” Dominic said as he set up more lounge chairs for them by the pool. Perhaps because of the heat, perhaps because it was a sultry, lazy kind of day, the pool was crowded. Michael was there, talking in a corner with a Speedo-clad Jeremy and a skinny, bird-beaked man whom Allison didn’t recognize. Lara lay topless by the side of the pool, her perfect body marred only by the tiny triangle of leopard skin print that acted as her bikini bottom.

Douglas Alden was there too—working at a table, his broad bare shoulders reddened from the sun. And Mazy Coyne was writing on a laptop from her perch on a lounge chair. She’d traded beige linen for a mauve, hooded terrycloth cover-up. She was the only one who looked up when Allison and her family arrived. She frowned when she saw Grace.

“There are extra towels and robes in the spa,” Dominic said.

Allison nodded. “When do you think Elle will be ready to see me?” The sooner she could get her client on track, the sooner she could start planning her own small wedding.

Dominic gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Elle is not feeling well. Maybe an hour? Maybe two?” He grunted his disapproval. “Enjoy the pool. Go for a walk. I’ll bring you some food and a nice glass of Pinot Grigio.” He glanced at Grace. “And some strawberry gelato for the little one.”

Allison said, “Thank you, Dominic. Do you think I could check in on Elle in a little while? Maybe around noon? I can come to the main house—”

Dominic waved his hand again. Allison noticed arthritic knuckles, longish yellowed nails scrubbed clean, blunt fingers—a working man’s hands. No wedding ring.

He said, “Please Ms. Campbell, wait for me or Karina to get you. And enjoy yourself. If you’re not here when she’s ready for you, that’s fine. She’ll make the time for you to meet.”

Allison lowered her voice. “Is she okay?”

Dominic looked confused by the question, which made Allison think a late Elle was not an unusual occurrence.

“I mean, is she really ill? I saw the bruise on her wrist yesterday and was afraid she’d hurt herself.”

If Dominic was concerned, he hid it well. “No need to worry. Miss Rose will be fine. The important thing is that you enjoy your time here. South Tyrol is a very special place. Take some moments to see the sights.”

Allison thanked him. But as she took her spot on the lounge, she had to wonder about a woman who spent thousands of dollars to fly a consultant around the globe only to cancel her appointments. A sign of irresponsibility? Or something else?