TWELVE

  

Mark Fairweather agreed to have lunch with Allison at eleven-thirty Monday morning. He named a meeting place, an Indian restaurant a few blocks from his law office in Center City. “Don’t be late,” he’d growled. “For me, time is money.”

It was eight-forty in the morning. Allison had plenty of time ahead of her meeting with Mark to talk with Julie Fitzsimmons. Allison had seen the strange change that came over Leah when she passed Julie’s group outside the church. The public relations executive might not know anything about Scott’s death or the photos, but Allison hoped Julie could shed some light on Scott’s career or his state of mind leading up to the day he was killed. A close coworker would notice changes in appearance or demeanor that may indicate drug use. While Allison couldn’t say for sure whether Julie was a close co-worker, the fact that she’d attended his funeral said they at least knew each other. That would have to be a start.

The headquarters for Transitions, Inc. was in an industrial park near Valley Forge, not far from Allison’s house. Allison drove north on Route 202 and then followed the GPS directions on her phone. The directions took her through a maze of broad streets lined with nondescript office buildings. She finally found Transitions, Inc. on a cul-de-sac at the back of the industrial park. Like many of the buildings in the park, the building that housed the company was a plain beige rectangle. Unlike many of the other buildings, though, Transitions seemed to be the sole occupant.

Allison parked in one of the spots marked for visitors. She noticed prime spaces for compact cars and, along the wall of the building, plug-in outlets for electric vehicles. A field of solar panels was positioned at the back of the building, far from the picnic tables and grills that lined a broad cement patio. A plaque near the building’s entrance announced that Transitions, Inc. was pursuing its LEED certification. It strived to be a “green” company.

The interior of the building was clean, fresh and very modern. A receptionist sat surrounded by freshly-cut flowers. Allison announced herself and asked to see Julie Fitzsimmons.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked. She was in her sixties and had the well-scrubbed, glowing complexion of a woman who’d recognized the benefits of a good diet and exercise long before it became trendy.

“I’m afraid not.” Allison handed the woman her card. Taking note of the placard that identified the receptionist, Allison said, “But I think Ms. Fitzsimmons will agree to see me, Dottie. I’m here to talk about brand recognition and the changes Transitions is going through.”

Dottie looked through emerald-green reading glasses that matched her sweater set. “First Impressions?” She looked skeptical. “Ms. Fitzsimmons doesn’t generally see people without an appointment—”

“This isn’t a sales call.”

“And you’re not a reporter?”

“No.”

Dottie nodded, looking somewhat mollified. She dialed. After a few moments of unintelligible exchange, Dottie said, “If you’re willing to wait until nine-thirty, Julie will see you then.”

Allison was willing to wait and she told Dottie as much. She positioned herself in a bamboo chair and watched as Transitions employees made their way into the office. Despite the welcoming atmosphere, no one stopped to chat with Dottie and few people talked to one another. A busy Monday, or a corporate culture that hadn’t quite caught up with its cheery image?

True to her word, at nine-thirty Julie Fitzsimmons fetched Allison from the waiting area. Up close, Allison got a better look at her. Dark red hair, almost auburn, had been carefully curled into a sleek shoulder-length bob. She had bright green eyes and a tall, slender body. As the head of public relations, Julie would be a good choice. Her open, friendly face was lovely enough to be interesting, but not so beautiful that others would find her threatening.

Allison glanced at her left hand. No wedding ring.

“Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Fitzsimmons,” Allison said. “I was hoping we could chat.” She handed the woman a business card. “Your company is undergoing some changes. Change is my specialty.”

Julie tilted her head. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Allison glanced around the waiting area. “Could we go somewhere private? Scott recommended I speak with you. Scott Fairweather.”

Julie’s face contorted. “Scott’s…well, Scott’s…”

“Passed. I know.” Allison looked duly mournful. “I was at his funeral. You may have seen me there?”

“Maybe. Scott’s death…well, it came as a shock.” Julie took a deep breath, gave Allison a half smile, and then threw her hands up in the air. “Let’s go to one of the conference rooms. I can give you about fifteen minutes. Will that do?”

“I appreciate your time.”

In the conference room, Julie closed the door and offered Allison a seat. After settling in, Julie said, “What’s the real reason you’re here?” When Allison didn’t respond, Julie continued. “I’m familiar with First Impressions. We’ve considered using you to help our sales crew in the new campaign. But Scott put the kibosh on the idea.”

Allison tried to look like her professional ego was bruised, but couldn’t. Her mind was spinning with how best to respond when Julie said, “Look, I know you and Scott dated once upon a time.”

Seemed like everyone knew her business these days, everyone but the one man who should. Allison sat back in her chair. She kept her gaze steady, giving away nothing.

“Don’t worry,” Julie said. “Your secret’s safe with me. We’re like sisters in that regard.” She shrugged. “The Slept with Scott Club.”

“You and Scott?”

“For the better part of a year.” Julie looked down at French-manicured fingernails. “He ended things about three weeks ago.” She glanced up. “Okay, two weeks, six days and nine hours ago. Right after we’d slept together. Nice, huh?”

“Did he say why?”

Julie looked sharply at her, eyebrows arched. “He’s married.”

“He’s been married for some time, Julie,” Allison said gently. “That doesn’t seem to have stopped him.”

Julie looked away. Allison saw fine lines and dark circles, carefully hidden beneath expertly-applied concealer. Julie Fitzsimmons was burdened and tired, and no amount of spit and polish could completely hide that.

Finally Julie said, “The baby.”

“Did you know about his wife and the baby?” Allison asked softly. “Before you became involved, that is.”

Julie nodded. “In my role, image is everything. What will people say about the company? What could end up in the New York Times or Wall Street Journal? How do you spin this or that so that it has the right effect? Having an affair with a married man was hardly a smart thing to do. But I couldn’t stop myself. Scott was so…there.” She shrugged. “I should have known better.”

“Things happen.”

“Yes.” Julie’s lips twisted. “Things happen.”

Allison was silent for a moment while she absorbed what Julie was telling her. Scott hadn’t changed his ways. His affair with Allison may have been a first, but his risk-taking behavior hadn’t ended there. “Did Scott seem different to you in the weeks leading up to his death?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it possible he was on something?”

“Do you mean drugs?” When Allison nodded, Julie shook her head vehemently back and forth. “No way. He did seem different…distracted and moody. But he would never have taken drugs. He was too concerned about his looks for that.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Julie sat quietly. Allison heard the whir of the heating vents, the murmur of voices in the hallway. After a while, Julie shifted forward in her chair and glanced toward the door. “Someone has been sending me photos,” she whispered.

Allison felt frozen in place.

“Photos of what?”

“Photos of…us. Scott and me.” She looked away. “Photos I wouldn’t want shared on the internet.”

Julie’s face twitched, her hands shook. She was scared. The tired eyes and burdened posture were not caused by guilt; they were caused by fear.

“Is someone threatening you, Julie? Letters, calls? Blackmail?”

Julie shook her head.

“Have you gone to the police?”

“No!” Julie covered her mouth with her hand. “I’ve said too much already.”

Allison leaned forward. She toyed with whether or not to be candid with Julie and decided against it. Under the wrong circumstances, candor could get her killed. “Why tell me at all?”

“Have you ever had a relationship with a married man, Allison?”

“No. But I’ve done things…things I’m not proud of.”

Julie smiled wanly. “It changes your life, and not for the better. Your friends who don’t know become like strangers. There’re so many things you keep hidden from them. And the friends who do know? Well, they’re judging you. Whether they say so or not, your life is always on trial. As a result, you keep your circle small. You start to live for the moments you’re with him. Your universe becomes so tiny. That’s what happened to me.

“I’m telling you, Allison, because I have no one else to tell. When I confronted Scott about his reaction to hiring your firm, he told me your story. How you’d been lovers. How you were cheating on your husband and he on his fiancé.”

“I wasn’t—”

She held up her hand. “No need to make excuses with me. Just watch out. If I’m on her radar, you very well may be, too.”

“Her? Scott’s wife?”

Julie shook her head. She stood, newly composed. “Eleanor Davies.”

That name rang a bell, too. Another woman from the social networking site. Another colleague. “You think she’s behind the pictures?”

Julie smiled. “Oh, I’m sure of it. Here’s the neat thing about Scott. He was a sex addict. He slept with women compulsively. I realized that too late. And Eleanor? She didn’t want anyone else to have Scott. Not me, not his wife.”

Allison thought about the photos. A lover may have had access to his private things. She may have wanted to warn off other women. But still, something didn’t add up. “Scott’s dead. Why send the photos now? What could Eleanor possibly gain?”

“She’s crazy. Her actions don’t have to make sense.”

“Still—”

Julie shrugged. “I have to go. If you say we had this conversation, I’ll deny it. But I don’t think you will.” She gave Allison a look that said they were part of a secret club, a club Allison wanted no part of. “If you get photos, just don’t go to the police.”

“Why?”

“It will stir up trouble for Transitions. And we can’t take any more trouble.”

“Eleanor works here, too, right?”

Julie nodded. Her hand was on the doorknob. She looked ready to flee.

“Then why not go to the source? Tell her to stop.”

“Why, indeed?” Julie said. “Because Eleanor is gone. Left without notice. No one’s heard from her since.”

“Since when?”

“Since Scott’s murder.”