TWENTY-FOUR

  

At one o’clock Sunday afternoon, Allison was out the door when her mobile rang. It was Mia.

“You okay?” Allison asked. She climbed into the Volvo, phone cradled against her shoulder, and snapped her seatbelt in place. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Restless, I guess. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Heading to Chadds Ford.”

“Wine tasting?”

“Ha. Hardly. An old friend lives there. Brad Halloway. Remember him?”

“The man who helped Delvar?”

“That’s him.” Allison pulled out onto her street and meandered her way toward Route 30. Halloway had sounded happy to hear from her. In fact, he invited her down to his house to have afternoon tea with him and she’d accepted. “Want to join me?”

“Is this a social call?”

“Not exactly. Halloway works at Transitions. He knew Scott. I already met with him once, but I have a few more questions. So what do you say? An afternoon of picking people’s minds about a murder? For old time’s sake?”

Only Mia didn’t laugh. Concerned, Allison said, “Hey, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Mia didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “I’ll come with you. How about if I meet you halfway? At the Starbucks off 202, near the stables? I’ll fill you in then.”

Allison agreed. She hung up and pondered the call. Mia hadn’t sounded upset, exactly, just melancholy. Allison thought of Vaughn, of Mia’s little comments about their relationship. She was afraid she knew what Mia was going to tell her. She was afraid for her friend Vaughn, because she knew how devastated he would be.

  

Mia slid into the car next to Allison and placed a tan leather bag on the floor. She was wearing charcoal gray pants and a soft cream wrap sweater. Her hair had been pulled into a neat chignon, but her skin looked pale and her eyes were swollen and red.

Allison said, “You’re not so great at hiding things. Vaughn?”

Mia didn’t respond at first. She sat with her head turned toward the window, and when she twisted toward Allison, her face was a mask of pain.

“I love him, Allison. You know that. I will always love him.”

“But?”

“I don’t need to tell you all the reasons it won’t work in the long run.”

“None of that is new. The age difference, what you both have been through. Why now?”

“I’m not getting any younger.”

“Neither is he.”

“Exactly.”

Allison let it go. She started the car and pulled out onto the road. Mia would share in her own time. Allison had learned long ago that people tell themselves what they need to in order to get through each day. If Mia was telling herself this was best for Vaughn, there was a reason—perhaps one that Mia wasn’t ready to face right now.

“So what do I need to know about the Halloways?” Mia asked. Her tone said “new topic.”

Allison gave Mia a quick update on their unofficial investigation into Fairweather’s murder, including the missing Eleanor Davies, Eleanor’s sister’s murder and the mysterious Doris Long.

“So you think Halloway may know where Eleanor is?” Mia sounded unconvinced.

“I’m hopeful.”

“I know you’re grateful to Halloway for helping with Delvar, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would get down and dirty with the staff, if you know what I mean.”

Allison looked at her. “You don’t like Brad?”

“I only know him from the few times we met at Delvar’s functions. I can’t say I ever warmed up to him.” Mia smiled. “But don’t go by me. After Edward, I can’t say I see myself as a great judge of male character.”

“There’s Vaughn.” Allison regretted the words the second they were out of her mouth.

“There’s no disputing Vaughn’s character,” Mia said. She smiled again, but this time there was a wistful glaze to her expression. “My judgment, on the other hand, remains questionable.”

  

Allison hadn’t been to the Halloways’ home for years. The couple had moved since she’d last visited, and their new home was a large, ornate one-story. Tucked into a cul-de-sac in an upscale neighborhood of newer homes, the Halloway house had been designed in the French country tradition: stone façade, a complicated roof line and large divided-light windows. The only nod to his wife’s medical issues was a concrete wheelchair ramp that led from the wide driveway to the front entry.

Brad had done well for himself, Allison thought. If anyone deserved it, he did.

Brad greeted them at the front door. He hugged Allison, shook Mia’s hand and looked genuinely happy to see them both. “Come in, my dears,” he said.

The inside of the house matched the promise of the exterior. A large entryway gave way to a great room/kitchen combination. Off to the left was a formal dining room. To the right, glass doors looked into a home office lined with bookshelves. Next to the office was a hallway. All the passageways were wide, and the hallway was lined with railings to accommodate Antonia’s needs. The home spoke of loving attention, professional designers and excellent house cleaners. Everything sparkled; nothing seemed out of place.

“Is Antonia here?” Allison asked.

Brad smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid she’s not feeling well today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Allison said. And she was. Allison genuinely adored Antonia Halloway. She was one of those rare individuals who seemed to view her lot in life as a blessing, not a curse, and, in doing so, was an inspiration to others. “Perhaps I can visit her another time?”

“She would love that.”

Allison and Mia followed Brad through the great room and into a glass-enclosed sunporch. “Have a seat,” he said.

Allison chose a mission-style oak chair and Mia sank into a loveseat. The room was filled with plants: African violets, amaryllis, aloe, begonias and many others that Allison couldn’t name.

“This is lovely,” Mia said.

Brad smiled. “It’s my wife’s. Antonia struggles these days. This room cheers her up.” He stroked the petals on a white orchid. “Especially the orchids. She loves that they survive indoors when outside it is so cold and desolate.”

Mia smiled. “I can understand that.”

Brad pressed a buzzer by the door. Within seconds, a young woman showed up. Red-headed and heavily freckled, she had the attentive, anxious demeanor of someone new to her job.

“Yes, Mr. Halloway?”

“Can you fetch us some tea, Adriana?” He glanced at Mia. “Chamomile, if I remember correctly?”

Mia nodded. “Thank you.”

“And for you, Allison?”

“Chamomile is perfect.”

“Make that one green and two chamomiles,” Brad said. “And perhaps a plate of the biscotti you made yesterday?”

“Of course.”

After she’d left the room, Brad sat on another Mission chair. He looked tired, and Allison felt bad for bothering him at his home.

“We won’t take much of your time, Brad.”

“It’s no bother, Allison. Believe me, I’m happy to see you. We don’t get as much company as we used to. It’s hard. People feel uncomfortable.” He shrugged. “I try to be understanding, but sometimes I get frustrated with her old friends. Even our children.”

Adriana returned with a tray. She set the tray down and then reached into her pocket and pulled out a vial of pills.

“It’s time, Mr. Halloway.”

Almost brusquely, Halloway took the vial, opened it and swallowed a pill with the glass of water. He handed Adriana the pills and glass with a disgusted grimace.

“Don’t let anyone fool you, Allison. It’s terrible getting old.”

Mia said, “I suppose it beats the alternative.”

Brad smiled. “Not always.” He stirred sugar into his tea but didn’t pick up the cup. “How can I help you ladies?”

“Does the name Eleanor Davies ring a bell?”

“Of course. She works for Transitions. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to find her. She seems to have disappeared.”

“Is this still about Scott?”

Allison nodded.

Brad studied her. He reached for a plate and a biscotti and took a moment arranging a napkin on his lap. Mia was sipping her tea, eyes on Brad. The tension in the room was suddenly thick, although Allison wasn’t sure why.

Finally, Brad said, “I’ve known you for years, Allison, and I can tell that you’re hiding something now. Why is that?”

Allison was slow to respond, choosing her words carefully. Why was she being so reticent? Embarrassment, she realized. Divulging much more meant telling Brad, a man she looked up to and respected, that she’d had an affair with Scott.

“I knew Scott as a client and as a…paramour,” Allison said, struggling to get the word out. “We hadn’t seen each other in years, but the day he died, he had my name in his appointment book.” Allison looked up at Brad. “I want to know why.”

“That sounds like a matter for the police.”

“The police know, but they don’t seem concerned.” And then there’re the photos, Allison thought, but chose to leave that detail out. “Anyway, I think Eleanor is the key. Scott and Eleanor were…close. She may know what happened to Scott in the weeks leading up to his death, why he wanted to get in touch with me.”

“You have no idea?” Brad said.

“None.”

“Perhaps it was something simple, Allison. A work referral or a speaking request.”

“I don’t think so.”

Brad stood. His biscotti and tea remained untouched. Allison hated the way his disapproval made her feel. Unclean, ashamed. He’s not your father, Allison reminded herself. You have no need to please him.

From across the coffee table, Mia caught her eye. Her look said, caution.

“Allison, at a company like ours, there are always rumors. Keep that in mind while I share what I know. Rumors are just that, gossip, not necessarily truths.” He paused. “There were certain…rumors…about Scott in the last weeks. One was that he and Eleanor were lovers. Another even less palatable rumor—unsubstantiated, mind you—was that he was stealing from the company.”

“Embezzling?” Allison looked up, surprised.

Brad nodded. “As I told you before, some believed he was in debt. Fast lifestyle, new child, a spouse who’d quit her job.” He looked at Allison apologetically, “And mistresses. These things added up financially. Throw in possible drug affiliations, and, well, you have a train wreck.” Brad frowned. “Scott Fairweather was a train wreck.”

“Did the autopsy show drugs in his system?”

“Not that I know of, but frankly, I didn’t ask.”

“How do you explain Eleanor’s disappearance?” Mia asked.

Brad turned toward Mia. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Mia said, “If she’s missing, aren’t you worried that she’s a victim, too?”

“Eleanor Davies is a headstrong, highly independent woman. She knew she was playing with fire, I’m sure, and for all we know she was part of his drug lifestyle. So yes, Mia, to answer your question, foul play could be involved. We—Transitions, that is—are concerned for her safety. So much so that we have alerted the authorities investigating Scott’s death.”

“Where do you think she could be?” Allison asked.

Brad walked toward the sunroom window. He looked out onto the well-kept front yard, hands on his hips. When he turned around, he said, “I think Eleanor is embarrassed and probably a little scared. Scott had a duty to Transitions, and sleeping with the purchasing director is hardly the right thing to do. But even more so, he had a duty to his wife and that new baby. He should have been ashamed of his conduct. And Eleanor…she should have known better. No one wins in that situation. Eleanor lost her dignity and Scott, his family and, ultimately, his life.”

Brad spoke these words with such conviction that both Allison and Mia looked up, startled by the sudden harshness in his voice. Before either could respond, though, the doors into the sunroom swung open and the nurse wheeled Antonia Halloway into the room.

Antonia’s body was a twisted husk. She sat in just a corner of the chair, a thick fleece blanket on her lap. Bony shoulders were encased in a soft chartreuse wool sweater. Most telling of all, though, were her hands. What had been long, graceful fingers were now claws, arched stiffly in her lap, the nails clipped short so as not to scratch unintentionally. Antonia’s beautiful face was all hollows and jutting bones, made more horrific by brightly inquisitive, empathetic eyes.

“Hel-ll-o All-i-sss-son.” Antonia struggled to get the words out.

Allison rushed to her side and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Antonia, so good to see you.”

“You didn’t tell me we had guests,” Antonia said slowly.

Brad look chagrined. “You were resting, darling. As you should be now.”

Antonia’s icy look said otherwise.

Brad sighed. To Allison, he said, “Sit with Antonia and me and enjoy your tea. Adriana, fetch Mrs. Halloway a cup of tea. Not too hot, please. And perhaps some fresh tea for the rest of us. I’m afraid it’s gotten cold.”

Brad said these last words in a way that told Allison it was the topic, not just the time passed, that had made the tea cold.