THIRTY-FIVE

  

Allison had stopped at a rest area somewhere along I-495 in Massachusetts when Vaughn called to say that Angela was delayed due to a cancelled flight. He’d meet her at the hotel sometime this evening. He had information to share, but it would have to wait until he could lay it all out for her.

“I can’t wait,” Allison had said. “Fill me in.”

But Vaughn wouldn’t budge. “I have something to check out first. I’ll know more when I see you.”

“Call me later.”

“Only if you wait for me to get there.”

In the end, Allison promised not to go to Doris Long’s house alone.

But she didn’t promise not to scope out the area.

  

Angela finally arrived, breathless and full of apologies, at eleven that morning. Vaughn had thanked her, but he didn’t wait around to chit chat. He’d needed to get on the road.

Now, staring at the complex in front of him made him contemplate his brother’s sanity. The address for Mills Manufacturers took Vaughn to a lot in a small industrial park outside of Camden, New Jersey. The park itself was a sprawling commercial wasteland not far from the Schuylkill River. At the mouth of the park, two factories sat side-by-side, separated by a small field of high, brown weeds and litter. The first factory was surrounded by a u-shaped parking lot, half full with cars. Plumes of steam streamed from two smokestacks. The other factory appeared abandoned. High walls of barbed-wire fencing protected three white buildings with red roofs. Most of the windows in the facing building were broken. Despite the barbed wire, graffiti tattooed the paint. A tilted sign had been boarded over so that the company name was no longer visible. Vaughn drove on.

Deeper in the industrial park, he passed several additional small factories. Like the first, these seemed to be operating. He kept going until he found the address he was looking for, set back at the end of a dead-end road. Mills Manufacturer shared a field with another abandoned factory. This one, identified only as Brown & Co Metals, was encased by two layers of barbed wire fencing, which extended beyond the monstrous, ivy-covered walls of the outbuildings.

Unlike Brown & Co, Mills Manufacturing’s single building was pristine and occupied. A parking lot in front of the building contained a dozen cars.

He was here at Jamie’s behest. Jamie had given him strict instructions: don’t give your name and park where your license plate is obscured. He hadn’t explained what he wanted Vaughn to look for, though. He’d just asked him to pay close attention to the building and its surroundings, and to see what the company was producing. He said he’d fill him in on everything he found once he had information on the manufacturer. Vaughn felt anxious to get moving north, but Jamie had been insistent.

After parking in a corner of the lot next door, Vaughn walked over to Mills Manufacturing. A metal gate at the entry blocked his admittance, and he couldn’t see an intercom or any way of communicating with the folks inside. He finally spotted a small camera hiding in the eaves of the building, on the other side of the gate.

“Hey!” he shouted, hoping to get someone’s attention. He had a story prepared—he was a reporter doing an article on abandoned factories and wanted to ask about the property next door—but that would only work if someone let him the hell in.

After a few minutes of shouting, the front doors opened and a beefy man with a crew cut came to the gate. He wore maintenance khakis and carried a walkie talkie. “Yeah?” he grumbled.

Vaughn explained his reason for being there, adding a little flair to make his cover story sound believable. “So I was hoping to get some information on Brown & Co, maybe from someone who was here when the factory closed.”

The guy shook his head. “Sorry, none of us has been around here that long.”

“New business?” When the man nodded, Vaughn glanced around the factory grounds, pretending to notice this building for the first time. “Taking advantage of cheap rent?” he asked with a nod toward the abandoned factory next door.

“I dunno,” the guy said. “Just the maintenance crew.”

“Hard work,” Vaughn said. “My dad was maintenance back when Exelon was Philadelphia Electric. Backbreaking.” He made a grimace that he hoped came off as sincere. The only work his dad had done was lifting the belt to swing it toward Vaughn’s behind.

With a grunt, the guy said, “Yeah, not appreciated, either.”

“What do you guys make? Car parts?”

“We’ll make textiles, once we’re up and running. Right now, we’re primarily a machine shop.”

Vaughn nodded, not wanting to push it and cursing his brother for not telling him specifically what he was looking for. “How long you been here?”

“The machine shop has been around for a few years.”

“And you’re expanding for the textile business?”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. “This part of your article?”

“Nah, just curious.”

The guy shrugged. With a backwards glance at the front of the building, he said, “Supposed to be up and running soon. Got no idea when it’ll happen, though. Until then, as long as they keep paying me, I show up.” He touched his walkie talkie, which sat silent on his hip. “That it?”

Vaughn nodded. “Appreciate your time.”

The guy stayed put, waiting to make sure Vaughn headed back in the direction of his vehicle. Vaughn walked without looking back, but once he got to the field that adjoined the two factories, he checked to make sure the maintenance man had gone inside and then he followed the abandoned building’s perimeter around back to get a glimpse of the rest of Mills Manufacturing. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. The factory, which extended far back into the field beyond, looked in good repair, and the property seemed secure.

Maybe Jamie’s losing it, Vaughn thought.

Halfway through the industrial park, Vaughn dialed Jamie’s number. He reached Angela. “Put me on speaker,” he said. “I called to give Jamie an update on Mills Manufacturing.”

  

Allison arrived in Camden, Maine, a little after three in the afternoon. She stopped for a basket of fish and chips and a beer, hoping the combination would calm the snakes twisting in her gut. It only made her bloated. With only an hour of daylight left, Allison headed toward Dunne Pond. The sky remained clear, although the rain she’d encountered in Connecticut and Massachusetts threatened. Soon it would be cold and stormy. For now, it was just cold.

A few miles from the Dunne Pond Road, Allison located the small motel where she’d booked two rooms. It was called The Beach Hut. Well, they got it half right, Allison thought. A little far from the beach, but definitely a hut. She checked in and paid cash for her room and Vaughn’s. The innkeeper, a guy in his early twenties with more pimples than facial hair, tried insisting on a credit card for incidentals but a one-hundred dollar bill seemed to quell his need to follow the rules.

Allison made her way to a cramped room with dated furnishings. Immediately to the left of the door was a bathroom. Beyond that was a full-size bed, dresser, chair and an old-school television. Flowered wallpaper did little to cheer worn wooden furniture and a matted beige carpet. A ceiling fan swirled overhead. The room smelled of disinfectant and mildew, but despite that, and despite the room’s careworn appearance, Allison was happy to have a home base. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and popped two Excedrin to ward off the tension in her temples. Then she was off.

Dunne Pond Road was a meandering country lane that headed west, toward central Maine. Moose crossing signs were the only traffic warnings, and the forest, consisting mainly of coniferous trees, large boulders and whatever weeds sprouted up through rich peat, infringed on the asphalt so that Allison felt she was the only driver making her way through a fairy tunnel. Several miles along Dunne Pond Road, Allison passed a peeling sign advertising “Dunne Pond Resort, a Summer Community.” The sign, like the guard house at the mouth of the resort, had seen better days.

Allison saw no indication of a house or the driveway that might lead to Doris’s place. She made a right into the old resort entrance and turned around. The sun was dipping below the western horizon and the thought of being alone in an abandoned resort gave Allison the chills. She headed southeast on Dunne Pond Road, scanning the left side for an entrance to a dirt road. Doris’s drive didn’t even exist on Google Maps. She finally spotted the entrance on the fifth pass. It was almost exactly across from a small, crooked sign for the old resort.

Allison kept driving, making a mental note about the location of that sign.

In the winter, Doris’s driveway could be impassable without four wheel drive. On a day like today, it should be fine, although, Allison realized, there would be no way to drive down that driveway without giving herself away. It was better either to hike in or to wait for Vaughn, as she’d promised.

Despite her desire to talk with Scott’s former lover, and ignoring a growing sense of urgency, Allison kept going, back toward the motel.

Night was pressing in. And Allison, having kept her promise, expected Vaughn to keep his. She’d call him once she was in the room so that he could explain his mysterious references.

She glanced at the car’s clock. Only five-thirty-seven, but it felt like ten. No stopping for a real dinner tonight, she decided. The call to Vaughn and then bed. She wanted to be ready to come back here early tomorrow, before Doris Long—or Eleanor—had a chance to leave.