THIRTY-SEVEN

  

Allison was ready to shut down her laptop and head to bed when a new email arrived from Delvar. It contained the list of the board members for Designs for the Future along with any of their guests that attended the ceremony. Allison scrolled through the names on the list. The board members were all familiar. As a board member to the fledgling group, Allison had met each of them at least once. But she hadn’t met the guests. One person caught her eye.

Betty Diamond, guest of Beth Duvall.

A quick internet search explained the connection. Betty Diamond was Ted’s elderly mother. Beth Duvall was his new wife. Beth Duvall Diamond.

She went by her maiden name professionally, so Allison never made the connection.

Allison’s entire body went rigid. Suddenly things made more sense. She thought of Scott at Thirtieth Street Station: the way he’d tried to get her attention. Her trip to New York had been planned and very public. She always took the train, and he’d known that. But based on the photo of Allison and Scott at the station, someone had been watching him. He may have been afraid to go to her home or office, preferring the anonymity of a public place.

He’d also known about her connection to Delvar. Designs for the Future had been in the paper. Connecting Allison and Duvall to the charity wouldn’t have been hard. He could find them all at the celebration. That was what the appointment book was about.

Scott wasn’t trying to blackmail anyone. He’d been using Allison to get to Beth Duvall. Diamond Brands—specifically, the Diamond family—still owned a good portion of Transitions. Scott knew he was in danger. He was trying to tell Beth Duvall what was going on.

He wasn’t a crook; he was trying to be a hero.

But what about the pictures? Whoever took that photo in Thirtieth Street Station knew about her history with Scott. Leah? Eleanor? If I’m right about Scott’s motives, Allison thought, was Eleanor his partner in the quest for justice or was she in on the scheme? Or had she learned of the scheme and decided to profit from it through blackmail on her own?

Eleanor’s history said she was an opportunist, and her role at Transitions said she had access and opportunity. Plus, there was the money trail and her connection to Duane Myers. If Duane pulled that trigger, not the boys who were arrested, it would have been because Eleanor paid him to do it. If Scott was threatening to blow the whistle, Eleanor may have had reason to kill him.

But then who killed Eleanor’s sister? And why?

Ginny’s death left Allison with the unsettling thought that there was a second murderer out there.

Allison shut down the computer and turned off the lights. After making sure the door was closed and the window secured, she climbed into bed. Sleep didn’t come easily, the iced tea and knot in her stomach saw to that, but when it did come, it hit her hard.

  

Vaughn arrived at ten minutes to midnight. The clerk at the front desk, a thin, anemic-looking woman with ghostly-pale skin and knotted knuckles, handed him a key, an actual key.

“Room nineteen,” she said with a raspy voice. She avoided eye contact, preferring instead to keep her eyes glued to the television. She was watching one of those home shows where people have to choose between three properties. Vaughn didn’t wait to see which French apartment they picked. He was too tired to do anything but head to his room.

There, he stripped out of his jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt and put on sweats. He had a bad feeling, one he hadn’t been able to shake since getting off the phone with Allison. He told himself it was left over from fighting traffic in unknown territory. He knew better. And this place out in the middle of nowhere didn’t help.

Vaughn was a city boy. Too much fresh air made him antsy.

He set his alarm for five-thirty. One night in the woods would be enough. He was already ready to go home.

  

Allison awoke at three-fifty with a burning need to pee. It took her a hazy moment to realize where she was. She rolled out of bed and fumbled her way to the bathroom. Finished, she was washing her hands when something stopped her.

A man’s refection in the mirror.

Allison blinked, her vision constricting. Her breath caught in her chest. Had she imagined it? She was suddenly afraid to move. No, someone was in the motel room. She started to turn on the light but stopped herself. Whoever it was might not realize she knew he was there. Surprise was her only weapon. Think. Silently, she reached for a can of hairspray. Weak, but it was all she had. She tucked it behind her and walked out of the bathroom, toward the door. She might be able to escape before he could reach her.

She had her hand on the knob when she felt an arm around her neck. She tried to turn, hitting her attacker in the ribs with her elbow, but his grip was too strong. He reached down and pulled the hairspray from her grasp before she could use it. She struggled, but it was no use.

She was trapped.