Killer Image (An Allison Campbell Mystery) (18 page)

So that’s it, Allison. I think I killed Sparky and I burned down the house. Me, the fire setter. You know what the system does with murderers and fire setters. No more nice residential treatment program. Jail. I can’t go to jail, Allison, it’d be worse than the cockroaches AND the rats.

I’m sure you’re worried now. I can almost see you—hand running through your long blond hair, that frown on your face. You’d tell me that I should trust the system to do the right thing. And you’d mean it, Allison, because you of all people would never tell me something you didn’t believe. But I can’t risk it. I’m only 15. That’s a lot of years left to live with regret.

So you won’t hear from me again. You should know if I could have had another mother, I’d have wanted her to be like you. I’d have wanted her to be you. So remember me, okay? You said Romeo and Juliet was a tragedy and I thought that was kind of beautiful in a strange sort of way. No happy ending. That’s life, right? Maybe that Shakespeare is wrong. Maybe I’ll make my own happy ending. I think we all get a second chance, Allison. Or at least we should.

Love,

Violet M. Swann

It was 2:12 when Allison finally crawled into bed, her face still wet and her heart tangled in her ribcage. She felt numb. So numb, that she didn’t object when Brutus jumped in bed beside her and laid his great, ugly head on the pillow next to hers.

Nineteen

“Being a witch is not easy,” Maggie said.

“I don’t imagine it is.”

Maggie plopped down on the living room couch and stretched her legs out on the cream silk, Brutus’s head in her lap. The dog closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the thorough ear-rubbing Maggie was bestowing upon him. Allison smiled. Dog and teenager both looked content.

“I had to learn the herbs. There are so many of them. And the incantations.”

“How did you get into Wicca?”

“I read about it. Then I made some calls. There’s a coven in Devon. I can’t attend meetings—Daddy won’t let me—but I talk to the other witches online. When I can.”

Allison sat on the floor and stretched. She had piles of work to finish and then she was due to meet with her personal trainer. Maggie had arrived late and in a cab. Her parents thought she was at the mall. Allison tried to ignore the rational little voice that said she should get Maggie out of here now. Maggie seemed relaxed and happy. And it
was
kind of nice to have some company. What harm could an hour here do?

“That must drive your father crazy.”

“He doesn’t know.”

Allison considered this. Maggie seemed to do a lot Hank didn’t know about. Ethan. Wiccan. And now Allison and Brutus. She wondered what other secrets Maggie managed to hide.

She decided to ask the question she’d been avoiding. “I heard you were questioned by the police, Maggie. How did that go?”

Maggie seemed intent on rubbing a patch of hair above Brutus left eye. “Fine.”

“Were you scared?”

She shrugged.

“I imagine you’re scared for Ethan.”

“He didn’t do it. And neither did I. We were together that night.” She looked up at Allison. “Daddy and I had had another fight. I left without asking. My mother knew, she saw me go. But I made her swear not to tell.”

“Would your mother cover for you?”

“She’s scared of Daddy. I told her I’d tell
her
secrets if she opened her mouth. She told anyway, of course. She’s such a mouse.” Maggie frowned. “But I won’t tell on
her
. My Wiccan oath and all. It was just a bluff.”

Allison was dying to ask what secrets Sunny McBride was hiding, but she figured some things were best left unknown..

“Udele never came home.”

This was news. “Where did she go?”

Maggie said, “We don’t know. She hasn’t been home all week.”

“Really? Aren’t your folks worried? Given the circumstances surrounding Mr. Feldman’s murder, I’d think they’d be very concerned.”

Maggie shrugged. “Daddy filed a missing person report. He’s convinced Udele stole something and ran. Only nothing’s missing.”

That did seem odd. Udele hardly seemed like the fly-by-night type or a thief, for that matter. What would make her suddenly leave the family she’d been with for decades? And with no warning? And why would McBride say something like that about a woman he’d known so long?

Maggie looked around the room. “Where’s all your furniture?”

“You’re sitting on a couch.”

“Yes, but there are no chairs. Or tables.”

“My ex-husband took some stuff. I haven’t had time to buy new things.”

“When did you get divorced?”

“Two years ago.”

“Aren’t you an image consultant? Wouldn’t you want the house to look all fancy and put together?”

“I don’t entertain much.”

“Two years is a long time. Aren’t you lonely here by yourself?”

“No.”

“It feels so empty. Like no one lives here.”

Allison stood up. Enough questions. “Why don’t you take Brutus for a walk?” She walked to the window and looked outside. “The drizzle stopped.”

Maggie tilted Brutus’s face up and looked in his eyes. “Would you like that, boy?” His tail stump thumped against the floor.

“The leash is over there.” Allison pointed to a hook on the wall by the front door. “He pulls. And he isn’t good with other dogs, so be very careful. If you see another dog, go a different way.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I have work to do.”

“Come on, just for a little while? You’re already dressed for it.” She pointed to Allison’s yoga pants and t-shirt. “Besides, I don’t know my way around here.”

She was right. It probably
was
better if Maggie didn’t go alone. Brutus could be a handful, and there was no telling what trouble Maggie could find on her own. The presentation she was working on for an upcoming workshop could wait. Only so much one could say about interview etiquette, anyway.

“Fine. Let’s go.” She grabbed an anorak from the closet while Maggie clipped the leash to Brutus’s collar.

Outside, the air felt damp and cool. She watched Maggie and Brutus canter down the driveway, toward the sidewalk. Maggie’s hair, flat and loose today, curled around her face, making her look younger than her fifteen years. She still wore her school uniform, knee socks slouchy around her ankles, and no coat.

“Do you want a jacket?” Allison yelled after her.

“No way! Come on!” Maggie yelled, and stuck out her tongue. “You can’t be that slow!”

“Oh yeah? Race me to the corner!”

Allison took off, running as fast as she could go, which wasn’t particularly fast. Maggie, pulled along by a very excited Brutus, beat her by a few inches.

“Ha!” Maggie bent over, breathing hard. “I win.”

“Want to go another round?”

Between breaths Maggie said, “No way. I always fail gym. Can’t you tell?”

Allison laughed. Brutus was straining on the leash, and the three walked slowly so Maggie could catch her breath. The lenses of Allison’s glasses were covered with a fine mist, and she wiped them on her t-shirt. She had forgotten to take them off earlier. Habit.

“So, are you like blind without them?” Maggie said.

“These?” Allison held up her glasses and smiled. “Want to know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I have almost twenty-twenty vision.”

Maggie stopped walking. “Then why wear glasses?”

“They make me look older and smarter.” Allison slipped them off, looked at Maggie, and then slipped them back on again. “See?”

“Sneaky.” Maggie laughed. “But you’re right, they do.”

They walked past a few more houses:  large, newish homes with neatly landscaped lots. Allison knew the neighborhood couldn’t compete with Maggie’s, but still, she always felt a stab of pride when she considered how far she’d come.

“So why do you care what people think?” Maggie said.

The question caught Allison off guard. “It’s my job to care, Maggie. Image is important. Without the glasses, the people I work with might not take me as seriously.”

Maggie threw her a sideways glance. “No offense, but that’s really sad. You’re basically saying you’re a fake.”

Allison stepped over a small muddle puddle in the center of the sidewalk. “I’m not saying that at all.”

“You have a big house with nothing in it. You wear glasses you don’t need. You run a business teaching losers like me how to look and act like winners. Doesn’t it get to you?”

“You’re not a loser.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t you sometimes wonder what’s real?”

Allison looked up at Maggie, surprised by the question. Of course she knew what was real. Rules of etiquette were
real
, posture and syntax were
real
, color and fabric were
real
. What were not
real
were relationships and hopes and dreams. Just look at her mother, boxed in by the walls of a twelve-hundred-square foot house, any happy memories erased by Alzheimer’s. Or Violet, dreaming of being an artist, only to have it all end because her therapist was too stupid to see the signs that she was about to do something dangerous. No,
real
meant tangible, tenable, and safe. Allison lived for
real
.

But that was something some people would never understand.

“Um, Allison—”

Allison looked up slowly. Too slowly. Across the street was old Mrs. Briar and her miniature poodle, Peaches. Before Allison could react, Brutus lunged. He pulled Maggie off the curb and onto her knees. Maggie howled, then let go of the leash.

Brutus sprinted across the street, right for Peaches and Mrs. Briar’s cashmere-cloaked form.

“Brutus! No!” Allison helped Maggie up, and they both dashed across the street.

“Get that monster away from Peaches this instant!”

Brutus, fifteen inches taller and seventy pounds heavier than poor Peaches, was trying to mount her. Thankfully, Peaches would have none of it. Allison tugged at the leash. Brutus, obstinate as ever, held his ground, despite his lack of success. “Brutus! No!”

Maggie grabbed his collar and pulled. On the third pull, Brutus stopped humping the air over an anxious Peaches and sat on the pavement, an innocent expression on his face. Mrs. Briar swooned. Allison grabbed her arm.

Mrs. Briar looked at Maggie and Brutus in turn, then at Allison. She scowled, bent down, and picked up Peaches. Mud and saliva dotted the fur on Peaches’s backside where Brutus had tried to have his way with her.

“I would have expected better from you, Ms. Campbell,” Mrs. Briar said. She pushed a lock of stiff, white hair off her forehead, and nodded toward Maggie. “Peaches and I came to this neighborhood to escape the hooligans.”

“I didn’t introduce you. Mrs. Briar, meet Maggie McBride. Congressman McBride’s daughter.”

This time, Mrs. Briar’s eyes widened in surprise. She backed up, stumbled and smiled apologetically before turning to leave. “Forgive me, dear,” she said over her shoulder. “I didn’t recognize you. I left my glasses inside.”

Back inside Allison’s house, Maggie fell on the foyer floor and let out a howl of laughter. “Did you see Brutus trying to do it with that silly little dog?”

Allison laughed. She had to admit, the whole scene had been pretty funny. And she’d never really liked Mrs. Briar anyway. Allison’s clothes were dripping. No use getting the rugs dirty. She peeled off her anorak and t-shirt, both now splashed with water and mud, and stood in the hallway in her black yoga pants and a teal sports bra. “I’ll be down in a minute, Maggie. I’m going to change. Stay there and I’ll throw some towels down for you and Brutus.”

Maggie stopped laughing. “What’s that?”

Allison turned around. Maggie was pointing to her back. It took a moment to realize what Maggie was talking about. Her scars.

“My father. I told you, Maggie. He used to beat us.” She shrugged. “He was particularly fond of the buckle side of a belt.”

“Jeez, you weren’t kidding before.”

“I would never kid about a thing like that.”

Maggie looked thoughtful. She twirled her pentagram necklace around between her fingers. Allison stood on the bottom step and waited for Maggie to make some sarcastic remark. By now she should have built up immunity to Maggie’s comments.

Instead, Maggie surprised her by saying, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For assuming you were one of
them
. I didn’t realize you were a misfit, too.”

Twenty

“Gabrielle, move your left arm about an inch. That’s good. Stay like that.”

Sunny adjusted the lamps in her attic studio so that soft light fell across her model’s bare breasts, leaving her face in shadows. Gabrielle was not a beautiful woman, but she had a lush, womanly figure and flawless skin. Sunny’s paintbrush made her high cheekbones and almond eyes sing on the canvas.