Finlay Donovan Is Killing It

by Elle Cosimano

  * * *

  I slammed the door to the kitchen and fell back against it, my breath racing out of me. The lights in the house were off, and Vero’s car was gone from the garage. I bolted the door and kicked off my shoes, taking the stairs to my office two at a time. I shut myself inside, my fingers clumsy and trembling as I locked the door behind me.

  The kids were safe at Steven’s house, I reminded myself. And Andrei Borovkov’s wife had no idea who I was. As long as I didn’t call the number in Irina’s note, Mrs. Borovkov’s very scary husband would never know who his wife had hired, or how to find me.

  A pink flash caught my eye. One of Vero’s sticky notes fluttered, taped to my computer screen: HOT DATE. DON’T WAIT UP. I’LL BE HOME IN TIME FOR DELIA’S PARTY.

  Crap. Delia’s birthday party was at eleven A.M. tomorrow. In all the chaos, I’d almost forgotten. A loose-leaf sheet of notebook paper lay across my keyboard, titled “My Birthday Wish List” in Delia’s oversize careful letters. Only one wish made the list … a puppy. Under it, I found another certified letter from Steven’s attorney. I didn’t have to open it to know what was inside.

  I plucked the sticky note from the monitor. By lunchtime tomorrow, my house would be teeming with kids screaming for pizza and cake. I was nowhere near ready for Delia’s birthday. I hadn’t even bought her a gift yet.

  Maybe Steven was right. Maybe I was unfit to mother my own children. Steven had never been the model parent, but the plot of my own life had gone off the rails since he’d left, and I was no closer to knowing what to do about it. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wasn’t going to sleep until I was certain no one was looking for me. Somehow, I had to avoid the police and steer clear of Andrei Borovkov.

  I crept to the window, eyes peeled for strange cars outside. I caught the flash of Mrs. Haggerty’s kitchen curtains falling closed, and I quickly drew mine shut. I turned, surprised to find my socks had left impressions in the fresh vacuum tracks in the carpet. I touched my fingers together, but they were clean; the slats in the blinds were suspiciously free of dust. I sniffed the room, inhaling the sour smell I’d assumed was my own sweat-laden panic, but it was only the white vinegar Vero used to cut grime when she tidied up.

  Something loosened inside me as I trailed a finger over the squeaky-clean surface of my desk. It was a relief, having someone around to balance the load. A comfort to have someone to handle the bills and help me clean up my messes, rather than rubbing my face in them. The house felt too quiet without Vero and the children. Too empty with all of them gone for the night.

  I opened the top drawer of my desk, ready to burn Irina Borovkov’s note. But it was gone, too. Vero must have put it in the disposal in her panic last night. The only loose paper in the drawer was the one with Julian’s number on it. I took it out and held it, remembering Vero’s warning. She told me it would be stupid to call him, but then again, she hadn’t tossed his number in the sink.

  Julian would know if the police had come snooping around the bar, looking for Harris’s car. And he might have noticed if a black Lincoln Town Car had followed me out of the parking lot that night.

  Before I could change my mind, I dialed his number into the new prepaid phone I’d bought at the pharmacy earlier that morning. The call connected on its fourth ring, and my heart did an anxious flip.

  “Hello?” The answering voice was deep, rough with sleep. I considered hanging up. “Whoever you are, I’m already awake. You might as well start talking.” Definitely Julian. And definitely not happy. The clock on my computer said it was already past noon, but if he’d worked last night, he probably hadn’t gone to bed before three. “If you don’t say something, I’m hanging up.”

  “It’s Theresa.” The name rushed out on a held breath.

  “Hey,” he said after a beat of silence. There was a rustling in the background. An image of him in a pair of clingy pajama pants and very little else parked itself front and center in my mind, completely unbidden. “Did you change your number? You came up as ‘unavailable’ on my phone.”

  No, I am definitely available. It’s stupid, how available I am. “Yeah,” I said, shaking that thought from my mind. “There was an unfortunate incident involving a garbage disposal.”

  “Sorry to hear it.” The words seemed to curl around a sleepy smile. “I’m glad you were able to salvage my number.”

  God, I probably sounded desperate. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot you work nights. I shouldn’t have called so early, but…” But what? I hadn’t considered what I would actually say if he answered. I couldn’t come out and ask him if anyone had come to the bar asking questions about Harris, or if anyone had followed me out of the lot that night. Not without piquing his curiosity. And if I was really being honest with myself, I wasn’t even sure that was the only reason I’d called.

  I shut my eyes and leaned my head against the wall. “The truth is, I’ve had a really, really crappy week, and I just needed to talk. Has anyone ever told you you’re really approachable?” His laughter chipped away at some of the tension in my shoulders. I sagged, feeling ridiculous for bothering him. “You know what, that probably sounds crazy, and I should probably just hang up now—”

  “No,” he said, “it’s not crazy.” A lazy Saturday morning softness returned to his voice. “I was actually kind of hoping you would call.” In the silence that followed, I pictured him lying on his back, one arm folded behind his head, his honey-blond curls falling over his eyes. “I was worried about you.”

  “You were?” I sat up straight, determined to ignore the flutter in my stomach.

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you made it home okay. Did you get your alternator checked?”

  I blew out a sigh as I remembered the battery. “Not yet,” I confessed. “But I will. Thanks for your help the other day.”

  “I was just glad for the chance to see you again.”

  A reluctant smile pulled at my cheeks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer.”

  “I was hoping you’d stop by the bar last night, but it’s probably for the best that you didn’t. The place was nuts. We wouldn’t have had much time to talk.”

  “Oh?” The hair on the back of my neck prickled at the sudden shift in his tone. “Nuts how?”

  “There’s some police investigation going on. A detective came by. He kept pulling the waitstaff off the floor to ask questions. I was in the weeds all night.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some guy’s wife reported him missing. He was at the networking event on Tuesday night and no one’s heard from him since.”

  “Really?” I swallowed. “Did the detective … talk to you?”

  “He was mostly interested in talking to the waitstaff who worked the floor, but the waiter who served the guy was off last night, and the rest of us were too busy to remember much.” A relieved breath rushed out of me. It caught in my throat when he said, “One of the busboys remembered seeing him leave the bar with a blond woman in a black dress.”

  I drew my knees to my chest, hugging them tight. “Oh?”

  “I told the cop I could count at least two dozen blond women in black dresses at The Lush on any given night. But the only one that stood out in my mind was you.”

  “Me?” I asked around the knot in my throat. “Why me?”

  “Aside from the fact that you’re beautiful and easy to talk to?”

  A nervous laugh broke free. “Did you … What did you tell him about me?”

  “Only that I bumped into you in the parking lot as you were leaving. And that, try as I might to persuade you otherwise, I saw you get into your car alone.” My head thunked against my knee. Good. This was good. Julian wasn’t a witness. He was an alibi.

  An alibi who thought I was beautiful. And easy to talk to. And possibly wanted to date me.

  I’m sure Vero would agree it would be smart to keep the lines of communication open, right?

  “So, you thought I stood out?” I asked, picking at a loose thread
in my sock.

  “Without question.”

  “Did anyone else in the bar … you know … stand out to you?”

  “No one else ordered a Bloody Mary at nine o’clock at night, if that’s what you mean.” His laugh was soft, disarming, unwinding something inside me until a laugh bubbled out of me, too.

  “You didn’t … by any chance … happen to notice if anyone followed me when I left … did you?”

  “No.” Julian’s silence was tinged with concern. “Why? Did something happen?”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” I said quickly. Of course he hadn’t noticed. He’d probably already gone, while I’d lingered in the parking lot those few extra moments to call Patricia. And now he probably thought I was paranoid and clingy. I raked my hair from my face, surprised he couldn’t hear the rush of blood to my cheeks through the phone.

  “Seriously, Theresa.” I loved the way he said my name, low and close, like we were in the same room. And I hated that the name he was whispering wasn’t mine. “Bloody Mary aside, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. So, to get back to your original question, yeah, I’m really glad you called. And if you want to know the truth, I’m still a little worried about you.”

  I bit my lip, wishing I could take back so many things. Wishing I could start the week all over.

  “You want to tell me all about your crappy week? I’m a bartender, which makes me highly qualified to listen.”

  “No,” I said through a weary smile, wishing I could. “I’m better now. Thanks.” I was surprised by how true it felt. All I needed to do was plan a birthday party and not kill anyone else. Simple, right?

  “I’m here if you change your mind. And I’d still like to take you out sometime.”

  Sometime … when I wasn’t hiding from the police and the mafia. When I wasn’t pretending to be someone else.

  “Maybe I could call you again,” I said, “when things aren’t so complicated.”

  “Anytime.” Something in his voice made me think he really meant it. And I wondered if they still gave you one phone call from jail.

  CHAPTER 20

  My cell phone rang as I stuffed the last of the goodie bags. My mother’s name flashed on the screen, and I considered not picking up. Zach was running circles through the kitchen, his diaper hanging low, a ribbon of orange streamer hanging from the crack of his butt like a tail. Delia and her friends chased after him, ordering him to “sit” and “stay.”

  “Hi, Mom. It’s kind of a bad time.” I wedged the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I poured bags of pretzels and Goldfish crackers into serving bowls. My house was already crawling with kids. I just hoped Vero made it home with the pizzas soon.

  “I won’t keep you. Your father and I are having cocktails on the Promenade Deck at five. I’ve always wanted to say that.” She tittered. My parents were celebrating their fortieth anniversary on a cruise ship somewhere in the Mediterranean. “Let me talk to the birthday girl.”

  I grabbed Delia by the back of the shirt as she scurried by. The doorbell rang. I pressed the phone to my chest and counted heads. All the girls Delia had invited were already here. I’d been expecting Steven nearly an hour ago, but he never bothered to announce himself; he usually just barged in.

  The doorbell rang again. My feet were rooted in place. What if it was the police? What if they came to arrest me during my daughter’s birthday party? Or worse, what if it was Andrei and Feliks?

  “Aren’t you going to answer the door, Mommy?” Delia asked.

  I thrust my cell in her hands. “Here, talk to Grandma. She called to wish you happy birthday.”

  Wiping Goldfish cracker crumbs on my jeans, I crept to the door and peered around the curtain just as the boy on the other side stood on his tiptoes and reached for the bell a third time. Relief washed over me. I threw open the door and flung a hand over the buzzer, my nerves fried. “Hi, Toby. What are you doing here?” Toby’s dad was a friend of Steven’s, but Toby and Delia weren’t close. He hadn’t been on the guest list, which had consisted entirely of girls.

  Toby shrugged. A gift bag dangled from one hand, and he swiped at his snotty nose with the other. He gestured down the street toward his father’s house. “My dad heard Delia was having a party. He dropped me off. He had somewhere to go.” Toby walked under my arm into the foyer. “He said I could eat lunch here.” Toby spent weekends with his dad. And his dad spent most of those weekends stealing time with his new girlfriend, pawning Toby off on his neighbors and friends. I didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

  “The pizza and cake will be here soon. But there are crackers and pretzels in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

  “I’m gluten-intolerant,” he said, dropping Delia’s present on the floor and helping himself to the bag of party favors I’d been stuffing.

  “Of course you are.” I felt a headache coming on. I turned to shut the door and slammed face-first into a brightly colored box. I backed up to make room as Steven carried it into the house, his face obscured by the huge pink bow on top. Theresa followed him, her heels clacking on the hardwood, her outfit decidedly dressy for a five-year-old’s birthday party. “What’s this?” I asked Steven.

  “It’s Delia’s present,” he said, loud enough to draw her attention as he set it on the floor beside Toby’s gift bag. Delia whirled, thrusting my phone at me as she sprinted across the kitchen into his arms. I uttered a quick good-bye to my mother and disconnected. Steven brushed back Delia’s spikes, kissing her forehead before setting her down. My headache sharpened when Delia ran to hug Theresa next.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said, determined to take the higher road, even though he was almost an hour late. It could be worse. He could have chosen not to come at all.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. Theresa looped her arm around Steven’s. She smiled tightly at the balloons and streamers, her disapproving gaze landing everywhere but my face.

  “And thanks for letting us have her party here.” My gratitude stuck in my throat. Having the party here had been Theresa’s idea. The kids technically belonged to Steven on the weekends, but she didn’t dare risk having a horde of feral five-year-olds trash her tidy house, and Steven had balked at the rental fees to have it someplace else. I pasted on a pleasant smile. “Is Aunt Amy coming? Delia was hoping she’d be here.”

  “No,” Theresa said without looking at me. “Amy was busy.”

  “We can’t stay,” Steven said. “We’re having lunch with a developer in Leesburg. We’ll swing by on our way home to pick up Delia and Zach. I just wanted to bring her present. I thought maybe she could open it now before we go.”

  Before I could open my mouth to argue, Steven had wrangled Delia and her friends, assembling an audience in front of the gaudy box that took up the breadth of my foyer. Theresa and I stood awkwardly beside each other in the small envelope of space that was left. She made a show of checking her messages on her phone, her fat diamond engagement ring on full display as she scrolled. We’d exchanged hardly more than a few words since the Panera incident. Unless you counted our testimony in court about the Play-Doh incident a few months ago.

  “Delia sees right through you,” I said. “She’s five, not stupid.”

  Theresa raised an eyebrow. “I guess her powers of perception didn’t come from her mother.”

  “Nice.”

  “If the shoe fits.” She glanced down at my sneakers as if she’d never be caught dead wearing the same ones.

  “You can’t buy Delia’s loyalty.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, examining her nails, “but I can buy her a decent haircut.”

  Theresa hadn’t looked at me once since she’d walked into my house. Maybe it was guilt, but I doubted it. She’d looked me dead in the eyes the day Steven told me he was moving out, hungry to record the precise moment of my emotional demise. She’d practically gloated the day he put that ring on her finger. Shame wasn’t a color that existed in Theresa’s wardrobe. So what was she hiding
now? “Why are you doing this? You don’t even like children.”

  “Because having the children with us will make Steven happy.” Her red lips pressed into a tight, thin line. So that was it. Steven wasn’t happy. And that bothered her, enough to sacrifice her pristine white carpets and her bustling social life. This was the dark mess in her closet, the secret she was hiding from their families and friends.

  “Taking my kids won’t fix your relationship. But why stop with my husband, right?” Theresa shifted on her designer heels. She checked the time on her phone, pretending she hadn’t heard me. “You know, I was willing to let Steven go without a fight, but not my children.”

  “Why don’t you have your attorney call mine. Oh, wait,” she said, thoughtfully tapping a nail to her chin. “I forgot. You don’t have one.”

  The blow hit low. Vero was right. I needed a lawyer who could compete with Guy. An old lawyer. A rich lawyer. I needed a fifty-thousand-dollar lawyer. “I won’t make this easy for you.”

  “You already have.” She whirled on me, her fiery green eyes narrowing on mine. “I don’t like this arrangement any more than you do, Finlay. Who do you think is going to end up mothering your children when you’re not able to do it anymore? If you loved your kids as much as you say you do, maybe you’d be nicer to me.”

  My mouth fell open. Delia squealed as she managed to untangle the bow from the box and tear her gift from the paper. She gasped, the puppy on her wish list all but forgotten. The Barbie Dreamhouse was three stories high, just like Theresa’s town house. “We’ll take it to your room at Theresa’s,” Steven told her, hefting the box. “You can play with it tonight when you get home.”

  Delia chased him to the door, clambering for one last look at it. The small plush dog I’d bought and gift wrapped for her suddenly seemed pathetic, a token of something she wanted that I couldn’t afford. Theresa was right. I had made this easy for them. And if I went to prison, Steven and Theresa were the only parents my children would have left.