by Ingrid Thoft
“I always pegged Marissa as the scrapbooking sort.”
“I wish.”
“Did that referral help at all?” Fina had set Cristian up with the meanest divorce lawyer in town.
“Oh yeah. He’s a total prick.”
“That’s terrific. Just what you want in a divorce lawyer. Let me know if you need anything, and in the meantime . . .” She smiled at Cristian. “You’ll keep me in the loop?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Sexual favors or doughnuts, your choice. I’ll keep checking with people on my end.”
Cristian tapped his knuckle against the window. “People like Mark Lamont? You still pal around with him?” Mark was an old friend from high school who made his living in various criminal enterprises. He successfully straddled the legal and illegal worlds, and he’d proven to be an invaluable source of information over the years.
“I don’t pal around with him. We help each other.”
Cristian leaned toward Fina like he was going to share a secret. “He’s dangerous.”
She leaned closer so their foreheads were practically touching. “I know.”
Cristian opened the door and climbed out.
“Don’t be a stranger!” Fina called after him.
He barely made it to the men’s room in time. When he leaned over the toilet, his meager dinner came spilling out. He hadn’t eaten much—half a pulled pork sandwich and a biscuit from the drive-thru, but it all came up with a slightly orange tinge, compliments of the orange juice he’d downed. He stayed doubled over, his palms resting on his knees, careful not to touch anything. The only thing worse than throwing up was throwing up in a filthy bathroom stall, like this one at the Cincinnati Airport. He wiped his face and damp brow with some toilet paper. Maybe he could take a later flight. But doing that would presume he’d actually feel better later.
He needed to get to Boston. He needed to get to a room where he could close the door, lower the blinds, lie down on clean sheets, and forget.
Fina picked up a message from Carl ordering her to get down to the marina where the family kept their boats.
The Ludlows were a powerboat family, just another way they deviated from their more refined peers. Boston and its environs were sailboat country, and real mariners took pride in the cramped quarters and rustic charms of being under wind power. You weren’t supposed to fire up the satellite TV and throw in a load of laundry while cruising out for a whale watch.
Carl’s boats had gotten bigger as his practice became increasingly successful. He loved the material rewards of his work, but he got an even greater thrill from screwing the powers that be. He’d stumbled into medical malpractice and personal injury because of his daughter Josie’s death—a strep misdiagnosis had led to massive organ failure and changed the course of the Ludlows’ life—and it suited Carl to a tee. Every case was an opportunity for revenge, and you couldn’t put a price on that.
Unlike Carl, Elaine had no interest in the water, so it was a way for Fina to have some family time with less drama. Her brothers started buying their own boats once they had the houses and fancy cars covered, and all of them were docked at the Boston Harborfront Marina across from Quincy Market.
Fina walked down the ramp leading to the slips and stopped at the stern of Rand’s boat, Guilty Pleasure.
“Your father send you down, Ms. Ludlow?” It was Bob, the dockmaster. He’d been at the marina as long as Fina could remember and looked like Burt Dow, deep-water man, from the children’s book. As far as Fina could tell, he’d been born seventy-five years old.
“Yeah, but he didn’t give me any details.”
“There were a couple of cops here earlier.”
“What did they want?”
“Wanted to know when Mr. Ludlow, Rand, was last on his boat, and if I’d seen anything unusual.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Said he was here a few days ago with the usual gear, some duffel bags and a cooler.”
“Did they go on the boat?”
“Told them they’d need a warrant for that.”
“My family’s rubbing off on you,” Fina said, and pulled two twenties out of her wallet. She folded them up and slipped them into Bob’s hand. “If you see anyone else hanging around, give me a call.” She held out her card between two fingers.
“Will do.” Bob pocketed the card and started walking toward his office.
“And Bob? If anyone asks, I was here getting a sweatshirt that I left on my dad’s boat.”
Bob smiled.
Fina climbed onto the dive platform of Rand’s boat. She found the key wedged between some life jackets under one of the seats in the stern and let herself into the cabin. She looked around the main space that housed the living room, dining area, and inside bridge, but nothing looked out of place. Downstairs, the beds in the staterooms were tightly made, and the bathrooms were spotless. Two duffel bags full of towels and sweatshirts sat on one of the beds, but Fina didn’t see the cooler anywhere.
Back upstairs, she locked the cabin behind her and climbed the narrow stairs to the flybridge. The heavy canvas-and-plastic cover was snugly snapped in place, trapping the warm May sun. Downstairs, Fina edged between the cabin and the side railing and made her way to the bow. A slight breeze stirred her hair, and as she looked down toward the ripples on the water’s surface, something caught her eye. Next to one of the cleats there was a small smear. Fina knelt down and looked closer.
Fuck.
She was unlocking her car when the cavalry arrived. Cristian and another cop got out of an unmarked Crown Victoria, and a second unmarked sedan arrived thirty seconds later. Cristian slammed his door and raised an eyebrow in the direction of the second car.
A short woman with frizzy, curly red hair got out of the passenger’s seat and strode toward Fina.
“Fina,” she said. “What’re you doing at my crime scene, woman?”
Lieutenant Marcy Pitney stopped next to Fina and pulled a pack of gum out of her purse. It was Fruit Stripe gum with the colorful zebra on the pack. She unwrapped two brightly striped pieces and popped them into her mouth.
“Don’t you need a crime for a crime scene?” Fina asked.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a crime.” Pitney smiled. “And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Actually, I would have been happy with any of the Ludlow men, but Rand’s always been my least favorite.”
“Not that you’ve rushed to judgment or anything.”
“Of course not. I may be enthusiastic, but I follow the law.” She was wearing an orange pantsuit that made her look like a habanero. Her boobs formed a shelf, and Fina wondered if she had to dig crumbs out of the chasm at the end of the day.
Fina didn’t say anything. Carl had taught his kids that the worst clients were the ones who couldn’t keep their mouths closed. When in the presence of the cops, shut up, shut up, shut up.
Pitney folded the gum wrappers and tucked them into her pocket. She looked at Fina and beamed. “I’m not going to have any trouble with you, right?”
“No more than you usually do, Lieutenant.”
“And I know that you and Menendez have a special relationship, but there’d better not be any pillow talk,” Pitney said, gesturing toward Cristian, who was talking to Bob outside the dockmaster’s office. She leaned toward Fina. “Believe me, I get it. He’s smoking hot.”
“Isn’t that sexual harassment?”
Pitney threw back her head and laughed. “Probably. I’m sure you can recommend a good attorney if he wants to sue.”
Fina hightailed it over to Ludlow and Associates and paced outside her brother Scotty’s office. Boisterous laughter was emanating from the room, and after a few minutes, four men exited the office, each looking identical to the one before.
“Come on in,” Scotty said to Fina. “Mic
helle, can you tell everybody that we’re ready?” he asked his assistant.
Scotty’s office had the usual accoutrements of a successful litigator—glass desk, leather sofa, flat-screen TV, private bathroom—but it also boasted more personal touches, like a pinball machine. The lights on the Magic Genie were flashing, but the sound had been muted.
Scotty gave Fina a kiss on the cheek and directed her to the couch and chairs clustered around a coffee table. She sat down, leaned back against the couch cushions, put her feet up on the table, and looked at him. All of Fina’s brothers were handsome, and each of them looked slightly different from the others, like variations on a theme. Scotty was about five feet ten, with thick hair that was straighter and lighter than Rand’s. He had a broad smile that lit up his face and a goofy laugh that Fina never tired of hearing. He looked like a brighter, happier version of Rand. And whereas Rand looked a couple of years older than his forty-three years, Scotty could easily pass for a couple of years younger than thirty-nine.
“What’s up?” Scotty asked.
“I’d rather wait until everyone is here.”
“Fine.” He tossed a legal pad onto the coffee table and took a long drink from a mug. “You going to the Sox game on Wednesday?”
Fina stared at him. “You know, that kind of depends on whether or not our sister-in-law is still missing.”
Scotty looked sheepish. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but the kids are excited, and I want to keep things as normal as possible for them.”
Fina pulled out her phone and made a quick call to Mark Lamont. When the standard investigative channels don’t net results, you have to dig deeper into the swamp of questionable activity. A lunch meeting with Mark was a good entrée to that world.
Carl walked into the room and took a seat behind Scotty’s desk. Any office that Carl strode into was his. He was followed by Rand and Fina’s other lawyer brother, Matthew. He looked like Rand and Scotty, but he was the most handsome of the Ludlow brothers. His wavy hair was a deep brown color, and when he smiled, a dimple emerged on his right cheek. At the age of thirty-six, he still looked boyish, and people sometimes thought he was younger than thirty-four-year-old Fina. This misperception never failed to annoy her.
Scotty grabbed a baseball off a credenza and began to toss it into the air. Matthew sat down on the couch next to Fina, and Rand leaned against the corner of the desk.
“Talk, Fina,” Carl instructed.
“I haven’t found any trace of Melanie, but the cops are at the marina executing a search warrant on Guilty Pleasure.” None of the men looked surprised. “I had a quick look around before they showed up, and a couple of things are off.”
Carl sat forward and laced his fingers together on the desktop.
Fina looked at Rand. “Where’s the cooler that Bob saw you bring on the boat the other day? I searched the boat and didn’t see it anywhere.”
“I didn’t leave it on the boat.”
“Where is it?”
Rand shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“You have no idea? What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t know its current whereabouts.”
Fina gave her father a pleading look.
“Rand, cut the shit,” Carl said.
“It was old and smelly, so I left it outside Bob’s office. I figured someone would want it.”
“So you brought a large cooler to the boat, but now you can’t produce it?” Fina asked.
“Asked and answered,” Scotty offered.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist over a cooler, Fina,” Rand said.
“And the blood on the bow? How did that get there?”
To the average observer, the Ludlow men had no reaction, but Fina saw each register surprise in his own way. Scotty paused before tossing the ball into the air, Rand adjusted his butt against the desk, Matthew stole a glance at Carl, and Carl tugged on his shirt cuff.
“Are you sure it’s blood?” Carl asked.
“It’s blood. Not a lot, but it’s there.”
“Melanie cut her foot the last time we were out. She caught it on the cleat,” Rand said.
“Did she see a doctor?” Matthew asked.
“No, it was a small cut.”
Carl tapped his fingers on the desktop. “So what theory do we think the police are gonna concoct? That Rand carried Melanie onto the boat in the cooler, and when he dumped her, he left a bloodstain on deck?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Scotty said. “If he threw her over in the cooler, why would there be blood on deck? Wouldn’t it be contained in the cooler?”
“Unless some dripped out. Maybe the seal wasn’t airtight,” Matthew said.
“For Christ’s sake!” Fina exclaimed. “We’re talking about Melanie.” Her family’s ability to effectively sort through disturbing information was an asset in their work, but Fina found it discomfiting when the issue at hand was more personal.
“And I didn’t kill her,” Rand chimed in.
“Of course you didn’t kill her,” Carl said. “We don’t even know if she’s dead. We’re just covering all the angles.” Carl stared into space for a minute. His children knew better than to disturb him. “Scotty, get over to Rand’s house. They’re probably executing a warrant as we speak. Matthew, call your contact at Channel Seven. I want Rand on the news tonight making an appeal. We’ve got to get ahead of this thing. Rand, you better talk to Dudley Prentiss, make him earn his fee. And you”—he pointed at Fina—“stick around.”
The brothers filed out of the office and closed the door behind them.
Fina got off the couch and sat in one of the chairs across the desk from her father.
“This could all be cleared up real easy if you would find Melanie,” Carl said.
“Yeah, I know, but like I’ve told you, she’s off the radar. She hasn’t accessed any of their joint accounts or used her Fast Lane transponder, and we can’t get the records for her personal accounts without a court order. So far, no money, no Melanie.”
“Whatever happens, I don’t want this coming back to us. So from now on, update me before your brothers.”
“Before Rand?”
“Especially before Rand.”
“She’s his wife.”
“Is it so hard for you to do what I say?” Carl asked.
Fina ignored the question, just as she would probably ignore the directive. “Does Mom know what’s going on?”
“She knows what she needs to know.”
Fina stood and walked toward the door. “You know I don’t have a problem breaking most laws, but if Rand did something to Melanie—”
“If Rand did something to Melanie—and that’s a big if—our job is to support him.”
In other families, support meant bringing a dish to Thanksgiving.
In the Ludlow family, it could mean all kinds of things.
The next morning Fina rolled out of bed, showered, ate a cold Pop-Tart, and perused the floor. She was blessed in the looks department, and she tried to make the most of it, particularly when meeting with certain contacts, like Mark Lamont. She opted for a snug T-shirt, jeans that made her ass look glorious but covered her business, and wedge sandals with three-inch heels. She took special care with her makeup—more than just the usual mascara and lip gloss—and studied her reflection. Carl and Elaine were both attractive and had passed good looks on to all their offspring. Fina had her mother’s high cheekbones and her father’s wide mouth and ample lips. Taken individually, Fina’s features were imperfect, but together, they melded into a unique, beautiful face. Her skin was clear, and there was a faint smattering of freckles that emerged after time spent in the sun. The freckles, and the possibility of eventually looking like a saddlebag with eyes, prompted Fina’s regular sunscreen use. She was also blessed with a great figure and the metabolism of a hu
mmingbird. Fina knew she was lucky, but hey, her family was nuts; she deserved a consolation prize in the genetic lottery.
After working the phones for a few hours, Fina dropped her car with the valet at the Liberty Hotel rather than hoofing it from a nearby parking garage. The hotel was a former Boston city jail, which combined the original building with a new wing built for relaxation, not penance. She stepped onto the escalator and took a moment to appreciate Mark’s choice of location, an overt “fuck you” to everyone who thought he belonged in jail, which, quite honestly, he did. The escalator carried her up to the lobby with its soaring ceiling and enormous wrought-iron chandeliers. The brick walls of the original jail contrasted with the modern reception desk and conversation clusters of leather furniture. Metal catwalks circled the walls, and former cells had been incorporated into the lobby-level restaurant.
Mark was easy to find; he exuded wealth and power, which may have been a function of the bodyguards who always lingered nearby or the impeccable tailoring of his suits. He was sitting on a black leather couch in the corner, and a waitress was leaning over him. Fina approached him and was swiftly met by the chest of one of his guards. Mark waved him aside, and she took a seat in the chair next to him.
“Have you eaten, Fina? The skirt steak is out of this world.”
“Just water, thanks,” she told the waitress, who was poured into a skintight black dress.
Mark leaned over and kissed Fina on the cheek. “You look gorgeous, as always.”
Unlike Fina, Mark wasn’t improving with age. He’d gained weight since she’d last seen him a couple of months before, and his hairline was receding. The sorta cute guy from high school was quickly becoming a distant memory. Mark was Scotty’s age and was part of a clot of boys who frequented the Ludlow household during high school. Carl was always working, and Elaine was always oblivious, which made their home the ideal spot for teenagers looking for trouble. Like Risa, Mark had stayed in touch over the years, and just as the Ludlows’ wealth and power increased, so had his. Mark’s relationship to the law, however, was more fluid than the Ludlows’.
