Loyalty

by Ingrid Thoft

  Pitney strode over to the desk and leaned on it with both hands. “The only thing this proves is that Melanie was seen after she left Grahamson, not that she and Rand didn’t meet up later.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Matthew said. “You can’t prove a negative, and you don’t even have a body.” He, Rand, and Scotty moved toward Carl, and the two cops crowded around Pitney. Fina took a step back, away from the scrum.

  “What was your wife doing in Cambridge, Rand?” Pitney asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “So she doesn’t frequent that neighborhood?”

  “I can’t speak for Melanie.”

  “Of course you can’t.” She studied him. “You told us that your wife doesn’t smoke.”

  “So?”

  “So who was she buying cigarettes for?”

  Rand studied a painting on the wall. “I have no idea.”

  Pitney reached up and fingered a curl. “Maybe she got them for herself. A lot of people fall off the wagon when they’re stressed.”

  Rand thrust his hands into his pockets. “I have no idea.”

  “What did you and your wife fight about at Grahamson?”

  “He already told you,” Carl offered before Rand could answer. “It was a disagreement regarding which approach to take with the school. Rand wanted the teacher fired, and Melanie wanted disciplinary action taken.”

  “Right. I’ve spoken with the school, and they confirmed that the meeting was about your daughter’s poor performance in math. You wanted a teacher fired because your daughter doesn’t do her homework?” Lieutenant Pitney looked at the other cops. “Shit. When I flunked a test in school, my parents grounded me for a week.” The men smirked.

  “So you have confirmation from the school that Rand is telling the truth,” Carl said.

  “I have confirmation from the school about the subject of the meeting. However, during the meeting, your wife was distracted, upset, and not the least bit interested in discussing math scores—so say the headmistress, school psychologist, math teacher, and chair of the math department.” Pitney looked at Rand and shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to have all of them fired, too. Being a pain in the ass is a full-time job.”

  Carl stood up from behind his desk. “Here are the facts: Melanie and Rand had an argument, after which Melanie went to Cambridge and bought a bottle of water and cigarettes. A purchase she made when she was irrefutably alive. This meeting is over.” He picked up his phone and began to dial.

  The lieutenant reached over and depressed the disconnect button with a coral-painted fingernail. “Your son and his wife had a terrible fight, not about Haley’s math test. Melanie was seen crying in the parking lot and left hell-bent for leather after canceling dinner with her closest friend. Soon after, she was seen buying cigarettes in Cambridge, in a neighborhood she doesn’t frequent. She was upset enough to take up a habit that her own husband claims she quit years ago.”

  Pitney and her men walked to the door, but she turned before leaving. “You know, I would love this cat-and-mouse game we have going, except for the fact that an innocent woman is missing.”

  Connor took a deep breath and helped the visiting nurse roll Chester onto his side. His mother had assured him that the nurse could manage on her own, but it seemed cowardly to step out of the room when his father was most vulnerable.

  The nurse used quick, efficient motions to change the sheets, and Connor was reminded of his days as a med student. That was the last time he had assisted a patient like this. He didn’t miss it. Connor generally liked the nurses he worked with and didn’t envy them the bedpans and sponge baths.

  But he didn’t like this nurse.

  “There he is,” she cooed as they lowered him back onto the clean sheets. “Why don’t I make him snug as a bug in a rug?”

  Connor had spent a few shifts listening to Nurse Randall alternately treat his father like a toddler or an elderly Helen Keller. She was getting on his last nerve, as his mother would say.

  “It’s almost time for your medicine,” she said directly into Chester’s ear. “Won’t that be good, to have your medicine?”

  “Nurse Randall? May I speak to you in the kitchen, please?” Connor asked.

  “Of course. We’ll be right back, Chester.” She followed Connor into the kitchen. He stood with his back to the counter, his hands gripping the edge.

  “Nurse Randall, my father is infirm, but he’s not retarded. Please don’t speak to him like that.”

  The nurse’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

  Connor gripped the counter harder. “Like he’s an infant. Don’t patronize him.”

  Nurse Randall took a step back and raised her hands. “I’m sorry if you don’t like the care I provide, Mr. Duprey, but—”

  “That’s another thing: He’s Mr. Duprey, and I’m Dr. Duprey.”

  “Oh?” The nurse raised her eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t a doctor anymore.”

  He stared at her, wishing he could slap the smug look off her face. “I am and will always be a doctor. If you don’t feel you can meet the standards of care required by my father, I’m sure we can find another nurse who can.”

  Nurse Randall broke eye contact with him. Connor knew that his father qualified as an easy patient—no special instructions or abusive outbursts. Nurse Randall would be foolish to lose this gig.

  “Of course, Doctor. Whatever you say.” She retreated from the kitchen, and Connor heard the volume of the TV rise a few notches.

  He turned on the faucet and filled a glass with cold water. He drank it down in a few large gulps and refilled it before sitting down at the kitchen table. The window overlooked the small garden in the back of the building, which the couple on the second floor had transformed into their personal Eden. A small table and chairs claimed the middle of the slate patio, but every other inch was covered by flowers and bushes. Connor imagined the space would be an explosion of color in another month.

  Was he still a doctor? They couldn’t take away his training. You didn’t just unlearn the lunate and triquetral. He wouldn’t easily forget the difference between a tricuspid atresia and truncus arteriosus. But without a license, what did it matter? And yes, he might get it back someday, but there was no time frame for restoring his reputation. He’d believed—foolishly, it turned out—that virtue and sense would prevail in the end. He’d believed that the system would do the right thing.

  He was a fool. A smart, well-educated fool.

  Fina sat in her car watching the unmarked police cruiser across the street. Two men walked over to it and climbed in. She didn’t recognize them, but she was sure they were on the job; dark blue Crown Victoria, ill-fitting suits, and coffee cups in hand.

  She slid down in her seat and kept an eye on them while eyeballing the buildings at Broadway and Elm. There was the 7-Eleven, a gas station, a Chinese restaurant, and a job training center. Each business anchored a row of large Victorian houses, most of which were probably broken up into apartments and offices. Her phone rang.

  “Do you know what Melanie was doing in Cambridge?” Cristian asked.

  “Beats the hell out of me. I was going to ask you the same thing,” Fina said.

  “Why do I have a feeling you’re in Cambridge right now?”

  Fina watched as the Crown Victoria pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.

  “I can’t talk now. I’ll call you later,” Fina said, and hung up before Cristian could respond.

  The next hour of canvassing was like a greatest hits tour for the worried well. Yoga, Pilates, massage, energy healing, and Rolfing specialists occupied space next to an optometrist, nutritionist, and a variety of MDs. You could have your aura checked, get your spine realigned, and have a colonoscopy, all without moving your car.

  The first floor of a light blue Victorian with white shutters was devoted to
a women’s health clinic, and Fina wondered if Melanie’s distress could be related. Was she pregnant? Was she having an affair? Rand and Melanie had planned on having more children, but were plagued by secondary infertility. Melanie had tried every imaginable procedure in a quest to get pregnant, a quest that always struck Fina as masochistic and slightly indulgent. Adoption was never seriously considered; Melanie and Rand weren’t secure enough to raise a child that didn’t look like them. They were more interested in reproducing than parenting. But if Melanie were pregnant, could Rand really be the father, given their reproductive history?

  Ideally, Fina would walk into the clinic and ask if Melanie was a patient, but that approach rarely worked in medical settings, particularly women’s health centers. Fina didn’t like having to work harder to get information, but she respected this particular obstacle. She didn’t want to make it any easier for pro-lifers to harass patients. She’d have to find a more discreet way to get answers.

  The next building was painted a bright yellow, and the tenant listing in the foyer indicated that its occupants were therapists of one kind or another. Fina could tell from the alphabet soup that there were psychologists, social workers, and medical doctors, who she assumed were psychiatrists. As far as she knew, Melanie didn’t see a shrink. Carl was biased against therapists; he thought patient confidentiality was a farce, and he didn’t think you should air your problems outside of the family. Right. Because the Ludlows were a wellspring of insight.

  Fina studied the list of tenants and doubled back to one that caught her eye. Dr. Gerald Murray. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She walked back to her car and called Scotty.

  “Do you know a guy named Gerald Murray?” she asked when he got on the line.

  “Gerry Murray?”

  “I guess. He’s a doctor.”

  “He belongs to the club. We’ve played golf a couple of times.”

  “Does Patty know him?”

  “Sure. We’re friendly acquaintances. We’ve had lunch on the patio with him and his wife.”

  “What about Rand and Melanie?”

  “Same as us. A couple rounds of golf and a few lunches. Why?”

  “What kind of doctor is he?”

  “Just leave them over there,” Scotty said to someone else in the room. “Sorry, um, he’s a shrink. What does this have to do with Melanie?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know.”

  “Does it have something to do with the video?”

  “Maybe. Bye.” Fina hung up.

  Risa’s house was a three-story Victorian in Newton with a deep front porch. It was enormous, but obviously not big enough for her family of five; a large addition mirroring the Victorian style had been added to the side of the house. Unlike the Victorians Fina had just seen in Cambridge, Risa’s was decked out with all the elaborate gingerbread house painting that made it visually stunning and probably cost a fortune to maintain. There was no faded glory when it came to this building.

  Risa’s twelve-year-old answered the door and let Fina in after shouting her identity to his mom. Fina walked through the wide hallways to the back of the house and the kitchen, which had obviously been remodeled. It opened up to a family room and eating area complete with recessed lighting and ceiling speakers. The kitchen itself had a large granite island and a six-burner stove with an elaborate backsplash of earth-toned tiles. The walls were painted a light mossy green color, and the cabinets were white clapboard. The whole effect was New England meets Tuscany.

  Risa was sitting on a stool at the counter facing the family room. She was sipping a glass of wine and flipping through a catalog.

  “What are you making? That smells amazing,” Fina said.

  “Italian seafood stew,” Risa said, and looked at her. “Chicken liver crostini and a white peach tart.”

  “Wow.”

  Risa took another sip of wine. “I cook when I’m stressed.”

  Fina nodded.

  “Do you want some?” Risa asked and held up her glass.

  “Actually, I would love some.”

  Risa slid off the stool and got a glass from an upper cabinet. She poured a generous amount of red wine into the goblet and handed it to Fina. Risa and the Ludlows were sewn into the tapestry of one another’s lives due to proximity and history, but Fina genuinely liked Risa; she was smart and principled, but she didn’t take herself too seriously. She was the rare childhood friend whom you actually wanted to know as an adult.

  Fina took a sip. She didn’t know anything about wine, except that this one felt rich and thick on her tongue.

  “I have a couple of questions to ask you.”

  Risa sighed. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s kind of delicate.”

  Risa snorted. “Fina, delicate is not a word I would ever associate with your family. If asking me a question will help find Melanie, then go ahead.”

  “Is there any chance Melanie was having an affair?”

  Risa stopped her glass midway to her mouth. “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m her best friend. I would know.”

  “So there was no one she was interested in, flirting with, anything like that?”

  A timer went off and Risa went to the stove and took the top off of a heavy Dutch oven. Steam and a delicious aroma wafted across the kitchen.

  “I know you’re a smart girl, but I don’t think you see the whole picture when it comes to your family,” Risa said.

  Fina put down her wineglass. It was exhausting, straddling the line between the Ludlows and the rest of the world. “Actually, I think I see a lot more than people give me credit for.”

  Risa dipped a wooden spoon into the pot and stirred it slowly. “So why on earth do you think any woman would cheat on one of your brothers?”

  “Because they can be asses. Rand, especially. I thought we agreed on that point. And because people cheat.”

  “Anyone who crosses your family ends up crucified. The wives would be crazy if they thought they were exempt.” She replaced the top on the pot and reached into the refrigerator for a wedge of brie. Risa put the cheese, a box of crackers, and a knife on a small wooden cutting board and set it down in front of Fina.

  “If Melanie cheated on Rand she would lose everything,” Risa said.

  “Or she could take him to the cleaners.”

  Risa shook her head. “People don’t want to mess with your family. Even if Melanie wanted another relationship, she never would have risked it.”

  “Because of the money? I’m sure she could find a sugar daddy someplace.”

  “Because of the money, and her friends, and Haley.” Risa peered at her. “Your father and brothers would systematically dismantle her life. Stop being so naïve.”

  Fina topped a cracker with a slice of brie and chewed it slowly. “I know they’re vultures, at least at work, but they’re not always like that.” Risa raised an eyebrow. “And anyway, I just can’t imagine Melanie not leaving because of that.”

  “Of course you can’t. You’re a Ludlow. Nobody scares you.” Risa poured herself more wine. “Are you still convinced that Rand had nothing to do with Melanie’s disappearance?”

  Fina took a sip. “I haven’t found any evidence to suggest that he did.”

  Risa shook her head slowly. Fina swallowed the rest of her wine and brought her glass to the sink.

  “Is there any chance Melanie was pregnant?”

  Risa rolled her eyes. “We’re getting a little old for that.”

  “Not too old, though. Could she have been?”

  “Nothing would have made her happier. I don’t think she could have kept it a secret from me or anyone else though. I sincerely doubt she was pregnant.” She looked at Fina. “Do you think she was?”

  “Not really, but I thought I should ask.
You know, no stone unturned.”

  “She always wanted more, but the idea of a newborn? Kill me now.”

  Fina snorted and stood up. “Thanks for talking to me, Risa. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  “You better,” Risa said, and gave her a pained smile.

  Fina let herself out.

  On the front lawn, Fina skirted around Risa’s son and his friends, who were engaged in a spirited game of soccer. She climbed into her car and closed the door firmly against their raucous cries.

  Bev chose an upscale Italian restaurant in a suburb half an hour out of the city for the meeting. She didn’t want to risk bumping into any acquaintances in the company of the two young ladies.

  They were seated in a large booth at the back of the dining room with Bev facing the room and the girls facing her.

  “I’m so glad you could join me,” she purred in her Southern accent. Some people were annoyed by her honeyed tones, but young people and men were generally charmed. “I’ve heard such good things about the two of you.”

  The brunette was about twenty, with long, flowing hair and a knockout body. The blonde was younger, but Bev was sure with the right clothes and makeup, she could be aged a few years. She wasn’t a bombshell, like the brunette, but she was pretty and curvy and fresh-faced.

  “It’s an honor, ma’am. I appreciate the invitation,” the brunette said.

  “Me too,” added the blonde. Her gaze wavered between the two women. She was less confident about how to interact with Bev. Normally, Bev would find this annoying, but she would put up with it in service of her larger goal.

  They were served a round of lemonade and made selections from the menu. Bev chose the fish, and the two girls opted for salads. Good. Bev had heard that some men liked a girl with a big appetite, but that hadn’t been her experience. There was nothing alluring about watching a date slurp up a plate of spaghetti or gnaw at a rack of ribs before getting intimate.

  “I wanted to talk to you about a new opportunity. I know that both of you have been working for the firm in a limited administrative capacity, but I think it’s time to change that. You’re both ready for additional responsibility.”