by Ingrid Thoft
“Why are you being so fucking mean to me?” Haley whined.
Fina held the phone away from her ear and took a deep breath. Teenagers were the best form of birth control.
“I have to talk to you. Now. The only question is where.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Haley?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll meet you at Pap and Gammy’s house.” The line went dead.
“Ugghh,” Fina groaned, and threw the phone at the couch.
The first thing Fina did when she got to Newton was grab a beer from the refrigerator. She popped off the top and took a long pull. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol and more than the recommended dose of pain relievers, but she imagined the warnings were just suggestions, not rules. Kind of like speed limits.
The maid came into the kitchen when Fina was halfway through her beer and pointed in the direction of the media/family room.
“Señora Elaine in there,” she indicated.
“I don’t want Señora Elaine. I want Señorita Haley.”
“She there, too.”
“Damn it.” Fina didn’t have enough meds on board to deal with Elaine, but she chugged her beer and then walked through the winding hallways to the family room.
It was a sunken room that overlooked the backyard, like Carl’s office. It featured an enormous sectional and a large flat-screen TV. One wall of the room was blanketed by built-in bookcases and shelves, which displayed various pieces of crystal and a smattering of family photos. Elaine and Haley were seated on the couch, their backs to Fina, with a selection of makeup spread out before them on the dark wood coffee table.
“This one is called Perilous,” Haley said, while unscrewing the top of a tube of lip color.
“Ooh. That’s pretty,” Elaine said.
Fina stood in the doorway and glared at the back of her mother’s head. She didn’t know where to start. Breathing was probably a good idea.
“Hi,” she said, and walked around the couch. She took a seat on the other side of the sectional. Haley looked morose, and Elaine’s eyes widened.
“What happened to your face?”
“Huh? Mom, I was in a car accident. Didn’t Dad tell you?”
“He didn’t tell me about that,” she said, pointing at Fina’s eye. She shook her head in what translated to a physical tsk. Fina knew it well.
“I’m fine, in case you were worried.”
Elaine shrugged. “I’m sure you are.”
“I need to talk to Haley.” Elaine didn’t move. “Alone.”
“Anything you need to say to her, you can say in front of me.”
“Right. Please, Mom?”
Elaine glared at Fina.
“It’s okay, Gammy,” Haley said.
Elaine exhaled loudly. “You can show me the rest later,” she said, and stood up from the couch. She scooted past Haley and galumphed up the deep-pile carpeted stairs.
Fina looked at Haley. Haley looked at a silver compact of eye shadow.
“Sorry I was bitchy before,” Fina said. She really wasn’t sorry, but she needed Haley to cooperate; generally, you do catch more flies with honey—unless you have a gun, of course.
“It’s okay. I was kind of bitchy, too.” Haley flopped back into the couch.
“How are you?” Fina asked. “I mean, obviously, you must be worried about your mom.”
Haley nodded slowly, and her features sagged slightly.
“Haley, you can talk to me.”
“What’s there to say?” Her words came out in a rush. “Mom couldn’t be bothered to stick around, and my dad is a douche who doesn’t give a shit.” Fina didn’t respond. The silence in the room was punctured when Haley burst into tears.
“Oh, Haley, he does give a shit,” Fina said, moving next to her on the sofa. “Why do you think I’m working so hard to find your mom? Your dad, Pap, and the rest of us, we’re doing everything we can to figure this out.”
Haley scrunched up her eyes, and her nose ran as tears rolled down her cheeks. Fina dug around in her bag and handed her niece a tissue. She’d been waiting for Haley to show some emotion, but now she felt helpless and inadequate in the face of her misery. Be careful what you wish for.
“I am doing everything I can to find her.”
Haley sniffled. “Fine.”
“And your parents’ stuff has nothing to do with you.”
Haley wiped under her eyes. “Fine. Could we please not talk about this anymore?”
Fina took a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s talk about Brianna.” The abrupt change of subject was the oldest trick in the book—because it worked. Fina felt a twinge of guilt for pushing her niece, but she couldn’t worry too much about hurting her feelings if it kept her from finding Melanie.
Something flickered across Haley’s face. A wave of recognition or surprise, maybe. “Who?” she asked as she fiddled with the strap of her tank top.
“Brianna. And I want the truth.” Fina squeezed her shoulder. “Tell me the truth, Hale. Everybody is lying to me, and it’s starting to make me nuts.”
Haley examined her manicured nails. “How do you know Brianna?” she asked.
“I don’t, not really. We’ve met, and we have some . . . mutual acquaintances.”
“She’s just a friend. We hang out sometimes.”
“How old is she?”
Haley shrugged. “A little older than me, maybe.”
“Where do you guys hang out?”
“Just . . . you know . . . places. Why are you checking up on me? My mom is the one in trouble.”
“You think she’s in trouble?”
Haley rolled her eyes. “She’s missing, isn’t she? Sounds like trouble to me.”
“So where did you meet Brianna?”
“At Crystal.”
“I suppose there’s no point in my giving you the whole underage lecture.”
Haley snorted. “No point whatsoever.”
“Is she a hooker?”
“Huh?” Haley reached out and grabbed the eye shadow compact. She popped it open and studied the smooth, tiny cushions of color.
“Is Brianna a hooker?” Fina asked again.
“Oh my God, yeah right. That’s likely.” She curled her lip in derision.
Fina shrugged. “I think she is.”
“Well, we all know that you’re paranoid. Not that we don’t still love you,” Haley quipped.
“And Dante Trimonti? You know him from the club?”
“What? That sleazy, Italian Stallion wannabe?”
“That’s the one.”
“Everybody knows who he is, but I don’t ‘know him,’ know him.”
Fina looked down at the collection of makeup on the coffee table. She picked up a tube of lipstick and turned the bottom until a wedge of color emerged from the metal cylinder. “This one’s nice.”
“It’s Cinnamon Fun Bun. It would look good on you. Try it,” Haley urged.
Fina rolled the color over her lips and blotted them together. “Well?”
“You should keep it.”
“Thanks.” Fina capped the lipstick and dropped it into her bag. “Have you ever heard of a company called Zyxco?”
“No,” Haley said as she smeared a line of sparkly blue eye shadow across the back of her hand.
“What about Mode Accessories?”
Haley shook her head and rubbed the shadow off her skin. “Don’t know it.”
“Okay.” Fina reached over and gave her niece a hug. She stood up and walked over to the stairs. “Thanks, Haley. If you think of anything or need anything, call me. Okay?”
Haley turned so that her face was in profile. “I will.”
Fina was still for a moment. From that angle, Haley’s face was her mother’s.
Cristian lived in a mid-rise brick apartment building, a few streets outside of Central Square. In the past ten years or so, the area had evolved from gritty to increasingly gentrified, and Fina wondered if, before too long, he would be priced out of the neighborhood, especially since he was paying for another household—that of his ex-wife and young son, Matteo.
Later that evening, Fina rang the bell next to MENENDEZ and listened for the static of the security system.
“Hello,” he said.
“It’s Fina. Can I come up?”
His answer was the buzz of the front door.
She climbed up to the third floor and found his door ajar. There was a large circular fan oscillating across the living room. Fina could see that the door to the tiny back porch was open, and she walked out to it via the kitchen. Cristian was sitting in a plastic folding chair, his feet propped on the railing, his chest bare, and a beer in his hand.
“Hola, chiquita,” he said.
“Hola.” Fina pulled a chair away from the railing and eased into it.
“How you feeling?” he asked.
“Sore. Cranky.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
She reached over and took a sip of his beer. Across the interior courtyard, there were what looked to be a couple of college students sitting on their little deck, smoking. “I hate heat,” she said. “It’s only May. I want my money back.”
“Must be someone you can sue for the weather.” Cristian grinned at her, took back the beer, and had another drink. “Any news today?”
“Yes. People are liars.”
“That’s news?”
Fina put her feet on the railing and tilted her chair back. “How come you never seem jaded?”
“What’s the point? Lying is part of the human condition. People do it. It doesn’t necessarily make them terrible people.” Cristian shrugged. “Sometimes they can’t help it. Sometimes they do it for the right reasons. You, for instance.”
“Let’s put me aside for a moment. I think we can agree that I’m a special case.” Cristian arched an eyebrow. “I know everyone does it, but it bugs me, and it doesn’t seem to bug you.”
“What are my options? Be perpetually surprised and annoyed when people are meatheads? In that case, I better find a new line of work.”
Cristian sipped his beer, and they sat in comfortable silence for a minute.
“Things the same with Marissa?”
“Yup.” Cristian looked glum.
“Do you think Matteo would like Disney on Ice?”
“Are you kidding? He’d love it.”
“I think I can get some tickets. Then you could be a bona fide Disneyland Dad.”
“Yeah, ’cause that’s how this feels, like the happiest place on earth.”
Fina wiped her brow. The scabs forming on her arm were scratchy against her face. “I need to stand in front of that fan,” she said, and got up.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Cristian said. He stepped past her and put his beer bottle in the kitchen sink. He took her hand, grasped it loosely in his own, and led her down the hall to the bedroom. When he opened the door, a blast of cold air enveloped them.
“Ahh. Bliss,” Fina said, and walked over to the bed. She stretched out on the duvet and closed her eyes. Cristian lay down next to her.
“This feels so good,” Fina said with a sigh. “I don’t even care if we screw around. You just go ahead and do what you need to do.”
“That’s super appealing,” Cristian said. Fina listened to the hum of the AC and tried to ignore the myriad minor complaints from her body. She could feel the weight of Cristian next to her, but he didn’t touch her.
They slept.
Hours later, the phone rang only once before Cristian grabbed it. Cops learn to sleep on the surface, rarely diving down deep into REM sleep.
“Menendez.”
Fina shifted slightly on the bed.
He listened for a moment. “Yup, okay,” he said, and hung up.
“Fina.”
“What?”
“A body washed up near Logan.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
Cristian touched her shoulder. “It’s a woman.”
Fina’s mind jumped to the image of a runway and the flash of panic she always had when landing at Logan: There’s no ground, there’s no ground, there’s no ground.
Fina gave Cristian a head start getting to the crime scene. Showing up with him or shortly after would only give credence to Pitney’s theory about their special relationship. Instead, she jumped into his shower and washed off the layer of dried sweat she’d accumulated during the day.
At two thirty A.M., the humidity had subsided, and Fina rolled down her windows when she started her car. She grabbed her phone and hit the speed dial button that summoned her father.
“Fina?”
“A woman’s body washed up near Logan.”
“Is it her?”
“I don’t know yet, but it doesn’t look good.”
“Are you there?”
“I’m heading there now.” Fina glanced down the alley to her right. A large rat toddled by, sniffing around the base of a dumpster. “If it’s her, Haley shouldn’t find out from the news.”
“I know. Call me when you know more.” The line went dead.
Mass Ave was nearly deserted, but there were more signs of life once she crossed the river. She hopped on Storrow Drive and sped down the winding road. The breeze from the open windows felt good, but nothing could ease the churning of her stomach.
It was a quick trip to the end of Harbor View Drive, and the scene was crawling with people. It took a cast of many to process the death of one. Detectives, police brass, crime scene investigators, medical examiners, district attorneys. And that didn’t even include those indirectly involved: the press, the owner of the property where the body was found, the passersby who had to take an alternate route to work.
Fina pulled over to the side of the road behind a patrol car. There were no signs of news vans yet, but that might change depending upon the identity of the body. A homeless person would just be a “floater,” but someone like Melanie would be a “victim.” A uniformed cop held up his hand to hold her back as she approached the area cordoned off by crime scene tape.
“Crime scene, ma’am.” He was young and as thin and tall as a reed. Fina could break him over her knee like a piece of kindling. And he called her ma’am, the polite notice that you have started the slide down the back of the hill.
“I know. I’m looking for Lieutenant Pitney.”
“Your name?”
“Fina Ludlow.”
The cop turned his back to her and mumbled into the radio affixed to his shoulder. It squawked back.
A few more incomprehensible sentences were exchanged, and then he held up the tape so Fina could duck under it. He directed her to an unmarked police car in the dusty, empty lot where a group of people were congregated. On the way, Fina was met by another officer, who asked her to sign the crime scene log. She scratched her signature and kept walking, trying to get a glimpse of the actual crime scene.
The harbor was about twenty yards away, and reflections from the city lights bobbed and danced like industrial phosphorescence. The lot sloped sharply to the water, but there was no clear path down. Huge boulders created a natural barrier between the water and land. A group of people in dark Windbreakers with various acronyms across their backs were wrestling floodlights into place.
At the car, Pitney was deep in conversation with a cluster of people, including Cristian. She stopped when she saw Fina.
“You’re like a bad penny,” she said, and glared at Cristian. “You just keep turning up.”
“Do you have an ID yet?” Fina asked.
“Nope. Do you want to take a look?” Pitne
y asked, cocking her head to the side. She was wearing leggings and an oversize Red Sox T-shirt. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail near the top of her head. She looked like a cheerleader twenty years past her sell-by date.
“Sure,” Fina said.
Cristian looked at her. He raised his eyebrow almost imperceptibly, and she returned his gaze. She generally didn’t have a problem with bodies. Of course, it was different when it was family, but Fina wasn’t going to lose a game of chicken with the cops.
A few miles away, Connor dipped a spoon into a dish of red velvet bread pudding. Looking at fatty tissue and blocked arteries during his medical training had gone a long way toward curing him of his taste for Southern cuisine. But proximity to his mother and her divine cooking had led to a regression in his eating habits.
Like this.
The color alone was enough to constrict arterial blood flow. The deep brownish-red color of the bread contrasted sharply with the bright white whipped cream that he had generously glopped on top. It was sweet and rich and smooth and creamy.
“You all right, darling?” his mom asked as she padded into the kitchen. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, and she was wearing a floral-patterned silk robe over a matching nightgown. Connor understood organic chemistry, but he still couldn’t understand how his mother’s hair stayed in place all the time.
“Couldn’t sleep. I decided to have a snack.”
Bev reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bowl in which she deposited a generous helping of the bread pudding and topped it with whipped cream. She sat down at the table and adjusted the belt on her robe.
“So, what are you worrying about?” she asked before taking a bite.
“Just the usual.”
“Mmmmm. This is good.”
“You haven’t lost your touch, Mom.”
“No, I have not. I just wish your daddy could eat some of this. I feel a little cruel cooking when he’s in the next room eating through a tube.”
