by Ingrid Thoft
“Look, how about I talk to Bob and see if we can work something out,” Mark said as he studied the check. He rocked forward and pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. He thumbed through some bills and put a crisp twenty on the table.
“That would be terrific. Thanks.” Fina got up, and Mark followed her out to the parking lot.
“Any news on a funeral?” Mark asked as they stood next to Fina’s car.
“Depends on when they release the body. I’ll let you know.”
“Give Rand my condolences. And the rest of the family.”
“Will do. Thanks, Mark.”
Fina pulled out of the diner parking lot and nosed into the morning traffic. She’d give Mark a little time to work on Bob Webber, but eventually, she’d take matters into her own hands. When it came to Mark versus her brother, there was no contest.
There were news trucks outside Rand’s house, and local cops were parked at either end of the street. Fina identified herself and was waved through. It was cooler than the day before, but still, and she could hear the drone of a lawnmower somewhere down the street.
The front door was locked. Fina rang the bell and waited for a minute until there were muffled noises inside, and the door was pulled open.
“Risa?” Fina asked.
Risa hugged her and then pulled Fina through the door and closed it behind her.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Fina said.
Risa shook her head and smoothed her hands down the front of her white button-down shirt. She was wearing jeans and gold flats. “I’m here for Haley. And Elaine.”
“Why does Elaine need you?” Fina asked, peering down the hall.
“She’s devastated, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Elaine got a lot of power and attention standing in Carl’s spotlight, but oftentimes she resented his presence there. She took advantage of any opportunity to shine the spotlight on herself. No matter what was actually happening, it was happening to Elaine.
“How are you?” Fina asked.
“I’m . . . I’m numb. I can’t believe this is really happening.”
“I know.”
“I guess there was a part of me that still believed she was going to show up. I’d yell at her for worrying me, but then we’d get over it and things would just go back to normal.”
Fina nodded. One benefit of her job was that she never expected things to end well, and she was rarely disappointed in that regard. “How’s Haley?”
Risa shook her head. “Oh, Fina. It was awful. She was so upset. She cried so hard she threw up. And she won’t talk to anyone.”
“This is a fucking nightmare.”
Risa nodded and brushed a tear off her cheek.
“Is that Fina?” Elaine appeared in the hallway.
“Yes, Mom. It’s me.”
“Fina.” She barreled toward the front door and grasped Fina in a tight hug. Elaine made sniffling noises. “It’s just so terrible.”
“It is.” Fina patted her mother’s back, more for Risa’s benefit than Elaine’s. She didn’t want to appear as cold as she actually felt.
Elaine released Fina and stepped back. “Oh, Fina. If only you’d found her, none of this would be happening.”
Fina made a show of looking at her watch. “That’s quick. Even for you.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying, and I don’t want to hear it. Where’s Haley?”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Elaine stepped back and drew herself up.
“I need to talk to Haley. Can we agree that Haley is the most important thing right now?” Fina implored her mother. “Seriously, Mom.”
“Of course,” Elaine said. “Of course Haley is most important.”
“Good. And I need to talk to Rand. If you think things are bad now, just wait ’til Rand gets arrested.” Fina glanced at Risa. “Not that he deserves to, but it’s quite possible.”
“Arrested for what?” Elaine asked.
“Is she upstairs?” Fina asked Risa.
Risa nodded. “In her room.”
“I’ll be back.” Fina trotted up the stairs two at a time and walked down the hallway to Haley’s room. The door was pulled closed, so she knocked softly. There was no response; Fina slowly turned the handle and opened the door.
All of the shades were drawn, and the hum of the central AC made the room feel like a cool cave. Fina crept forward a few steps and peered down at the bed. Haley was curled up in a ball in a nest of pillows and blankets. She was wearing her usual uniform of a tank top and sweat shorts, and her hair was gathered back in a scrunchie. A few strands had escaped and were plastered to her forehead and cheek. She inhaled deeply and snorted softly as Fina studied her. Mr. Tux, a worn stuffed penguin, was in her arms. Melanie had bought it for her at the aquarium when she was a baby, and it had been well loved over the years.
Fina stared at her, and reality began to sink in.
Haley’s mother was never coming back.
Rand was sitting outside at a table next to the pool. There was a plate of untouched eggs and bacon in front of him, and a half-empty coffee cup.
“Hey,” Fina said.
“Hey.” Rand stared at the pool. An automated vacuum was creeping across the bottom, presumably sucking up microscopic invaders.
Fina gestured toward his plate. “That looks pretty gross.” The scrambled eggs were grayish and curdled, and the bacon was sitting in a small pool of grease.
“Mom made it.”
“Ah. Next time, go with Risa. She’s an amazing cook.”
“Right. ’Cause that wouldn’t piss Mom off.”
Fina leaned back in the webbed chair. “Isn’t it amazing? Everything else that’s going on, and you’re worried about pissing off Mom.”
Rand shrugged. “It’s just not worth the headache.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m hanging in there.”
Fina planted the chair back on the patio and put her elbows on the table. “Dad told me about the thing with the prostitute.”
Rand’s shoulders drooped. “Why the hell did he do that?”
“So I can do something about it. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. You guys should have told me as soon as Melanie went missing.”
“The two things have nothing to do with each other.”
“Right.” Fina studied the backyard. It was early in the season, and when the rosebushes bloomed there would be an explosion of color that Melanie would never see. “Why don’t you let me be the judge? Tell me about the escort service.”
Rand took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Even her coffee is toxic.” He put the cup back down. “What do you want to know?”
Fina sighed. “Everything.”
“All I do is call the number and put in my request. That’s it. Nothing else to tell.”
Fina swallowed hard at the mention of his “request.” These were women, after all, not pizza toppings. “I know this is a terrible time, Rand, but my patience is wearing thin. I need names, numbers, locations. Please don’t make me drag it out of you.”
Rand sneered at her. “I certainly don’t want to make your life difficult,” he said sarcastically.
Fina slapped her hand on the table. “Rand! Stop being a fucking moron! I’m trying to save your ass.”
“Right. Everyone always has to save Rand.”
“Oh, here we go again. Here’s an idea: If you don’t want people saving you, stop fucking up.” Fina looked at the pool. The vacuum was stuck in a corner of the deep end, running over the same small patch of tile over and over again. “Maybe I should just wash my hands of this and let you figure it out on your own.”
Rand barked out a laugh. “And disappoint Dad? Two daughters who don
’t live up to his expectations?”
Fina gaped at him. “I don’t think dying as a toddler translates to falling short of expectations. I seriously don’t think Dad sees it that way.”
Rand waved his hand in the air. “You know what I mean. Disappointing him. You’re not going to defy or disappoint him. That’s never going to happen.”
Fina was silent for a moment. “You’re right. It probably isn’t going to happen in this case, but not because of Dad. Haley’s lost one parent. She doesn’t need to lose the other. Although, sometimes, I have to wonder about your fitness as a parent.”
Rand reached across the table and grabbed Fina’s wrist. “Don’t you ever question me that way.” He glared at her, but released her hand after a moment.
Fina massaged her wrist. “I’m going to let that go since you’re grief-stricken, but do it again and I will kick your ass. Or shoot you.” She stood up. “I’ll expect the details on your extracurricular activities by the end of the day.” She started to leave the patio, but turned back toward Rand instead. “And a word to the wise: You might want to keep your temper in check. Pitney would be ecstatic if she got a glimpse of that.”
Fina followed the slate path that wended its way around the side of the house and climbed the stairs to the front yard.
Some days, being an orphan had great appeal.
Normally, Fina didn’t succumb to the pressures of a case. She was methodical, thought out every move, and made careful decisions, but Melanie’s case was different. The family connection was fraying her nerves, and she found her thoughts ping-ponging around from one lead to another. She needed to regroup and make a plan.
She hadn’t had a real meal in hours, so she pulled off Route 9 and into Kelly’s parking lot. Inside, the excessive air-conditioning and garishly painted walls created an alternate reality. No matter what was going on outside, it was cool and cheerful inside.
Fina gave her order to the ponytailed teenager behind the counter and dropped into a booth to wait. She retrieved her food when her name was called and then sat back down and worked her way through a lobster roll, French fries, a side of fried clams, and a diet soda. It was enough fat and calories to sustain a sports team, but when she looked down at the collection of balled-up napkins on her plate, she felt calmer than she had in days.
Now.
A plan.
She couldn’t wait around for Hal to do more digging on Mode Accessories. She’d have to do some digging of her own, and in order to do that, she had to be someone other than Fina Ludlow.
In her car in the parking lot, she fired up her laptop and fashioned a phony business card. She drove to a nearby copy shop, printed twenty copies of the card on fancy stock, and bought a leather folio. She called her computer go-to guy, who promised he’d post a corporate website place setter within the hour, and she rerecorded the message on her second phone to reflect her new job.
The trunk of her car yielded a black pantsuit in a no-wrinkle fabric, and a stop at Nordstrom Rack netted a silk blouse, some heels, and a high-end purse that was considerably discounted. It was the sort of thing Fina would never carry, with lots of buckles and snaps and chains, but she’d seen plenty of women around town weighted down with similar hardware. Haley would probably love it. Fina ducked into a restroom in the store, put on the suit and her purchases, and smoothed the flyaways that had escaped from her bun. Then she climbed into her car for the drive to Mode Accessories.
Fina sat for ten minutes and watched the front door. No one entered or exited. She pulled down her visor mirror and checked her face. Her bruises were creeping from one end of the spectrum to the other—purple to blue to yellow. Fina sighed. Disfigurement might actually work to her advantage; she looked pretty pitiful. She checked her wallet and made sure the business cards were nestled next to the fake driver’s license confirming her identity as Amy Myers. One deep breath and she was in the bright sunshine, striding across the parking lot.
A plain woman—middle-aged and lumpy—manned the reception desk. The choice of receptionist said a lot about any business and generally confirmed Fina’s theory that workplace discrimination was alive and well. Ludlow and Associates certainly subscribed to the practice, and this woman would never have made the cut; she was too homely.
“Hello. I’m wondering if you could help me,” Fina said brightly, and smiled widely. “I’m interested in speaking with whoever’s in charge.”
The woman looked up from her computer screen and grimaced at Fina’s bruises. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” Fina tried to look pained. “Is that a problem? I wanted to speak with the manager about some potential business.”
The receptionist’s e-mail dinged, and she turned her attention to the screen. “You want Donald. Hold on. I’ll see if he’s available.”
“Of course.”
Fina waited while the woman clicked the mouse a few times and launched a video. She laughed at her screen—it was probably a cat rodeo or something equally inane—and after a minute she pushed back her chair and walked around the partition. Her backside was enveloped in tight black pants that did nothing to conceal the cottage cheese quality of her butt.
Fina dropped the smile. It was exhausting being nice.
The new shoes were digging into the sides of her feet, and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She didn’t understand how or why women wore high heels all the time. Men would never put up with that shit.
After a moment, the receptionist returned to the front desk with a man in tow.
“I’m Donald Seymour. How can I help?” He extended his hand, and Fina shook with her right hand and held her left hand up in surrender.
“Please excuse my appearance. Car accident.” She pouted slightly.
“Must have been a doozy,” Donald said. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about your business, but I’m wondering . . .” She glanced at the receptionist, who had plopped back down into her seat. “. . . if we could talk privately.”
“Of course, Miss . . .”
“Myers. Amy Myers.”
Fina followed Donald through the office area, which held four standard-looking desks. Two equally nondescript women were working on computers, their desks crowded with piles of paper. Donald pushed open a door, which led to a small break room. He gestured for Fina to sit at the table that was wedged into the space.
“Can I get you some coffee or tea?” he asked, and swept some straws and sugar packets off the table and into the trash. Donald was probably in his forties, with brown hair and a mole on his right cheek. His teeth were straight, but slightly yellowed. He was wearing a tan polyester golf shirt and a brown pair of pants that were made from mixed fibers. His belt sat on his rather thick waist like an inflatable inner tube.
“I would love some water. This heat is killing me.”
“I hear ya, but we shouldn’t complain; it will be snowing before you know it.” He put a cup of water down in front of her.
“You know, you’re absolutely right,” Fina said. “I should bite my tongue.”
Donald poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker on the counter and took the seat next to her. Their knees were practically touching, but Donald didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed quite willing to overlook Fina’s battered appearance in exchange for physical proximity to her.
“So how can I help you today, Miss Myers?”
“Call me Amy, please.” Fina took a sip of water. “I work in the retail industry, and I have a client who is very interested in your business.”
“Really. Who’s the client?”
“Actually, I’m not at liberty to say, but I can tell you that it’s a small but prestigious entity in the hospitality arena. Their customers are willing to spend a great deal of money on the right goods, and my client is looking for a new supplier.”
“How did you hear about Mode Accessories?”
“Are you familiar with John Smithson at Hagen International? You know, the parent company of Handbags Plus?”
Donald looked blank.
“I could have sworn he told me to contact Mode Accessories.” Fina put on her best perplexed look. “I hope I didn’t make a mistake. Let me check that I’m at the right place.” She made a motion to reach into her purse.
Donald’s eyes darted around the room. “No, no. I know John Smithson,” he insisted, putting a hand on Fina’s bag. “Sorry, I don’t know where my head is.” Bluffing Donald Seymour was child’s play.
Fina dismissed his apology with a wave. “I forget things all the time.” She leaned toward Donald. “I just wouldn’t want to annoy John by contacting the wrong supplier. It’s an important contract.”
“No worries about that. You’re in the right place.”
Fina continued with her pitch, practically convincing herself that she represented a high-end cruise line that wanted purses for its onboard shops. She finished and sat back in her chair. She smiled at Donald and sipped her water.
“Why don’t I tell you about our business?” Donald offered.
“That would be terrific.”
So Donald talked for fifteen minutes about clutches and satchels and hobo bags. Leather and pleather and vinyl. Fina worked hard to stay focused, but worried that the combination of her meal and the conversation might send her into a deep food coma. She asked questions and took notes so as to stay awake and appear the interested potential client. Donald seemed satisfied by her performance.
“That’s very helpful,” Fina said. She pulled on the hem of her jacket. “I’m just wondering, is this an American-owned business?”
“Yes, ma’am. Stars and stripes all the way.” Donald grinned at her.
“It’s not that I or my bosses have anything against foreign companies, but we’ve had some bad experiences in the past. You know—sweatshops, that sort of thing.”
