by Ingrid Thoft
“Well, then you really wouldn’t get anything done,” Fina said. She fiddled with the tie on her bathrobe. “I’m doing the best I can. I’m being pulled in every direction.”
“Really? I have no idea what that’s like.”
“Hey, is Rand going to be arrested this afternoon?”
“I have no comment on that.”
“You have nothing to say? Nothing at all?”
“Nope.”
Fina waited a moment. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
Cristian’s chair squeaked. “Fine. Just don’t call me at five P.M. I’ll be busy,” he said, and hung up.
Fina stared at the phone. “Fuck me!” she groaned.
“Again?” Milloy called from the other room.
“I wasn’t talking to you, stud.” Fina dialed Carl.
“What?”
“It’s happening at five P.M.”
“Fuck!”
“That’s what I said.”
“Don’t turn off your phone. It pisses me off when I can’t reach you.” Carl hung up.
Fina left the bathroom and tossed her phone on the bed. Milloy was lying naked, a cup of black coffee on the bedside table. Fina climbed up next to him.
“What’d I miss?” she asked. Onscreen, a tiny baby was pawing at the air, her hands tucked into the long sleeves of a onesie. She was like a boxer, sparring with the strength of a wet noodle.
“They named her Nevaeh,” Milloy said. “It’s heaven spelled backward.” He looked at her. “What’s up?”
“Rand is going to be arrested this afternoon.”
“That sucks.” Milloy reached for the tie on her bathrobe and pulled it open. “Let me help.”
“I shouldn’t do this now. Everything is going to hell in a handbasket.”
“That’s exactly why you should do it now.” Milloy traced a line with his fingers from her collarbone to her belly button. “We’ll be quick.”
Fina closed her eyes. “Ahh. Music to every woman’s ears.”
“Just shut up,” he said as his breath tickled her neck.
Bev sat back in her seat and let out a huge sigh of relief. It was right there in black and white. Six figures in the account balance column. She and the Prospect had finalized their agreement last night, and he’d made good on his promise of the influx of cash. For months, she’d felt close to the edge—with her bank account, Chester’s health, Connor’s disaster—and finally, she was able to take a big step back from the precipice. Things were still more bad than good, but it was a start.
With this transfusion, she could make some key investments in the business. The technology they were using needed to be upgraded, and she’d consider giving the girls bonuses. Sometimes she got nice bags or makeup for them, but at the end of the day, everybody wanted cold, hard cash. There were also some improvements she wanted to make in Chester’s equipment; certainly he was better cared for than most patients, but she wanted nothing but the best for her Chester.
She stood up and wandered into the small kitchen of the Back Bay office. She put on the kettle and pulled a teacup and tea bag out of the cabinet. While the water boiled, Bev walked over to the window and looked out toward the Esplanade. There was always a steady stream of walkers and runners and people pushing strollers. She could understand the appeal of a walk in the sunshine, but running—especially in this heat—made no sense to her. Who wanted to sweat? Why get dirty if you didn’t have to? Connor was always urging her to get more exercise, and she did take walks a few days a week, but it seemed especially cruel to work on her own body when Chester’s was so compromised.
There was one other place the influx of cash would be most helpful, but her partner didn’t need to know about it. Connor’s new lawyer was the best that money could buy, and it took a lot of money to buy her. Eight hundred dollars per hour; you’d think she provided actual oral pleasure at that price. The new money would help the business, and as business got better, Bev would have the funds to pay the lawyer. Anybody who said all you needed to succeed in this country was hard work was deluded. You needed cash, and lots of it.
The teapot started to sing, and Bev went to the kitchen and poured the hot liquid over the tea bag. The water changed from clear to amber-colored as steam rose off the surface. She transferred the dripping bag to the trash and stirred in a heaping spoonful of sugar and a generous splash of milk. The cinnamon cream brioche in the bakery window had been extremely tempting this morning, but she had decided to be good and splurge during her lunch date instead. Maybe she’d order the warm chocolate bread pudding with peanut butter ice cream. She’d worked hard. She deserved a treat.
Fina and Milloy parted company, and she drove to Dudley’s house in Wellesley. On the way, she called Dennis to check on the stakeout at Joe Winthrop’s apartment. Ideally, Fina would make a return visit to Joe to press her point, but it would have to wait. She could have cut her morning with Milloy short, but hooking up with Milloy was like putting on her own oxygen mask first; before she could help anyone else, she had to help herself.
Fina was ushered into Dudley’s home by a uniformed maid and asked to wait in the entry hall. The center entrance colonial was immense, and everything looked shiny and new. The house could almost pass for something built in the 1600s, but the young landscaping on the vast grounds, and the Italian stucco behemoth next door, suggested otherwise.
“They’re in the library,” the maid said. She led Fina down a hallway to a large room, where Dudley, Rand, Carl, Scotty, and an unfamiliar man were scattered around the space. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked a wall that featured an enormous photo collage. A hefty ceramic vase sat on the cast-bronze coffee table, and large sculptures dotted the room—a torso here, a tower of stacked boxes there. Couches covered in cream-colored velvet sat at right angles to one another, and antique Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling. If anyone with less taste had put the room together, it might have looked like a high-end yard sale, but Dudley’s design sensibilities had resulted in an elegant, comfortable room.
Dudley greeted Fina with a kiss on the cheek, and she sank down onto the sofa next to Rand. Carl and Scotty were both on their phones, pacing around the room, and the mystery man tapped furiously on the laptop in front of him on the coffee table.
Fina didn’t doubt that her father and brothers loathed the current situation, but she recognized a familiar glint in their eyes: The wheels of the legal system had started to turn. The posturing, the strategy, the sparring. They lived for all of it. Yes, the stakes were exceedingly high and personal, and it was a criminal case, not a civil case, but the Ludlows were in their element.
“You’ve met Arthur Drummond, haven’t you? From Wilson Bellows Public Relations,” Dudley asked, gesturing to the man.
He looked faintly familiar when Fina looked right at him. “I think so, but I can’t remember where exactly. Nice to see you, Arthur,” Fina said, and nodded. She knew that, just like the world needed defense lawyers, it also needed PR hacks, but she’d yet to meet one she liked. Yes, Carl and the boys spun information to suit their needs, but at least they were bound by some laws. Facts figured somewhere into the equation. But the PR people were all about the spin.
“I remember our last meeting quite well, Ms. Ludlow.” Arthur looked at her with a pained smile. “It was about the Drake case. I believe you told me, and I quote, ‘Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining,’ end quote.”
“That sounds about right,” Rand said, trying to suppress a smile.
“Did I?” Fina asked. She shrugged. “It seems like you got over it.”
She looked at Rand. He was wearing jeans and a crisp button-down shirt. He looked better rested than the last time she’d seen him. Maybe he was sleeping some now that the funeral was past.
“Hey,” Rand said. “How are you?”
“Good. How are you? How’s Haley?”
“Hanging in there.”
“Good. At some point, I want to talk to you about her,” Fina said, and glanced at Arthur. “Who she’s hanging out with. That sort of thing.”
“We will. At some point. But you know, being a teenager, it’s different now than it was for us.”
“Uh-huh.” Fina reached toward the table and grabbed a couple of mini mushroom tartlets. Only the Ludlows had their crises catered. “So, what’s going on?”
“Dudley’s working his magic. I’m going to surrender tonight, cut them off at the knees,” Rand said. He sipped coffee from a china cup that was striped with bands of platinum.
“That sucks,” Fina said.
“It’s an inconvenience, that’s all.” Rand waved his hand as if swatting at a fly. “And when everything is said and done, I’m going to sue the City of Boston for all it’s worth.”
“This is going to make your brother a rock star,” Arthur interjected.
“How so?” Fina asked. Arthur was bald, and the Chinese lanterns reflected off his head. It was distracting.
“He’ll be relatable. He’ll have been screwed by the system, just like his clients.”
It was official; Arthur was a fuckwit.
Fina’s phone rang. She saw that it was Cristian, so she stood up and walked over to a window that overlooked a full-size basketball court.
“What’s up?”
“Any idea where your friend Bob Webber might be?” Cristian asked.
“He’s not at home?”
“Nope. Not at his current job site, either. He didn’t show up this morning.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s at a bar. When I spoke to him, he was really putting them away before noon.”
“I don’t like this,” Cristian said. “You’re not screwing with me, are you?”
“No, Cristian.” Fina brought the phone closer to her mouth so no one could overhear. “I wouldn’t do that. I know I withhold information sometimes, but I would never give you a crap lead to chase down.”
“All right. Talk to you later.”
Fina sat down and dropped her phone into her bag. Her stomach growled, so she grabbed a couple of mini spring rolls and pushed Bob Webber to the back of her mind.
If there was one thing that Bev couldn’t abide, it was tardiness. There was no excuse for it. Fifteen minutes ago she had placed her belongings in her calfskin briefcase, washed her cup and saucer, left them to dry on the drying rack, and powdered her face. She was ready, and she hated waiting. Chester had always teased her that she was the most impatient person he knew, but her business was built on punctuality. Plus, it was just good manners. Of course, there were some legitimate excuses—illness or being mugged—but even traffic didn’t qualify. There was always traffic in big cities; one should plan accordingly.
Her stomach was starting to growl, so she left a message for her lunch date to meet her at the restaurant. Bev had been looking forward to the meal all morning, and she wasn’t going to let someone else’s thoughtlessness spoil it for her. She locked the office behind her and stepped into the heat. A cold sweet tea; that might restore her mood.
Dudley had negotiated for Rand to surrender at seven P.M. via the back entrance of police headquarters. The six P.M. newscasts missed the show, but they had plenty of time to put a piece together for the late broadcasts. Later that night, Fina lay on the couch at Nanny’s, the AC turned to high, her bare feet tucked under an afghan that Nanny had presumably knit in her youth. The newscast featured the latest press conference held by the DA on the steps of police headquarters. According to the DA, there was blood, the missing cooler, tidal charts, a nasty fight, and other pieces of evidence he couldn’t yet disclose. He was righteous and fierce. Fina sipped a glass of red wine and watched her father command the screen. The blood could be explained, the cooler was irrelevant, the tidal charts didn’t prove anything, and what long-married couple didn’t occasionally fight? He was measured and calm.
Fina drained her glass and turned off the TV. She walked into the bedroom, stripped off her clothes, and climbed under the duvet.
Her phone awakened her the next morning at six thirty. She held it up to her ear and pulled the covers up to her chin.
“It’s early,” she told Cristian.
“Where are you?” Cristian asked.
“I’m in bed.”
“You need to come down to the station.”
“Why?” Fina rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. “Something with Rand? You should be calling Dudley.”
“It’s not Rand. It’s something else.”
“What?”
“Stop being a pain in the ass and come down here, all right?”
Fina kicked the covers off and put her feet on the floor. “I’d be less annoying if you were less cryptic.”
“This is a courtesy call, Fina. Pitney wants you down here, now.”
“Fine. I’m on my way.”
“Bye.”
“Cristian, wait. Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re a Ludlow; you always need a lawyer.”
Forty-five minutes later, Fina was deposited in an interview room by a Boston cop who was packing an extra fifty pounds around his waist and thighs. How did he find his penis in there? She watched him leave the room, a sharp contrast to the treat that had been Milloy’s departure just the day before.
“Don’t you guys have to pass a physical to be on the force?” Fina asked when Pitney and Cristian walked into the room an hour later. She was wearing an orange batik print skirt, a purple shirt, and a shiny purple jacket.
“Ah. I see you’re in fine form this morning, Fina,” Pitney said, and sat in the chair across from her that was bolted to the floor.
“It’s a legitimate question.”
Cristian rolled his eyes and sat down. Two other detectives leaned against the walls with the coiled nonchalance that so many cops share. They looked casual, but one sudden move and they’d pounce.
“I’m not answering any questions until my attorney gets here,” Fina said, and sat back in her chair.
“You don’t even know what this is about,” Pitney said, tugging on one of her curls. “Who says you need an attorney?” She shot Cristian a look.
Fina looked at her. There was a long pause.
“Fine. You don’t have to answer anything. You can just listen. Earlier this morning, the body of a young woman was found near Fenway,” Pitney said.
Fina sat up and shot a pleading look at Cristian. “Is it—?”
“It’s not Haley,” Cristian said. Pitney glared at him. “What?”
“As I was saying, a young woman was found murdered near Fenway.” She looked at Fina.
Fina was dying to ask a question, but stayed silent. Her outburst had been fueled by emotion, and she wouldn’t let that happen again. Carl would disown her if he found out that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Every good client knew: Silence is your friend. She looked at Pitney and then started to examine her nails.
“You really are good,” Pitney said. “You’re not even a little bit curious?”
“She’s a Ludlow. She’s not going to talk,” Cristian said. He was wearing suit pants and a dress shirt. His tie was loosened around his neck, and his cuffs were rolled up, showing off his strong forearms and bronze skin.
“Your card was in the dead girl’s purse,” Pitney said. She opened a file folder in front of her on the table. She pulled out a photo and pushed it across the table to Fina. “Why?”
Fina straightened the photo on the table and studied it. She didn’t speak or change her expression, merely looked at the picture as if it were a vacation photo. It only showed the victim from the chest up, but it was clear she was lying on pavement. Her eyes were closed, her hair fanned out behind her. She was wearing a lacy red bra and only one earring. Her neck was swo
llen, a kaleidoscope of bruises.
She was almost unrecognizable.
It was all arranged. Bev slipped her phone into her bag and sat back in her desk chair. Her young blond employee, the one she’d recently given more responsibility, would have her first official date that night. The gentleman was a longtime customer known for his impeccable manners. The girl’s introduction to the business would be a positive one, and if she made a good impression on the client, it would be the start of a fruitful relationship for all involved. Bev had called her to offer some encouraging words, and she’d also spoken directly to the client. She didn’t usually take such a personal interest in breaking in a new recruit, but this girl was too important to hand off to her underlings. At the end of the night, the girl had to want to do it again and again and again. Bev had a good feeling about it.
She had a decidedly bad feeling about her more experienced employee who had stood her up the day before. Bev had fumed during her meal; even the warm chocolate bread pudding with peanut butter ice cream hadn’t made her feel better. But the annoyance she’d felt yesterday was slowly giving way to concern. Her employee was a good girl—reliable and conscientious. Missing their appointment was out of character. Bev had left a few messages on her voice mail, but hadn’t heard back. She hadn’t been with a client last night, and the other girls hadn’t heard from her.
Where was she?
“So, do you recognize her?” Pitney touched the corner of the photo with her fingernail, which was painted bright purple.
“What’s the name of that color?” Fina asked, pointing at Pitney’s nails. “I’m thinking maybe I need to mix things up a bit. Add a little color to my life.”
Pitney glared at her, and Fina saw the trace of a smile pass over Cristian’s face. There was a quick tap on the door, and Scotty walked into the room and slid into the seat next to Fina.
