by Ingrid Thoft
Haley looked at the food and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I can’t eat it.”
“Okay. But eat something later. You’re almost too thin as it is.”
“Is there going to be a funeral?” Haley asked.
“I imagine. Do you want me to find out? I can ask Cristian.”
“Is he the hot cop?”
“He is.”
Haley wrapped a shred of napkin around her finger. “How can you date a cop?”
“I’m not sure you’d call it dating.”
“You just fuck him?”
Fina shrugged. She knew Haley was trying to provoke her, but she chose not to bite. “Sometimes. We’re friends. We like spending time together.”
After ten more minutes of eating and intermittent conversation, the waitress brought over the check and left it on the table with two hard candies wrapped in wax paper that looked like strawberries.
“Have you talked to your dad since he got home?” Fina asked.
“Home from jail? Not really.”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“I’m not,” Haley said.
Fina frowned. “Not at all?”
“Pap isn’t going to let Dad go to jail. That just isn’t going to happen.”
Fina placed some money in the check folio and wiped her hands on the paper napkin.
“Bloomie’s?” Haley asked as she got up from the booth.
“Lead the way.” Fina watched Haley walk toward the front of the restaurant. She was glad that Haley wasn’t losing sleep over Rand’s arrest, but there was something discomfiting about her conviction that Rand was completely above the law.
Fina stood and, as she walked out, glanced at her niece’s side of the table. Her napkin was a pile of white shreds on the bench. It looked like a snow squall had touched down at that very spot.
Fina drove back to Nanny’s and pulled into the underground parking garage. The car locked with a tweet, and she walked to the elevator, her bag slung over her shoulder. When she was halfway across the garage, a sound emanated from behind her. Fina stopped and turned around slowly. She didn’t see anyone, but she slipped her hand into her bag and rested it on her gun. She waited a moment and then walked quickly to the elevators.
A rush of sound—scrapes and scuffles—came from behind her, and before Fina could get her gun out, she was on the ground with her face digging into the concrete floor of the garage. One man kneeled on her back, and another grabbed her left arm and yanked it behind her. He started to twist her wrist. Hot, searing pain tore through it. Fina listened to the men’s labored breathing, and when the pain got to be too much, she yelled at the top of her lungs. The man wrenched her arm to produce a succinct pop.
Then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, the two men disappeared and left Fina lying on the ground. She rolled over into a fetal position and cried out when she pulled her wrist toward her torso. If she held still, it didn’t hurt, but a millimeter the wrong way and she was in agony.
Squealing tires echoed through the garage, and Fina dragged herself out of the line of traffic. She leaned against the bumper of a Mercedes and brushed dirt off her cheeks. She’d been there for five minutes when the elevator doors opened and a man in a suit spotted her on the ground. The humiliation gave her just enough energy to pull herself up by the bumper and hobble up to Nanny’s.
“It’s broken,” Milloy said as he laid her wrist gently on her lap.
“According to your X-ray vision?”
“You need an X-ray, and you probably need a cast.”
“I don’t have time to get an X-ray, and I’m definitely not getting a cast.”
“I’m sure I’ll regret pointing this out to you,” Milloy said, “but a cast will actually enable you to move around and not have a lot of pain. You’ll be able to go about your business.”
“In that case . . .” Fina reached for her phone and pressed the button for Scotty.
She’d called Milloy when she got up to the apartment—after she’d washed her face and swallowed two pain pills leftover from a previous misadventure. He’d swung by after a nearby massage appointment and confirmed what Fina suspected; that pop she’d heard had been her bone.
“I need an orthopedist,” Fina told Scotty when he came on the line. He didn’t ask any questions—one of the things she loved about him—and gave her a number and said his assistant would call ahead. Lots of doctors hated the Ludlows, but there was also a small contingency who worked for them as expert witnesses. Fina was spoiled by easy access to excellent medical care.
A knock on the door prompted Fina and Milloy to go still. Fina reached into her bag and handed her gun to Milloy, who took it to the front door and grasped it as he looked through the peephole. His posture relaxed, and he unlocked the door and admitted Hal. Fina’s finance man looked at the gun, and his eyes darted to Fina.
“Oh, geez. This looks like a bad time.”
“It’s fine, Hal. Come in. I only have a few minutes, though,” Fina said, and started to beckon him into the living room. She winced when a sharp pain shot through her wrist, reminding her that her left hand was essentially useless.
“What happened?” Hal asked, tentatively walking into the room. He was wearing black pants and a short-sleeved button-down in a shiny, pale green fabric. The shirt couldn’t have been helping regulate his body temperature. His face was flushed and beaded with sweat.
“I was jumped. I’ll be fine, but I have to go for an X-ray. What have you got for me?”
“I looked into that business in Quincy, Ridleys.”
“And?”
Milloy emerged from the kitchen. He handed a glass of water to Hal and a diet soda to Fina. She struggled to pop the tab with one hand. Finally, Milloy took it from her and opened the pop-top in one fluid motion. He handed it back to Fina and sat down next to her on the couch. Hal gazed at him with admiration.
“It’s a paving company. They lease out equipment for paving jobs and also do some jobs themselves.”
“Is it legitimate?”
“As far as I can tell. It’s a small operation. About twenty employees. I’ll need to dig deeper, but it’s a start.”
“Any names?” Fina asked. She relaxed back into the blue velvet couch. The pills were kicking in, and she was starting to feel mellow.
“Ronald Costas is the name on the tax forms.”
Fina looked at Milloy. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
Milloy shook his head. “Nope. Costas is a pretty common name around here.”
“I feel like I’ve heard it before,” Fina said, and sipped her drink.
“Maybe you’re thinking of that local DJ?” Hal offered.
“I don’t think so,” Fina said. They were quiet for a moment. “It’ll come to me. Has Emma sent you those names yet?”
Once Emma had completed the dump of Donald Seymour’s phone directory, she was supposed to send the list to Hal. He’d check if the names rang any financial bells while she continued with general background checks.
“Yes, and I’m on it.” Hal drained his glass of water and struggled to get out of Nanny’s chair. Milloy stood up to walk him to the door. “Take care of yourself, Fina,” Hal said.
Fina smiled at him. “Don’t worry about me, Hal. I’m tough.”
“I know, but nobody is indestructible,” he said, and left.
Milloy came back to the couch. “I better call you a cab. I can’t drive you; I’ve got an appointment.”
“I can drive myself.” Fina put her right hand behind her and pushed herself off the couch.
Milloy stared at her and shook his head.
“I need my car, Milloy, and once I get this thing”—she held up her left wrist—“put into something, I’ll be able to drive.”
“In the meantime, you can’t move your wrist, and you’
ve probably got enough pain meds on board to knock out Secretariat.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about you. It’s the general public who’s screwed.”
“I’m onto something. This is not the moment to back off.”
Milloy stood up and followed in her path as she slowly gathered her belongings and slipped on her shoes.
“At least let me walk you down to the garage.”
“Of course.” She beamed at him. “See how reasonable I can be?”
It took three hours to get her wrist examined, x-rayed, and encased in a plaster cast. Fina opted for black, although, had she been less interested in blending in, she could have chosen lime green, hot pink, or traffic-cone orange.
The drive from the doctor’s office was infinitely easier than the drive there. She still didn’t have great range of motion, but the cast prohibited her from making any moves that would be excruciating. Her standards were slipping at a breathtaking pace.
She pulled into a parking lot and dialed Cristian’s number. It went straight to voice mail, so she left a message. She was contemplating her next move when he called back and agreed to meet her at a martini bar on Route 9. There was little chance they would bump into his colleagues there, and Fina needed a drink.
The martini bar looked like it belonged on a cruise ship. The pendant lights hanging from the ceiling were Middle America’s idea of modern—funky shapes in bold colors—and the furniture was clunky and stodgy despite the leather and glass finishes. The display of bottles behind the bar slowly changed colors, like a light show for those slow on the uptake.
Fina was halfway through her drink when Cristian pushed through the glass front door. The attractive hostess greeted him, and Fina watched the young woman watch Cristian.
At the bar, he pushed out a stool and climbed up next to Fina. He stared at her arm.
“What happened this time?”
“I was jumped in my parking garage.”
“At the condo?”
“Yup.” Fina reached for the toothpick in her drink and pulled the olive off with her teeth.
“Is it broken?”
“Yup.”
The bartender, a handsome twentysomething, came over and took Cristian’s order for a soda. He walked away, and Cristian swiveled in his seat.
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“Them. This wouldn’t have happened if there were just one of them. And no, I didn’t get a good look. My face was pressed into the pavement.” She turned so he could see the fresh scratches on her cheek. “But enough about me. Did you find Bob Webber?”
“You mean Houdini? Nope.”
The bartender brought over Cristian’s drink and deposited a bowl of mixed nuts next to it.
“Where the hell is he?” Fina wondered aloud.
“He’s off the radar.”
“I’ll talk to my contact.”
“I wouldn’t be too optimistic if I were you.”
“No chance of that.”
“Obviously the guy doesn’t want to be found.”
Fina pushed the menu toward Cristian, and after conferring for a moment, she flagged down the bartender and ordered Kobe beef sliders and some tuna tartare.
“So these guys who jumped you; are they connected to the one who ran you off the road?” Cristian asked. “I thought you made that guy.”
“I did—Joe Winthrop—and I’m keeping an eye on him, although I still can’t figure out who he’s working for. I’m guessing that the boss isn’t happy that I’m still poking around. Hence the friendly reminder.”
“Another?” the bartender asked when he meandered over and picked up Fina’s empty glass.
“I better not, just some water. I’m on a lot of meds,” she said, and grinned at Cristian.
“Terrific,” Cristian said.
“Joe, the one who ran me off the road, made a visit to a paving company in Quincy, a place called Ridleys. The name on the tax records is Ronald Costas. I don’t have a lead on him yet, though.”
“Is this your way of asking if I know him?”
“Yes.”
“Never heard of Costas or Ridleys. What makes you think it has something to do with you?”
“It’s the only place he’s been since I made contact with him, other than the grocery store and Best Buy. I don’t think he’d venture out unless it was important.”
A waitress arrived with two small platters bearing the sliders and the tuna. Fina unwrapped some chopsticks and took a bite of tuna while Cristian popped a slider in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully.
“I’m not tasting the sake that’s rubbed into the cows’ hides.”
“I think that might be a myth.” Fina sipped her drink. “Look, somehow Joe Winthrop and Ronald Costas are tied to Melanie’s death.”
“That’s a bit of a leap.”
“Cristian, it’s the only thing I’m investigating now. Why else would somebody be gunning for me?”
“Because you can be seriously annoying?”
“Hey! I’m giving you leads. Don’t ignore them just because you’re perturbed with the source.”
“I’m not perturbed.”
Fina raised her eyebrow and picked up one of the sliders. She took a bite and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “What’s happening with the Brianna situation?”
“Still waiting to hear from the lab.”
“Was she raped?”
“There were signs of sex, maybe a little rough, but it’s not clear if it was consensual.”
“Have you figured out who she worked for?”
“We’ve got it narrowed down.”
“Any chance you’ll tell me who the candidates are? Remember, I asked before she was murdered.”
“So what? You get dibs on the info? It’s an official police investigation now. Maybe I’ll tell you once we figure it out.” Cristian sipped his soda.
“I told Haley she was dead,” Fina said.
“How’d that go?”
“As well as you might expect. One minute she seems pretty normal, and the next she has a breakdown.”
“She’s probably in shock. Her mother was murdered. Her father has been arrested. Her friend has been murdered.” Cristian used his chopsticks to grab some tuna. “You need to keep a close eye on her.”
“I’m trying, but it’s not easy. I don’t know how much to push her. When I try to talk about stuff with her, she just stonewalls me or bursts into tears and then stonewalls.” Fina turned toward him. “Can you believe it? I’m the touchy-feely one in the relationship. What’s happening to me?”
“You need to get her a therapist—not that your efforts aren’t admirable.” He grinned.
“I’m going to try, but that’s going to take a major campaign. Carl and Elaine and Rand aren’t big on talking about one’s feelings within the family, let alone with strangers.”
“Yeah, and your family’s the picture of mental health.” Cristian sipped his drink. “Do you think your parents would be different if your sister were around?’
Fina had told both Milloy and Cristian about Josie. Initially, revealing the family history had made her uneasy, but over time, she discovered there was something comforting about sharing the secret. It was like a cipher for her family; she didn’t have to repeatedly explain the Ludlow pathology.
“Maybe. I think they gave up in a way. Their hearts were broken and defective.” She shrugged. “We grew up thinking that was normal.”
Cristian pushed the slider plate in front of her. “You want the last one?”
“No, thanks. Knock yourself out.”
Cristian popped the tiny burger in his mouth and chewed. “Speaking of the Ludlows, you’re going to have to decide whose side you’re on,” he said, and had another sip of soda.
�
�Meaning?”
“Do you want the truth or do you want to protect your brother at any cost?”
“I want the truth.” Fina looked into her drink. “But I’m not going to pretend it’s going to be easy.”
“I know it won’t. I just wonder how strong your resolve is.”
“Cristian.” Fina turned on her stool to face him. “Melanie was my sister-in-law. She was Haley’s mother. I’m not going to protect whoever killed her.”
Cristian put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Just asking.”
“And now, you can report back to Pitney.”
“Pitney’s not asking. I just want to know if I’m going to have to arrest you in the near future.”
“Not for conspiracy or obstructing justice. I can’t speak for other potential charges.”
Cristian’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at a text, and his eyebrows crept up his face. He typed a hurried response and put the phone back into his pocket. “Gotta go.” He reached for his wallet, but Fina stopped him with her good hand.
“It’s on me. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Try to be careful. I don’t want our next rendezvous to be in the morgue.”
“Ever the romantic,” Fina said, and she grabbed a slice of tuna. “Let me know what that text is about when you have a chance, okay?”
Cristian rolled his eyes and left. Fina chewed the tuna and adjusted her injured wrist on the bar. She was transitioning out of the temporary relief provided by the cast to the knowledge that her mobility was seriously compromised.
This sucked.
Bev didn’t like her lawyer.
His name was Lawrence Serensen. He was in his midthirties and slicker than an oil spill. Unfortunately, she didn’t have many options from which to choose. There were plenty of lawyers who were willing to overlook her business specialties, but few of them were actually good lawyers. It was nearly impossible to find someone with the right combination of loose morals, Mensa-level intellect, and the instincts of a snake.
Bev also didn’t like being summoned, especially on a Sunday, but Lawrence insisted that cooperating with the police was in her best interest. They wanted to talk to her about Brianna, though they wouldn’t say what about her they wanted to discuss. Bev had been worried about the girl, but now she wondered if Brianna was just ducking her calls after having cooperated in some capacity with the police. It was hard to imagine; her girls knew the consequences of disloyalty were significant.
