by Ingrid Thoft
She found him standing behind his desk, a file folder in one hand.
“What now?” Carl asked, taking a seat. He often complained about Fina’s lack of manners, but really, did he expect her to develop them spontaneously?
Fina dropped into a chair across from him. “One of the church members who Chloe suggested I speak with turned up dead yesterday under suspicious circumstances. I found her body.”
Carl’s eyes widened. “You really know how to pick ’em.”
“You brought me into this, remember?”
“How’d she die?”
“She was thirty-two years old, and according to my police contacts, she didn’t die from natural causes.”
He rocked back in his chair. “So what are you thinking?”
Fina rubbed her shoe against the chair leg to stop an itch. “I’m thinking that a member of the Covenant Rising leadership committee died under suspicious circumstances. Her death may not have anything to do with the church, but it’s an opportunity to dig around some more and maybe postpone Chloe’s donation.”
Carl was quiet for a moment.
“But it may be a hard sell,” Fina added, “convincing Ceci to keep footing the bill.”
“Don’t worry about Ceci. You’ll get paid.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning keep investigating. Let her know you’re still on the case. I’ll take care of the money.”
“You’re offering our services pro bono?” Carl never waived his fee, not unless there was an angle he was working. “What’s in it for you?” Fina asked.
“Who says there has to be something in it for me?”
Fina stared at him. “Is this some kind of a psychotic break? Should I call for help?”
“No. You should get back to work.”
“All righty then. I’ll get back to work.”
Fina waited for the elevator and contemplated her father’s lax attitude about his fee. Was it the identity of the client? Was he doing it for Ceci? And if so, why? Or was there some other explanation for his generosity?
A charitable Carl was like an endangered species in the wild: rumored to exist, but rarely seen.
• • •
Fina was on her way to the police station when Cristian called and asked her to meet them at the emergency room at Mass General instead. They were tied up there on another case.
The ER was divided according to the level of care required, shunting patients with different needs into different areas. Lacerated knees requiring stitches and tweens with skateboarding injuries were jettisoned off far from the gunshot wounds and serious car accidents.
Fina followed the painted red line on the floor to the critical area, where she showed her ID to a cop and was ushered into an empty exam room. She could hear wailing a few doors away, which made her marvel at the people who work in ERs. Bearing witness to such anguish must be exhausting and soul crushing. Her inclination would be to shut up the ill and infirm at any cost, but nobody wanted a caregiver who smothered the patients.
Fina was sitting in the room’s only chair when the curtain parted ten minutes later, and Lieutenant Pitney appeared.
If a stranger were to guess Pitney’s occupation, Fina was quite sure that “cop” wouldn’t even make the list. Her short stature, unruly curly hair, and the jarring color palette of her clothing suggested children’s birthday performer more than accomplished investigator.
“Thanks for meeting here,” Pitney said. “We’ve got someone down the hall.”
“Not a cop, I hope.”
“No, a perp.”
“Is he going to make it?”
“Too soon to tell.”
“How can I be of service, Lieutenant?” Fina asked.
Pitney snickered. “That’s you, Fina. Nothing but helpful.”
Fina and the lieutenant had spent their careers jousting with each other, and with each case they started anew; trading and withholding information, revealing and evading.
Pitney took a seat on a wheeled stool. “Tell me about Nadine Quaynor.”
“There isn’t much to tell, and I’m not just giving you the runaround.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I never met her. I’ve been trying to talk with her since Monday.” Fina described her case without mentioning any names and shared her impressions of Covenant Rising.
“So it’s a cult?” the lieutenant asked.
“Cult is a bit extreme. I think they have undue influence over some of their congregants, but that’s true of many organizations.”
Cristian ducked into the exam room and nodded at Fina.
“How’s our guy?” Pitney asked.
“Hanging on.”
She looked back to Fina. “What else do you know about Nadine?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t investigating her.”
“But you’re done with the church case?” Pitney rose and pushed the stool under a counter.
“Ahh, well.”
Pitney folded her arms over her large bosom and glared at her.
“I thought you said you were done,” Cristian remarked.
“I thought I was, but it looks like Nadine’s death may have a bearing on my case.”
“What does that mean?” Pitney glared at her.
“It means that I’m going to be doing some investigating, but before you start—” Fina held up her hand. “I know. Stay out of your way, but tell you everything. Our usual inequitable arrangement.”
“Nobody said life was fair, Fina.”
“You’re telling me.”
Pitney pulled the curtain aside and left, while Cristian lingered in the exam room. He tugged the curtain closed and extended a hand to Fina. “When’s our next date?” he asked, pulling her to her feet.
“I don’t know. When would you like it to be?”
He grasped her face with his hands and kissed her. “I think it should be soon.”
Fina placed her hands on his waist. “That’s going to be tough, given our respective caseloads.” She leaned in to kiss him again, but was interrupted by a ruckus in the hallway.
Cristian stepped out to see what was going on. Two cops were struggling with a tall, skinny man who was twisting and contorting, trying to elude their grasp. Cristian jogged over to assist and after a few moments, they pinned the man to the floor.
“Let’s continue our conversation when there isn’t a tweaker vying for your attention,” Fina said, sidestepping the excitement.
“Sounds good,” Cristian said, his knee pressing down on the man’s back.
As she made her way to the exit, Fina noticed that the waiting room was full of patients of every age and race. Some of the occupants looked homeless, while others wore expensive outerwear.
Sickness and calamity were equal opportunity afflictions.
EIGHT
Back home, Fina had a snack of leftover fried rice and a handful of Nutter Butter cookies. Appropriately fueled, she grabbed her computer and started plugging in names. She needed to know more about the people in Nadine’s universe.
Evan Quaynor brought up one measly result: He was listed as the coauthor on a paper about the city’s primary ship channel and the Massport Marine Terminal. She skimmed the article, which focused on the proposed plan to deepen the shipping channels, thereby improving ship safety. The Quaynor who seemed to have the larger Web presence was Nadine herself, whose activities with Covenant Rising were well documented. There were photos of her manning a table at a clothing drive and serving meals to the needy on Thanksgiving.
Nadine’s neighbor Ronnie McCaffrey netted more hits, most of them related to his tenure in the Boston Fire Department. A battalion chief at the time of his retirement, Ronnie was quoted at the scenes of various incidents, including a few fires, a tractor-trailer rollover on Route 128, and a skirmish with wild tur
keys, who were becoming increasingly bold in residential neighborhoods. There was not a whiff of controversy to be found. Someone had posted a picture on Facebook from his retirement party that showed Ronnie standing with his wife, two daughters, two sons-in-law, and a few small children. Everyone was smiling, and his wife had a large corsage pinned to the front of her dress.
Fina got up from the couch and wandered over to the window. She watched the airplane traffic at Logan. Nanny had loved to sit in the same spot with a high-power telescope—a gift from Carl—and watch the flights landing and taking off. Her grandmother wasn’t interested in traveling, but she loved the idea of all those planes and all those people, coming and going.
At her computer, Fina launched a search for Lindsay Kaufman, Rand’s alleged victim, and a few results popped up. The first was a high school track-and-field coach in Spirit Lake, Iowa. The next was an obituary for a ninety-three-year-old, but the third was a woman named Lindsay Kaufman Shaunnesy, a real estate agent in Back Bay. According to her bio, Lindsay was originally from Duxbury and had attended BU, just like Fina and her brothers. Fina grabbed the photo off her Web page and sent it to Scotty for confirmation. Man, she loved the Internet.
She placed her computer on the coffee table and snuggled into the couch and was rudely awakened an hour later by her phone. It was a telemarketer desperate to sell her a new roof, which was particularly irksome.
“I live in a high-rise,” she told the man.
“So you don’t need a new roof?”
“I don’t have a roof.”
“Why don’t we check back with you in a few months in case you change your mind,” the man suggested.
“I’m not going to miraculously get a roof in a few months,” Fina started to explain, then hit the cancel button. Enough of that nonsense.
She took a quick shower, got dressed, and dialed Milloy.
“I have a favor to ask.” The phone was tucked under her chin and she was struggling to pull on her shoes.
“Ask away.”
“Will you come with me to my family dinner?”
“Tonight?”
“I know it’s last-minute. I should have asked you sooner, but I was pretending it wasn’t really happening.”
“Good strategy.”
“You can bust my chops all you want, but please, come with me.”
“I can’t,” Milloy said. “I have a client.”
“You can’t reschedule?” Fina leaned against the front door, exhausted by the prospect of the night ahead.
“I can’t cancel a client because you didn’t plan ahead. I’m sympathetic, believe me, but this is business.”
“I know. It’s just . . . I’m dreading it. You’re such a good buffer.”
“If Rand is here to stay, you’re going to have to figure out how to be in the same room with him.”
“How?”
“Beats the hell out of me. Hang in there. Call me later and let me know how it goes.”
“Thanks, Milloy.”
For a fleeting moment she considered inviting Cristian. He was trained in crowd control and knew how to manage unstable individuals, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Carl wasn’t a fan of law enforcement, and Fina didn’t want to subject Cristian to a big dose of Elaine. Also, her family would read too much into it if she brought a man other than Milloy over for dinner.
She was on her own.
• • •
Ryan, her eldest nephew, opened the door of Scotty and Patty’s house and gave Fina a big hug.
So far, so good.
She followed him to the great room, where the kitchen spilled into the family room and informal eating area. Her other nephews, Teddy and Chandler, were setting the table, and their mom, Patty, stood near the stove in conversation with Fina’s mother, Elaine.
“Aunt Fina’s here,” Ryan announced before flopping down onto the couch.
“Hi there,” Patty said, giving her a hug.
“Hey,” Fina said. She looked at her mother. They were barely on speaking terms since Fina had told her about Rand’s abuse of Haley. Elaine didn’t believe her, and her denial made Fina’s blood boil. “Mom,” she said in greeting.
Neither mother nor daughter made a motion to touch, so Fina walked around the large counter and took a seat on a barstool on the other side. Patty gave her a searching look, but Fina shrugged slightly. If Patty thought Fina was going to extend an olive branch to Elaine, she was deluded.
“Where are the guys?” Fina asked.
“In Scotty’s office,” Patty said.
It always annoyed Fina that the female Ludlows congregated in the kitchen, and the male Ludlows huddled in a home office or living room. Who were they? English gentry at the dawn of the First World War?
Fina slid off the stool and headed out of the room.
“They’re discussing work, Fina,” her mother said.
“Okay.”
“I don’t think it concerns you.”
Fina stopped and turned toward her mother. “You do realize I work with them, right?”
Elaine sniffed, but didn’t respond.
If Elaine had her way, Fina would be married with three children, living in an enormous house in Chestnut Hill. Fina had accepted that her mother’s plan for her and her own plans bore no resemblance to each other, but it was her mother’s unwillingness to accept reality that was so frustrating. Whether it was Rand’s deviance or the fact that Fina drew a paycheck from Ludlow and Associates, Elaine ignored how the world actually was in favor of how she thought it should be.
In his office, Scotty sat behind his curved desk, which was cluttered with papers and files. There were LEGOs on the coffee table by the couch where her father and Rand were sitting. Matthew was leaning against the built-in bookcase. The TV mounted on the wall was tuned to the Bruins game, which they watched intently.
“Hey, sis,” Scotty said.
“Hey. What’s going on?”
“Just watching the game.”
Fina took in the scene. “Right. Mom thinks you’re all in here hard at work.”
There was no response, their eyes glued to the screen.
“Where’s Haley?” Fina asked Scotty, avoiding making eye contact with Rand.
“In her room.”
She lingered a few minutes, but it was like watching cavemen study cave paintings—deathly boring, punctuated by grunts.
Fina ventured upstairs to Haley’s closed bedroom door. Getting no response from her knock, she opened it slowly and peeked around the door. Her niece was on her bed, earbuds firmly planted.
“Haley!” Fina said, motioning her arms to try to get her attention.
The girl started and popped the tiny speakers from her ears.
“Hi, Aunt Fina.”
Fina sat down on the bed next to her. “How’s it going?”
Haley shrugged.
“I talked to your dad today,” Fina said, brushing hair away from the girl’s eyes.
“About me?”
“Kind of. Pap was there, and your dad has been warned to keep his distance from you.”
The girl was silent.
“How are you feeling about this?” Fina asked.
Haley reached up and pulled on a strand of blond hair. “I don’t know.”
Fina knew that ambivalence toward one’s abuser was common. The insidious part of abuse was the perfect storm of emotions in which victims were trapped: guilt, love, shame, disgust. No wonder bad choices and self-destructive tendencies were victims’ MOs.
“You know what?” Fina said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Haley’s face twisted in a question mark. “What do you mean?”
“I just got the most intense craving for a lobster roll from Kelly’s.”
The girl glanced toward the door. “Aunt Patty’s
making dinner.”
Fina shrugged. “She’ll understand.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Haley hopped off the bed and rummaged through a pile of clothes on the floor before pulling out a fuzzy fleece jacket.
She followed Fina down the stairs, and they’d almost made their escape when Matthew wandered into the front hall. He gave Fina a questioning look.
“We’ve got to go,” she said. “Tell Patty we’ll be back in a bit.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.
In the car, Haley turned the radio up and for a moment, Fina saw something unfamiliar on her niece’s face.
It was delight.
• • •
“What can you tell me about Nadine Quaynor’s cause of death?” Fina asked Cristian the next morning. They were meeting in a coffee shop in Cambridge, not far from his son Matteo’s preschool.
He sipped his coffee and carefully placed the cup down on the table. “She was poisoned. That’s all I can tell you.”
“With what?”
“That’s all I’ve got.”
“You must have more than that,” Fina said, cutting off a corner of omelet. Cristian had ordered for her when she arrived late. The omelet, mixed fruit, and wheat toast weren’t terrible, but they weren’t a large, gooey cinnamon bun, either. Fina unwrapped a pat of butter and spread it over the toast.
“It’s already buttered, you know,” Cristian said.
“Barely,” Fina said.
He took a bite of toast. “I don’t have anything else to give you yet.”
“‘Yet,’ which means you have something,” Fina clarified. “You just won’t tell me.”
Cristian was silent.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m not sure why we had to meet only for you to shut me out.”
“Because I wanted to see you,” he said. “That’s what people do when they’re dating.”
“Right.”
Cristian put down his fork. “You know we’re dating, right?”
“I know, but you make it sound so serious and exclusive.”
“That’s something we need to talk about.”
