by Ingrid Thoft
Fina shook her head. “Not now. Seriously, I can’t have a relationship/feelings conversation first thing in the morning.”
Cristian put his napkin on the table. “You’re sending me mixed signals, Fina.”
“That’s because I’m mixed up! I think you’re underestimating how complicated this will get.” She spread the butter more evenly over her toast. “In the past, Cristian, if you didn’t give me information, I was annoyed with you and got it someplace else. Now what am I supposed to do? Not be annoyed and not get it someplace else?”
“That’s an option.”
“I can understand the not being annoyed part, but the other part is asking me to not do my job.”
“But what you’re doing is probably illegal anyway,” he argued.
“You don’t know that for sure.” She prodded at a piece of apple that was browning in a shallow dish. “But that’s the issue: If I’m your girlfriend, suddenly you have a problem with how I do my job.”
“I always have a problem with how you do your job.”
“Right, but as my friend, you just have to deal with it. I get the feeling that as my boyfriend, you think you’d get a vote.”
He looked at her. Cristian was extremely handsome, with caramel-colored skin and thick brown hair. Fina found it distracting when she was trying to make a point.
“Won’t I?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “Ah no. And not just because you’re a cop. Boyfriends don’t get a vote just because.”
“No wonder you’re a loner. Do you have any concept of compromise?”
“I’ve got an idea: Why don’t you stop being a cop, and I’ll keep doing my job the way I see fit.”
Cristian reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet.
“Doesn’t seem right, does it, when the shoe’s on the other foot?” Fina said.
“Except that what I do is legal.” He picked out a twenty and put it on the table.
“It’s not that black-and-white to me, Cristian.”
“Clearly.” He pushed back his chair with a scraping sound. “I’ve got to go.”
Fina frowned. “Don’t leave mad.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Fina. We’ll talk later.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say. Fina wasn’t going to apologize for her point of view, but she didn’t like arguing with him, either. “Fine. We’ll continue this later. I think I’m free next year.”
“Bye,” Cristian said, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.
“Bye.”
What was so great about compromise? The people who heralded it were usually just explaining why they’d settled for something they didn’t want.
What was the upside of that?
• • •
Fina picked up an angry voice mail from Carl regarding her and Haley’s absence from the family dinner. Since he didn’t pose any questions in his rant, Fina decided he didn’t require a callback. She deleted the message and put the issue aside for the time being.
Next, she put in a call to Stacy D’Ambruzzi, her contact at the medical examiner’s office. They arranged to meet in the Common near the Boylston Street T station.
She found Stacy thirty minutes later on a bench under a large oak tree. Fina sat down and handed her a cup of coffee.
“Why are we meeting outside?” Fina asked, sipping her hot chocolate. “It’s cold.”
“There have been some leaks to the media recently,” Stacy said. “I didn’t think it was smart to be seen with you too close to the office or anyplace I might bump into my colleagues.”
“Fair enough. How have you been?”
Stacy nodded. “I’m good. Really good, actually.”
Fina examined her friend’s beaming face. “Do tell.”
“I met someone.” Stacy was extremely pretty, though not in a traditional way. Her hair was cut exceedingly short, her skin littered with tattoos. Stud earrings climbed her lobes. She had a beautiful complexion and bright blue eyes.
“That’s fantastic. Tell me about her.”
Stacy waxed rhapsodic about the new love in her life, and Fina watched her. Even if her description had been inaudible, it would have been obvious that Stacy was in love. The color in her cheeks, her wide smile and broad gestures said it all.
“But you didn’t call me for an update on my love life,” Stacy said after a few minutes.
“Alas, I didn’t, but I’m happy to hear things are going so well.”
“What can I do for you?” A few years earlier, the Ludlows had helped extricate Stacy’s brother from a legal scrape, and she was eternally grateful. Fina had made it clear that they were always available to help, and in turn, Stacy had provided good intel on a number of occasions.
“Nadine Quaynor. I know she died from poison, but I’d love to get more details.”
Stacy grinned. “Menendez not being cooperative?”
“Not really.”
“As always, you didn’t hear this from me, and you can’t be spreading it around. If it gets traced back to me, I’ll be in big trouble.”
“Understood.”
An older Asian man took a seat on the bench across from them and pulled a plastic bag out of his rolling cart. He sprinkled some kind of seed on the wide, paved pathway, and a flock of pigeons magically appeared.
“Why do people feed these birds?” Fina asked. “They’re dirty, and they shit all over everything.”
“Not a nature lover?” Stacy asked.
“Just choosy about the nature I love. They are literally the bottom-feeders of the bird world. Anyhoo, we were talking about Nadine.”
“It looks like antifreeze poisoning.”
Fina slowly rotated her cup in an effort to distribute the chocolate more evenly. “That seems to be an increasingly popular murder weapon these days. Why is that?”
“It’s a combination of things: It’s easy to purchase; it tastes good so victims don’t notice; you can administer it over time so it looks like the victim is eventually succumbing to an illness, or all at once. Either way, the death appears natural, unless you know what to test for.”
“And you guys knew what to test for?”
“Nadine was young, and except for her recent illness, she was very healthy. Young people in good health generally don’t just keel over.”
“Any idea how it was administered to her?” Fina asked.
“There’s no way to tell through an autopsy, but Gatorade or a sports drink would do the job, even coffee.” Stacy held up her cup. “If you like your cup of joe on the sweet side, you’d be none the wiser.”
Fina sipped her hot chocolate, hoping that Rand never caught wind of the murderous virtues of antifreeze.
“Manufacturers are starting to use additives that make it taste nasty,” Stacy said, “but that’s mostly for the protection of children and pets, not potential murder victims.”
“Has her body been released yet?”
“Yeah. The funeral home got it this morning.”
The old man tired of the feeding frenzy he’d created and ambled down the walk. A smattering of pigeons remained in his wake, pecking at the pavement.
“That’s all I’ve got,” Stacy said. “I’m not sure it’s helpful.”
Fina shrugged. “It’s information, which is good. Unfortunately, it doesn’t narrow the suspect field much. I’m looking for somebody who had access to antifreeze—which is everybody—and somebody who had access to Nadine, which is everybody who had access to Nadine.”
Stacy smiled. “Sorry. I wish I could tell you it was Mrs. Peacock in the lounge with the revolver.”
“You and me both.”
They walked out of the park and hugged at the corner.
“How’s your brother doing?” Fina asked.
“Staying ou
t of trouble, thank God.”
“Well, if that ever changes, give me a call.”
“Thanks, Fina. I’ll let you know if I hear anything new on the case.”
Poisoning someone with antifreeze didn’t require special access or a special set of skills, but it did require something possessed by few people: slow-burning rage, cold calculation, and no qualms about taking a life.
• • •
Fina arrived at the Renard home and was ushered into the same room in which the case had started just one week earlier.
A small fire danced in the fireplace, and Fina stood, rubbing her hands together in its warmth.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting yet again,” Ceci said when she entered the room five minutes later.
“It’s a lovely place to wait,” Fina said.
Ceci was dressed in her usual style of rich casual, a style that can only be achieved with thousands of dollars. She wore gray pants with a silk blouse and a zippered knit cardigan cut on the bias.
“Iris is bringing tea,” she said, beckoning Fina to the sofa.
“Have you spoken with Chloe recently? The past day or so?” Fina asked.
“No.” A look of concern crossed Ceci’s face. “Why? Has something happened?”
“The woman she asked me to contact, Nadine—she died.”
Ceci looked alarmed. “What happened?”
A maid tapped on the door and brought in a tray with a silver tea service. When she left, Ceci busied herself pouring two cups and offering a plate of mini pastries to Fina.
“I found her,” Fina said. “I stopped by her house not long after our lunch at the Gardner, and she was dead.”
“I’m surprised Chloe didn’t tell me.”
“She’s probably still processing it. She seemed shocked when I told her.”
“You said you found her at her house. What happened?”
Fina slowly stirred sugar into her tea. “According to the cops, she was poisoned.”
Ceci put down her cup and stared at Fina. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s not clear yet if it was accidental or malicious, but Nadine didn’t die of natural causes.”
Ceci’s hand moved to her mouth, as if to keep a response from spilling out.
“Obviously, the police are working on the case,” Fina said, “and if you’re amenable, I think that I should dig around a bit.”
Ceci’s brow creased. “Are you suggesting her death has something to do with the church?”
“I’d like to know what happened, and maybe I’ll find something that will have an impact on Chloe’s donation.”
“I don’t like the idea of using this woman’s death for my own purposes,” Ceci said, running her hand down the armrest of the couch.
Fina took a deep breath. “There’s something going on here, Ceci, and it’s in Chloe’s best interest to know what that is. Hopefully, Nadine’s death has nothing to do with the church, and we’ll be left with our original problem.”
Ceci looked out the window. The grass that had recently been revealed by the melting snow was yellow and flat. “Fine. How much more do you need for your retainer?” She glanced around as if looking for her purse.
“Don’t worry about that. I spoke to my father, and he said it’s taken care of.”
“Fina, I can’t accept charity from your family. Clearly, I don’t need it.” She swept her arm around the room.
“You two will have to work that out,” Fina said. “You should be flattered; my father rarely gives things to people.” Or at least not without there being strings attached.
“Carl always seemed very generous to me.”
Fina grinned. “Well, I suspect we see different sides of him. I’ll be in touch when I have an update.”
“How is your mother?” Ceci asked at the front door. She stood before a large painting showing a threatening sky dominated by storm clouds. It seemed like an appropriate backdrop for the question.
“She’s fine. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“Not well, but we bump into each other on occasion.” Ceci fiddled with her thick wedding band.
“She’s the way she always is,” Fina said ruefully. “She’s Elaine.”
“Well, she hasn’t had an easy time of it,” Ceci said.
Fina looked at her.
“Your sister-in-law’s death, and of course, your sister’s.”
Fina had had an older sister who died before Fina was born. Josie—Josephine, for whom she was named—had been a toddler when she was struck by a lethal strain of strep. It was a crucial piece of the Ludlow history, but as is too often the case in families, rarely discussed.
“I suppose. Thanks for the tea.”
“Thank you for your help, Fina. I’m going to call Chloe right now.”
In the car, Fina pondered her mother’s history. Sometimes she wondered if her sister’s death had changed her mother, but she tried not to dwell on the idea. After all, what was the point? Whether Elaine had been mother of the year before Josie’s death or always the current iteration, it made no difference.
She was the only mother Fina had.
NINE
Christa moved her foot over the pedal to rewind the audio. She stared at the blank wall in front of her and listened to the foreign accent.
“The nucleus was hydrodelineated and hydrodissected with balanced salt solution on a 26-gauge cannula, and the phacoemulsifier was used to phacoemulsify the nucleus using a bimanual technique . . .”
Phacoemulsify. That’s what it was. Phacoemulsify always tripped her up, which was ridiculous since she’d heard it countless times. She finished the section and pulled the headphones off. Even though they were expensive, they still made her ears feel sore and hot if she wore them for long stretches.
Christa stood up and raised her arms over her head, reaching for the ceiling. The doorbell chimed. She reached for her toes, and it rang again.
“One sec,” she called, padding to the front door and peering into the peephole. A man and a woman stood on the front step. They didn’t look threatening, nor did they look like Jehovah’s Witnesses.
“Who is it?”
“Boston Police Department, ma’am,” the woman answered. “I’m happy to pass you my badge.”
Christa unlocked and opened the door. The woman offered her badge, which Christa took, not really knowing what to look for. She’d heard you could call the precinct and ask for verification of the badge number, but she didn’t have time for that. She’d take her chances that they weren’t a pair of serial killers.
“What can I do for you?”
“Are you Christa Jackson?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“We’d like to speak with you about your cousin, Nadine Quaynor.”
“What about her?”
“I’m Detective Menendez, and this is Lieutenant Pitney,” he said. “Can we come in? It’s better we discuss this inside.”
Christa’s stomach flip-flopped. “Sure. Come on in.”
The cops followed her into the family room, which was crowded with too much oversized furniture. Christa tossed a pair of hot-pink pom-poms off the couch and pushed a large stuffed walrus out of the way with her foot. “I was just getting some coffee. Do you want a cup?” The offer was less gracious than it seemed; Christa was desperate to get some caffeine in her system.
“If it isn’t any trouble,” Cristian said.
“Yes, thanks,” Pitney added.
Christa filled three cups at the coffeemaker and put them on a tray with milk and sugar. She rooted around in the pantry until she found an Entenmann’s crumb coffee cake, which she cut into slices and plated. In the family room, she took a seat in the recliner while they doctored their drinks.
“We’re very sorry about your cousin’s death. Plea
se accept our condolences,” Pitney said after taking a sip of coffee. Her hair was curly and copper-colored, and her nails were painted a deep red, like the cherry you find under a robe of chocolate.
“Thank you. I still can’t believe it.”
Cristian took out a small recording device and held it up to her. “Do you mind if we record this?”
Christa hesitated. “No, that’s fine.”
He turned on the digital recorder, stated the date, time, and names of those present. He asked Christa to confirm that she agreed to the recording, which she did.
No one spoke for a minute.
“Were you and your cousin close?” Pitney asked.
“Have you released her body?” Christa asked in reply.
The cops exchanged glances. “Yes,” Cristian said. “The funeral home should have it.”
“Good. Her husband was upset when we went to make the funeral arrangements, and she wasn’t there.”
He nodded. “Someone should have contacted you from the ME’s office.”
“Yeah, well, someone didn’t.”
“Our apologies,” Pitney said. “I know this is hard, but we have to ask questions in order to determine exactly what happened to Nadine.”
“What do you mean?” Christa asked.
“Have you spoken with Evan today?” Pitney took a bite of the coffee cake, crumbs spilling down her front and settling on her bosom.
“No.”
“We believe that your cousin didn’t die from natural causes,” Cristian said, watching her.
Christa looked at him. He was extremely handsome, like an actor who might play a cop on TV. “What are you talking about?”
“Her death was unnatural,” Pitney said.
Christa put down her coffee cup and uncrossed her legs.
“What are you saying?”
“We believe someone poisoned her,” the lieutenant continued.
“What? Somebody must have made a mistake,” Christa said, sitting back in the recliner, like an important matter had just been settled.
“There’s no mistake,” Pitney said. “That’s why we wanted to ask you some questions.”
“How was she poisoned?” Christa asked.
Cristian started to explain, but she only caught certain words. Her mind didn’t so much drift as fail to compute, like he was speaking a foreign language that was completely unfamiliar to her ear.
