by Ingrid Thoft
“Do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt Nadine?” he asked.
“No, of course not.”
“Was she afraid of anyone or have a conflict of some sort?” Pitney asked, picking up the thread.
“Not enough to kill her. She was a churchgoing accountant for Christ’s sake.”
“Unfortunately, anyone can become a victim under the right circumstances,” Pitney said.
Christa shook her head. “I can’t imagine what those circumstances might be.”
“So were you and your cousin close?” Pitney asked again.
“Yes. We grew up together.”
“What sort of things did you do together?” Cristian asked.
“Lots of family gatherings, and sometimes she would come to my daughters’ events. We were both very busy, though.”
“But you got along?”
Christa looked askance at him. “Yes. Why would you think otherwise?”
“We’d heard that you’d had a bit of a falling-out.”
“Who told you that?”
“That’s not important,” Pitney said.
Christa smirked. “Let me guess: my aunt. She always blows things out of proportion.”
“So you and Nadine didn’t have a falling-out?” Cristian looked at her.
“We’re cousins. We’ve known each other since we were little girls. Occasionally, we argued.”
“About?”
She held up her hands. “I don’t know. It was probably something related to parenting. Ever since she married Evan and became a stepmother, Nadine thought she knew best about all things child-related. I’ve got three kids of my own. I do know a thing or two.”
Cristian nodded. “It’s irritating when other people tell you how to parent.”
“And God forbid she take any advice from me.” The detectives exchanged a look, and Christa backpedaled. “But it was all good. Nadine and I were good.” She picked at something crusty on the armrest with her fingernail.
Cristian reached for his coffee and brought it to his lips.
“We understand that she and her husband were separated,” Pitney ventured.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you think they were going to get a divorce?”
“You’d have to ask Evan that.”
Pitney broke off a piece of coffee cake. “We did. We’re interested in your opinion.”
“I know Evan was hopeful they’d get back together, but he wanted Nadine to leave the church, or at the very least, be less involved. I don’t think that was going to happen.”
“You’re referring to Covenant Rising?”
“Yes.”
“You thought she would choose the church over Evan and her stepdaughter?” Cristian asked.
“She already had, but she didn’t talk to me about her marriage.”
“I never understand when people choose an organization over family,” Pitney mused.
“If the organization promises you eternal life, and you believe in that hooey, I bet you’d find it pretty compelling,” Christa said.
“I suppose.”
“Obviously, you don’t like the church,” Cristian said. He’d hardly touched his coffee cake, and Christa saw Pitney eyeing it.
“I don’t share their particular beliefs, and I think the pastor is sleazy.”
“Pastor Greg?” Cristian asked.
“Yes, Pastor Greg and his perky wife, Gabby.”
“Why sleazy, exactly?” Pitney chimed in.
“He’s fake, like a used-car salesman, and he’s always asking for money.”
“That’s true of most churches,” the lieutenant said.
“But it’s different if the church has been around forever. This place is younger than a couple of my kids. It seems more like a business than a nonprofit.”
Pitney put down her coffee mug and placed her hands on her knees. “Is there anything else you can think of that might be relevant?”
“Have you talked to her colleagues? There was one guy in her department she really disliked.”
“We’re looking into her work situation,” Pitney said, starting to stand.
“You never said what kind of poison,” Christa commented.
The lieutenant lowered herself back to the couch. “Antifreeze.”
“How do you poison someone with antifreeze?”
“You put it in their drink.” Pitney gestured to her cup. “Coffee, for instance.”
Christa swallowed.
“Do you have any?” Menendez asked. “Antifreeze,” he added when Christa looked confused.
“I have no idea. My husband would know.”
“Do you mind if we take a look around?” he asked.
Christa rose from her chair. “I do mind. I’ve got nothing to hide, but I’m not comfortable having you snoop around my home.”
Pitney stood. “Suit yourself. I think you should let us look, but we can come back.”
Cristian started gathering the plates and cups.
“You can leave those, Detective,” Christa said.
“You sure?” He gave her a wide smile, which showed off his straight, white teeth.
“I’m sure.”
At the front door, they each handed Christa a card.
“We’ll be in touch,” Pitney said.
Christa closed the door behind them and stood for a moment with their cards in her hand.
She probably should have just let them look, but it wasn’t her job to make their jobs easier.
• • •
Fina needed to speak with Chloe to alert her to her new task and possibly glean more information. She called her, and they agreed to meet at the nursing home in Cambridge where Chloe was spending the day.
Hidden Forest was a rehab and nursing facility near Fresh Pond. Given that the facility was neither hidden nor in a forest, Fina thought the developers must have had an odd sense of humor. Located just off the parkway, it was a four-story building with two wings and a large circular drive in front. Fina found a visitor parking spot and entered through the glass double doors. The man behind the reception desk was having a heated exchange with a woman who Fina assumed was a resident.
“Mrs. Markey, you have to leave that plant where it is!”
The older woman was grasping a potted fern and starting down the hallway with it.
“They told me I could take it,” the elderly woman replied, her expression a mixture of ignorance and defiance.
“Who told you?”
“The nurses.”
Fina glanced between the two of them. The man exhaled in frustration. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Chloe Renard.”
“She’s in the art room.” The phone rang on the desk. “Down that hallway to the right,” he said, dismissing her.
Mrs. Markey tucked the plant under her arm and went in the direction that the receptionist had indicated. Fina trailed behind her and peeked in when the elderly woman ducked into a room a few doors down. A TV was blaring, and another old woman sat in a chair, staring at it.
“Mary! Look what I brought you,” Mrs. Markey declared.
How sweet. Hidden Forest had its own Robin Hood.
Fina found Chloe in an activities room at the end of the hall. There was an upright piano and a sitting area on one side of the room. The other side was filled with folding tables, each with two chairs. Another table held stacks of art supplies. Chloe stood, sorting through a pile of paper.
Fina leaned against one of the tables. “Hi.”
“Hi. That was fast.”
“I have a lead foot. It’s a genetic condition.”
Chloe glanced at a large wall clock. “Good, because I don’t have much time before my painting class begins.”
“I’ll be quick. How are
you?”
“I’m okay.”
Fina smiled. “Care to elaborate?”
“Obviously, I’m upset, but it’s not like Nadine was my best friend. It doesn’t seem right to be too upset. I don’t want to be an emotional vampire. You know, one of those people who makes someone else’s tragedy all about them.”
“Sure, but even if you weren’t close, it’s disturbing when someone you know and like dies.”
Chloe nodded. “It is. I still can’t believe it.”
“It may take a while to sink in.”
“My mother just left a message checking in with me.”
“She was very concerned when I told her about Nadine,” Fina said.
Chloe handed her a box of watercolor tubes. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” Fina began to distribute a few tubes to each seat. “How much do you know about the cause of Nadine’s death?”
“Just what you’ve told me.”
Chloe followed behind Fina, doling out paper and brushes.
“Well, it appears that Nadine’s death wasn’t from natural causes.”
“What do you mean?”
“The medical examiner thinks she was poisoned, and the police are investigating.”
Chloe stopped what she was doing and dropped into a chair. She closed her eyes.
“I’m going to look into her death, too,” Fina said.
“Why?”
“You don’t want me to?”
Chloe looked at her. “Obviously, whoever hurt Nadine should be caught, but are you only investigating so you can sully the church?”
Fina shook her head. “No. I’m investigating because that’s what I do, Chloe, and getting the facts might put your mind at ease. If the church is involved, you should know that, and if the church isn’t involved, then that’s wonderful news.”
Chloe stood and resumed her task, dropping the materials down on the tables with a succession of loud thumps. “The church isn’t involved.”
“I don’t mean that the church was involved in a conspiracy to kill,” Fina clarified. “I’m talking about making sure that Nadine’s death has no connection to the church, even tangentially.”
“I know what you mean,” Chloe said. “I would never be involved with an organization that had something to do with someone’s death.”
Fina sighed. “I just said that I don’t think the church is involved, but don’t you want to know if a member of the church is?”
Chloe squeezed her fists by her side. “People do all kinds of terrible things that have nothing to do with their affiliations.”
“Agreed, but that’s information that should be acquired and evaluated, not ignored.”
A pair of elderly women tottered into the room and exchanged pleasantries with Chloe. Fina smiled at them as they claimed spaces at a table.
“My class is about to start.”
“Okay. Can you give me the names and contact info for the other members of the church’s leadership committee, in addition to Nadine and Lucas Chellew?”
“How can they help?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s worth speaking to them.”
Chloe pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “I have the contact lists for the various church committees in my e-mail. I’m sending it to you right now.”
Fina pulled out her phone and waited impatiently for her e-mail to sync. She would not have done well in the era of smoke signals or the pony express.
“Got it. Anyone you suggest I start with?”
“Maybe Mary Boudreau or Donna Anderson. Kyle Roady isn’t in the church anymore. I think he moved, so he won’t be able to help.”
“Great. I’ll get on it.” She started for the door.
“Fina,” Chloe called to her. “Of course I want to know what happened to Nadine. I’m just . . .”
“Conflicted,” Fina offered. “Don’t worry. I get it.”
Fina didn’t know what she would uncover about Nadine’s death and the church’s possible involvement, but she knew that even if Ceci had pulled the plug on the investigation, she would keep digging.
The more people tried to warn her off, the more intrigued she became.
• • •
Given how much time people spent working, it was an obvious next step to see where Nadine Quaynor worked. In the modern age, people took it for granted that they spent hours each day toiling beside relative strangers, with whom the only points of intersection were an interest in fruit flies or health benefits or, in the case of Nadine, accounting principles. That didn’t mean that people didn’t genuinely like their coworkers, but Fina was always struck by how much personal satisfaction rode on the fragile web of a shared workplace.
Williams & Lewiston had a stellar reputation in the field of accounting, and Nadine’s employment there suggested she was good at her job.
Oftentimes when visiting a more formal work environment, Fina dressed up to fit in, but she also occasionally found it useful to stand out and create a small ripple in a more conservative setting. She always looked put-together—there was no payoff to looking homeless—but her jeans and hoop earrings made her harder to ignore. Buttoned-up receptionists were usually anxious to move her along, which is how she came to be seated across from Monica Zafira, Nadine’s boss.
Monica was a black woman in her forties with cropped hair, wearing a smartly tailored suit. A thin gold chain boasting a monogrammed charm the size of a quarter hung around her neck. It was her only jewelry except for a watch with a rectangular face. Her nails were short but shiny, as if they’d been given attention but weren’t meant to draw attention.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Ludlow?” Monica asked, returning Fina’s PI license.
“Call me Fina. I’m investigating the death of Nadine Quaynor.”
Monica nodded. “In addition to the police?”
“Yes, but I’m coordinating with them.”
“I’m surprised Nadine’s family has hired a private investigator. I only met her parents once, but they didn’t seem like the type.”
“What type did they seem like?” Fina unscrewed the top of the water bottle that Monica had given her. She didn’t correct the woman’s assumption that Nadine’s parents were footing the bill.
“Like I said, I don’t know them, but I had the sense that they tended to roll with things.”
“That’s certainly not the impression I’ve gotten of Nadine,” Fina said. “It would seem the apple fell far from the tree.”
“My sense was that they were quite different,” Monica said. “Nadine was as you would expect an accountant to be: organized and detail-oriented.”
“Was Nadine having any trouble that you knew of?”
Monica shook her head. “No, and I would know about anything going on in the office. I keep a close eye on my team.”
Fina didn’t doubt it and thought Monica’s office space reflected her no-nonsense approach. There were no personal touches, but a couple of framed paintings provided some warmth. A rich berry-colored pashmina rested on the back of her chair, suggesting that she too got cold in her office, like every woman Fina had ever met. Monica was human, but Fina didn’t think she tolerated a lot of bullshit.
“Was Nadine a good employee?”
“She was excellent. Extremely thorough and conscientious. That’s not to say that she was infallible, but I was very pleased with her performance.”
“And when she was fallible? What did that look like?”
Monica tapped the floor with her toe so that her chair rotated slightly. “Occasionally, I had to coach her about the best way to effect change with her colleagues.”
“She didn’t play well with others?”
Monica took a moment before speaking. “Nadine was an asset to any team she joined, but sometimes she rubbed people the wr
ong way. She didn’t always couch her concerns in the most productive terms.”
“But she was amenable to your coaching?”
“She was. I think she had a very bright future at the firm. It’s extremely sad.”
Fina nodded. “It is. She was young and hadn’t been married long. Did you ever meet her husband?”
Monica thought for a moment. “Just once at a company picnic. He seemed like a nice man, and her stepdaughter was cute.”
“I’ve been told that Nadine was unwell in the months leading up to her death. Did that affect her work performance?”
“She took a couple of sick days, but nothing out of the ordinary.” Monica folded her hands on her desk. “She was the kind of employee who would meet her deadlines even if she took time off. I never worried about her productivity.”
“So you can’t think of anyone at work who would want to harm her?”
“I really can’t, and I would tell you if I could.”
Fina smiled and rose from her seat. “I’m quite sure you would. You seem like someone who doesn’t brook a lot of bull.”
Monica smiled. “I like to get the job done.”
“You and me both. Thanks for speaking with me.”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.”
On the way out of Williams & Lewiston, Fina stopped in the ladies’ room and loitered by the elevator in an effort to gather any dirt. She chatted with a few people, but none of them had much to say about Nadine.
You might die of boredom at the accounting firm, but Fina thought that was as dangerous as it got.
TEN
Conducting a death investigation required tact and sensitivity, particularly when the family of the deceased weren’t the ones who’d hired you. When Fina approached grieving family members for interviews, she usually got one of two responses: either disgust that she was asking, or a warm welcome. An interview with Fina gave family members an opportunity to discuss their loved one in depth, something they were often eager to do, which is why you often saw distraught loved ones doing TV interviews. Talking about the deceased kept them alive.
