Duplicity

by Ingrid Thoft

  “He does, but I can’t find him or his assistant.”

  “You’re a private eye. You’ll figure it out.”

  She sat down next to him. “Just FYI, someone’s after me, and I’m thinking about hiring a bodyguard.”

  Scotty began clicking his ballpoint pen.

  “Don’t freak out,” Fina said. “It’s all good.”

  “Is anyone else in the family at risk?”

  “No. Just me, and it’s not to kill me, just beat me up.”

  Scotty grasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Well, then. I feel much better.”

  “I told the cops,” she said, punching him gently on the arm. “I’m totally on top of it.”

  Scotty gave her a pained smile.

  “So I heard you met Matthew’s girlfriend,” she said.

  “Yes. She’s lovely.”

  “Maybe Patty could counsel her on how to deal with Mom. She’s an expert, after all.”

  “You don’t know for sure how Mom’s going to be with Sydney.”

  “I don’t? I’m pretty sure I know how she’s going to react to a single mother.”

  “A Jewish single mother.”

  “Good God.”

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” Scotty said, tapping his chest. “This conversation is giving me angina.”

  Fina gave him a kiss on the cheek and rose.

  “How’s the Rand thing going?” he asked.

  “It’s going.”

  Scotty looked at her, but was quiet.

  “I’m assuming you don’t want a detailed update,” Fina said.

  “I’d rather not, but I don’t want all of this to be on your shoulders.”

  “I’ll let you know when I’m further along.”

  Rand came into the room at that moment.

  “Speak of the devil,” Fina said.

  Her eldest brother glared at her, then turned his attention to Scotty. “We need to talk about the Mikiyato case.”

  “Sure.”

  Fina left and looped back around to Matthew’s office, where his assistant, Sue, was happy to dole out some Cheerful Cleaning vouchers. Matthew was in court, his ETA unknown, so she decided to head home and regroup.

  Back at the condo, Fina made a fluffernutter with a tall glass of milk, which she ate in front of the TV, watching a Law & Order rerun. It was one with Detective Ed Green, played by Jesse L. Martin. For one hour, she felt pure contentment: a fluffernutter, a case she didn’t have to solve, a handsome cop. What more could she ask for?

  The doorbell was an unwelcome interruption, particularly when Fina peeked through the peephole and saw Stanley on the other side.

  “Hi, Stanley,” Fina said, tucking her gun into the back of her pants. She’d shed the holster before lunch.

  “I’ve got a package for you, Ms. Ludlow,” he said, handing Fina a box from a clothing retailer, which she placed on the floor next to the door. “And this just arrived.” “This” was an unmarked brown envelope. There was no postage or return address, just her name.

  “Really? Who dropped it off?”

  “A gentleman asked Mrs. Bennigan to bring it in.” Mrs. Bennigan was a sweet old lady who would cheerfully carry a ticking bomb onto a plane. She was very trusting.

  “I’m assuming you didn’t get him on the surveillance tape?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “All righty. Thanks, Stanley.” Fina pinched the envelope between her fingertips and pushed the door closed with her foot.

  She dropped the envelope onto the dining room table and looked at it. She didn’t think it would explode since it was flat, and it didn’t have any odor. Fina knew she should call Cristian, but that required time and patience she didn’t have.

  Instead, she donned a pair of latex gloves and her sunglasses, thinking some protection was better than none.

  Inside the envelope was a single sheet of white paper with cutout letters in the style of a ransom note.

  It read: “Go away or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Fina groaned.

  She left the note on the table and dropped down onto the couch.

  Was it too early to call it a day?

  • • •

  Fina allowed herself half an hour of self-pity, then decided that break-ins, vandalism, threats of bodily harm, and poison pen letters were no reason to have a bad day. You couldn’t be a good private investigator and a wuss at the same time.

  Since action was the antidote to self-pity, she decided to pay Evan a visit, but not without some trepidation. Fina was willing to take risks with her own life, but she didn’t want an innocent bystander—or God forbid, a child—to get caught in the crossfire. She’d just have to be vigilant—and stay away from windows.

  When Evan answered the door, she made her case before he could speak.

  “I know things got tense during our last conversation,” Fina said. “I’ve brought a peace offering.” She handed him an envelope with the cleaning vouchers. “They’re vouchers for housecleaning to lighten your load.”

  He pulled out the slips of paper and examined them.

  “I’m very single-minded when I’m on a case,” Fina continued. “I know that can come off as insensitivity, and I’m sorry. Can we have a do-over?”

  Evan flicked the vouchers across his open palm while contemplating her offer. “Sure.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  He opened the door wider, and Fina came into the house.

  “I’m in the middle of a situation,” he said, leading her to the kitchen. There was a plate on the counter with remnants of an English muffin, and a couple of banker’s boxes were stacked on the table next to a small pile of papers.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked, looking around.

  “The disposal.” He pointed at the sink, which was filled with grungy-looking gray water. Reaching into the mini cesspool, Evan twisted something, and a horrible grinding noise kicked in. Fina winced. Another twist stopped the noise. Shredded carrot and chunks of unidentifiable food floated on the scummy liquid.

  “Can I help?” Fina asked.

  He sighed. “If you think you can. It’s jammed up. Apparently, you can’t put carrot shavings down the disposal.”

  “Got it,” Fina said. She took off her coat and rolled up her sleeves before plunging her hand into the murky mess. She tried to start the disposal, to no avail.

  “Do you have a plunger?” Fina pulled her hand out and ran the water for a moment to rinse it clean.

  Evan gave her a hand towel. “I thought you were supposed to use a broom.”

  “If something is jammed in the disposal itself, but I think you’ve got a blockage in the pipe.”

  “There’s one upstairs. I’ll get it,” he said, leaving the room.

  Fina tossed the towel onto the counter and moved over to the table. She listened for Evan’s footsteps overhead and quickly thumbed through the stack of papers. A familiar logo jumped out at her, and Fina pulled out a Boston Police Department evidence inventory worksheet for closer inspection. Grabbing her phone from her bag, she took photos of the two-page document and returned it to the pile. Noises carried from overhead, and she pulled the top off one of the banker’s boxes and scanned the folders. She’d made little progress when she heard Evan coming back downstairs.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t find it at first.” He handed the plunger to Fina.

  She placed it over the sink drain and wiggled it in an effort to get a good seal. She started plunging, which threw up waves of dirty water. The sink and disposal made a series of noises, and she dodged what looked like pieces of soggy potato before a loud belch issued from the pipes and the fetid water was sucked down.

  “That’s great!” Evan said as they peered at the det
ritus left in the sink. “Thank you so much.”

  Fina ran her hands under the water. “I thought you were some kind of engineer. This isn’t your bailiwick?”

  He looked sheepish. “I’m a project manager on the administrative side. My mechanical knowledge is limited.”

  She dried her hands. “Ronnie wasn’t around to help?” Fina had noticed his empty driveway when she’d pulled up.

  “Nope. He would have been my first call.”

  “Looks like you’re still unpacking,” she said, nodding toward the boxes on the table.

  “Ah, no. Those are Nadine’s. The cops were looking at those.”

  “Find anything useful?”

  “I don’t think so. They didn’t take them away.”

  “Do you mind if I have a look?”

  He hesitated. “I guess not, but there’s nothing in them. It’s stuff like subscription information and travel receipts.”

  “That’s okay. It will help me get to know Nadine a little bit better.”

  “Suit yourself.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to pick up Molly.”

  They carried the boxes out to Fina’s car, and she stashed them in the trunk. “I’m still not having any luck connecting with Nadine’s parents. Any suggestions?”

  “I know they’ve spoken with the police, but they’re devastated. They’re keeping to themselves.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep trying, and I’ll let you know if I find anything useful in this stuff,” she said, gesturing toward the trunk.

  “I can’t imagine you will.”

  Evan drove off, and she sat in her car and brought up the photos she’d snapped. It was a pain looking at them on her phone, but Fina zoomed in and eyed the evidence inventory. Halfway down the second page was an entry that made her sit up and take notice.

  The cops had seized a one-gallon jug of antifreeze from Nadine and Evan’s basement.

  It didn’t mean that Evan had killed Nadine, but it sure didn’t suggest he hadn’t.

  • • •

  Fina called Carl’s office from the car, but he’d already left for the day. Her parents’ house was one of her least favorite destinations, but it couldn’t be avoided. Someone needed to foot the bill for her increased security, and it wasn’t going to be Fina.

  She made the drive to Newton, amazed by how quickly the city was left behind when she entered their neighborhood, which was dominated by enormous lots and houses to match. Carl and Elaine’s was a stone and shingle abomination that could have housed a family of Mormons. The sheer size of the place enabled them to steer clear of each other. Perhaps that was the secret to their long marriage.

  Fina parked in front of one of the four garage doors and turned off the car. She sat and tried to find her happy place in advance of seeing Elaine, but it was useless. Just the thought of her mother brought on a wave of irritability.

  She went to the side of the house, always preferring the more modest kitchen entrance to the grand foyer with its ten-foot double doors.

  The kitchen was spotless and empty, and Fina couldn’t resist a peek in the refrigerator to see if there were any good snacks. Her mother was a big fan of telling other people how to eat, while following a less than stellar diet herself. On the counter, Fina spotted a Tupperware container that held chocolate chip cookies, definitely baked by the domestic help. She poured herself a glass of milk and snagged a cookie. It was delicious: a touch of crisp on the outside, but chewy in the middle, a perfect counterpoint to the cold milk.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” her mother said, appearing in the kitchen door. She was dressed to go out in black pants and a shiny, tailored leather jacket, her purse slung over her arm.

  “I need to talk with Dad.”

  Elaine watched her eat. “That was very rude of you to skip out on dinner the other night and to take Haley with you.”

  Her mother operated in a world where huge misdeeds were ignored, but slights were cataloged for safekeeping and referenced again and again. Fina was thankful for the hunk of cookie in her mouth. It provided a time delay her brain would not have.

  “Sorry,” Fina said, with no attempt at sincerity.

  “And you owe me an apology,” Elaine said.

  “I just gave you an apology,” Fina said once she’d swallowed.

  “I mean for that outburst about your brother.”

  “Right. I owe you an apology.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Elaine shook her head. “What did we do to you that was so terrible, Josefina?”

  “I don’t think we should have this conversation, Mom.” She broke off more cookie and bit into it.

  “Really, I’d like you to explain it to me. Your father and I took good care of you. You’ve never wanted for anything.”

  Fina stared at her. “Is that all that you think parenting is? Providing nice stuff?”

  “Of course not, but you’ve had more than most people have.”

  Fina placed her glass in the sink and folded her arms across her chest to still her hands. “Do you even like your kids, Mom?” The bounty on her head was making Fina feel reckless.

  “What a silly question!”

  “Well, humor me and answer it.”

  “Of course I like my children,” Elaine said, in a tone of voice that bore no relationship to the statement itself.

  “Because I’ve always thought that you didn’t like me.” Fina’s legs felt loose, as if a tremor had moved the earth beneath her. Saying it out loud felt seismic.

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Right.”

  They looked at each other for a moment. Elaine ran her hand through her hair and tugged on her jacket. “I’m late. Your father is in his study.”

  Fina stood still until she heard the door to the garage slam. She moved over to the window and watched her mother back out in her pricey sedan and take off down the driveway. Patty and Risa were always encouraging Fina to make an effort with Elaine, to see her mother’s point of view, but it was like banging her head against a brick wall. Eventually, self-preservation kicked in. Unfortunately, it hadn’t kicked in soon enough to avoid this particular conversation.

  Fina walked the length of the house to Carl’s home office. The room had high, coffered ceilings and a view of the pond and woods outside. Her father was seated behind his glass desk, a laptop open in front of him.

  “Did you see your mother on her way out?” he asked Fina.

  “Yes. It was a delightful encounter, as always.”

  Carl shook his head.

  “I need to hire some protection,” Fina said before he could build up a head of steam.

  “For whom?”

  “For me.” She walked over to the window and gazed out at the pond.

  “Why?”

  “Someone has put out a contract on me. Not to kill me, just to put me in the hospital.”

  “And it’s because of your case?”

  “It’s because of a case. I don’t know which one yet, but in the meantime, I need some protection.”

  Carl sat back in his chair. “Fine, but if it turns out to be unrelated to the firm, you owe me.”

  She turned to him. “What else would it be related to, Dad?”

  “I don’t know what you do in your spare time.”

  Fina stared at him. “Jesus. Nothing that requires a bodyguard.”

  “I said you could do it. You laid up in the hospital isn’t good for anyone.”

  “Right. Thanks.” She started for the door.

  “Have you met Matthew’s new girlfriend?” Carl asked, looking up at her.

  “Not yet, but he’s told me about her.”

  Carl’s gaze returned to the laptop screen.

  “Have you?” Fina asked.

  “No.”

  “You know she’s a s
ingle mom, right? She has a young daughter.”

  Her father glared at her. “I know.”

  “Good. Just want to make sure that everyone’s on high alert. Maybe I should hire some protection for the kid at the next family dinner.”

  Carl shook his head and sighed. “Occasionally, Josefina, you should quash your urge to speak.”

  “Believe me, Dad. There’s so much that goes unsaid.”

  Fina headed home, anxious to put as much distance as possible between her parents and herself. She was tired, and the conversations with her parents had lodged a knot of tension in her neck. Fina knew that pursuing the case against Rand was the only thing that would bring real relief.

  She plugged the two names provided by Lindsay Shaunnesy into a search engine and scanned the list of links thrown back at her. Jotting down the most promising contact information, she turned on the TV and found a show about houses on deserted islands. Fina was desperate to be distracted from the thoughts in her head, and the idea of being marooned in the middle of nowhere held great appeal. Images of crystal clear waters and golden sand finally lulled her into a deep sleep.

  SEVENTEEN

  The next morning Fina decided not to tell Cristian about the anonymous note, but she knew that the time had come to contact Dennis Kozlowski. After eating a Pop-Tart and taking a long, hot shower, she left him a message explaining her predicament.

  Midmorning, she holstered her gun and got in the car for the drive to Framingham. She hoped to find Christa Jackson at home, and ideally, in a loquacious mood.

  For a moment, Christa contemplated Fina’s appearance at her door, but then invited her in and led her to the kitchen. “I have to get this done,” she said, gesturing to a cupcake pan and a bowl of batter.

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I’m Tamara’s room mother, and I swear these kids are always having celebrations.”

  “Does it have to be homemade?” Fina asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

  “No, but I don’t feel right bringing something store-bought. Did your mom bake when you were growing up?”

  “Ha! No, we had a housekeeper, and she did the baking. My mother knows the kitchen exists, but it’s as mysterious to her as CIA headquarters are to the rest of us.”