by Ingrid Thoft
Sweat trickled down Greg’s back as he pushed through another set of biceps curls and overhead presses. He’d eked out the last rep when there was a knock at the door, and Gabby poked her head into the home gym.
“Lucas is here to see you,” she said with a sneer on her face. She pushed the door wide open.
Lucas stepped into the room and moved to put some distance between himself and Gabby. They avoided eye contact.
Greg racked the dumbbells and sipped his water. He knew the silence was making both his wife and his congregant uncomfortable, so he drew it out a little longer as he took a swig from the water bottle.
“We’re all set, Gabby. Thanks.”
She gave Lucas a sour parting look and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
Lucas stood with his back to the mirror, which gave Greg a view of his backside. He was wearing ill-fitting khakis and a sweater over a button-down shirt. He looked like any middle-aged dad who was getting soft and flabby, his shoulders sloping with the years.
“You wanted to speak with me, Pastor Greg?”
Greg didn’t invite him to sit down or suggest they move the conversation to a more comfortable setting. With Lucas shifting from one foot to the other, Greg had him just where he wanted him.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation yesterday.”
Lucas nodded.
“I appreciate that you came to me with your concerns,” Greg said. He took another gulp from his water.
“Of course, Pastor.”
“And I prayed on it and reflected about what would be most healing under the circumstances.”
“Uh-huh.”
“God calls on each of us to do our part,” Greg continued.
“Of course.” His face was pinched.
“And I think you need some space to reflect on your role in the church.”
Lucas blinked a few times. “I don’t understand.”
“I think it’s best that you take some time off from the leadership committee. I don’t want those responsibilities to distract you from what’s really important, which is the state of your soul and your relationship with God.” Greg stared at Lucas as he delivered the command masquerading as a suggestion.
“Pastor Greg, I can still attend to my duties on the committee, even if I take some time to reflect.”
Greg smiled at him. “I know how committed you are to the church, Lucas. I want to see you be equally committed to your own spiritual well-being.”
“But . . . I . . .” Lucas kneaded one hand with the other. “Am I being punished? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Of course you’re not being punished. This is an opportunity, Lucas. You’re an important member of the church, and I need you to be completely focused. Believe me, this was a difficult decision, but it’s the right decision.”
“But I don’t understand. You said I did the right thing, but it feels like I’m in trouble.”
Greg frowned. “Lucas, do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Then you need to believe that a temporary leave from the committee is in your best interest and the church’s best interest.”
He nodded slowly. “If that’s what you think is best.”
“I do, and I can assure you that Gabby and I are going to pray on this, and she’s going to do the work she needs to do.”
Lucas’s features had grown slack. He started to leave, but paused at the door. “Are you going to tell people why I’m off the committee?”
“I’m going to tell them that you have a great number of responsibilities, and it would be selfish of the church to expect so much of you.” Greg went to Lucas and patted him on the back. “It’s all going to work out. It’s not for us to question God’s plan.”
“Of course not.”
Greg walked him to the front door. “I don’t want you to worry. This doesn’t change our relationship.”
“I hope not, Pastor,” Lucas said, lingering on the front stoop.
“I’ll see you at church,” Greg said, closing the door.
He looked toward the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Gabby in the doorway, a small smile perched on her face.
• • •
“Do you have today’s paper?” Fina asked the moment she stepped into Peg and Frank’s living room.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Frank said. He had a hammer in one hand and was studying a wall of family pictures.
“A new arrival?” Fina asked.
“Another picture of great-nephew Oliver.” He held up a framed eight-by-ten of an adorable baby tenuously balanced on a stack of pillows.
“He’s outgrown his angry old man phase,” Fina said. “Such a cutie.”
“The paper should be in the recycling bin by the door to the garage.”
“Thanks.”
Fina found both the Herald and the Globe on the top of the stack and brought them back to the living room.
“So what are you looking for in the paper?”
Fina flipped through the pages. “Did any circulars come today?”
“Anything that came today should be on the top.”
Frank hammered a nail into the wall while she continued looking. He gingerly placed the photo on the nail and stood back to take a look.
He admired his handiwork. “Looks good, if I do say so myself.”
“Ahh.” Fina pulled a stack of circulars out that were nestled in the Globe’s business section. She pulled one out and spread it open on the coffee table.
“What’d you find?”
“Not sure.”
Frank took a seat in his recliner and watched her skim the shiny pages. Fina pulled the most recent note from her bag and smoothed it down next to the circulars. She carefully ran her finger down each page of the Macy’s insert.
“Those are baby clothes,” Frank noted. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Fina snorted. “Hardly.” She flipped to the next page, which featured Misses swimwear. “Look.” She pointed at the print. “Doesn’t that look identical?”
Frank scooted forward and stretched out his hand. She passed him the note and then the circular. He studied the two items.
“See how the S looks the same,” Fina said, “and you can just see a teeny bit of that turquoise background.”
“Looks like a match to me,” Frank said.
“Yippee!”
Frank patted her shoulder. “Sweetie, I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but everyone in eastern Massachusetts got this circular.”
Fina grinned. “But how many of them got the circular before it was delivered in the newspaper?”
“When did you get this note?”
“Yesterday. I could be wrong, but I’m guessing only someone with access to the circular prepublication could have sent me this note and the other two.”
“And you know someone who fits the bill?” he asked.
“I do indeed. Not only would that clear up the mystery of who’s sending the notes, it means I can breathe a little easier. There’s no way that guy would ever hurt me.”
“No?”
“No.” Fina grinned. “In fact, I think I could make him cry if I looked at him wrong.”
“I’m not sure that idea should make you so gleeful.”
“Let me take my pleasures where I can get them, Frank.”
“So what’s next?”
Fina sat back on the couch. “Give me a moment to relish the discovery.”
Frank held his hands up. “Of course. I don’t want to rush the creative process.”
“This must be how doctors and nurses feel when they save a patient—that sense of satisfaction.”
Frank nodded. “I would definitely draw a parallel between saving someone’s life and uncovering the identity of
the author of your poison pen letters. Exactly the same.”
“We really are two birds of a feather, Frank.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
• • •
Fina wasn’t sure how best to use the knowledge of Lucas’s little art project, so she decided to do nothing for the moment. As long as Lucas didn’t know the jig was up, Fina had the upper hand. She’d developed enough self-control over the years to hold back until she could leverage information to her advantage.
Her stomach was growling, so Fina stopped at her favorite sub shop in Newton and ordered a cheesesteak with mushrooms and onions. She took her sandwich over to one of the molded plastic booths and took a seat. The cheese was dripping out of one end of the roll. Fina took a bite and licked salty grease off her finger.
She wiped her hands on a napkin before scrolling through her e-mail. The phone rang a moment later, Carl’s name illuminating the screen.
“Yes, Father?”
“I saw Ceci last night. Where are you on the case?”
“I’m on the cusp. Where did you see Ceci?”
“At a benefit. Your mother dragged me to it.”
“Got it. I was planning to give Ceci a call, but I’ve been too busy solving this thing.”
“You just said you were on the cusp. Which is it?”
Fina held the phone away from her ear for a moment. “I’m on the cusp of solving it,” she replied once she’d taken the pause to control her irritation.
“What about Chloe’s donation?”
“I’ll have a fair amount of ammunition against making it, but there’s no telling what she’ll do.”
“Your job was to make her withdraw the land deal.”
“No,” Fina said, popping a mushroom into her mouth. “My job was to try to dig up some dirt, which I’m doing. If she’s hell-bent on supporting the church, nothing anyone says will make a difference.”
“Figure something out, Fina.”
“It’s at the top of my list.”
She hung up and took a few bites, washing them down with her soda.
Fina was a woman of principle, and one of her principles was to never let anyone ruin a good meal. Her father tested her sorely in this department, but she took another bite, committed to enjoying her sub despite his heartburn-inducing demands.
• • •
Fina spent most of Sunday lolling around in her sweats and was refreshed and ready to go when her alarm sounded on Monday morning. She was itching to get her hands on Jimmy Smith, and walked to the print shop with a spring in her step. She wanted to channel her inner Gene Kelly, by swinging on the lampposts and pirouetting on the pavement, but that would look crazy.
The store was on the first floor of a mid-rise stone building, next door to a smoothie place. First, Fina walked by the front of the store and glanced in without stopping. There were two men inside, one of whom was Jimmy Smith, the other of whom looked barely out of his teens. Fina turned the corner at the end of the block and walked into the alley behind the building. All of the metal doors were closed and judging from the depth of the shop and the building, she surmised that the shop didn’t open directly onto the alley. This was good news; it suggested that Jimmy wouldn’t be able to make a quick getaway from the rear of the building like he had the other night.
Returning to the street, Fina touched her gun for reassurance before pushing open the door. Her arrival was heralded by the tinkling of a bell. Fina flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and approached the counter where the younger man was typing something into the computer. Jimmy, hunched over a copier, had his back to her.
“Can I help you?” the young man asked without raising his eyes. His hair was long and lank, bringing to mind a hippie, and he wore a faded T-shirt that might have done double duty as his sleepwear. When did dressing for outside and inside become the same thing?
Fina put her hand on her hip and watched his gaze travel to her waist. He blinked rapidly and started to raise his hands.
“I don’t have any business with you,” Fina said. “I’m here to see Jimmy.”
Jimmy’s head popped up, and he turned toward his visitor. The quick jerk of his head toward the back of the store indicated his urge to run.
“If you even think about making me run after you again, you will regret it.”
“Do what she wants, man,” the younger man pleaded.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Fina reassured him, “but Jimmy and I have business.”
“What do you want?” Jimmy asked her, folding his arms over his chest. The bruises under his eyes had faded, and his nose was tape-free.
“I want to know who hired you to beat me up.”
The hippie’s eyes enlarged to saucers.
“I can’t be giving up my sources.”
“Oh, please. You didn’t finish the job, and I found you. Let’s just agree that you suck at this.”
Jimmy sneered. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. He didn’t tell me his name.”
“C’mon. You’re not that dumb,” Fina said. “You must have seen the guy. How’d he pay you?”
“He gave me cash when we met up.”
“Where did you meet up?”
He jerked his head toward the street. “In the alley behind the BAS, that fancy gym.”
Fina looked at him. “The gym?”
“That snobby place down the street.”
A wave of something—nausea, anxiety, dread—pulsed through her body. Fina placed a hand on the counter to steady herself. “What did he look like?”
Jimmy screwed up his face in annoyance. “I don’t know. I wasn’t dating the guy.”
“Try to remember,” Fina said slowly. The hippie stood as still as a statue, only his eyes moving back and forth, following their conversation.
“About six feet, dark hair, but kind of going gray. He was in good shape.”
She pulled out her phone and clicked open the browser, willing her hands not to shake. She could feel the pulse in her neck throbbing.
“Tell me if you see him on this page,” she said, handing Jimmy the phone.
While he looked, Fina took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. She’d heard this kind of breathing was used by soldiers and cops to control their adrenaline. She did it again, but felt closer to hyperventilation than she had before.
“This is the guy,” Jimmy said, giving the phone back to her.
Fina knew what she would see, but she forced herself to look at the Ludlow and Associates partners’ page. She squeezed the phone in her hand.
“Thanks, Jimmy, and by the way, stay the fuck away from me.”
Throwing open the door, Fina bolted out of the shop and took a few shaky steps toward the entrance of the smoothie shop. She leaned against the glass, pressing her cheek to the cold surface.
There was a small part of her that always expected the worst, but even that part couldn’t possibly have predicted this turn of events.
THIRTY
Fina went home, threw on the dead bolt, and collapsed on her bed. She didn’t want to think about the information she’d just discovered, but she could think of nothing else. Her own brother had paid to have her attacked. The concept was mind-boggling. But it confirmed what Fina had suspected for a long time: Rand was a monster. The bonds of family, the expectations of society, the law—none of it mattered. There was just Rand and the things he wanted. Anyone or anything that got in his way would be dealt with. Fina was just another obstacle.
The fact that he hadn’t had her killed should have warmed her heart, but it didn’t. All this time, she’d been looking over her shoulder, worrying about the family’s safety, trying to stay one step ahead of Jimmy Smith, and it was all because of him.
Fina pushed her face into the pillow and lay there. She wanted to find him an
d kill him, but unlike Rand, she had a conscience, and she knew that other people would be affected by her actions.
Rolling off the bed, Fina went to the living room and got her phone. She walked to the window and watched a tanker make its way into the harbor. Living up so high with a bird’s-eye view was generally a good reminder of her relative place in the world, but at that moment, it didn’t have the desired effect. Her smallness made her feel impotent.
The revelation about Rand felt like a disaster, and Fina wanted desperately to talk about it with someone; but the question was, who? If she led a normal life, she would pick up the phone and dial her boyfriend. He would console her and give her advice, and she would feel that his top priority was her happiness and well-being. But Fina wasn’t normal, nor was her life. Her boyfriend was a cop, and the law was always paramount in his mind. If he put Fina first, he was shirking his professional responsibilities, and if he put her second, then he wasn’t being a very good boyfriend, or at least not the kind she wanted.
Cristian would want to build a case against Rand. He would want to let the law do its job, and although that was an option Fina would consider, she knew that her consideration wouldn’t be enough for him. He’d want to do things by the book, and Fina didn’t know if she could, not when it came to family.
She fetched a diet soda from the kitchen and dipped her hand into a bag of miniature Reese’s peanut butter cups. On the couch, Fina placed her phone down and popped open the soda. She took a few gulps of the caffeine-laden liquid and then turned her attention to unwrapping the minicups. The familiar flavors of chocolate and peanut butter settled on her tongue. After accumulating a hillock of foil wrappers, Fina reached for her phone.
“I need to see you right away,” she told Matthew.
“This is not a good time.”
“When is a good time?”
“Uh . . . let me see.” He was quiet for a moment. “Tomorrow, right before lunch.”
“No, Matthew. It’s an emergency. Cancel stuff.”
“Fina, I can’t just cancel stuff.”
