by Ingrid Thoft
She changed into sweats and had settled on the couch with her laptop when there was a knock on her door. A peek through the peephole revealed Cristian on the other side. She rested her head against the door. There was no good time to have the conversation they needed to have, so she let him in.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” He gave her a kiss, but she pulled away too soon for his taste. “You okay? You don’t look great.”
“I don’t feel great.”
Fina curled up on the sofa, and Cristian took a seat next to her.
“You got a bug or something?”
She shrugged. “Does being sick of life qualify?”
He reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you.”
The shoulder rub stopped abruptly. “You mean you won’t tell me.”
“Fine. I won’t tell you, because if I tell you, you’ll want to take matters into your own hands and do things I don’t want you to do.”
“If this is related to a crime, you know that I’m obligated to do certain things.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He grasped her hand. “You need to trust me.”
“I trust you with my life, Cristian. This has nothing to do with trust.”
“So tell me why you’re upset.”
“Ugh! I can’t!”
He shoved off the couch and started pacing. “I hate seeing you upset. All I want to do is help.”
“I know you do, and I wish it were that simple, but it’s not. I’m okay. I can take care of myself.”
“It’s not a sign of weakness allowing other people to take care of you.”
“No,” Fina said, “but there are always strings attached.”
He stopped and looked at her. “Is that how you see our relationship? An arrangement with strings attached?”
“Cristian, every relationship has strings attached. Maybe you don’t like that idea, but everything’s conditional.”
“You’re so cynical.”
“I come by it naturally. Don’t fault me for my upbringing.”
“This isn’t about your upbringing,” he insisted. He was standing in what Fina thought of as his cop stance: legs parted, knees slightly bent, hands at the ready, as if waiting to ward off any threat. “This is about the choices you make as an adult. Your choice to continue living the Carl Ludlow way.”
“So everything’s my fault? I’m the one who’s supposed to change and turn my life upside down, but you just go on being right and perfect.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you mean. I’m supposed to become a better, updated version of myself to accommodate you,” Fina insisted.
“It’s not about accommodating me. It’s about the law.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It’s true, Fina.”
“You’re right. You have the law on your side, and that means I’m always going to be wrong.” She stared at him. “I don’t see the upside for me.”
His mouth hung open. “We’re together. That’s the upside.”
“Not really. Not if it’s Fina 2.0 that you actually want to be with.”
“Fina, I can’t violate my job and the oath I took.”
“I know, and I don’t hold that against you. Really, I don’t, but you’re asking me to be someone that I can’t.”
Cristian ran his hands over his face. “So where does that leave us?”
The refrigerator motor whirred to life in the kitchen, then quieted, leaving the condo silent.
“Nowhere.” Fina shook her head. “It leaves us nowhere.”
Cristian looked at her with a mix of sadness and bewilderment. Perhaps he hoped that Fina would surprise him and throw her luck in with love, but he should have known better. She was who she was.
He left, pulling the door closed behind him, much like she had an hour earlier at Scotty’s house.
Fina rested her head against the couch and stared at the ceiling. She needed to go to bed before the day got any suckier.
• • •
Fina woke up having slept like a log, but feeling exhausted nonetheless. She was tired—of her family and this case—and she knew that more rest wouldn’t make her feel better. The only thing that would help was figuring out who killed Nadine and dealing with her brother. Just the prospect was enough to send her back to bed, but she rallied, knowing that Milloy was on his way over. She’d texted him before turning off the light the night before. Cristian’s claim that she wouldn’t let anyone take care of her was erroneous; she just preferred her caregiving to be less complicated than it always seemed to be with him.
Milloy arrived with a big dose of chocolate for her in the form of cocoa and a chocolate croissant.
“You brought me chocolate?” she asked, peering into the bag. “You must be concerned.”
“Your text last night was pitiful,” he said, taking a seat at the table.
“I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“You didn’t worry me, but I wasn’t sure what shape I would find you in this morning. I thought your drug of choice was in order.”
“Thank you.” She pulled out the croissant and tore off a piece.
“So what’s going on?” he asked.
Fina chewed for a moment, holding up her finger. She washed the bite down with some cocoa before answering. “I tracked down Jimmy Smith.”
“And?”
“And Rand hired him to beat me up.”
Milloy stared at her, his features slack with surprise. “Holy shit.”
“Yes, thank you. That’s the response I was going for.”
“Jesus, Fina.”
“My family is so crazy that sometimes I lose perspective, but that’s crazy, right?”
“That’s crazy.”
“Just checking.”
“What are you going to do about it?” He was sipping a watery-looking beverage that she guessed was some kind of tea brewed in the depths of the earth by indigenous people. The health benefits were probably off the charts, in inverse proportion to the flavor.
“I told Scotty and Matthew last night.”
“You going to the cops?”
“Not sure.”
“Did you tell Cristian?”
Fina licked chocolate off her finger. “No.”
“That can’t have gone over well.”
“It didn’t. The romance is over.”
“Huh.” Milloy nodded as if considering the information.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just taking it all in.”
She sighed. “Do you have an opinion you’d like to share?”
“I always thought that was going to be a tough row to hoe.”
Fina held up her greasy hands. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Milloy tipped his head back and laughed.
Fina stared at him.
“Really?” he asked. “You would have welcomed my romantic advice?”
“I value everything you have to say, Milloy.”
“No doubt, but that doesn’t mean you want to hear it.”
“Well, it’s over, and I think I screwed up one of my best friendships.”
“You and Cristian are not going to stop being friends. You share way too much history, and you couldn’t avoid each other even if you tried.”
Fina picked at a crumb. “I suppose.”
Milloy glanced at his watch. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Thanks for stopping by. You gave me a reason to get out of bed.”
“You didn’t need me for that. You’ve got work to do.”
They hugged at the door, and Fina returned to her computer. There had to be something she was missing, so she
opened a browser and kicked things off by putting Evan Quaynor’s name into the search engine.
She studiously clicked through the first five pages of links and tried to review them with a fresh eye. After an hour, she went to the kitchen for a diet soda and to stretch her legs. The renewed search of Evan’s online presence hadn’t revealed anything, but it still served a purpose. Sometimes you had to look at suspects in terms of probability of guilt; ruling them completely in or out wasn’t always realistic. She hadn’t found anything that made Evan seem a more likely suspect, and she just had to hope that digging into the others would yield something more fruitful.
She plugged in Christa Jackson’s name next and went through the same process with the same result. The search on Paul Jackson was equally unsatisfying, and Fina decided to take a closer look at Ronnie before changing gears.
Her phone rang at that moment with Emma Kirwan’s name lighting up the screen.
“I wondered when I was going to hear from you,” Fina said.
“You always hear from me when I have something to tell you, Fina.”
“I wasn’t suggesting we call each other and chitchat, but I do like the occasional progress report, even if you have no progress to report.”
“Well, I have actual progress to report if you’d like to hear it.” Emma’s tone was withering.
“I’m all ears.”
Emma gave her a rundown of her findings and sent Fina a zip file with the supporting data.
“You’re very good at your job, Emma.”
“I hear you’re good at yours, too,” she said grudgingly.
“That’s why we’re such a good team,” Fina said.
Emma hung up without comment.
Fina was eager to act on the new info, but wanted to revisit Ronnie’s online presence before she did. A deeper dive into Ronnie’s links revealed more in-depth articles related to firefighting. He was quoted in a piece in Fire & Rescue and offered tips for safe barbecuing in the Herald. Fina was able to trace his advancement through the department by piecing together announcements of passed exams and promotions. Ronnie’s career had been steady and without any black marks, but there was something about his promotion to battalion chief that gave Fina pause. A colleague and candidate for the same job, Mike O’Brien, had withdrawn his application due to illness. When Fina searched for him—not an easy task to find a particular Mike O’Brien in the Boston Fire Department—she discovered that he ascended to the rank of battalion chief only a year later after regaining the bloom of health. She couldn’t find any information about his illness, and as far as Fina could tell, he was still in the department.
It wasn’t much, but it gave her an excuse to hit the road.
• • •
Greg sat on the edge of their bed, listening to the shower in the bathroom. Gabby always took long showers. She loved soaking in the hot water and rubbing various scrubs and lotions into her skin. Stepping into the bathroom in the wake of her shower was like walking into a bakery or a flower shop, depending upon the potion of choice. When they first dated, Greg found her fondness for these products alluring—proof that he was spending time with a woman who embraced her femininity—but over the years, he’d grown irritated. The bottles cluttered the bathroom counter and shower. Sometimes after touching her he noticed that his own skin smelled like gardenias or peaches, hardly an appropriate scent for a man who was trying to have a commanding presence.
Greg listened as the minutes ticked by on the chiming wall clock out in the hallway. He could have gone into the bathroom and spoken to Gabby, but he didn’t want her to retreat into the distraction of her morning routine. He wanted her full attention.
She came out of the bathroom in a silk robe, her hair piled on her head in a towel turban. “Oh! You scared me, Greg. What are you doing sitting out here?”
“I’m waiting for you.”
Gabby glanced toward the hallway. “Why? I’ll be downstairs soon.”
“Have a seat,” he said, reaching out for her hand.
She frowned, but clasped his hand and took a seat next to him. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
Greg adjusted himself on the bed so he was facing his wife. “Is there something you want to tell me, Gabby?”
She inclined her head in a question. “Like what?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
Gabby pulled her hand away and stood up. She straightened her spine to get every inch of advantage over him that she could. “I’m not in the mood for playing games.”
“Nor am I.”
Greg watched her stomp to the bathroom. He heard the banging of drawers opening and closing with unnecessary force. A few minutes later, Gabby emerged in a pair of yoga pants and a long top that grazed the tops of her thighs. She was winding her hair into a bun at the crown of her head.
“Gabby, ‘a false witness will not go unpunished, and he who breathes out lies will perish.’ Proverbs 19:9.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The girls need breakfast.”
“What’s this?” Greg asked, holding up a white object the size of a magic marker.
She was still, but for the rapid blinking of her eyes. Gabby smoothed her shirt along the contour of her hips.
A weak grin worked to get purchase on her face. “Why didn’t you just say that’s what you were talking about?”
“Why was this hidden in the trash in one of the guest bathrooms?”
“Why are you rooting through the trash, Greg?” she asked, her voice dripping with accusation.
“I don’t like being lied to.”
Gabby walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to be sure before I told you. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
He nodded slowly.
“I know how much you want another baby,” she said. “I have an appointment with Dr. Reilly later this week.”
“When? I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not necessary. They’re just going to do some blood work. It’s too early to see anything.”
He pressed the palm of his hand against her stomach. “But he’ll give you a due date.”
“Sure, but I can tell you what he says. You don’t need to take time from your busy schedule for that.”
“So when he figures out the due date, he’ll be able to tell you the date of conception, right?”
Gabby took a step back and folded her hands in front of her. “Why would we care about that?”
Greg looked at her. “Gabby.”
“The Lord has blessed us with a baby.” She put her hands on her hips. “We have no business questioning his ways.”
Greg stared at her, his mind running calculations like a chess master looking six moves ahead. Which move would give him the most leverage? Which move would draw out the game?
“You’ll need to cut back on your church activities. No subbing at Prayer Group, that sort of thing,” he said finally. “I don’t want you putting yourself or the baby at risk, especially since you had such trouble conceiving.”
She looked poised to respond, but just nodded.
“I only want what’s best for you and the child,” Greg continued.
“You know Grace Sweeny?” Gabby asked. “She’s my age and her baby was born early, almost six weeks before the due date.”
“We’ll pray that that isn’t the case. We’ll trust that God knows best.”
Gabby held his gaze.
“Once you have confirmation from the doctor,” Greg said, “we’ll decide how to tell the congregation.”
“They’ll be so excited,” she said.
Greg walked over to the wastebasket in the corner. He dropped the pregnancy test into it. “‘Blessed are those who hear the word of God and obey it,’ Luke 11:28.”
He left the room and started down
the stairs.
Every challenge presented an opportunity, and he’d sure as hell make the most of this one.
• • •
Fina’s breakfast with Milloy precluded her from catching Evan at home before his workday started, but he had a commitment downtown and agreed to meet her for coffee midmorning.
She found him at a bagel place in the Quincy Market food colonnade, sitting at a table with a cup of coffee.
“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” Fina said.
“Sure.”
She sat down across from him and unzipped her coat. It was cold outside, but the sun was shining through the colonnade’s windows, heating up the place.
“I need to know about the neighbor’s cat,” Fina said.
Evan looked at her. “What?”
“Molly said that the neighbor’s cat died.”
He looked puzzled. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Indulge me, would you? What exactly happened to the cat?”
He shrugged. “He died. End of story.”
“Was he old?”
“No.”
“Sick?”
Evan shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
“Where was he found?”
“Back near the fence, between our house and Ronnie’s.” He gestured with his coffee as if they were in his own kitchen.
“So nobody knows the cause of death?”
“It was a cat, Fina. I can’t imagine the owners paid for an autopsy. It got sick and died.”
“That’s all I needed to know. Thanks.”
“What does this have to do with Nadine?”
“I can’t tell you yet, but I will as soon as I’m sure.”
Evan sighed.
She knew this was the moment to tell Evan about Christa’s deceit, that Christa had duped him into providing the tuition money, but she wasn’t sure what would be gained by giving Christa up.
“Talk to you soon,” she said, leaving him in a blissful state of ignorance.
She had more important lies to uncover.
