by Ingrid Thoft
Back at the car, he helped the boys get buckled in. He was in charge of dinner since Sheila was on a late shift at the hospital, but he didn’t feel like cooking.
“Who wants McDonald’s?” he asked.
There were cheers of assent from the backseat. They got bags of burgers and greasy fries at the drive-thru and drove home, where they sat and ate in front of the TV. After a couple of episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants, Kevin put them both in a warm shower and then tucked them in with a chapter of Harry Potter.
What was Sheila always grousing about? The boys didn’t seem like such hard work to him.
4.
It was six thirty P.M., and Fina needed food. She was dreaming of sausage and mushroom pizza when her phone dinged with a text. Jamie Gottlieb was ready to talk. He was on his way home to Hyde Park and wondered if Fina could swing by in an hour. She put her pizza dreams on hold and pointed her car toward the Barone/Gottlieb household.
Technically still within the city of Boston, Hyde Park looked more suburban than urban, with small single-family homes and tree-lined streets. Liz and Jamie’s house was a modest colonial with a white picket fence and an oak tree in the front yard. A swing hanging from a large bough gently rocked in the wind, and the remnants of a snowman teetered on the lawn. Their last snowfall had been a few days ago, and they’d entered the yucky phase of a winter wonderland: brown snow, slushy salt that stained your boots, and crusty snowbanks that made walking nearly impossible.
There was an old Passat and a minivan in the driveway. The light by the front door burned brightly. Fina checked her watch and, since she was early, decided to check in with the neighbors. Canvassing door-to-door was tedious work that rarely garnered useful information. People like to believe their memories are like steel traps, but actually, they’re more like sieves and highly unreliable. Fina knocked on eight doors, five of which were opened. Two of the neighbors hadn’t been home at the approximate time of Liz’s attack, two were eating dinner or helping with homework, and Mrs. Barbatto, the elderly neighbor, was watching the news. They all had nice things to say about Liz and Jamie, but Fina gained nothing from the outing other than frozen feet.
She rang the bell at Liz’s and did a little dance to keep the blood flowing to her extremities. She was greeted a minute later by a gray-haired woman in black pants and a thick pullover sweater.
“Hi, I’m here to see Jamie.”
“Is he expecting you?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m Fina Ludlow.”
The woman studied her, then stepped back and invited her into the house. The door opened directly into the living room, which was comfortably furnished, but cluttered. There were toys and children’s books on the floor, and messy stacks of newspaper had overtaken the coffee table. An overflowing laundry basket stood by the TV, and a Tupperware container with art supplies balanced precariously on the arm of a chair.
“Could you wait here for a moment?” the woman asked. Her face was lined with fatigue.
“Of course.”
Fina pulled off her boots and jacket once her hostess had retreated; if Jamie had had a change of heart, it would be harder to ask her to leave if she had already shed her layers.
The woman returned to the front hall. “He’s in the kitchen. Come on back.”
Fina followed her through a dining room that doubled as a home office and into the kitchen, which overlooked the backyard. Jamie was sitting at the kitchen table.
“I’m going to check on the kids,” the woman said before making herself scarce.
Fina watched her leave and let her eyes wander around the room. There were no signs of the violence that had occurred there only days before. Someone had done a good job cleaning up.
“That’s Mrs. Sandraham,” Jamie explained. “She babysits. She wanted to be sure I was up for a visitor.”
Fina took a seat across from him. “How are the kids doing?”
“They miss their mom. Luckily, Mrs. Sandraham and Liz’s friends have been helping out.”
“It takes a village, even under the best of circumstances,” Fina murmured.
Jamie got up and pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge. He waggled it in Fina’s direction, and she nodded. Clients and interviewees always felt more comfortable if you followed their lead, so mimicking their drink order was an occupational hazard. If Fina had a dime for every beverage she didn’t actually want, she’d be a rich woman and have to pee much less often.
“How are you holding up?” Fina asked.
“I’m okay. Just waiting.” Jamie popped the tops off the two bottles and handed one to Fina before slumping back into his seat.
Fina knew that you didn’t watch and wait indefinitely. At some point, the doctors would determine if Liz had any brain function. If she did, the family had a long road ahead of them. If she didn’t, they had an agonizing decision to make. Both options were odious.
“I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me. I know you’re exhausted and want to spend time with your kids.”
Jamie took a long swallow rather than respond.
“When we spoke on Saturday,” Fina continued, “you seemed convinced that the attack was random.”
He nodded.
“So you can’t think of anyone with whom Liz had a conflict or some kind of grudge?”
“No.”
“What is her relationship like with her family?”
“It’s good,” Jamie said. “She gets along well with her mom and sisters.”
“Is she closer to one sister than the other?”
“Nicole, but she gets along fine with Dawn. They’re so damn competitive.” He shook his head. “It’s ridiculous.”
“How so?”
“They compare road race times and do impromptu push-up contests.”
That sounded like the kind of thing Fina and her brothers would do. She had no doubt that if she proposed a push-up contest, Matthew and Scotty would drop to the floor like lead balloons. Carl might even join in—anything to allow him to prove his prowess.
“What about friends and coworkers?”
“She’s got some friends in the neighborhood. I can give you some names, and she’s still tight with Tasha Beemis-Jones.”
“I left a message for Tasha this afternoon. How about at work?”
Jamie picked at the label on his beer bottle. “She likes her colleagues. Her boss is a jerk, but I think that’s just work stuff.”
“What kind of work stuff?” Fina asked.
“I don’t know the specifics, just that Vikram rides her ass.”
Fina drank some beer. “I’m kind of surprised you don’t know the specifics,” she ventured.
“Why? Liz doesn’t know all the details of my job and my office politics. We don’t get a lot of time to talk, and when we do, we don’t talk about work.”
“Do you enjoy your work?” Fina asked.
Jamie looked at her quizzically. “I don’t get why that’s important.”
“I’m just getting the lay of the land.”
He shrugged. “I like it.”
“But not as much as playing music.”
“No, not as much as playing music, but I couldn’t make a living doing that, and the benefits package is nonexistent.” He grimaced.
Fina took a swig of beer before reaching into her bag. She pulled out one of the old NEU newspapers. “Can you take a look at this picture and tell me if you recognize anyone?” The paper was folded to highlight a large photo taken on the sidelines of a soccer game. It featured players and others in street clothes.
Jamie pulled the paper toward him. “That’s Liz, obviously.” He pointed at a younger, healthier version of his wife. “Tasha, Coach Adams, and that’s Kelly.” He indicated each of them.
“Kelly Wegner?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
&
nbsp; “Bobbi mentioned her.”
He nodded. “She and her husband live a few streets away. The kids are playmates.”
“That’s nice,” Fina said. “I love living close to my college best friend.” Speaking of which, she owed Milloy Danielson, her BFF, a phone call. He was usually up for sausage and mushroom pizza. “I met with Thatcher Kinney this morning.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Have you met him?”
“I went to Liz’s first meeting with him,” Jamie said. “I’d met him before at a Christmas party or something like that.”
“And what did you think?”
Jamie tore off another strip of the bottle label. “He seemed like a nice guy.”
Fina squinted at him. “Did you think he was doing a good job? Was he a good advocate for Liz?”
“I’m not really involved in the lawsuit, but he seemed fine to me.”
She nodded. Jamie’s lack of interest in—or at least awareness of—Liz’s activities struck her as strange. She didn’t think spouses should know every shred of information about each other, but this seemed especially hands-off.
“What about her interactions with the development office at NEU? I got hold of some correspondence that suggests they were prodding Liz for a donation.”
“Alma maters are always asking for money.”
“Sure, but it seems pretty insensitive to ask her to support a program that she held responsible for her condition.”
“Liz is mad at everyone at NEU,” he said. “I wouldn’t narrow it down to one department.”
Fina tapped her nail against her beer bottle. “I’m sorry to ask this because I know it’s nosy and indelicate, but how were you and Liz doing?”
Jamie paused, his nearly empty bottle halfway to his mouth. “Are you asking me if I clobbered my wife?”
“No, but I assume your answer would be no if I were asking.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what my answer would be. Liz and I are good. Everything’s fine on that front.”
“Glad to hear it.” Fina swallowed the rest of her beer and carried the empty over to the sink. “Could you give me Kelly’s contact info? I need to ask her a few questions.”
Jamie grabbed his phone and read off Kelly’s number.
“What about Coach Adams?” Fina asked.
“A dead end, literally. He died about seven years ago.”
“Okeydoke. I’ll be in touch when I have news.”
“Great,” Jamie said unenthusiastically, trailing her to the front door, where she struggled into her outerwear.
“Did the cops take Liz’s computer?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob.
“Yes.”
“I’d love to take a peek when you get it back.”
Jamie shrugged. “Sure.”
Sitting in her car with the vent blasting hot air, Fina thought about the conversation. Bobbi was the one actually paying her bill, but it struck her as odd that Jamie hadn’t asked Fina for a progress report. Didn’t he care who attacked his wife? Did he already know who did? Was he the one who attacked her, which would explain his disinterest?
But shock and trauma were such curious things; sometimes it was hard to determine if weird behavior was the result, or just plain weird.
—
Fina went home and called Milloy, her best friend, massage therapist, and overall Renaissance man. They’d met in college and discovered during orientation week that they were kindred spirits. They were both loyal and dependable, and neither enjoyed analyzing their feelings. Sometimes their relationship was romantic, and sometimes it wasn’t. It depended on the day.
She invited him over for pizza and a massage—provided by him, not her—but he took a rain check.
“Maybe you should plan ahead a little,” he suggested. “Not assume that I’m available at the last minute.”
“I didn’t assume that. I hoped. You know, ‘hope springs eternal in the human breast.’”
“Leave your breasts out of this.”
“Are you available on Thursday evening, good sir?” she asked.
“I’m waiting to hear back from a client, but I think so.”
“Good. I look forward to it.”
Picking up the phone and ordering pizza seemed like too much work, and cooking would have been a Herculean effort, so she grabbed a handful of Ritz crackers and smeared them with peanut butter.
Fina finished eating and snuggled under Nanny’s afghan on the living room couch. She pulled her computer onto her lap, marveling at the heat provided by the machine. What did the pioneers do without electronics to warm their nether regions?
HGTV was airing a showcase of unusual homes that provided nice background noise as she researched Kelly Wegner, whom she hoped to interview the next day. Cyberspace offered little of interest: Her husband, Josh, worked for an insurance company, they were active in the Methodist church, and Kelly participated in a number of charity road races.
Fina picked up her phone and dialed Emma Kirwan, her guru for all things computer-related.
“Yes?” Emma answered.
“Not even hello?”
“Did you really call me for conversation, Fina?”
Emma was extremely conservative and rigid, except for the myriad illegal activities she performed on her computer. Fina had yet to give her a computer quandary she couldn’t crack, and she’d proved invaluable in past cases. Despite that, Fina always stumbled over her cashmere twin sets and sensible shoes. Emma looked like she should be leading a book group discussion about Glenn Beck’s newest tome, not hacking into secure networks.
“I need you to look into someone for me,” Fina said. “Her name is Liz Barone. She was attacked in her home a few days ago, and the cops have her computer.”
“Well, that limits me.”
“I know, but can’t you float up into the cloud or whatever it is and find me some dirt?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’ll do,” Emma said dryly.
“I can hear your eyes rolling, Emma. Just do what you can,” Fina said. “She also works for NEU in a lab.”
“What kind of lab?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think she was developing deadly viruses or anything like that.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but labs are usually well protected, and it’s too risky.”
“Like I said, just do what you can. I’m particularly interested in anything related to the NEU development office and a woman named Pamela Fordyce.”
“I’ll let you know when I find something,” Emma said, ending the call.
Fina put down her phone and grabbed the folder that Thatcher Kinney had given her. She pulled out the school newspapers and studied the photos more carefully, identifying Kelly and Tasha in a number of them. Other players wearing the NEU uniform were pictured, as was the man Fina assumed to be Coach Adams, wearing an NEU jacket and those ill-fitting slacks—yes, slacks—that seemed to be the favored attire of coaches.
As she studied the photos, two other people caught her eye. They were both white men, one who looked to be in his midtwenties, the other about a decade older. The younger one was handsome, and in a couple of the pictures, he had his arms slung around the players in a pose of easy familiarity. The older man stood off to the side a bit, but was also smiling. His posture was more upright, and he wore a suit jacket and a tie. Other than the players and the coach, these two were the only consistent faces on the NEU sideline.
Just who were these super-fans?
—
Fina called Kelly Wegner shortly after eight the next morning. Interviewees who were parents were always up early and had generally crossed more off their to-do lists by nine A.M. than some people did all day. This was precisely why Fina admired them and had no interest in joining their ranks.
Kelly had just dropped h
er kids at school and was at the grocery store. She had to swing by the dry cleaner and the post office, but would be happy to meet Fina at Liz and Jamie’s house in two hours.
Fina dragged herself down to the gym and logged a few miles on the treadmill. Back upstairs, she showered off the sweat and pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and thick wool socks, her go-to outfit these days.
When she pulled up to Liz and Jamie’s house, the exterior light was burning brightly just as it had been the night before. There really was no point in turning it off for the mere eight hours of milky daylight with which they were graced this time of year. A gray minivan was parked in the driveway next to the minivan from last night. There were a couple of kid-related decals on the rear window, but a quick glimpse of the interior didn’t reveal any empty juice boxes or smooshed-up Goldfish crackers. Fina walked to the front door and rang the bell. A minute later, she was greeted by a compact woman with a blond bob.
“Kelly? I’m Fina Ludlow.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kelly said. She wasn’t much over five feet three inches, but she looked solid, with short, stocky legs. Her jeans were tight, and her sweater showcased broad shoulders. Stepping back from the door, she ushered Fina into the house.
“You can leave your boots and stuff here,” she offered. “I feel like this winter is never going to end.”
“Technically, I think it just started,” Fina commented.
“I know, but it feels worse this year, don’t you think?”
“It definitely feels colder.” Fina placed her boots on the plastic boot tray and pulled off her coat.
“It makes running a real pain,” Kelly said, smoothing her hand over the back of an upholstered chair.
“You’re a runner?” Fina asked innocently. Some people were flattered to know that you’d done some research on them, but others found it creepy. It was too soon to tell which camp Kelly lived in.
“Yup, but it’s tough when the streets are such a mess and the sidewalks aren’t shoveled.”
“And it’s icy,” Fina said. “Sounds dangerous.”
