by Ingrid Thoft
“I don’t have that info,” Hal said, tapping away. “I can find out, though.”
“That would be good. And by the way, the couple you’re looking into, the woman is going to die within the next twenty-four hours.”
Hal looked stricken. “How do you know that? That’s so creepy.”
“Because she’s been removed from life support,” Fina said. “The police are going to get more involved once that happens because it will be a murder case, not just assault. I just wanted to give you a heads-up so you know what you’re stepping into.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the warning.”
Hal helped her into her coat and opened the front door.
“Thanks, Hal,” she said. “Great work, as always.”
He blushed and studied his stocking-clad feet. “Thanks, Fina. I’ll let you know as soon as I have more info.”
“Looking forward to it,” Fina called over her shoulder. “And I’ll keep you and Sarah in mind for show tickets!”
Hal waved at her from his spot at the front door.
Hal was such a sweet man. Fina really hoped he never ended up in jail. He wouldn’t last a day.
—
Oh my God. That feels amazing. Don’t stop.”
It was early evening, and Fina was lying on Milloy’s portable massage table under a sheet. He was working on her back.
“Everybody is tight in this weather,” Milloy commented, his large hands kneading her flesh.
“I think we need to put a regular appointment on the books. No more of this ‘as needed’ business,” she said.
“I’m happy to. Your schedule is the one that’s so unpredictable.”
“You work with athletes, right?” Fina asked a minute later, her voice muffled by the face cradle.
“Yes.”
“Professional athletes?”
“A few, and also people who take their fitness routines seriously—triathletes, skiers, rowers. Why?”
“This case has got me thinking,” Fina said. “I spoke with a woman the other day who played college soccer, and she basically said that she would have played even with a head injury. I can’t imagine being that consumed by a sport or exercise.”
Milloy held the sheet away from her as she flipped over onto her back. “I think that’s because you’re lazy,” he said, starting down one leg.
“But don’t you think some of those people are obsessed? Isn’t their training excessive?”
“Sure, but if you’re a pro that’s how you pay the bills, and the amateurs think it’s worth the trade-offs.” Milloy adjusted the sheet, tucking it under one leg.
He worked silently, and Fina allowed her mind to wander. It cycled through its usual topics: work, family, and food. Milloy had tried to get her into meditation, which was just one facet of his strategy for healthy living. He’d given up after Fina kept popping up to add items to her to-do list. She could never just let her thoughts float by and observe them without judgment. If they were taking up space in her brain, the solution was getting them out of there, not giving them the run of the place. They agreed to disagree about the purpose of the practice.
“All set,” Milloy said five minutes later, giving her scalp a quick massage.
“That was heavenly.” Fina rolled over on her side and sat up, pulling the sheet around her.
Milloy wandered into the kitchen. He returned a minute later, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked.
“You choose.” Fina slid off the table and padded into her bedroom, where she put on old sweats and thick socks before coming back to the living room.
Milloy ended a call on his cell. “Sushi in twenty minutes.” He folded up his table and rested it against the wall near the front door.
Fina gathered soy sauce, chopsticks, and beers from the kitchen and placed them on the coffee table.
“Haley seemed pretty good the other night,” Milloy said.
Fina sat down next to him on the couch. “She seems okay.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It makes me nervous,” Fina said.
“Why?”
“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Fina, a lot of shoes have dropped already. Melanie’s murder, Rand’s stuff, Haley’s troubles. There may not be any more shoes to drop,” he said.
“There are always more shoes.”
“Stop being so pessimistic. Whatever happens is out of your control.”
“So you say.” Fina reached for the TV remote and clicked it on. There were no enticing sporting events, so she let Milloy channel surf. He settled on a baking competition in which sugar artists had to sculpt a Wonder of the World out of sugar. They paused it for a moment when their food arrived, but started back up again once they were situated with their dinner.
“I don’t think you can compare the Taj Mahal and the Christ the Redeemer statue,” Fina commented after chewing on a slice of raw tuna. The sugar artist on the screen was wrestling with a cupola.
“Why not?” Milloy asked. “Which one do you think is more difficult?”
“The Taj Mahal. If you screw up Christ, you put another fold in his robe or claim that he’s just as God made him.”
Fina’s phone rang, and she glanced at the screen.
“I need to take this,” she told Milloy. “It’s work.” She pressed the answer key. “Hey. What’s up?” she asked Cristian, wiping wasabi off her finger.
“I’ve got some bad news.”
Fina got up off the couch and walked over to the window. “Go ahead.”
“Liz Barone died about half an hour ago.”
Fina swallowed.
“You there?” Cristian asked.
“I’m here. I’m just trying to wrap my head around it.”
“I know. She’s not much older than we are,” he said.
“Oh God,” Fina said. “I hadn’t even gone there. Who gave you the news?”
“The hospital. She was a crime victim, and now she’s a murder victim.”
“You haven’t spoken with Bobbi or Jamie?”
“Not yet. We’re trying to leave them in peace for a little while.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Fina looked out and spotted what she thought of as a ghost ship. The large tanker was only illuminated at its stern and bow, leaving most of the ship blanketed in darkness. It looked clandestine, but was really anything but.
“I just wanted to let you know,” he said.
“Thanks, Cristian. I appreciate it.” She should tell him about the note, she knew, but Fina hesitated. She didn’t have the strength for a lecture from Cristian or Milloy.
“What’s going on?” Milloy asked when she rejoined him on the couch.
“The woman who was attacked? She was taken off life support this morning, and she just died.”
“Sorry,” Milloy said, reaching over to rub her leg.
They kept watching the competition as one creation fell to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.
“Life is very sucky sometimes, Milloy.”
“I know, Fina. I know.”
12.
“Fina, you should come out here,” Milloy called from the living room.
She rolled over in bed and felt around on the floor for some clothes. They’d somehow reached the same conclusion the night before—without any discussion—that Milloy should spend the night. Their relationship was very complicated or very simple, depending upon your point of view. Sometimes they supported each other in a more intimate way, and other times, they didn’t.
“What is it?” she asked, pulling on some sweats. She padded out into the living room, where Milloy was showered and dressed, sitting at the dining room table. He was eating toast and an omelet.
“I have
eggs?” she asked, gazing at his plate.
“Do you want me to make you some?”
“No, thanks. What’s so important that you had to interrupt my beauty sleep?” She sat next to him and grabbed a piece of toast from his plate. Milloy pointed the remote at the TV and pressed play.
“The woman who was attacked in her Hyde Park home more than a week ago died from her injuries last night at Mass General,” a perky reporter said, trying hard to mask her enthusiasm with a note of gravitas. “This morning, Liz Barone’s mother, Bobbi Barone, announced that Liz had left her brain to the Brain Bank affiliated with Boston University, where it will be studied for signs of degenerative neurological disease. At the time of her death, Liz Barone was pursuing a lawsuit against New England University related to brain damage she allegedly suffered as a student athlete at NEU.”
“Did you know about this?” Milloy asked. He muted the broadcast, which had moved on to a story about a new diet guaranteed to rev up your sex drive.
“It’s the first I’ve heard.” Fina chewed a bite of toast. “A heads-up would have been nice, but there you have it.”
“Is this good or bad news?”
She considered the development for a moment. “I think it’s good. It’s good for science, obviously, but it’s good for the case, too.”
“How so?” Milloy asked.
“If BU looks at her brain and finds evidence of damage, that will have huge ramifications in terms of the lawsuit, the prospect of which has to make a lot of people nervous. When people are nervous, they get sloppy. Sloppy works in my favor.”
“Sloppy is also more dangerous,” Milloy noted.
“Murder cases are dangerous,” Fina said. “It’s the nature of the beast, and I’m always careful.”
“And yet, you still get jumped.”
“I said I was careful, not omniscient,” Fina said. “I promise to stay on my toes.”
“I wish that were more reassuring than it is.”
Fina squeezed his biceps, which was smooth and sculpted. “I’d go with it, if I were you.” She rose and went into the kitchen.
“Sure I can’t make you some eggs?” Milloy asked from the other room.
“And waste perfectly good Nutter Butters?”
—
The first time Fina walked into Barnes Kaufcan, she hadn’t any preconceived notions, but things had changed. Liz’s death had soured her mood, and Kevin Lafferty had lied to her and wasted her time. Both were transgressions she didn’t easily forgive.
On Monday morning there were two security guards at the lobby desk, one of whom looked fresh out of high school, the other approaching retirement. The older guard was standing, pulling on his coat, so Fina fiddled with her phone. She couldn’t be sure that the older guard was the more conscientious of the two, but sometimes you had to gamble, and her instincts told her that the younger one would be more likely to succumb to her charms. Fina watched him for a few moments after the older guard had left. The manner in which he eyed the young female visitors, and his lack of a wedding ring, gave her confidence in her assessment.
She walked over to the desk and leaned toward the young man.
“I was wondering if you could help me,” Fina said, signing in to the electronic visitors’ log, smiling. She looked around surreptitiously and pulled out her PI license. “I’m doing some work for a client”—she let him have a quick glance at her ID before putting it away—“and I’m wondering if you could check something on your visitors’ log.”
“You’re a PI?” he asked.
“I am.”
“That’s cool.”
“I like it. So, the visitors’ log?” Fina asked.
“I’m only supposed to give access to the log when there’s a written request.”
“I don’t actually need access. I just need to check for a name. It’s electronic, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s all here.” He gestured toward the computer in front of him, and his sleeve rode up his arm. Fina could see a tattoo peeking out.
“Another good thing about being a PI? You don’t need to cover your ink,” she said conspiratorially.
“That would be awesome,” he said. He considered her for another moment before relenting. “What were you looking for?”
“I just want to confirm that a woman named Liz Barone visited in the past two months.” Fina leaned even closer. “My client, he’s a young guy and thinks his fiancée has been cheating on him. The wedding’s in March.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’m hoping to save him a lot of grief and money.” Fina grinned and brushed some hair back from her face. “If I can give him the proof he needs, he can call the whole thing off.”
“How do you spell the last name?” he asked.
Fina spelled it out and waited. She hoped the older guard had gone for a long lunch break, not just a quick cup of coffee.
“Here it is,” he said. “She was here twice. Do you want me to write down the dates for you?”
“That would be great. Let me guess: She was visiting Kevin Lafferty at Barnes Kaufcan.”
The guard smirked. “You got it. Bummer for your client.”
“Yup.” Fina smiled and took the Post-it from him. “You should think about being a PI. I bet you’d be good at it.”
“You think?” He beamed and sat up straighter in his chair.
“Definitely. I can tell you’ve got good instincts.” Fina winked at him and went to the elevator.
Louis, at the Schaefer Lab, would have a stroke if he witnessed such a dereliction of duty.
—
I have an appointment with Kevin Lafferty,” Fina told the receptionist. “My name is Fina Ludlow.”
Fina stood at the desk while the young woman picked up the phone and engaged in a brief conversation.
“Ms. Ludlow?” She hung up the phone. “Mr. Lafferty’s assistant doesn’t have you on the schedule.”
“Did you speak with Colin?” Fina asked.
“Yes, but he wonders if you got the wrong day.”
“I’ll just go back and clear things up,” Fina said, leaving the reception area.
“You’re not supposed to—”
“I don’t mind!” Fina called out cheerily over her shoulder. She arrived at Colin’s desk to find him hanging up the phone, a queasy look on his face.
“Ms. Ludlow, I’m so sorry, but there’s been some mistake. Mr. Lafferty doesn’t have an appointment with you today.”
“Trust me, Colin. He’s expecting me.”
Colin glanced down at his computer screen. “I’m happy to find another time for you.”
“No need. Now is good.”
He glanced between her and his boss’s closed door.
“You can call security and have me thrown out,” Fina said, “but I think a better course of action would be to let Kevin know I’m here.”
The young man came around the desk and tapped lightly on Kevin’s door, then stuck his head inside the office. He gave Fina a glance before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. Fina took the opportunity to examine what he’d left up on his screen. It was Kevin’s schedule, and lo and behold, she wasn’t on it.
A moment later, the door opened and Colin reemerged. “He’s ready to see you, Ms. Ludlow. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, Colin, but thank you for asking.” Fina crossed the threshold and closed Kevin’s door. He was sitting behind his desk, the crystal paperweight in one hand.
“Your manners are lacking, Ms. Ludlow.”
“That’s what my parents always say, but wasn’t that kind of their job?” Fina took a seat across from him.
“You could have called and made an appointment,” he said. “I would have been happy to make time.”
“I know, but that’s what I didn�
��t want you to have—time. I didn’t want to give you a chance to get your ducks in a row.”
Kevin smiled. “What are you talking about?”
Fina smiled back and leaned toward him. “You lied to me. I hate it when people lie to me. Firstly, because it wastes my time, and secondly, because then I can’t trust anything they tell me.”
“Maybe people lie to you because it’s none of your business.” He rotated the paperweight in his hand.
“Well, sure. In your opinion it’s none of my business, but that is just a matter of opinion.” Fina pulled the Post-it the guard had given her out of her bag. “Were you and Liz Barone having an affair?”
“I’m sorry?” He raised an eyebrow.
“You know, making the beast with two backs?”
Kevin glowered. “No, we were not having an affair, and that really is none of your business.”
“You told me you hadn’t been in contact with Liz in over a year.”
“I haven’t,” he said, looking her squarely in the eye. Either Kevin Lafferty was a good liar or he’d convinced himself he wasn’t lying.
“I’ve heard otherwise,” Fina said.
“Oh yeah? Who told you otherwise?”
“Her husband, Jamie Gottlieb.”
Kevin replaced the paperweight on his desk and got up from his chair. He wandered over to the display cabinet of NEU memorabilia. “Jamie Gottlieb is mistaken.”
“Really?” Fina asked.
“Really.”
Kevin plucked a signed baseball from one of the shelves and brought it over to Fina. “This was from the fourth game of the Founders series. Damon Lackey threw a no-hitter.”
“Fascinating.” Fina took the proffered ball and looked at the signatures scrawled around the dirty leather. It looked like it had been signed by a bunch of preschoolers. “Why are you so sure that Jamie is mistaken?”
“Because I was not having an affair with his wife.” Kevin took the ball back and replaced it on the shelf.
“And you haven’t seen her for over a year?”
