by Ingrid Thoft
“Do you still have those vouchers from the maid service?” she asked when he came on the line.
“Can you be more vague?”
“The maid service? The one you represented against the cleaning chemical people?”
“Oh, you mean the Cheerful Cleaners? Yeah.” Matthew had represented a small cleaning company in their fight against a fluid supplier and the alleged toxicity of their products. He’d won a handsome settlement for Cheerful Cleaners and a seemingly endless supply of housecleaning vouchers. “Why?” he asked. “Have you decided to have your home cleaned? Are you feeling okay?”
“I have a housecleaner come in a couple times a month, thanks very much.” Fina eyed her space; it wasn’t exactly ready for a spread in House Beautiful.
“So why does it always look like a pigsty?” he asked.
“It’s messy, but that’s different from being unclean.”
Matthew snorted.
“Anyhoo,” Fina continued, “I need some of those vouchers if you still have them.”
“Sure. You want Sue to pop some in the mail?” he asked.
“No, I need them now. If I swing by can she run them out to me?”
“She has better things to do, Fina.”
“Come on,” Fina said. “You must have an intern or somebody who can take five minutes to run down to the lobby. It’s for a case.”
“You always say that,” Matthew said.
“’Cause it’s always true.”
“Fine. Give Sue a call when you get here, and she’ll send someone out.”
“Thanks. Hey, I don’t know if Scotty clued you in, but Mom has been campaigning for Haley to visit Rand in Florida.”
Matthew sighed. “Great.”
“Exactly. She doesn’t want to go, and we need to back her up on this.”
“Fine.”
Fina knew that his support was given grudgingly. Matthew relished conflict in the courtroom, but preferred to stay out of things on the family front. Not getting involved, as far as Fina was concerned, was a luxury she and her siblings didn’t have.
“Thank you. I appreciate the support,” she said.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Just one question: When are you going to settle down and make some girl very happy?” It was Elaine’s constant refrain to Matthew.
“Piss off,” he said to his sister.
“Love you, too,” Fina said before disconnecting the call.
Their mother was a pain in the ass, but she did provide moments of comic relief.
—
Fina didn’t call ahead so she wasn’t sure who she’d find at Liz and Jamie’s house when she arrived two hours later. The minivan and the Passat were in the driveway, but there were no additional cars out front as there had been on previous visits. Fina knew that once the funeral was over, most of the mourners returned to their normal routines, while the immediate family and closest friends were left in a grief-filled limbo. It was a lonely place to be, and even though she had an ulterior motive for stopping by, Fina was sensitive to the fact that a show of support might be appreciated.
Or maybe not, Fina thought when Jamie opened the door a minute later. He looked exhausted, with dark smudges under his eyes, the whites of which were bloodshot. He was wearing baggy jeans and a long-sleeved waffle-weave top. His feet were bare.
“I’m sorry to stop by unannounced,” Fina lied, “but I was in the neighborhood. Do you have a minute?”
Jamie stepped back and opened the door wide. Fina came in and slipped off her boots and coat. The living room was reverting to its original state, with piles of clutter on most of the flat surfaces.
She followed Jamie into the kitchen. As she took a seat at the table, a loud bang rang out overhead.
“The kids are home,” he said in explanation. “I couldn’t deal with getting them to school.”
Fina nodded. “I imagine it’s hard doing the morning routine with only one grown-up.”
“Liz handled it most days,” Jamie admitted. “I’m not very good at it.”
Fina was amused by the idea that Liz or anyone else was inherently good at the morning routine. Yes, some people were more organized than others, but really, it was a skill like any other. You just figured out the steps and practiced them, and if you couldn’t master the routine, chances were either you didn’t have to or didn’t want to.
“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” she assured him.
“Did you want coffee?” he asked.
Fina nodded and reached into her bag. She took out her phone and slipped it into her pocket. Jamie placed a mug in front of her, and she slid an envelope over to him when he took a seat across from her.
“I thought this might be more useful than another casserole.” Fina dipped a spoon into the sugar bowl and stirred a generous helping into her coffee.
Jamie opened the envelope and pulled out the vouchers for free housecleaning. “Huh. Thanks.” He seemed appreciative, but perplexed.
“I know it seems like a weird gift, but there’s nothing like having someone bring order to chaos. Those will give you a few months of relief.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Jamie said. “Kelly has been doing a lot around here, but I feel bad.”
“I wouldn’t feel too bad,” Fina said. “From what I can tell, she enjoys getting things whipped into shape.”
“That’s true.”
“But she probably has responsibilities she needs to get back to,” she said. “Cheerful Cleaners will at least give you a bridge until you figure out a new routine.” Fina sipped the coffee and had to stop herself from grimacing. It was dark and strong, even with the sugar. “When you schedule the first appointment, you should mention that you were referred by Matthew Ludlow. He’s my brother, and he represented them in a lawsuit. They love him.”
“So people either love you guys or hate you,” Jamie mused, taking a sip of his black coffee.
Fina tipped her head. “I suppose. We tend to generate strong feelings in people.” She wrapped her hands around her mug. “Bobbi mentioned that your knee had been acting up. How’s it feeling?”
“It’s been pretty bad lately. The cold doesn’t help,” he said.
“How’d you hurt it?” Fina asked, trying to stomach another sip of coffee.
“I was riding my bike and wiped out. I was going to do a triathlon—not a full one, just a sprint one to start—but obviously, that’s not going to happen.”
“That’s a bummer.”
“Yup. So much for taking up a healthy hobby.”
“Did you see Gus Sibley about it?” Fina asked.
Jamie studied her. “Why would you ask that?”
“I was just curious. My nephews are always breaking things and in need of recommendations.”
Jamie shook his head. “No. I saw a guy in Burlington.”
“I guess I assumed you’d seen him since he and Liz were friends.” Fina patted her pocket and pulled out her phone. “It’s on vibrate. Sorry, I need to check this,” she said, tapping on some buttons.
Jamie drank more coffee and tugged at a cuticle on his finger.
“Do you know Cambridge well?” Fina asked. “I’m supposed to meet someone at a restaurant in Central Square, but I don’t go there very often.” She pretended to send a text before putting the phone in her bag.
“I don’t spend much time over there,” Jamie said. “I did when I used to play music, but now I probably wouldn’t even recognize the place. All the businesses have changed and have been taken over by chains.”
“I hear ya. When I go to Harvard Square, I still expect to find the Wursthaus,” Fina said, referring to an old German bar and restaurant that used to anchor the Square and had closed nearly twenty years before.
“I loved that place,” Jamie said, a smile overtak
ing his features.
“You and me both,” Fina said, bringing her mug to the sink. “Well, I’m sure my GPS will get me where I need to go in Central Square.”
“Sorry I can’t help,” he said, following her to the door.
“I’ll figure it out,” Fina said. “I’m good at that.”
“Thanks for the vouchers,” Jamie said when she was starting down the front steps.
“Happy to help, and don’t hesitate to call if you need some other practical assistance. You’d be surprised the contacts I have.”
Jamie closed the door, and Fina returned to her car, where she set the heater to high.
It irritated her when people lied to her, but once she put that aside, she was able to focus on the crux of the issue.
There was clearly something that Jamie didn’t want her to know.
23.
Pamela sat behind her desk and tried to focus on the document on her computer screen. She was drafting a letter to soothe the Astral Donors—people who gave more than fifty thousand dollars a year—who were already expressing concerns about the lawsuit. Like it wasn’t difficult enough getting people to give money these days; now she’d have to spend her time reassuring skittish supporters.
Deb was cooking dinner for her tonight, and Pamela toyed with the idea of canceling. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize, and she wondered if her hesitation was a reflection of her or Deb. If they had a better relationship, would Pamela seek out her company? Or was the inclination to share her troubles just not in her wiring?
Her assistant came to the door and hovered. Pamela knew she had been short with the young woman in recent days, but the hovering was more irritating than solicitous.
“Yes, Jill?”
“I have some documents from the San Diego conference organizers.”
Pamela was confused. “Which conference is that?”
“The higher ed development officers meeting? You’re giving one of the keynotes.”
Pamela’s back stiffened. “Since when?”
“Since a few weeks ago. Paul was supposed to, but he has a conflict. He said you would do it instead.” Paul was senior to Pamela in the development office, much to her annoyance.
“Well, nobody asked me,” Pamela said. “I don’t even know if I’m available.”
“You are,” Jill said. “I checked your schedule.”
Pamela looked at her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
The young woman looked confused. “I shouldn’t have checked your schedule? I assumed since Paul was asking that you knew about it.”
“You shouldn’t have put it on my schedule without asking me,” Pamela said.
“I’m sorry.” Jill stood there, the papers hanging loosely by her side.
Pamela wiggled in her chair. Her panty hose were digging into her upper thighs, but there was no polite way to ease the pressure.
“So what should I do?” Jill asked.
“Let me see it.” Pamela held out her hand.
Jill crossed the room and offered the papers as if they were radioactive. Pamela smoothed them down on her blotter and scanned them. They were a draft of the highlights of the conference, including a speech by Pamela. There was an entry with her name and photo, a brief description of the talk, and a list of her credentials.
Pamela pressed her palm against the documents. “I can’t do this talk. You need to tell the organizers that my schedule has changed and I’m unavailable.”
“But it’s only a month away.”
“That means they have a month to find someone else. You know I don’t like these kinds of events,” Pamela said. “They take me away from my real work.”
Jill chewed on her lip. “What do you want me to tell Paul?”
“Tell him that I’m not available. Tell him to find a replacement.” Pamela looked at the document on her screen and clicked her mouse.
Her assistant remained in front of her desk.
“Was there something else?” Pamela asked her without looking up.
“No. Sorry.” Jill left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
Pamela hadn’t asked her to close the door, but perhaps her assistant’s instincts were right; she wasn’t in the mood for human interaction.
—
Cristian asked Fina to meet him at the courthouse, where he was testifying in another case. She was eager to get an update, but she didn’t feel good about the way their phone call had ended the other night. She knew it was largely her fault, but as much as she liked to eat, Fina hated humble pie.
She found him seated on a bench in the hallway, which was empty aside from a handful of people on their phones.
“Hi,” Fina said, taking a seat next to him.
“Hey.”
She took a deep breath. “Let me start by apologizing for my attitude on Saturday night,” she said. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”
Cristian looked at her. “Maybe I should take you down to the impound lot and show you the wrecks from people who insist on talking and texting while they drive.”
“Cristian, I never text while I drive,” she insisted.
“Fine. The ones who talk. It’s just as dangerous as driving drunk.”
“I understand that this is your thing, but I’m an adult, Cristian. I don’t know why I should be held to a stricter standard than the rest of the commonwealth.”
“I don’t care about the rest of the commonwealth,” he said, tugging at his tie.
“That’s sweet,” she said, touching his arm lightly, “but annoying.”
The doors next to them swung open, and a woman in a suit walked out at a clip.
“Do you have time for some lunch?” Fina asked.
He shook his head. “Nah. They told me to stay in the building.”
“Are there any vending machines? I’m hungry.”
Cristian led her down the hallway to an alcove that housed three vending machines. One offered drinks, another candy and snacks, and the third featured shelves on a turnstile apparatus. That machine contained sandwiches in triangular plastic containers, under-ripe fruit, and yogurt.
“Who eats that stuff?” Fina asked, studying the sandwiches. “Who knows how long they’ve been in there?”
“They must have expiration dates,” Cristian said, fishing in his pocket for change. He dropped coins into the drink machine and selected a bottle of thick-looking green juice.
“What about that?” Fina asked, eyeing his choice. “Does that have an expiration date? It looks like medical waste.”
“Thanks for sharing.” He dropped more change into the machine and selected a dark red smoothie.
“Who’s that for?” Fina asked.
He handed her the bottle. “It’s sweet. Give it a try.”
“Really?”
“Humor me.”
Fina took the proffered bottle reluctantly.
“Listen,” Cristian said as they returned to the bench, “we got some information about the device that was planted on your car.”
“What’s the deal?” she asked.
“Our techs think it was a mid-range device in terms of sophistication.”
Fina uncapped the drink and nodded.
“If it had been built by a pro, you and Scotty would be dead,” Cristian continued.
“I’d never live that down,” Fina said.
Cristian rolled his eyes. “But it definitely required some chemical know-how. I’m not an expert, but apparently the fire was caused by an incendiary metal that was made into beads and covered in wax. The bomber put the beads in some kind of a mesh bag in the radiator, and when the radiator heated up, the wax melted and then something about metal and water making hydrogen and fire.”
Fina looked at him blankly. “Cristian, I failed high school chemistry. Gimme a break.”
He grinned.
“What about the components?” Fina asked. “Anything that will help you track down our guy, assuming it is a guy?”
Cristian took a swig of the green liquid. “I think it’s a safe assumption we’re looking for a man; for whatever reason, they enjoy blowing things up more than women. The main ingredient was lithium metal; that’s what the beads were made of. You might be able to order it online, but it’s generally found in labs.”
Fina asked. “What kind of labs?”
“The kind of lab where Liz Barone worked,” Cristian said.
“Or the kind of lab run by Barnes Kaufcan?”
“Yes,” Cristian said. “That kind of lab.”
Fina sipped the berry-flavored smoothie. “So Vikram Mehra and Kevin Lafferty are still in the frame?”
“Yes, but so are half of your brother’s clients,” Cristian added. “He’s sued a lot of doctors and other people who might have access to these materials.”
“I suppose it doesn’t narrow things down,” Fina said, “but it does give me a reason to follow up with some people.”
Cristian eyed her. “Remember that Pitney isn’t happy with you. I suggest you tread lightly.”
“Pitney is never happy with me.” She looked at the label on her drink. Oh good Lord, it contained beets. “I assume you guys are going to talk to Vikram and Kevin.”
“Of course.”
“Sloppy seconds, as usual,” Fina said.
“If you wanted first dibs, you should have been a cop,” Cristian responded.
“No, thanks. I’m good. Any word on Kevin Lafferty’s alibi?”
“He was at the Westin that night, but there’s a chunk of time for which his movements are unaccounted for. So far, we aren’t getting anywhere.”
“That’s annoying,” Fina said. She squeezed his arm. “Thanks for the update.”
“Sure.” Cristian drained his bottle and screwed the top back on. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked, gesturing at her half-empty bottle.
“I have to admit that it was rather tasty.”
He grinned. “Wonders never cease. When are we doing dinner?”
“Whenever you want,” Fina said. She turned on the bench and looked at him. “Is this dinner going to be a date?”
