by Ingrid Thoft
Fina scanned it. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The profile featured a photo of Karla, who had long, smooth blond hair and breasts the size of Florida grapefruits. These were on display in a deep V-neck dress that skimmed her waist and hips. Her teeth were bright white, her nails manicured in a deep coral shade. Fina studied the picture more closely. Karla looked to be in her late twenties. She was probably closer in age to Haley than she was to Rand. Rand’s choice in girlfriend was incredibly predictable, but it was her striking resemblance to his late wife, Melanie, that gave Fina pause.
Her train of thought was interrupted when a small group emerged from the building and dispersed in different directions in the parking lot. One of them walked in Fina’s direction, and as he got closer, Fina recognized him as Gus. She jumped out of her car and jogged over, nearly wiping out on the now slick pavement.
“Dr. Sibley!”
He looked up, his face wearing a friendly expression until he caught sight of Fina.
“I have nothing to say to you. If you keep following me, I’m going to call the police.”
“I haven’t been following you.”
“You’re in my parking lot!”
“Sure, but I purposely came here to see you. I didn’t follow you here.”
Gus pulled open the car door and started to duck down.
“Did you know that Kevin Lafferty beds NEU student athletes?” Fina asked.
Gus unfolded his frame and slammed the door shut. He faced her.
“What of it?”
“It seems like it might be important.”
“Kevin’s ‘interests’ have nothing to do with my job.”
“But Liz Barone was one of his ‘interests,’ and she was your friend.”
“I wasn’t involved in Liz’s personal life, certainly not when she was an undergrad.”
Fina brushed a snowflake off her cheek. “Fair enough, but what about Jamie? You two went to great pains to ignore each other at the funeral.”
“We didn’t visit with each other, that’s true,” Gus said, “but we weren’t ignoring each other.”
“Hmm,” Fina said. “I don’t buy it.”
Gus turned back to his door and pulled on the handle.
“What about his knee?” Fina asked.
“I don’t discuss my patients.”
Fina took a step closer to him. “But he’s not your patient.”
“What I meant is that I don’t discuss anyone’s medical issues with anyone else. I don’t speculate on conditions even if someone isn’t a patient.”
“Ah. So you practice discretion,” Fina said.
“Yes.” He climbed in the car and slammed the door shut. A moment later, the sleek mass of metal purred to life. Fina moved out of the way as he backed out of the space and left the parking lot.
Most of the time, Fina could get people to talk. If they clammed up or referred her to their attorney she attributed it to one of two possibilities. Either the person truly valued his privacy or he was hiding something.
She wasn’t sure which option applied to Gus Sibley, but she needed to find out.
—
Cristian invited Fina to dinner in his neighborhood, and she accepted with a touch of reluctance. She was pulling together seemingly disparate pieces of information related to the case, and one could argue she should share them with Cristian. But she wasn’t ready to do that; she needed a little more time to investigate before handing the fruits of her labor over to the cops.
“Are you feeling okay?” Cristian asked halfway through their meal of sushi and sake.
“Sure. Why do you ask?”
“You’re not pumping me for information about the case.”
“I thought this was purely social—celebrating your status as a single man.”
He nodded. “Yeah, but I worry when you’re too well behaved.”
“Oh, no need to worry on that front,” Fina said, smearing some wasabi on a thin slice of tuna.
“That worries me just as much,” Cristian said, signaling the waiter for more sake.
“Clearly, you worry too much. Let’s talk about something else, like your recent romantic adventures.”
He shrugged. “There’s not much to say.”
“I doubt Cindy would agree,” Fina said.
The waiter brought over a small ceramic flask and poured more liquid into their cups. Cristian took a sip before speaking. “She wanted to move to the next step.”
“Which step are we talking about? Moving in together? Marriage?”
“Moving in together,” Cristian said, dipping a piece of spicy tuna roll in soy sauce.
“And you weren’t interested?”
“I’m not going to live with anyone unless we’re married. It’s not a moral thing, but I don’t want Matteo to get attached to someone unless it’s permanent.”
“That’s very responsible of you,” Fina said, “but it definitely narrows the options: get married, break up, or date indefinitely.”
“Right. I’m not interested in marriage, so breaking up was the way to go.”
“Cindy wasn’t interested in dating indefinitely?” Fina grinned. She was the only woman she knew who preferred to date indefinitely.
“She was, but she’s in her late twenties. I couldn’t make her any promises, and she wants kids. She should find someone who’s on the same page.”
Fina dredged a piece of tempura shrimp through the accompanying sauce. “Well, I’m sorry if you’re sorry.”
Cristian chewed slowly. “I’m good.”
Fina wasn’t sure what that meant, but she’d had enough relationship talk for one night.
“Is Matteo excited for the Disney ice thing?” she asked, changing the conversational trajectory.
“Yeah, I showed him some video clips the other day. You know there’s a royal Valentine’s ball featuring the princesses?”
“Oh, barf. And the whole thing’s on ice? What’s the ice have to do with anything?”
“Don’t overthink it,” Cristian counseled.
They drank more sake and huddled together in the bitter wind on the way back to Cristian’s apartment. There was no discussion about Fina coming up; it just happened. Which could also describe the rest of the evening.
They were wrestling out of their clothes in the bedroom when Cristian grasped her face with his hands.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“I bet you have.” Fina smirked and gently tugged his earlobe between her teeth.
30.
Fina lay in bed, curled on her side. She was warm and naked, listening to Cristian shower in the bathroom. With closed eyes, she allowed herself to replay the preceding night’s events in her mind. Fina smiled. Still delightful, even in the reimagining.
But there was work to be done. She reached for her phone and scrolled through her voice mails and e-mails. Nothing demanded her immediate attention. Fina dialed Dennis Kozlowski’s number, and after they exchanged pleasantries, they got down to business.
“Everything okay with Bobbi Barone?” Fina asked.
“Yup. She’s a nice lady.”
“She is,” Fina said, her mind flipping through her mental file on Dennis. “She’s a widow.”
“What? You’re a yenta now, in addition to all your other talents?” Dennis asked. He’d been divorced for over a decade and, as far as Fina knew, was currently single.
“No, but when I meet two single, likable people, my mind can’t help but consider the possibilities.”
“Uh-huh.” Dennis wasn’t buying it.
“But I actually called you with more work,” Fina said.
“I’m all ears.”
Fina gave him the scoop on Gus Sibley, and they discussed the parameters of surveillance.
“I want s
omeone on him 24/7 for the foreseeable future,” Fina said a few minutes later, as Cristian emerged from the bathroom, bare-chested with a towel around his waist. She wrapped up the call and tossed her phone on the bed.
“What’s that about?” Cristian asked, opening a drawer in the bureau. He pulled out a pair of boxer briefs and dropped his towel. Fina gazed at his perfect ass.
“Fina?” he asked.
“Huh? Sorry. I was distracted by your butt.”
“Who are you following?”
“I can’t tell you that.” She pushed back the covers and crawled to the end of the bed. “Come back,” she said.
“No time.”
“Oh, come on. I’m sure you can be quick,” she teased.
“Was that call about the Liz Barone case?” Cristian asked, removing her hand from his hip.
“I can’t tell you,” she insisted, climbing off the bed. “As soon as I have something relevant to share, I will.”
She pulled on her bra and thong. When her phone rang, it took her a moment to find it under the mound of blankets.
“Yes, Father,” Fina said, rolling her eyes. Cristian smirked as he pulled on his pants.
“There’s some asshole here who is ranting about you,” Carl said.
“Does this asshole have a name?” Fina struggled into her jeans with one hand.
“Kevin Lafferty. I’m going to have security throw him out unless you have some use for him.”
“Stick him in a conference room,” Fina said. “I’m on my way.”
“Does this have to do with a case?”
“Of course. What do you think, I’m dating the guy?”
“I have no idea what you do in your free time,” Carl said.
“Dad, I bake and knit in my free time. You know that.”
Fina smiled when Cristian let out a loud bark of laughter.
“Who’s that?” her father asked.
“It’s a cop.”
“I don’t want to know. Get over here.” He hung up.
“Is Daddy pissed?” Cristian asked.
“Daddy’s always pissed,” Fina said, pulling on the rest of her clothes and tying her hair into a knot at the back of her head. She grabbed Cristian and planted a long kiss on his plump lips. “It was a pleasure.”
He smiled. “Good. I look forward to doing it again soon.”
“As do I.”
Fina left the apartment and skipped down the front steps.
She really was a fan of law enforcement.
—
Fina watched from the hallway as Kevin Lafferty paced in a Ludlow and Associates conference room, his phone to his ear. He did not look happy.
On her way in she’d made a detour to the office kitchen and grabbed a diet soda, which she was sipping when she walked into the room.
Kevin glared at her and ended his call abruptly. “I’m going to sue you,” he declared.
Fina took a seat at the table. “Okay.”
“For harassment.”
“Good luck with that.”
“You went to my home and talked to my wife.” Kevin put his hands on the table and leaned over Fina, his face just inches from hers.
“You smell good,” she said. “What cologne are you wearing?”
Kevin sneered at her. “Everything’s a joke to you.”
“No, actually, it’s not. There’s nothing funny about a woman being killed or losing her cognitive function for a game of soccer. I find both of those situations extremely serious, and as for speaking to your wife, you are one lucky bastard.”
“What?” He pushed his hands off the table and leaned against the wall. Fina couldn’t tell if it was a pose of practiced nonchalance or if he needed the support.
“Well, I didn’t ask her about your extracurricular activities,” Fina said. “A less discreet investigator would have spilled the beans.”
He glared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Kevin. Can you just admit that you have affairs with NEU student athletes? That you’ve been having affairs for years?”
He walked around the table and stood opposite her. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information.”
“From various reliable sources.”
Kevin snorted. “So, rumors? You treat rumors as evidence? And what do those rumors have to do with Liz Barone’s death?”
“That’s what I’m figuring out. It seems to me that you have a lot to lose if your affairs become public knowledge—your role as a booster, your reputation . . .”
“I didn’t hurt Liz, and I’m not having any affairs,” he insisted.
“Of course not,” Fina said. She took a long drink of soda. “You know what I’ve found during my years as an investigator?” she asked.
“What?”
“That it’s the guilty who are the most righteous. The guilty are the indignant ones; the innocent feel no need to herald their innocence. They’re confident that right is on their side.”
“That’s bullshit. The righteous are the wrongly accused.”
“Not in my experience. Shakespeare was onto something—‘the lady doth protest too much, methinks.’ That whole business.”
“You’re crazy,” he said.
“Well, thank you very much. I appreciate the feedback.” Fina rose from her chair. “In the meantime, good luck with your proposed lawsuit against me. Criminal harassment is definitely a nonstarter, but maybe you’ll have luck with a civil complaint.” Fina scrunched up her face in concentration. “Probably not, the more I think about it, but I can get you in to see someone for a consult.” She gestured toward the hallway.
“Stay away from my family,” Kevin said, shaking his finger at her.
“Start telling the truth, and I will.”
He stomped out of the room.
Fina watched him recede down the hallway. Perhaps Kevin’s good looks and charming personality had provided a cocoon that had buffered him throughout his life. He was used to getting his way. He wasn’t used to being questioned or doubted. No wonder Fina was sending him into orbit.
—
Fina went by Carl’s office to let him know that she’d dealt with Kevin, but her father was in a meeting. She was heading out when her phone rang. Risa’s number lit up the screen.
“Hey,” Fina answered. “How’s it going?”
“Good. Is there any way you could stop by today?”
“Sure. What works for you?”
“In a few hours?” Risa suggested. “I’ll feed you.”
Fina glanced at her watch. “Yum. Something to look forward to. I’ll see you then.”
Rather than go home and then head out to Newton, Fina decided to take advantage of the firm’s Wi-Fi and free supply of diet sodas. She reclaimed her place in the conference room and pulled out her computer, then logged on to Facebook, pleased to see that twenty-four of her friend requests had been accepted. Who were these people who accepted a friend request from a complete stranger? She eliminated the new friends who didn’t resemble the photo of the car bomber; men who were old, white, skinny, Asian, or lived outside of Massachusetts were dismissed with a click of her mouse.
That left Fina with five candidates. The five men were all black, in their twenties, and big. Fina scrolled through their profiles and immediately ruled out two of them based on their photos. The remaining three had few photos posted, none of them of particularly good quality, so Fina couldn’t rule them in or out. She typed a private message to each man asking if he was available to catch up. Fina hoped they would respond, and she hoped that one of them was her guy. That was a lot of hoping—not her preferred method of private investigation—but it was the best she could do. She’d worry about her next step when she had to take one.
—
Fina rang R
isa’s doorbell and opened the door simultaneously.
“Risa!” she hollered toward the back of the house.
“I’m back here!”
Fina stripped off her jacket and padded back to the kitchen. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” she scolded.
Risa was pulling a pie pan out of the oven. She set it on the stovetop and dropped the pot holders onto the counter. “Has there been an uptick in crime I don’t know about?”
“No,” Fina said, climbing onto a stool at the island, “but if you lock up, you never have to be the doofus on the news who was robbed when a thief walked in the front door.”
“Not that you’re judging the victims,” Risa said, smiling.
Fina shrugged. “Trust Allah, but tie up your camel.”
Risa made plates for both of them.
“How are the kids?” Fina asked, filling two glasses with seltzer.
“They’re good. Jordan has his first dance in a couple of weeks.”
“Please tell me you’re chaperoning.”
“I’ve threatened to, but he’s been on his best behavior to safeguard against that possibility. Let’s sit at the table,” Risa said, directing Fina toward the large farm table in the family room area.
“This looks delicious,” Fina commented. “What is it?”
“You’re my guinea pig. It’s pistachio and arugula quiche. I’m thinking of making it for a committee luncheon that I have to host.”
“I love being your guinea pig,” Fina said, cutting off a piece of the quiche, which shared the plate with a green salad.
“I have to serve something that’s easy to eat from a plate in your lap and won’t scare anybody off in terms of fat and calories.”
Fina rolled her eyes and put a forkful in her mouth. “Delicious,” she declared after swallowing the bite.
“Obviously,” Risa said after a moment, “I didn’t just invite you here for quiche.” She fiddled with the napkin on her lap.
