by Ingrid Thoft
Marnie took another drink. “So Rosie is home now.”
“Yes, and she’s been questioned by the police.”
Marnie raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know if Tyler mentioned it, but I’ve been hired by Michael Reardon to find his father’s killer.”
“You’re not working for Renata anymore?” She looked surprised.
“We don’t seem to be, although with Renata, things seem to change on an hourly basis.”
Marnie chewed thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine the police like having you over their shoulder.”
“They don’t, but we manage. Have they questioned Tyler yet?” Fina asked.
Marnie frowned. “I know he’s relevant since Hank was his donor, but they can’t really imagine he had anything to do with his death.”
“I don’t know what they think, but I imagine he’s on their list.”
“Of suspects?”
“Of people they want to talk to.”
Marnie reached over and took another small handful of nuts. “Well, obviously he’ll cooperate if needed.”
“If you want one of my brothers to sit in, that can be arranged.”
“But your firm doesn’t do criminal defense, right?”
“Right, but for half an hour of questions, it might be easier than finding someone new.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“How’s Jess doing?”
Marnie sighed and rested her chin in her hand. “She’s okay. I worry sometimes that Tyler is too impulsive, doesn’t pay enough attention to things, but occasionally that approach is a blessing.”
“Jess is more serious?” Fina asked, holding her wineglass by its skinny stem.
“Yes, and very protective of her brother. They’re both good kids.”
“The police are probably going to want to know your alibi, and Jess’s, too.”
“That’s fine.”
Fina looked at her. “Mind if I ask?”
Marnie looked weary. “Tyler and I were home asleep, and I assume that Jess was at her place. We actually haven’t had a family discussion on the topic.” She smiled ruefully.
“No need to, it sounds like.”
They exchanged pleasantries while emptying their wineglasses and munching on the rest of the nuts.
Outside, Marnie and Fina walked in opposite directions. Fina liked Marnie. She hoped her kids had nothing to do with Hank’s murder.
• • •
Cristian’s phone rang six times before he answered.
“Menendez.”
“What took you so long?” Fina asked, her legs propped up on the back of the couch. “You usually answer by the second ring.”
“I’m busy. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to touch base.”
“There’s nothing I can tell you, Fina.” Voices could be heard in the background.
“I’m not asking for any information, actually. I have some for you.”
“Hold on a sec.” Cristian seemed to cover the phone and came back on a minute later. It was quiet now.
“Are you at work?”
“No.” He hesitated. “I’m grabbing something to eat.”
“Oh,” she said. Cristian sounded funny.
“What did you need to tell me?” he asked.
“I had a conversation in my lobby this afternoon with a kid named Brett Linder. He claims that Hank was his donor.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, but it might be a scam. I think he’s looking for a payday.”
“Great. The list grows.”
“I told him to contact you guys or Jules Lindsley, but I warned him he wasn’t getting anything until he proved he was Hank’s kid.”
“You think that will scare him off?”
“I don’t know, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. Do you hear that, it’s me giving you a heads-up?”
“Yes, I hear you. I know that’s very hard for you.”
“It is. Thank you for recognizing that.” She touched her split lip, which was starting to scab. “So, what, are you on a date or something?” she joked.
“Actually, yeah.”
“Come on.”
He was silent for a moment. “You told me to get a hobby, and I did.”
“That’s your hobby?”
“Why not? Seems like a good pursuit. Better than fixating on my ex-wife.”
“So who’s the lucky lady?”
“A speech pathologist named Cindy.”
“Hmm.”
There was an awkward silence.
“I’ve gotta go; I’m being rude.”
“Cindy better get used to interruptions if she’s going to date a cop. Not many women can compete with the job.”
“Good night, Fina.”
She lay there with the phone in her hand. When she suggested he get a hobby, she meant running or Xbox. It was supposed to be a distraction from Marissa, not from Fina herself.
Milloy answered his phone more quickly, but was unavailable, which only soured her mood more. They made a lunch date for the next day, and Fina had a glass of wine and a 100 Grand bar to offset her annoyance.
Apparently, those two hadn’t gotten the memo requesting they be on call 24/7.
“I want to give you that sample,” Risa said. Fina was fighting her way into the Sumner Tunnel when her phone rang. Matthew had asked her to check something out at the Revere Police Station, and she was coming back into the city.
“Okay. When’s a good time for me to stop by?”
Risa’s afternoon was booked with fund-raising committee meetings for Grahamson, the private school her kids and Haley attended.
“How about tonight at the club?” Risa asked.
“You want me to take a DNA swab at the club?” Fina was halfway through the tunnel, marveling that it was still standing. The Sumner Tunnel was narrow and dark, and the tiles looked as though they might tumble off the wall at any moment. Fina tried not to think about the ocean that surrounded it, squeezing its aged structure. She wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but she liked to get through it as quickly as possible.
“We could do it in the ladies’ room, in one of the changing cabanas,” Risa said.
“Okay. It’s a little weird, but okay.”
“I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve if I put it off.”
“That’s fine, I just want to make sure you really want to do it.”
“I really want to; I’m just scared to death at the same time.”
“That’s understandable.”
“How soon will we get the results?”
“If I put a rush on it, we can get them in twenty-four hours once the lab has both samples.”
“Definitely put a rush on it.”
“I will get it done ASAP,” Fina reassured her.
They made plans to meet later in the day, and Fina drove back to her condo. She took special care when walking through the building’s parking garage. Earlier in the summer she’d been jumped there, her wrist broken in the scuffle, which should have put her on alert, but time had a way of making you careless, which helped explain Monday’s escapade. Fina wrapped her hand around the gun in her bag and scanned the rows of cars before hightailing it to the elevator.
Once upstairs she wandered into the kitchen, where she peered into the fridge. Fina got groceries delivered from an online grocery service every two weeks. Without the influx of ice cream, diet soda, and Pop-Tarts, she’d probably starve. Her nearly bare cabinets suggested that she was due for a delivery.
A handful of Nutter Butters in hand, she decided to call Greta Samuels. Fina dialed her number and looked out at the harbor while it rang. A tanker was being steered by two tugboats. The two vessels were dwarfed by the boat they were guiding, and Fina was struck by how i
ncongruous the relationship seemed. But babies were little, and they ran their parents’ lives; small didn’t mean powerless.
“Hello?” a voice answered.
“Ms. Samuels? This is Fina Ludlow, the private investigator in Boston.”
“I was worried. I haven’t heard from you in days.”
“I’m sorry about that, but I’ve been busy.” And I don’t work for you, Fina thought.
“Did your associate review the birth certificate?”
“He did. How’s your cousin?” Fina asked.
Silence.
“Ms. Samuels? How’s your cousin? The trip you took?”
“My cousin is fine.” She perked up. “Thank you for asking. So do I finally get to meet my niece?”
“Not quite yet.”
“I don’t understand,” she exclaimed. “You verified the birth certificate.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t prove that Risa is Ann Sylvia Patterson or that the two of you are related. The only way to do that is to run a DNA test.”
Silence.
“But I don’t know anything about DNA tests.”
“You don’t have to.” Fina wandered into the kitchen and opened the same cabinets she had minutes before. She found a box of graham crackers tucked into the corner and a jar of peanut butter. “I just need a sample from you. I’m getting one from Risa later today. Then we’ll send them both to the lab for analysis.”
“How do you get the sample?” The stress in Greta’s voice suggested she was imagining a six-inch needle.
“It’s just a cotton swab from the inside of your cheek. Fast and not the least bit painful.”
“Well, that sounds okay, I guess.”
“I’d like to have my associate stop by today. It will only take a minute.” Fina figured she would hire the same local PI to do the swab and overnight it to her.
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of a stranger doing it.”
Fina dipped a graham cracker into the peanut butter and bit into it. The cracker was slightly stale, but it would do.
“Well, unfortunately, I can’t do it. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation here in Massachusetts.”
“Oh my. That sounds awful,” Greta said.
“So I can send my colleague?”
“Could my doctor do it? I’d feel more comfortable.” Her voice was the equivalent of auditory handwringing.
Honestly. It was a cheek swab, not a pelvic exam. This woman was turning out to be a real pain in the ass.
“That would be fine, but I’d need an affidavit swearing that the doctor was the only one who handled the sample. I really do need it today, and I’ll pay for a courier to get it to the lab.”
“Why is there such a rush?”
“Risa is anxious to get the information. Is that a problem from your perspective?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.”
“I just never thought this would be so complicated.”
“It really isn’t. Just a quick trip to the doctor’s office. I imagine she’s submitted affidavits before.”
“She?”
“Your doctor. She or he.” Fina put the top back on the peanut butter and walked into the living room.
“Oh goodness, dear. I wouldn’t go to a lady doctor.”
Fina held the phone away from her ear. Apparently she hadn’t just dialed Maine, but Maine in the 1940s. “He, then. I’m sure he’s submitted affidavits before.”
“I’ll call the office as soon as we’re done.”
“I think we’re done,” Fina said. “Unless you have more questions?”
“No, no. I’m all set.”
“Great. I look forward to getting your sample.” Fina ended the call and watched the tugboats race across the harbor, no longer burdened with the tanker. With the DNA samples, Risa would soon have an answer. Although Fina wasn’t sure there was any good answer to this particular question.
She changed gears and started a background check on Brett Linder, and what little she found reinforced her wariness about his appearance on the scene. He had two recent arrests that listed his age as nineteen, one for disturbing the peace and the other for felony theft. Fina didn’t have access to sealed juvenile records, but she found it hard to believe his life of crime had started at age nineteen. Arrests of young men were often like rats: For every one you saw, there were more lurking in the shadows. The good news was that Brett Linder wasn’t really her problem—unless, of course, he had killed Hank.
She put a call in to Hal Boyd, her finance guy, but only got voice mail. Fina had a completely aboveboard financial manager who took care of her own money, but for casework and ethically questionable activities, she employed Hal. Next, she left a message for Emma.
Her phone rang, and she looked at the display. It was Milloy calling; she was late for lunch.
“I’m on my way,” she told him, gathering her bag and keys with her other hand.
“You better be.”
Fina drove like a madwoman, which wasn’t much different from her usual approach, and slid into a booth across from Milloy at Legal Sea Foods ten minutes later. He was sipping an iced tea, and there was a diet soda with a lime at her place. On a small plate in the middle of the table, foil-wrapped butter pats were inserted into the middle of two rolls.
“Oh, you’re the best.” Fina liked her butter pat to be pre-melted in the warm roll before she peeled back the foil and spread it on the bread.
“I ordered for us,” he said.
“Thanks.” Fina took a long drink of soda and sat back. “So, what were you up to last night?” She certainly hoped he hadn’t been on a date. There weren’t many things you could count on in life, but Fina had grown used to the idea that Milloy and Cristian would always be available. Clearly, her assumptions were faulty.
“Dinner with Zeke and a couple of other guys.” Milloy and Fina had met their freshman year at BU and knew many of the same people. Fina, however, was more of a loner than Milloy, and much of her social energy was put into her family. Who had the time to nurture friendships when they were busy putting out fires on the home front?
“How’s the case going?” he asked, spreading butter on his roll.
“It’s a mess, but they usually are, right?” Fina unwrapped her butter, but stopped when a man approached the booth.
He pulled a chair away from another table and took a seat at theirs. Dan Rubin was a freelance reporter in his fifties whom Fina had encountered on previous cases. He was wearing dark blue cotton pants and a wrinkled button-down shirt untucked on one side. His hair looked unkempt, and his complexion was ruddy. Over one shoulder, he had a battered leather messenger bag. If you subtracted about thirty-five years, Dan looked like a private-school boy who was late for lacrosse practice.
“I hear you’re on the Reardon case,” he said, swigging from a bottle of water.
“You’re back,” Fina noted. “Dan, this is Milloy. Milloy, Dan.”
Dan thrust out his hand and shook Milloy’s. “I took a little time off.”
“I heard,” Fina murmured. The waiter set down two steaming bowls of chowder and a few packets of oyster crackers. “I hope it was helpful.” Rumor had it that Dan had been in rehab, and although Fina found the man annoying, she didn’t wish him ill. She’d seen enough addiction in her work to know it was an evil scourge.
“Time will tell,” Dan said, looking around the restaurant. “So are you working on the Hank Reardon case?”
“You know I am. What do you want, Dan?”
“I want a scoop.”
“And I can’t tell you about my clients. Why don’t you do some investigative reporting? Like, what’s the deal with the ME’s report?” Fina already knew what was in it from Stacy, but she was curious if Dan had anything to add to the mix.
“It�
��s being released today. I guess his wife was trying to fight its release, but it’s public information.”
“Any thoughts on the murder weapon?”
“I came here to ask you questions,” Dan said, sipping his water.
“And I have nothing to tell you.” Fina rolled her eyes at Milloy before dipping her spoon into the chowder. It emerged from the bowl holding a plump clam and a nugget of potato.
“But it’s got something to do with the sperm donation, right?” Dan’s leg bounced on the floor. Another minute of that and she’d have to punch him in the leg. “Can you imagine waking up and finding out that Hank Reardon was your father?”
“No, I can’t.” It was bad enough waking up and remembering that Carl Ludlow was.
Dan drained his water. “I think the donor babies are the key.”
“Are you basing that on any information or just your reporter’s thirst for scandal?”
“It’s a good story, Fina.”
“Leave the kids alone, Dan.”
He leaned closer to her. “Why? What do you know?”
“You should leave us alone,” Milloy said. “You’re giving me indigestion.”
He glanced at Milloy, sizing up his physique. “I will, but just tell me what you know.”
“Nothing,” Fina said. “I just know that they had nothing to do with the circumstances of their conceptions and births. And most of them are barely legal.”
“Didn’t stop you from talking to them.”
“Good-bye, Dan.”
“What do you think about the wives? I heard there was a big brouhaha at the funeral.”
“I heard the same thing,” Fina said wearily. She’d heard no such thing, but you always got more from people if you pretended you were already in the know.
“Apparently, this town isn’t big enough for the two of them. I wonder what’s going to happen with the Reardon Center,” he mused, watching Fina.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” She returned his gaze.
“Does Hank’s death open the money taps or close them even tighter?”
“I don’t know, but untangling Hank’s business interests alone should keep you busy,” Fina said before eating a spoonful of chowder.
“What do you know about his waterfront development deal?”
