by Ingrid Thoft
Milloy put down his spoon in annoyance.
Fina shook her head. “Nothing.”
“I heard that Dimitri Kask was cut out of it. Care to comment?”
“Good-bye, Dan, and stop following me.”
“Just doing my job, Fina.”
“Me too. Just FYI, I’m a little jumpy these days, and I carry a gun. I would hate to accidentally shoot you.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Dan chuckled.
“You should be,” Milloy said, and stared at him.
Dan stood up and pulled out a business card. “If I come up with something, I’ll be in touch, and you do the same,” he told Fina.
“Um, okay . . . no. Did you have a lobotomy while you were away? We’re not buddies or partners.”
“Never say never.” He stood up and ran his hands through his disheveled hair before hurrying out of the restaurant.
“What a pest,” Fina said, and made room for the bubbling seafood casserole that was placed before her.
“Do you think Hank’s murder is connected to the sperm donation?” Milloy asked.
Fina poked at the top of the dish, releasing steam from the buttery crumbs. “I think it’s a strong possibility, but Danielle and Juliana both have a horse in this race, in terms of money.”
“So what was he saying about the center? Some of my clients go there.” Milloy was a massage therapist and had magic hands. He worked on a range of clients, from professional athletes to cancer survivors.
“Juliana founded the center when she was still married to Hank; it’s her baby, but the new Mrs. Reardon has been trying to get a foothold in the city’s social and philanthropic circles. Maybe Hank wasn’t going to fund both of their interests indefinitely.”
“You think he was killed over a charitable donation?”
“Not the donation, but the money in general and everything it provides: luxurious homes, ski vacations, status in the community, respect.”
“You live in a dark and twisted world.”
“We all do; some of us are just more aware of it.”
“What’s next?” Milloy asked.
“I need people to start telling me the truth.”
Milloy snorted. “Good luck with that. You know, you’re not an optimistic person by nature, and yet you always hold out hope that people are going to tell the truth.”
Fina sat back in her seat. “You’re right. There actually is a small part of me that expects the best of people.”
Milloy shook his head. “Wonders never cease.”
• • •
Michael Reardon suggested that they meet at his home rather than the office when Fina called him after lunch. After the recent intervention, he really wasn’t in a position to turn down her request for a meeting. It wouldn’t take long before he started pining for the good old days when she hadn’t been in touch.
Fina scrolled through her e-mail while waiting for him on the stoop of his South End brick row house. The street was tree-lined and charming, and you’d never know that Copley Square was only a five-minute walk away.
“Hi.” Michael lifted his hand in greeting and trotted up the stairs. Inside, Fina followed him up a wide staircase into a bright open space that encompassed the kitchen, living room, and dining area. Most everything in the place was white, with a few dashes of blue and green. The decor was tasteful and reminded Fina of his mother’s house in Swampscott. Beachy chic seemed to be a Reardon theme.
“Nice place,” Fina said.
“Thanks.” Michael rubbed his hands together. He looked nervous. “Your face looks better.”
“Eh. No permanent damage. I just have to let time do its thing.”
They looked at each other.
“Look, about the other day—” Michael said.
“Don’t worry about it. I should have called. It’s water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned.”
“It’s just been so stressful,” Michael explained, “and I’m desperate for some information.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” He opened the large stainless-steel fridge and studied its contents. “I’m afraid all I’ve got is OJ and diet soda.”
“Diet soda? The nectar of the gods? Yes, please.”
Michael’s shoulders relaxed. “Do you want a glass and some ice?”
“Nah. Thanks.”
Fina took the can and followed him to a sofa tucked into the bay window at the front of the town house. She popped the drink open and took a long slug. “I have to tell you, this is so much better than what your mom served me.”
Michael laughed. “Oh, God. Was it thick and green?” He opened his can and took a sip.
“It was. I think my intestines still haven’t recovered.”
“Keeps her young, I guess.”
“That’s true. She looks amazing.” Fina took another sip. “What happened at the funeral? I heard there was some situation.”
Michael sighed and shook his head. “We had a small private burial since we’re not having the memorial service for a couple of months. It was a mess.”
“Let me guess: Your mom and Danielle got into it.”
“I told my mom she shouldn’t come, but she does what she wants to do.”
“So they had a fight?”
“Words were exchanged. It was tense.”
“And annoying. It wasn’t supposed to be about them.”
“Yeah, well, no one told them.”
Fina sipped her drink. “I’m sorry. That must have been upsetting.”
Michael didn’t respond.
“I don’t have anything specific to report, but I am making progress,” Fina continued. “I do have a question for you, though.”
“What’s that?” Michael looked at her over his soda.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you and your dad had a big fight on the Friday before he died?”
Michael fiddled with the tab on the top of his can before putting the drink down on a coaster on the wooden coffee table. The coaster looked like fabric from a sari, perhaps a gift from his mother.
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
Fina cocked her head. “Come on, Michael. That’s not going to cut it. I think you were worried that I would think it was relevant.”
“But it has nothing to do with anything.” He fidgeted in his seat.
“It doesn’t matter. You still should have told me. Have you told the cops?”
It was faint, but Fina could detect a slight blush creeping out from under the collar of Michael’s button-down.
“No, I haven’t.”
“You need to.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ll find out—” Michael started to protest. “Not from me, but they will find out, and they’ll be pissed. It’s just not a smart move.”
“It seems pretty dumb to make myself look suspicious.”
“Lying makes you look more suspicious. Believe me.”
“I don’t want to tell them about personal stuff between me and my dad.”
“Honestly? Nobody gives a shit. These are seasoned cops. They really don’t care about your personal drama unless it screws up their investigation or plays a vital role in it.”
Michael picked up his soda and drank some more.
“And that’s why I care about it, too,” Fina continued.
“But you work for me. I should get to decide what I tell you and what I don’t.”
Fina sighed. “I know it seems that way to you—and it may be the case in most employer-employee relationships. But if you don’t tell me the truth, you’re not getting your money’s worth.”
Michael took a large swallow. “Fine. We had the fight we always have, or a variation of it. I wasn’t living up to his exp
ectations.”
“At Universum?”
“Yes, and because I was contemplating making a change. I was talking to people in the nonprofit tech sector, and that’s the kind of job other people have, not Hank Reardon’s kid.”
“It seems like the more successful they are, the more they have to control you. My dad and I fight all the time. He drives me crazy.”
“But it was just a fight,” Michael rushed to clarify. “Sometimes we fought, but we never held grudges.”
Fina finished her soda. “Did you speak with him after the fight, before he died?”
“Yeah, we had a brief phone call.”
“Well, that’s good at least.” Fina had had clients whose last contact with the deceased had been hurtful words or accusations; she knew those exchanges could eat away at the survivors.
“I guess.” Michael smiled wanly.
“It is. You’d feel worse if your last words had been angry ones. Thanks for the drink.” Fina carried her can to the kitchen counter, and Michael walked her downstairs to the front door. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You can wait a day or two, unless there’s something important to report.” He leaned against the open door.
“I strongly suggest you tell the cops about the argument; it’s in your best interest to come clean.”
Michael looked at his shoes. “I’ll think about it.”
He closed the door as she walked down the steps and headed for her car. Sometimes it was nice to be reminded that the Ludlows weren’t the only family with issues.
Fina went home for a couple of hours and gathered all the information she could about the Reardon Center, Danielle Reardon’s philanthropic efforts, and Dimitri Kask and Hank’s waterfront development deal.
As far as Fina could tell, the two Mrs. Reardons were demanding that the city’s upper crust choose sides. Photos from major charity events featured either Danielle and Hank or Juliana, but rarely were all three in attendance. Both of the women seemed to be staking a claim, and Fina could imagine that the gossip mills were feverishly at work trying to keep up. The Reardon Center was clearly Juliana’s pet project, but there were a few blind gossip column items about the new Mrs. Reardon starting a charity in the Reardon name that might eclipse Juliana’s. Philanthropy as a blood sport; it was absurd.
Fina’s digging into the waterfront development didn’t yield much information, so she called Hal, her finance guy.
“Where are you?” she asked over the thumping bass music emanating from the phone.
“Jiggles,” he hollered.
“The strip club? I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.”
“I’m not. I’m here with a client. Please tell me you need my immediate assistance.”
Fina smiled. “I need your immediate assistance. Get over here or else.”
“If you insist. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Fina tossed her phone onto the couch and sat down at her laptop. Patty had e-mailed her Haley’s school calendar, which included holidays, special assemblies, and parent-teacher conferences. She’d also attached the schedule for the JV field hockey team and a plea that Fina attend a game. Patty had started her campaign over the summer to get Haley more involved in school activities, and apparently she’d had some success. Patty may not have been a Ludlow by birth, but her tenacity made her an honorary member of the club. Contrary to people’s assumptions that Fina wasn’t interested in team sports below the professional level, she had always loved field hockey. There was something incredibly satisfying about striking a heavy ball with an even heavier stick without having to worry about form.
Fina dialed Haley’s number.
“Hey,” Haley answered.
“You’re back at school, right?”
“Yes. School sucks.”
“I agree, but you’re required to attend by law.”
“You’re required by law to do lots of things that you blow off.”
“Use me as a cautionary tale, then. Aunt Patty sent me your field hockey schedule. The first game’s in a couple of weeks?”
“I guess. The first home game.”
“You don’t sound too enthused.”
“I don’t know. It seems kind of stupid.”
“You know,” Fina said, walking over to the windows overlooking the harbor, “there’s nothing wrong with enjoying normal, dumb stuff.”
“I know.”
“Okay, just checking. So do you want me to paint my face or come up with a few cheers? Maybe get some pom-poms?”
“Believe me, if you showed up with pom-poms, the dads would be psyched.”
“Okay, scratch that idea.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Bye, Hale.”
Fina watched a line of planes snaking around Logan. A field hockey game. It was like a gateway drug to motherhood and domesticity. She’d have to stay on guard.
Her reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door. “It’s Hal, Fina.”
His face fell when he crossed the threshold. “Wha . . . ? What happened?”
“You know, Hal, you’re one of the few people who is truly upset when I get hurt.”
Hal plodded over to the couch and dropped onto it. He was short and obese, and usually sweating, regardless of the season. “It is upsetting. I don’t understand why Milloy and your family aren’t more upset.”
Fina shrugged. “My family is cold and unfeeling. Milloy doesn’t like it, but what can he do?” She sat down on the other end of the couch. “They’ve probably also gotten used to it at this point. Do you want something to drink?”
“I would love some water, but I can get it.” He started to struggle off the couch.
“Let me.”
Fina filled a glass with ice water and returned to the living room.
“So, Jiggles?” Fina handed him the water.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Fina, but those places. I always want to pull the girls aside and give them advice on setting up a 401(k).”
“Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re a decent guy.”
Hal dipped his head and smiled. “What do you need?”
Fina tucked her feet under her on the couch. “What do you know about Hank Reardon’s waterfront development deal?”
Hal thought for a moment. “It was a bit of a departure for him. Most of his other projects and investments are in technology.”
“I wonder why he was branching out.”
“Sometimes the really high achievers get bored in their own fields, so they decide to try something new, like buy a professional sports team. If you’ve got billions of dollars, what’s losing a hundred million on a failed experiment?”
“I suppose. What’s the actual proposal?”
“Developing a big plot of land on the waterfront, one of the few left. The proposal includes restaurants, shops, condos, galleries. He pitched it as a destination, a reason for people to go to the neighborhood.”
“I’ve heard that his Universum partner, Dimitri Kask, wasn’t part of the deal. Know anything about that?”
Hal leaned toward her. “I only know rumors and gossip.”
“That works for me,” Fina said.
“I think the deal was too rich for Dimitri’s blood, and Hank wasn’t willing to negotiate on that point. Hank’s older—was older—than Dimitri and had more time to amass his fortune.”
“But Dimitri wanted in on the deal?”
“Only when he couldn’t get in on it. I think his pride was hurt.”
Fina drained her soda. “I need you to do a little digging around to see if there’s anything odd about the deal.”
“Okay.”
“What happens to it now that Hank is dead?”
Hal held up his hands. “I don’t know. It has the potential to be a huge mess.
He’s got a lot of money tied up in it, but I assume Hank had bulletproof estate planning, so maybe it won’t be an issue.”
“Thanks, Hal.” Fina stood and stretched. “Send me the bill and call me when you have some info. One other thing. Two, actually. Can you look into the Reardon Center?”
“The cancer place?”
“Yeah. It’s the main charity of Hank Reardon’s first wife, Juliana, and I want to know if there’s anything hinky or noteworthy in terms of the finances.”
“I’ll let you know what I find. The other thing?”
“A kid named Brett Linder. I’ll e-mail you the basics. I just want to know if there are any red flags.”
“Sure. You take care of yourself, Fina,” he said, walking to the door. “Every time I hear about a shooting, I think of you.”
“Aww, Hal. That’s so sweet.”
• • •
Between Harvard Square and Porter Square, Fina parked around the corner from a large cream-colored house. A picket fence enclosed the yard, and a stone path led to the front door. Green shutters framed the windows, and large terra cotta urns overflowing with plants flanked the front door.
Fina rang the bell and waited. After a moment, a man answered.
“Is Dimitri here?” Fina asked. It was close to dinnertime, and she thought her chances of finding him at home were fifty-fifty. Sometimes it was more interesting when the person you came to see wasn’t there.
The man at the door was in his midforties, tall, and carrying just a bit of extra weight around his middle. He had blond hair and a pleasant face. He was dressed in jeans, an untucked light blue polo shirt, and flip-flops.
“No, but I expect him at any moment,” he said. “Can I help you with something?” He examined her face.
Fina reached into her bag and handed him her ID. “Michael Reardon hired me to investigate Hank’s death. I spoke with Dimitri at the office, but I had a few follow-up questions. And this was from an accident,” she added, indicating her face.
“I’m his husband, Andy Collins-Kask. I didn’t mean to stare,” he said apologetically. They shook hands. “You’re welcome to come in if you don’t mind waiting.”
“No worries.” Fina followed him into a beautiful foyer anchored by a staircase with twisted balustrades. The space was bright and light, and the wood floors shone. “Your home is beautiful.”
