Identity

by Ingrid Thoft

  “Help yourself.” Rosie pushed the bag in her direction. “You don’t look so hot, Fina.”

  “I know. It really hasn’t been my day.” She scooped up a chipful of the green dip and put it in her mouth. The salt of the chips and the tang of the avocado were the perfect mix. “That’s so good.”

  Rosie chewed and nodded. “I could eat this stuff all day.”

  They snacked, and Fina asked about her work at the shelter. Rosie was enthusiastic when she described the animals under her care.

  “So am I in more trouble?” Rosie finally asked. She adjusted her position on the couch so her bare feet were tucked under her. Her wavy hair was loose and framed her face.

  “Actually, you’re in less trouble than you were. I saw the surveillance footage from Hank’s house, and you and Tyler were doing what you said.”

  Rosie cringed. “There’s more surveillance footage?”

  “Yep. Hank was a billionaire. He had a lot of security.”

  “Not enough, apparently,” Rosie noted.

  “True.” Fina sipped her soda. “Anyway, you guys made for very boring viewing. Thankfully.”

  Rosie nodded.

  “It looks like things have calmed down around here. No press outside, at least,” Fina said.

  Rosie shrugged. “For now.”

  “I’m assuming your mom isn’t here or else we’d have heard her.”

  The girl smiled. “I expect her home any minute.”

  Fina unconsciously touched a fingertip to her temple, but moved it away when Rosie’s gaze settled on her injuries.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Fina said, “did your mom say something to you about the night Hank died?”

  “What do you mean?” Rosie pushed the guacamole toward the center of the coffee table, out of her own reach.

  “Well, she told the cops that she was here all night. Alexa said that your mom helped her in the middle of the night when she had a bad dream. She said your mom got her a glass of water.”

  “I wasn’t here that night, remember?”

  “I know, I’m just wondering what you think. Does that sound like Alexa?”

  Rosie stared at her. “You think I’m going to tell you if it doesn’t?”

  Fina sighed. “No, of course not. Sorry.”

  “My mom can be a pain in the ass, but I don’t think that she would ever kill anyone.”

  “Sorry.” Fina held her hands up. “I’m just trying to figure stuff out.”

  “You weren’t supposed to eat that!” Alexa came barging in the front door and stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the guacamole.

  “Why not?” Rosie asked. “It was in the refrigerator. What’s your problem?”

  “Mom! Rosie ate the guac I made for the overnight!”

  “Alexa! Stop yelling; I’m right here.” Renata came in the front door, laden with a tote, briefcase, and grocery bag.

  “Hi, Renata,” Fina said, rising from the couch and taking the grocery bag from her arms, placing it on the coffee table.

  “Hello, Fina. This is a surprise.” Renata stared at her face, but Fina was tired of explaining.

  “I was just telling Rosie that I was able to confirm her whereabouts with Tyler on the night in question.” Fina glanced at Alexa, who was overloading a tortilla chip with guacamole.

  “The night Hank was murdered, you mean?” Renata plopped down in a chair.

  “Yes,” Fina replied, remembering that discretion wasn’t in Renata’s toolbox.

  “How did you confirm this?”

  “There’s surveillance footage from outside the Reardon house.”

  “You mean there’s video of Rosie and Tyler trespassing in the middle of the night and doing drugs?” Renata asked.

  Rosie snorted.

  “I think that’s a little dramatic,” Fina said. “There’s video of them sitting on the front step, smoking a joint. Pretty minor stuff.”

  “Not to a college admissions committee.”

  “Renata, nobody is going to see the tape, and frankly, if you think that teenagers don’t regularly get stoned, you’re living in a dream world.”

  “I don’t care what most teenagers are doing, just my teenager.”

  “And I applaud your parenting, but on the scale of misbehavior, this barely registers.”

  Renata’s phone rang, and she answered. She said little and hung up. “CVS doesn’t have the inhaler you need, Alexa. They need to order it from a different pharmacy.”

  “But I need it for my soccer game,” the girl protested. “I don’t want to miss my game!”

  “I know, sweetie, but you can’t play without it.”

  “Allergies?” Fina asked.

  “And asthma,” Renata said. “Treatable, but the attacks can be very scary.”

  “I bet.” Fina rose. “I should be going.”

  “You look like you’ve been in another accident, Fina,” Renata said.

  Fina shrugged and opened the front door. “What can I say? I’m a trouble magnet.”

  • • •

  “Did you talk to her?” Michael Reardon asked. He was watching his mother toss vegetables in the wok. She put down the bamboo spatula for a moment and cut chunks of tofu off a brick. “Can’t you leave that out?”

  “All this good protein?” Juliana asked. “Of course not. You can eat around it if you find it so distasteful.”

  “That’s the problem,” Michael mumbled. “It doesn’t taste like anything.”

  “It’s an acquired taste, and it takes on the flavor of the other ingredients.”

  “Great. Broccoli-flavored mush.”

  Juliana looked at him. “I said we could go out, but you didn’t want to, remember? Stop complaining.”

  Michael sipped from a can of beer and hooked his feet around the bar stool’s footrest. Some people might flash back to childhood memories at a moment like this, sitting in the kitchen while their moms cooked dinner, but for Michael, this scenario was relatively new. He and his mother had often eaten dinner together when he was young, but she hadn’t taken much interest in cooking until after the divorce. She’d decided that a cook was an unnecessary extravagance, and every human should be able to feed themselves. Cooking also allowed her to keep track of exactly what she was eating, a necessary component of her triathlon training.

  “So did you talk to her?” Michael asked again.

  “Yes, I met Fina for a drink at the Four Seasons.”

  “And? How did it go?”

  “It was fine. We had a drink. I answered her questions. It was very friendly.”

  “Good.”

  Juliana doled the stir-fry out into two large bowls and carried them over to the table. Michael brought their drinks, and they got settled.

  “Are you sure you really want to keep this up? Fina’s investigation?” she asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “It seems like a waste of money. Why pay her to do what the police are going to do anyway?”

  Michael pushed a floret of broccoli around with his chopsticks. “I don’t understand why it bothers you so much. It’s not a lot of money in the scheme of things.”

  “It doesn’t bother me, but I don’t think you need the extra stress.” Juliana took a sip of wine.

  “I can handle it, Mom.” He rotated his beer on the table. “I had a message today from Jules, something about signing some papers related to stock holdings? He said it had to do with you.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m freeing up some cash to make a purchase for the center.”

  Michael avoided her gaze. “Do you think that makes sense right now? Shouldn’t we wait to see what happens with the will?”

  Juliana put her chopsticks down. “We can’t wait, Michael. The property next to the center will be scooped up if we d
on’t make an offer, and a good offer at that.”

  “I’m not sure I want to sell that stock, Mom.”

  Juliana looked taken aback. “It’s a tiny percentage of the portfolio. Why would that be a problem?”

  Michael fiddled with the tab on his beer can. “I don’t think it looks good spending a lot of money so soon after Dad died, and I want to make sure we’re spending it on the right things.”

  Juliana swallowed. “Your father was one hundred percent committed to the center.”

  Michael looked at her. “Was he?”

  “Of course he was. What are you suggesting? Wait.” Juliana held up her hand. “Let me guess: Danielle is putting ideas into your head.”

  “This isn’t about Danielle,” Michael insisted. He put a piece of tofu in his mouth and chewed. “This is about my taking more responsibility for the money.”

  “The money your father and I accumulated.”

  “Yes, that money, but it isn’t all yours, Mom.”

  “Most of it isn’t mine! But I’d like to use what I do have to support a good cause.”

  “I’m sure Danielle feels her causes are equally deserving.”

  Juliana squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about her, and the only cause she’s interested in is herself. She can’t even be bothered with her own child.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “But it’s true.” Juliana reached over and squeezed his hand. “Michael, please. I am asking you to sign the papers so we can purchase the house and expand the center. I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t critical.”

  Michael put down his chopsticks. “Fine, yeah, I’ll sign the papers. I just wish you would have talked to me first. It’s embarrassing hearing things from other people. I found out about the sperm bank from a reporter, and Jules called me about the stock. You could talk to me directly.”

  “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in the idea that I didn’t think things through. Do you accept my apology?”

  “Of course, Mom.”

  Juliana smiled over her wineglass. “We can name the new space after you: the Michael Reardon House.”

  Michael blushed. “That isn’t necessary.”

  But secretly, the idea did hold some appeal.

  • • •

  “What? You were hoping I’d be gone for the day?”

  “Such a negative outlook, Dad,” Fina said, lowering herself to the couch in her father’s office. “Maybe you should talk to someone about that.”

  “That’s your solution for everything these days: therapy.”

  “Oh, right. I can’t stop yammering away about therapy.” Her outrageous insistence that Haley see a therapist had been met with much derision by Carl and Elaine. Problems were managed—or not, as the case might be—within the family. There was no reason to bring a stranger into the mix. Fina rubbed her forehead. Maybe stopping by Ludlow and Associates wasn’t such a great idea.

  “I have a question for you,” Fina said.

  Carl stood up from his desk and walked over to the wet bar. He took a heavy crystal tumbler off the shelf and poured himself a finger of scotch. The fridge opened with a gentle popping sound, and he pulled out a cold can of diet soda, which he handed to Fina.

  “Thanks.” Fina accepted the offering with wariness. Her father didn’t usually serve her, literally or figuratively.

  “You can put it on your face if you don’t want to drink it. You look like you went ten rounds.”

  Fina pressed the can to her temple, but then popped the tab and took a sip. “Did Matthew fill you in?”

  “Just the broad strokes,” her father said.

  “Those are the only strokes at this point.”

  Carl stood over her. “You had a question?”

  “Do you get a regular insurance physical?”

  Carl peered at her. “Why do you ask? You have plans for me?”

  “Maybe. Depends how this conversation goes.”

  Carl snorted. “Yes, a yearly physical.”

  “Is it like a typical physical?”

  “It used to be. When we first got the insurance it was an hour, tops. Just like a regular checkup, but now . . .” He waved his hand in the air.

  “What does it entail now?”

  Carl swallowed the last of his scotch. He sat back down behind his desk. “It’s ridiculous. A day, sometimes more. Every test you can imagine and one of those Holter monitors.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s one of those portable monitors that you’re supposed to wear for days at a time to monitor your heart and your brain.”

  “You wore that?” Fina asked, surprised.

  “Of course not. Always delegate when possible.”

  “Wait. You delegated part of your physical?”

  “I didn’t say that exactly.”

  “Hypothetically speaking, you outsourced part of your physical? Some poor junior associate wore a monitor for you?”

  Carl raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. Fina always felt better about herself when she spent time with her father; he really was beyond the pale.

  “Okay, you don’t have to answer,” Fina said. “But the upshot is that you have all these fancy tests and try to prevent any potential problems, thereby minimizing the insurance payout.”

  “Exactly. They look for even the hint of a problem, monitor you, and treat the hell out of it. It’s ridiculous.”

  “You don’t want to know if you might get sick down the road?”

  “‘Might’ and ‘down the road’ being the operative words. It makes people feel in control when they aren’t.”

  Fina glanced at her watch. Her head was pounding, but she wasn’t supposed to take another pill for a couple of hours.

  “Can I see the report?” she asked.

  “You want to see the report from my insurance physical?”

  Fina nodded.

  “No, you cannot see the report.”

  “It’s for a case, Dad. Trust me when I say I have no interest in knowing the details of your health.”

  Carl shook his head. “No way.”

  “Why not? You’ve already admitted half of the numbers are false.”

  “Then why look at it?”

  “Because I’m not interested in the particulars of your test, just what you were tested for.”

  Carl cracked his knuckles. “Is this about Hank Reardon?”

  “Yes, and it will help me make progress. If you don’t help me, it’s like you’re obstructing.”

  “Bullshit on that, but fine; I’ll have Shari send you the report. But then destroy it and don’t discuss it with anyone.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” Fina stood and walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “And I’ll expect a quick result, given my assistance.”

  “Bullshit on that,” Fina said, with one foot out the door. “You always expect a quick result.”

  “Wait.” Carl looked at her. “We need to discuss your brother.”

  “Which one?”

  “You know which one.”

  Fina walked back toward his desk. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “Rand is coming back, whether you like it or not.”

  “I don’t like it, and I’m not going to welcome him back into the fold. I can’t believe that you’re willing to.”

  “There aren’t a lot of options.”

  Fina shook her head. “I don’t buy it.”

  “He’s family, Fina.”

  “He’s a pervert, and you’re going to do irreparable harm to Haley if you act like his behavior is acceptable.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “You know what I think should happen, but it’s not up to me.”

  Carl leane
d back in his chair. “You’re right, it isn’t. I expect you to get on board.”

  Fina squeezed her fists closed. “Please don’t make me fight you on this.”

  “I’m not making you do anything.”

  “I will fight to keep him away.”

  Carl steepled his fingers together. “Don’t start a fight you can’t win.”

  “You should follow your own advice, Dad.”

  Carl shrugged and picked up his phone.

  Fina needed to get home and get some pain relief.

  She was pretty sure that the recommended dosage only applied if you were operating heavy machinery.

  Fina felt crappy the next morning when her alarm went off. She rolled around in bed for a little bit, willing herself to get up and face the day.

  Cristian had left a couple of messages, which she’d yet to return. She punched in his number, knowing he would not be pleased.

  “I was getting ready to call for a welfare check,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I got caught up in stuff yesterday, and then I came home and just crashed.”

  “How many pain pills did you take?”

  “More than the recommended dosage.”

  “That’s what I thought. You might want to ease up on that. People do OD accidentally, you know.”

  “I didn’t take that many, but your concern is duly noted.”

  “‘Duly noted’ usually means ‘heard and ignored.’”

  “Well, ‘heard’ is a start, right? Did you really call me to check on my pill consumption?”

  “I wanted an update from you.”

  “You first. Did Denny Calder start singing like a canary?”

  “Hardly. He hasn’t given us anything.”

  “Dammit. That gets me nowhere.”

  “It gets you one less creep who’s trying to beat you up.”

  “True. I love that about you, Cristian; you always look on the bright side.”

  “That’s me.” There was a ruckus in the background. Just another day at the Boston PD. “So what do you have for me?”

  Fina palpated her temple. “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing really. Was Hank Reardon sick, as far as you know?”