by Ingrid Thoft
That night Fina recruited Milloy again to accompany her to Crystal. She worried that on her own she would appear cougarlike, an impression to be avoided at all costs. They parted company inside, and Fina marched straight upstairs to the VIP section. A beefy bodyguard stopped her, but not before her eyes met Dante’s. His posture stiffened and he grimaced, but he recovered quickly. She smiled and mouthed Brianna.
Fina slipped her hand into her bag. She was trying to find her lipstick, but if Dante assumed she was fingering her gun, that wasn’t her problem. He called over the bodyguard, and they had a whispered exchange. After more conversation with another man whose arms were the size of tree trunks, the first bodyguard came back and ushered Fina to an empty table.
“Dante says wait here.”
“Sure. Get me a beer.”
He squinted at her.
“I’m sorry,” Fina said. “Get me a beer, please.”
He stomped off, but she saw him yell something into a waitress’s ear before he disappeared. Fina swiveled in her seat and looked down at the dance floor. It was like an amoeba, an undulating mass.
As the minutes passed, she tried to devise a plan B if Brianna didn’t appear. She couldn’t shoot Dante in public, and she was no match for his brawny compatriots. It would be hard to leave empty-handed and save face.
Luckily, her performance that morning had made quite an impression; after a couple of sips of beer, a young woman appeared in front of her.
“Brianna?” Fina asked.
“Yes.”
Fina gestured toward an empty chair. “Have a seat.”
Brianna glanced across the room at a man in his midforties wearing freshly pressed jeans and a pale green button-down. He stood at the bar, picking at the label of his beer bottle.
“You can invite your boyfriend to join us.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Brianna said, and smiled at the man. She held her hand up to indicate five minutes, and he smiled back at her.
Brianna sat down. She was very thin, with long brown hair and big boobs. She wasn’t pretty in the traditional sense, but her chiseled bone structure was arresting. Her eyes were carefully made up, and her lips glistened with gloss. Tight, skinny-leg jeans were topped by an equally tight tank top.
“I only have a couple of minutes. What do you want?” Brianna asked.
“I need information about a friend of mine. Dante told me you two hang out together.”
“Okay.”
Fina reached into her purse and pulled out the family photo. She pointed at Haley. “Has she been in recently?”
Brianna took the photo from Fina and studied it. Her nails were painted a deep cherry color.
“How do you know her?” Brianna asked.
“I’m a close friend, and I’m worried about her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I need to find out what she’s up to.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because I’m asking you.”
“Are you her mother?” Brianna looked at the man at the bar. He checked his watch.
Fina grabbed the picture. “No, I’m not her mother! Do I look old enough to be her mother?”
Brianna shrugged. “Kinda.”
“I’m her aunt.”
“I knew you weren’t just a friend.” Brianna smirked. “Just because you’re family doesn’t mean you get to butt into her business.”
“Ahh, actually, it does. She might be in trouble.”
“Most of the girls who hang out here are trying to get away from home. Then Mommy and Daddy show up all concerned, and it turns out they used to beat her with a hairbrush.”
“I promise you that nothing like that happens to Haley.”
“That’s what they all say,” Brianna said. She looked over at her date. He was sharing a laugh with a curvy blonde. “I’ve got to go.”
“Is it money? Do you want me to pay you for the information?”
Brianna curled her lip. “I do just fine, thanks. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“Suit yourself, but pissing me off is not a good plan,” Fina said. “Ask Dante.”
Brianna stood, walked over to the bar, and inserted herself between the man and the blonde. She planted a big kiss on his lips and looped her hand through his arm. She whispered in his ear, and his face broke into a huge grin.
At least somebody was going to get lucky tonight.
“What?” Fina grumbled into the phone. Her eyes were caked with sleepy seeds, and her teeth had a furry coating, a gross reminder of the previous night’s sloppy bedtime routine.
“Sorry to wake you, Fina,” Mark Lamont said, “but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Know what?” She sat up, and her stomach cinched in on itself. She pulled a strand of hair away from her mouth.
“I talked to a guy yesterday, and I can’t make any promises, but he knows a guy who might have seen Melanie.”
“What guy?” Fina reached for a pen and a scrap of paper on her bedside table.
“The particulars don’t matter, but the guy you should talk to is named Bob Webber. I have a project going in the North End, and he swears that he saw Melanie there last Wednesday.”
“Has he told the police?”
“He doesn’t want to get involved. He’s got some child support issues he’d like to keep private.”
“Got it. Where can I find him?”
“He’s off today. Try him at home.”
Fina showered, dressed, and ate a handful of Oreos while waiting for the clock to strike a more acceptable hour. She didn’t have a problem rousing Dante before nine A.M., but it wasn’t the best approach when you wanted to stay on someone’s good side.
Fina rang the buzzer for unit 207 outside Bob Webber’s two-story brick apartment complex in Braintree at 9:45 A.M. There was no answer, but Mark had given Fina a physical description, so she decided to hunker down in the parking lot until she came up with a better plan. She spent two hours doing tasks that required one eye and little brain power: She reset her radio station buttons, daydreamed about sex with the new attorney in the office next to Matthew’s, and picked at her cuticles.
Finally, she was rewarded with the sight of a tall, thin man putting his key into the lock of the glass lobby door. Fina dashed out of the car and, before the front door could close, scooted in behind him. He looked at her, but either decided she wasn’t dangerous (How wrong you are, Bob) or he was too polite to call her on her sneaky entrance. People would rather be robbed than be rude, and Fina took advantage of that on a regular basis.
Bob Webber stopped at the mailboxes, and she took the stairs to the second floor and found unit 207. All of the apartment doors were bordered with thick wooden molding and had large brass knockers in their centers as if to mimic the front door of a house. Hard to imagine those details really lulled the residents into a false impression of home ownership.
Fina pretended to be studying the wood grain of the molding when the door to the stairwell opened and Bob Webber appeared. He was carrying a brown paper bag and glanced at her as he put his key in the lock.
“Are you Bob Webber?” she asked and smiled sweetly.
He looked around to see if Fina was speaking to someone else.
“Ah, yeah. Who are you?”
“My name’s Fina Ludlow. Mark Lamont gave me your name.”
At the mention of Mark’s name, Bob straightened up and peered down the hall.
Fina looked in the same direction. “He’s not here,” she said.
“Right, sure.”
Fina couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment that passed over Bob’s face.
“Do you have a few minutes? It’s about my sister-in-law; she’s missing. Mark said you might have seen her.”
“Ah, sure. Come on in.” He unlocked
the door and motioned for Fina to go first. They entered into a small, dark hallway that led to a combo kitchen/living/dining room. The kitchen was on the right, with a counter separating it from the rest of the living space. To the left, Fina could see a bathroom on one side of a short hallway and a bedroom on the other side.
Bob pulled a six-pack out of the bag and put it on the kitchen counter. He looked at her blankly.
“You can sit down.” He gestured toward the large, overstuffed couch in the living room area. It was way too big for the room, as were the oversize coffee table and recliner. The furniture sat opposite a TV and a shelving unit that held dozens of DVDs. Fina walked over and perused the collection. Bob had some of everything, but most of it was American action movies—the more explosions, the better. Fina had seen most of them thanks to Milloy, who dragged her to see every new release that promised fast cars, beautiful women, and maximum property damage.
“You’re a movie buff?” she asked and sat on the couch.
“Yup.” He pulled one of the beers from its cardboard sleeve and stuck the rest in the refrigerator. After popping the top, Bob walked around the counter into the living room area and took a long pull on his beer. Fina watched him.
He glanced at the bottle and then at her.
“You want one?” he asked.
“Thanks, but I’m fine; still have the toothpaste taste in my mouth.” Fina suspected that Bob no more wanted to relinquish a beer than he wanted to pay child support.
He took a seat in the recliner, his lanky frame filling the length of the extended chair. Bob’s thin hair was straggly at the ends, and he was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt with an HVAC logo on the sleeve.
“So, I’ve always wondered,” Fina said, gesturing to the DVDs, “do you watch things more than once?”
“All the time. I’ve seen some of my favorites more than thirty times.”
“Wow.” Too much free time. “Well, obviously, you’re a busy man, so I’ll get right to it,” Fina said. “My sister-in-law is missing. Mark said you might have seen her last Wednesday.”
Bob took another drink from the bottle. “I don’t know for sure, but it looked like her. I mean, I saw something about her on the news, and I think it was her.”
Fina reached into her purse and took out the photo. “Is this the woman you saw?” She handed it to him.
He screwed up his face in what Fina guessed was concentration. “I think so.”
“Where did you see her?”
“The North End. I’m installing a bunch of HVAC systems in one of Mr. Lamont’s buildings.”
“What time?”
“Just after five. I had to stay late to finish up some wiring so the guys could install some drywall the next day.”
“Was she doing anything in particular?”
Bob shrugged. “Nope, just standing there, looking out at the water.”
“Did she seem upset?” Fina shifted her hand on the armrest and felt something hard and crunchy. Yuck. Hard and crunchy are never good in a stranger’s house. She tried to surreptitiously brush her hand against her jeans.
“She wasn’t smiling, but I just walked by her quick on the way to the truck.” Bob drained the rest of the beer and launched himself off the recliner. He dropped the empty into a bag, where it clanked against other bottles, and opened the fridge, presumably for another.
“Mark said you didn’t tell the police.”
His head snapped up from behind the fridge door. “He said there wouldn’t be any cops. I’ve got a bitch of an ex-wife, and I don’t want her knocking on my door looking for a handout.”
“Sure. I understand.” Because women always do so well after a divorce.
Fina stood and felt her back muscles pinch in protest, still feeling the effects of her parking lot tussle. “Do you remember what she was wearing?”
“Nah.” He took a swig. “Except for the sunglasses. I don’t get why those sunglasses are so popular. They make women look like big bugs.”
“What sunglasses?”
“Those big-ass ones. She had them on.”
“What exactly did they look like?”
“Black, with the bug eyes and some kind of jewel on the sides.”
Fina was still except for her hands, which she squeezed into fists. “Was the jewel kind of yellowish brown? More like a stone than a jewel?”
Bob shrugged. “I guess. I thought they were ugly, but my girlfriend would probably like them.”
Unless Bob won the lottery, those glasses were not in his future; they’d set him back about eight hundred dollars.
“Thanks, Bob,” Fina said, and started toward the door.
“No cops, right?” he asked.
“No cops.”
Fina let herself out and jogged down the stairs to her car. She turned the air on full blast and leaned her head back against the headrest. Bob’s sighting was too vague to be definitive, but the description of the glasses was too specific to be discounted. It was something, and right now, it was all she had.
Fina raided Carl’s minibar while she waited for him to return to his office. She pulled out a diet soda and a can of mixed nuts. The can made a satisfying sucking sound when she pulled off the airtight lid. Fina plopped down on the couch, inhaled the salty aroma, and tossed a handful into her mouth.
Scotty walked into the room and sat down in the chair next to her.
“Nuts?” She wiggled the can at him.
Scotty shook his head. “Full of fat.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s on his way. You seem upbeat. Good news?”
Fina licked salt off her fingers. “Maybe.”
“Patty’s freaking out.”
“Since when does Patty freak out?”
“She doesn’t really, but she’s starting to show the strain.”
“Well, if I really think about it, I feel like throwing up.”
Scotty sighed. “At first I thought maybe Melanie was just taking a break, blowing off steam, but now . . .”
Fina held his gaze for a moment before turning and staring out the window.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” Scotty asked.
“Are you asking me as your sister or as a PI?”
“Both.”
Fina closed the can of nuts and wiped her greasy hands on her pants. “Yes. This is bad. Our sister-in-law is missing, Scotty. This is bad, even for us.”
“He’s not available!” Carl’s gatekeeper said, rushing into the office on the heels of a small group of people. “Mr. Ludlow, I’ve tried to explain that your father isn’t available,” she said to Scotty.
“It’s all right, Shari.” Scotty waved her away, and Fina studied the group. There were two men in suits she didn’t recognize accompanied by Lieutenant Pitney, who planted herself in front of Scotty and Fina.
“If it isn’t the offspring!” she said. “Where’s Pa and John-Boy?”
“Who?” Scotty asked.
“Your brother. The one with the missing wife,” Pitney replied cheerfully. Today she was wearing a purple pantsuit and bright fuchsia lipstick. Her hair was in its usual unruly state, but pushed back from her face with tortoiseshell sunglasses that were serving as a headband.
“It’s premature to call her missing. Unavailable is more accurate,” Scotty corrected.
Pitney took a seat on the couch next to Fina. The suited men drifted away from the seating area and pretended to study Carl’s photos and awards.
“You sure you want to wait?” Scotty asked.
“I’m sure,” Pitney said.
“Why exactly are you here?” he asked.
“I told you. I want to see Carl and Rand.”
“Why do you want to see them?”
“Are you their attorney?”
“One of them.”
Pitney looked at Fina. “What about you? What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that.”
“Menendez is working on a different lead, FYI.”
“Oookay,” Fina said.
Pitney grinned. “I know you like to keep track of that hottie.”
“Now what?” Carl asked as he stomped into the room. Rand and Matthew were behind him.
“We have something to show you,” Pitney said, pulling a DVD out of her voluminous purse.
Matthew pulled open a pair of glossy cabinet doors to reveal a large flat-screen TV. One of the cops popped the DVD into the player, and everyone gathered around. Fina glanced at Rand. He was squeezing his hands open and closed.
The screen filled with static and then the traditional countdown from ten. No one spoke. A slightly fuzzy image of a convenience store checkout counter popped onto the screen. The only person visible was a dark-skinned man behind the register.
“This is fascinating,” Carl said. “What is it supposed to be? An exposé on illegal immigration?” He started to walk toward his desk.
“Just wait,” Pitney said. “We haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”
Fifteen more seconds passed, and then a woman stepped up to the counter. She put down a bottle of water and had a brief conversation with the clerk. He turned and pulled two packs of cigarettes off the display behind him. The quality of the footage wasn’t great, but there was no mistaking that the woman was Melanie.
“When was this taken?” Rand asked.
“Last Wednesday at four-oh-three P.M.,” Lieutenant Pitney said. She stared at him.
“Where?”
“The 7-Eleven on Broadway and Elm in Cambridge. We pulled her bank records, including her personal account”—Pitney smiled at Rand—“the one you weren’t able to access, and this purchase showed up.”
“So this was taken after Rand and Melanie were at Grahamson, correct?” Carl asked.
“Correct,” Pitney said.
“So we’re done here. Melanie was obviously alive and well after she left the school.” Carl sat down at his desk. “It’s been a pleasure, Lieutenant, as always, but we’re rather busy trying to locate my daughter-in-law, something you and your colleagues have failed to do.”