by Ingrid Thoft
“He wouldn’t want you to stop cooking.” Connor scraped a segment of the bowl clean with his spoon. He always approached his food in a tidy, methodical manner. As a child, he’d eaten all of one particular food on his plate before moving on to the next, or he divided a dish into quadrants that he emptied one at a time. “Are you doing okay, Mom?”
“What do you mean, sugar?”
“I know this is hard on you, Dad being sick and my stuff. I can’t imagine business is great, given the economy. I worry about you sometimes.”
Bev put her hand over Connor’s. “You don’t have to. I’d be lying if I said things hadn’t been challenging this past year, but I’ve managed.” She took a bite of bread pudding. “Actually, things are looking up. I’m in the final stages of entering a business partnership.”
“I thought you hated the idea of having a partner—other than Dad, I mean.”
“I did, as long as Dad was fully active in the business, but things have changed.” Bev looked him in the eye. “One of the biggest mistakes you can make in life is refusing to acknowledge what’s staring you in the face. Things change, and you have to change with them, or you’ll be obsolete.” She smiled. “Like the dinosaurs.”
“I don’t think the dinosaurs became extinct because they refused to change. I think it had something to do with a meteor and an ice age.” Connor had finished his dessert. The spoon and bowl were so clean, they looked like they could be put right back in the cabinet.
“Well, whatever. You need to take stock and move forward.” She stared at him. “You need to think about that, Connor.”
“I know, Mom.”
Bev held his gaze and seemed to make a decision to let the subject go. “So, I’ll have a new partner, an influx of cash, and maybe the good Lord will see fit to heal your daddy.”
Connor sighed. His mother didn’t abide by her own advice when it came to Chester. From a medical standpoint, it was unlikely Chester would regain his capabilities. He was thirteen years older than Bev, and his body had been compromised. If his mother were truly taking stock and moving forward, she would acknowledge that his father would never be who he once was.
But most people, even those who claimed to face life head-on, veered off at some point, even Connor. His whole life, he’d studiously avoided learning about his parents’ business enterprises. Sometimes, denial made life livable.
Fina got back in her car and wiped away the thin sheen of sweat that had sprouted on her brow. Her mouth tasted sour, even though she’d done an admirable job of not puking.
It was the worst possible outcome.
It was Melanie.
Obviously, she didn’t look like she usually did, but if you could see beyond the bloat and the skin color, there were vestiges of her. Long hair, a short-sleeved cashmere sweater in a shade of purple Fina had once admired, and a pricey driving moccasin wedged onto one of her swollen feet. An official identification would be conducted by the medical examiner, but Fina was certain it would confirm her own conclusion.
She held her phone in her hand for a moment and then dialed her father. It rang once. Carl picked up, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s her,” Fina said. “It’s not official, but I saw her.”
Carl blew out some air. “Meet us at the office.”
Fina hung up the phone. She cranked up the air conditioner and pointed the vent toward her face. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.
“Are you okay?” Cristian asked through her open window. He handed her a bottle of cold water.
“Yeah.”
“Did you already call them?”
Fina opened her eyes. “Yeah. Why?”
“I’m sure Pitney wanted to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Tough shit. That’s the price you pay for an on-the-spot ID. I’m sure she’ll have lots of chances to bear more bad news.” Fina took a deep breath and tried to shake herself out of the inertia that had rolled over her like a wave. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
Cristian stepped away from the car, and she did a sharp U-turn and pulled back onto the road.
She sped through the Logan maze and into the Sumner Tunnel. After a few minutes of shaky hands and nausea, Fina took a deep breath and vowed to get a grip. There would be plenty of time to have a meltdown later. Right now, she had to focus on Rand and any role he might have had in Melanie’s death. By morning, the Boston PD would be worked up into a gleeful frenzy, eager to put a Ludlow away for something.
She used a key card to get into the office parking garage and enable the elevator. One of the overnight receptionists buzzed her into Ludlow and Associates. Fina strode down the hallway and was aware of an undercurrent of murmuring left in her wake. She wasn’t sure if it was her physical appearance that was causing the stir or if word about Melanie had already leaked out. Luckily, she was impervious to whispers and muttering; Carl had taught them at a young age that people would always talk about them because they were jealous. By the time Fina realized that wasn’t exactly the reason, she was too old to care.
Carl, Rand, Scotty, and Matthew were in Carl’s office. Carl sat behind the desk, and Matthew sat in one of the chairs facing him. Scotty was in a club chair, and Rand was on the couch, elbows on knees, head hanging. The conversation stalled when she came in the room.
Fina stopped and looked at them.
“It’s Melanie,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Rand asked.
“Yes. They still have to do a formal ID, but it’s her. I’m so sorry, Rand.”
He rubbed his forehead with his hands and closed his eyes.
“What the fuck am I going to do?” he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. Rand looked at their father with pleading eyes. In an instant, he was transformed into the little boy who’d left open the back gate through which the family dog escaped and was killed. He was equal parts anguish and dread. “This can’t be happening.”
Fina walked over to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of scotch and a glass. She brought them over to the coffee table and poured a generous amount for Rand, which he downed in one gulp. She poured him another. Then she took a large swig directly from the bottle.
“Gimme some of that,” Scotty said, and she passed him the bottle. He drank and then handed it to Matthew, who took his turn and offered it to Carl.
Carl waved the bottle away. “Enough. We need to pull our shit together.”
Fina took the bottle from Matthew and had another long pull. She poured a little more for Rand and then replaced the cap and set it on the table.
“You three,” Carl said, gesturing at the boys. “Go eat something or pop a mint or something. The last thing we need is you smelling like booze when the cops show up. I need to talk to your sister.”
“What about Haley?” Fina asked as her brothers rose to leave. “We need to tell her before she finds out some other way.”
They all looked at Rand. He hung his head and exhaled loudly. “Fuck.”
Fina exchanged glances with Scotty and Matthew; they wouldn’t wish that conversation on anyone.
Her brothers shuffled out, and Fina looked at her father. Carl was nattily dressed as always—dark suit, shirt in a similar shade, and a bold tie—but his eyes looked tired.
“Josefina,” he said, sighing. “Where are we with this? What do you have?”
“Well,” she said as she sat down across from him, “Rand had a terrible fight with Melanie. She went to Cambridge, bought cigarettes, and had a brief conversation with a psychiatrist she knows socially.”
Carl’s eyes widened, and he started to speak.
“Wait,” Fina said. “She disappears. The cops find blood on Rand’s boat, and his cooler is missing. I find a mystery phone number in Melanie’s things, which turns out to belong to a dummy corporation in Framingham. I still don’t know
the connection between the company and Melanie. Haley is recognized by one of my contacts; she’s been spending a lot of time hanging around Crystal with a dubious crowd. Specifically, one young woman whom I believe is a prostitute.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Carl exclaimed.
“Wait,” Fina said again and held up her hand. “I’m jumped and then someone ran me off the road. And Melanie’s body washes up next to Runway 4R/22L.”
Carl thought for a moment and flicked his hand toward the scotch. Fina tipped back in her chair and grabbed the bottle and empty glass. She poured her father half a glass and watched as he threw it back.
“So much for getting our shit together,” she mumbled.
“This is more shit than I imagined.” He sat back in his chair. “Tell me about the psychiatrist.”
Fina pulled on her bottom lip with her fingers. “First, you have to tell me something.”
Carl raised an eyebrow.
“What were you and Rand talking about the other night when I overheard you?”
Carl drummed his fingers on his desk. “It’s not important.”
Fina gripped the armrests of her chair. “Dad, don’t be stupid. Once I hear it from the police, it’s too late.”
Carl was silent.
“Seriously. We’re getting into some scary shit here.”
Carl splashed more scotch into the glass and sipped it before answering. “This stays between us,” he cautioned.
“Ugghh. Just tell me.”
Carl fiddled with an expensive pen on his blotter. “Your brother was involved in a situation, and I assisted him.”
Fina made a motion with her hand, urging him to continue.
“He got into some trouble, but I was able to keep it quiet.”
“So you did damage control. What’s new? What are we talking about? Drugs, sex, or money?”
“Sex.”
“An affair? A love child?”
“No.”
Fina stared at her father. “Did he hurt someone?”
“No!” Carl exclaimed. Fina tamped down her annoyance at her father’s response. In college, there were rumors that Rand had forced himself on a girl who had the misfortune of attending a party at his fraternity. Nothing was ever proven, and Fina didn’t want to believe that her brother was capable of that, but she wondered. Carl, more than anyone, knew what Rand was capable of, and he had no right to be offended by her question.
“Then what?”
“He was busted . . . for solicitation.”
Fina stared at him. “Hookers.” She leaned forward, grabbed the bottle, and took a drink. “Goddamn Rand. He isn’t even creative in his deviancy. What happened exactly?”
“It was about a year ago. He called me after being picked up in a hotel room. Luckily, one of the vice guys was Sal Gisby’s kid; you know, we helped them out with that med mal suit. I talked to Sal, and he talked to his kid, who was willing to pretend it didn’t happen. Sal’s got that huge house on the Cape—the one with the private beach and boat dock—because of us.”
“So Rand just picked up some hooker off the street?”
“No, she was from a service.”
Fina dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Oh my God, that’s even worse. That means he’s in some system somewhere.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Of course he is, Dad. That’s the management’s insurance policy. You know that.” She looked at Carl. “This doesn’t help him.”
“I know. That’s why we were keeping it to ourselves.”
“Did Melanie know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But she might have?”
“I don’t know, Fina. I have no way of knowing that.”
“Maybe that’s what they were fighting about outside Grahamson. Melanie would have been humiliated. It’s worse than his having an affair.”
Carl shrugged.
Fina knew that some of the men in their social circle thought paid company was the lesser of the two evils since it indicated a lack of emotional connection: Hey, it’s only sex. Fina thought they should all work a little harder to keep their peckers in their pants.
“So, what do you want to do?” Fina asked.
Carl looked at her and gripped the pen firmly. “About what specifically?”
“About the escort. Do you want me to track her down? Are you going to tell the cops?”
“I haven’t decided. We have to do something, though. We have to take action.”
Ludlows were like sharks; if they didn’t keep moving, they died.
Fina slept on the couch in Matthew’s office for a couple of hours, but she didn’t get any rest. Every fifteen minutes or so, she’d roll over, bleary-eyed and confused, until the knowledge of Melanie’s death slammed into her consciousness. She didn’t want to waste what precious time she had sleeping, but she didn’t know what else to do, particularly at four in the morning. By first light, she damn well better have a plan.
“I need to talk to Rand,” she said when Matthew came into the room a little after six. She sat up, and he handed her a cup of coffee and a sweet roll the size of a brick.
“He’s not here. He went home to see Haley.”
Fina blew across the surface of the coffee and took a small sip. It was hot and rich.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Nope.” Matthew sat in the club chair across from Fina. She put down the coffee and tore off a corner of the roll. Sugary icing clung to the folds of dough. Fina put a bite in her mouth and chewed slowly.
“This is so fucked up,” Matthew said.
“Yup.”
Matthew reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the large remote control. He pressed a button, and the TV screen came to life. Fina pulled off another twist of sweet roll and watched the screen. Matthew bounced around the channels and finally settled on one of the local early bird newscasts.
The young blond anchor was describing the plight of a duck that had gotten his head stuck in a soccer net at a local elementary school. He was eventually freed, but not without a lot of angst on the part of the students and, undoubtedly, the duck.
“You could represent the duck,” Fina commented. She sipped her coffee. “You could sue the school, the town, the net manufacturer, maybe some of the parents. There are deep pockets in that town.”
Matthew gave her a dirty look. “You’re seriously sleep deprived.”
The newscaster turned toward a different camera with a flourish, and a serious expression dropped over her face.
“We have reports that a woman’s body was found overnight in Boston Harbor near Logan Airport. The woman was discovered by a homeless man and has yet to be identified. The medical examiner will be conducting an autopsy this morning. There has been some speculation that the body is that of Melanie Ludlow, the wife of attorney Rand Ludlow. She has been missing for almost two weeks. We will update you as information becomes available.”
Fina looked at Matthew. “Let the games begin.”
Fina tracked down Mark Lamont at a diner in Brighton. Although his tastes ran to multi-million-dollar homes and luxury cars, he’d made his money in construction and real estate development and slipped easily into the world of blue-collar workers and greasy spoons.
Mark was sitting in a booth at the back of the diner across from a man wearing jeans and a dirt-caked T-shirt. Fina caught Mark’s eye, and he did a small double take at her appearance. He beckoned her over. After a brief introduction, the other man left, and Fina slid into his spot on the vinyl banquette, which was sunken and warm.
“What happened now?” Mark asked.
“Car accident. I’m fine. Just sore.”
“Is it true?” Mark asked as he flagged down the waitress.
Fina ordered a glass of orang
e juice and waited for the waitress to leave before answering. “I think so, yeah. It’s probably Melanie.”
“Aww, Christ,” Mark said, and rubbed his hand over his face. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”
“It hasn’t been confirmed yet or made public, but that will probably happen in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Do the cops know what happened?”
“I don’t think so.”
The waitress refilled Mark’s coffee cup and plunked down Fina’s juice in a dimpled plastic tumbler. She was wearing a dress and apron and thick-soled white shoes. She looked like a nurse from another decade.
“Do they have any suspects?”
“Other than Rand?’ Fina asked.
Mark rotated his coffee cup in its saucer. “That’s just like the cops. Go for the easy answer, not the right answer. Rand wouldn’t hurt Melanie.”
“We all know that, but they don’t buy it. But that’s why I’m here.”
Mark picked up his coffee cup and looked at Fina over the brim.
“I spoke with Bob Webber,” Fina said, “and he’s pretty sure he saw Melanie in the North End on that Wednesday night, which is great. It opens up some new avenues of investigation, except he doesn’t want me to say anything to the cops.”
“Right, but I told you that when I gave you the tip,” Mark said.
“I know, it’s just that things are looking worse for Rand, and it would really help if we could point the cops in another direction.”
“Ahh, Fina.” Mark adjusted in his seat. “I don’t know.”
“It would help us figure out who actually killed Melanie.”
“I understand. It’s just complicated, you know? Bob is working on a big job for me right now. If he gets pulled, it’ll be a mess, not to sound crass.” Mark peered at her. “Not to mention I gave him my word. And you gave me yours.”
Fina ran her finger through the trail of condensation that the cold orange juice had left on the table. “I know. I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t running out of options. I would owe you, big-time.” She hated owing anyone anything, but sometimes it had to be done.
The waitress dropped the folded check onto the table. Fina didn’t bother reaching for her bag; Mark was old-school and believed that as long as a man was present, he paid.