Duplicity

by Ingrid Thoft

  He shook his head. “Occam’s razor. The most obvious explanation is usually the correct explanation. You should focus on the church.”

  “Occam’s razor assumes access to all the information, that you’re seeing the whole picture. I need to look at all the possibilities before I decide which explanation is, in fact, the most obvious,” Fina said.

  “It’s a waste of time.”

  “Such is investigative work. You don’t know what you’ll find until you find it.” Fina stood and carried her glass over to the sink. “Who else do you think I should talk to about Nadine?”

  Evan poured more wine into his glass.

  “You’re not driving tonight, right?” Fina asked with a smile.

  “No. We’re staying in, and I would never put my daughter in jeopardy.”

  “Just asking.”

  “You should talk to Nadine’s parents,” he said, “and her cousin, Christa Jackson.”

  Fina got the contact info she needed and gave Evan her card. “Thanks for taking the time to speak with me,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Anything to get those creeps their due.”

  Fina took the stairs down to the lobby, Evan’s comments turning over in her head. He had said the only source of conflict in Nadine’s life was the church, but that was a conflict between the two of them. Following that statement to its natural conclusion, Evan had a strong motive for murdering his wife.

  ELEVEN

  Fina kicked off the day with an Internet search of Christa Jackson, which was a dead end. Christa was mentioned on the website for the New England Learning Disabilities Coalition, and a picture of her eldest daughter at a gymnastics meet appeared on a YMCA website. Her husband, Paul Jackson, worked at Fidelity and showed up in some industry newsletters and in a marketing brochure for Bentley’s part-time MBA program. They looked like normal people, which was always a disappointment in Fina’s book.

  Before heading to their home, Fina decided to stop at the office to tie up some loose ends on other cases. She took the elevator down to her parking spot in the garage and kept an eye out. The break-in alone was enough to make her vigilant, but she’d encountered trouble in the garage before and was especially cautious when coming and going.

  The tableau that generally greeted her—the fire extinguisher just peeking over the roof of her car, the bumper of her neighbor’s Jaguar, the light hitting her trunk just so—seemed off. As she got closer, she knew why. The car was sitting three inches lower than usual, the tires sliced open, exposing the dark rubber within.

  Fina circled the car to find that all four tires had been slashed. “Goddamnit!”

  She took pictures with her phone and went back upstairs. Pacing the living room, Fina scrolled through her contacts and found the number she needed.

  “Hey,” a male voice answered.

  “Dante?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “You can drop the tough pimp act. It’s Fina Ludlow.”

  “Oh, hell no. I do not need your crazy-ass shit today.” Dante Trimonti was a young pimp, an up-and-coming “man about town” with whom Fina had dealt in the past. He was sleazy, but not stupid. He was building his empire, and Fina thought he’d be a power player one day. Her job was all about relationships and information; you needed the former to get the latter, and you couldn’t be choosy about your colleagues.

  “I’m well, thanks for asking,” she said. “Actually, I have a legitimate question. Do you still have the car repair front?”

  “It’s not a front, Fina. We actually do repair cars.”

  “Just because you actually repair cars doesn’t mean it’s not a front. Do I have to teach you everything?”

  “You’re calling me to get your car repaired?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “Your bad driving finally catch up with you?”

  “No,” Fina said. “My car was vandalized, and that’s also why I’m calling you. I thought you might be able to get some info on who did it, ’cause it definitely wasn’t random.”

  “I didn’t touch your car!”

  She sunk into the couch. “For fuck’s sake, Dante! Be quiet and listen! Somebody slashed my tires in my supposedly secure parking garage. I need four new tires, and I’d also like to know who did it. I thought, given your contacts, you might provide one-stop shopping.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll pay you for the repairs, though I expect a fair price, and I’ll owe you one. You’ll also get to spend time with me. Don’t pretend that doesn’t hold some appeal.”

  “Hmmm. I haven’t really gone the cougar route yet.”

  “Yeah, that’s never going to happen, but you keep dreaming. So can you deal with this?”

  “I’ll send a couple of guys over to get the car, but if we have to order the tires, it’ll take longer.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll ask around to see if anyone is talking about the job, but that will probably take a few days.”

  “I don’t have a few days. My condo has already been trashed, and I’m guessing that I’m next on the list.”

  “Don’t you have that gun you once pulled on me? You’ll be fine.”

  Fina gave him her address and stopped off at the concierge desk on her way out. She let Stanley know that a tow truck was on its way and she suspected that her car had been tampered with, but left out the details. There’d been no report of an intruder nor other reports of vandalism. Stanley offered to review the surveillance tapes from the garage, but Fina knew what he’d probably find: a person in dark clothes and a baseball cap ripping her tires to shreds. If she weren’t concerned about drawing attention to herself, she’d raise a stink about the building’s lax security.

  But since Fina was part of the problem, she kept her mouth shut.

  • • •

  Fina walked through the hallways at Ludlow and Associates, exchanging the occasional nod or hello with a passing employee. Scotty and Matthew were well-liked at the firm, and this goodwill tended to rub off on her. Carl was feared, and this also rubbed off, at least with those people who didn’t know her well. In her personal life, Fina preferred being liked to being feared, but professionally, being feared was better. Fear tended to deliver more cooperation and fewer acts of violence.

  Shari wasn’t keeping watch, so Fina strode into Carl’s office and found him sitting behind his desk. Fina took a seat on the couch rather than standing or sitting before him like a truant called to the principal’s office.

  Her father finished a call and rotated his chair toward her. “Did you get my message?”

  “Yes.”

  “So? What the hell happened the other night? Where did you and Haley disappear to?”

  “She didn’t want to have dinner with the man who molested her. Do you blame her?”

  Carl was silent and stony-faced.

  “It sounds awful, doesn’t it, when you just state the facts?”

  Her father adjusted the knot of his tie. “What’s the latest with the church?”

  “Nadine Quaynor was poisoned with antifreeze.”

  His brow arched. “Antifreeze?”

  “It’s becoming quite popular,” Fina said.

  “Was it someone from the church?”

  “Dad, I started investigating her death on Tuesday. I don’t know yet who killed her.”

  “Better get on it.”

  “That’s very helpful, Dad. Regardless of the circumstances of Nadine’s death, I doubt we’ll convince Chloe to hold on to her property.”

  “We’ll see,” Carl said, rising from his chair.

  Fina didn’t know if this meant Carl had info she didn’t or if his enormous ego prevented him from contemplating an adverse outcome.

  “One more thing,” she
said. “I need to borrow a fleet car.”

  He stopped at the door. “The last time you borrowed a fleet car, you blew it up.”

  She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I did not blow up the car. Someone else did that. May I borrow a car or not? Yes or no? I need a car in order to work.”

  He waved her away. “Fine. Take a car, but nothing brand new.”

  In the Ludlow and Associates section of the parking garage, Fina asked the fleet manager for car keys. She was tempted to borrow the top-end Lexus SUV that went for about $100K, but knew that it was too showy for her purposes. Instead, she chose a silver Toyota Avalon and left the Prudential Tower in her rearview mirror.

  • • •

  Fina exited Route 9 in Brookline and found a place to pull over a few streets from Rand’s house. A quick call to Ludlow and Associates confirmed that her brother was in a deposition, which gave her plenty of time to do her thing.

  She pulled into the driveway of his colonial Tudor and scanned the facade. Nowadays, lots of homeowners trained surveillance cameras on their property in an effort to deter burglars. She didn’t see any obvious ones, but kept her head down as she approached the front door. Fina didn’t want to advertise her identity if she were being recorded, but she didn’t make any attempt to conceal her visit, either. If she snuck around, neighbors were more likely to call the cops. If she acted like she belonged, she did.

  Anyone with an eagle-eye view would have noticed that she was maneuvering a lock pick in a bid to open the front door, but Fina positioned her body and held her bag so that a Nosy Nelly would assume that she was having trouble with the lock, not that she was breaking in.

  After a couple of minutes and a few drops of perspiration, Fina was in and made a beeline for the alarm panel tucked discreetly behind the sweeping staircase. This was the tricky part. She only got a few chances to disarm it and wasn’t surprised when her second attempt—her brother’s birth date, as opposed to his daughter’s—did the trick. He was such a narcissist.

  Months before, when Melanie had disappeared and subsequently died, Fina and Milloy had done a thorough search of the house. Rand had spent little time there since, and Fina was less interested in his recent activities than those of his past. She bypassed the main living areas, including the kitchen, dining room, and bedrooms, and climbed the stairs to the third floor.

  The top of the house consisted of a finished family room with a large storage room at one end. Fina stood on the threshold of that room and took stock. One side was tidy and organized, but the disorder of the other side suggested that the task of organizing the room had been abandoned mid-project.

  Wire shelving units held boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations, reminding Fina that her sister-in-law had treated holiday decorating as an Olympic sport. Another area was filled with boxes marked with Haley’s name and a year. Fina popped a lid off of one and scanned the contents, which included report cards, certificates for participating in soccer and gymnastics, and art projects. Fina made a mental note to steal the boxes away to Scotty and Patty’s one of these days; Rand had already ruined enough of Haley’s childhood without being in charge of her memorabilia.

  The messy side of the room was a jumble of boxes, a few pieces of furniture, and rolling garment racks that were zipped closed, their exact contents a mystery. Fina eyed the mess and tried to imagine a TV show or movie that accurately depicted the scut work of the PI life. Columbo never spent hours rooting around in attics. Jessica Fletcher never enflamed her sciatica by shifting boxes to and fro. And yet, a good portion of Fina’s professional life—and those of her law enforcement counterparts—was spent riffling through dusty belongings and yellowing paperwork. Oh, the glamour.

  An hour later, she was back in her car with a box labeled “Rand—college” safely stowed in the trunk. Inside, she’d found letters, term papers, and photographs, at least one of which included Lindsay Kaufman Shaunnesy. A couple of the other coeds were also fresh-faced blondes, and Fina thought they were her best bet. She knew that her brother had a type—one that included his fresh-faced, blond wife and daughter—and her gut told her that she needed to follow the blondes to get the story.

  • • •

  Nadine’s cousin, Christa Jackson, lived in a small Cape Cod–style house in Framingham. Fina hadn’t called ahead, believing that surprise visits were generally the most fruitful. She was glad to see only a Honda minivan in the driveway. The single car suggested that if Christa were home, she wasn’t playing host to a group of Nadine’s grieving relatives.

  Bright red paint coated the front door, and there was a soccer net in the yard. Fina rang the bell and a moment later, a woman opened the door. She was wearing snug jeans and a boxy sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and heavily mascaraed lashes framed her dark eyes.

  “Yes?” the woman said.

  “Hi. Are you Christa Jackson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Fina Ludlow. I’m a private investigator. Evan Quaynor gave me your contact information.”

  “Right. He left me a message about you.”

  “I’m very sorry about Nadine’s death,” Fina said. “I wondered if you could spare a few minutes to speak with me.”

  Christa leaned on the door. “I’ve already spoken with the police.”

  “I know, and I realize this seems redundant, but I would really appreciate just a few minutes.”

  She considered the request and then stepped back. “I don’t have much time, and I’m not sure what I can tell you.”

  “It won’t take long. I promise.”

  Fina followed her into a dining room with a farm-style table, covered with papers and file folders. There was a half-empty mug of coffee with lipstick stains in the middle of the mess. A smaller desk at the side of the room held a computer and a large pair of headphones.

  “Am I interrupting your work?” Fina asked.

  Christa sat down on a spindle-back dining chair, and Fina claimed the one across from her.

  “That’s work,” Christa said, pointing to the tidier desk. “This is just life.” She swept her hand over the table.

  “Got it,” Fina said. “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Medical transcriptionist. I specialize in ophthalmology so if you have any questions related to cataracts or corneal transplants, I’m your woman.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Christa squirmed in the wooden chair. “So you’re investigating Nadine’s death?”

  “I was initially hired to conduct due diligence on Covenant Rising regarding a large donation. As you can imagine, my client has grown skittish given the circumstances of your cousin’s death. She’s asked me to follow up on the work being done by the police.”

  “Your client wants to know who killed Nadine?”

  “More like she’s interested in anything connected to the church.”

  Christa took hold of a curl in her ponytail and tugged on it. “You think you can figure it out better than the police?”

  Fina smiled. “It’s been known to happen, but at the very least, I want to give my client a comprehensive picture of the church.”

  “Wait.” Christa’s eyes narrowed. “You think someone in the church killed Nadine?”

  “I don’t know.” Fina felt her ire rising. Why did people have to ask so many questions? “That’s why I’m speaking to everyone who knew Nadine. It would be foolish to make assumptions at this point.”

  Christa gazed at a large framed photo on the wall. It showed three young girls in a deep pile of leaves. They had long, dark hair and wide smiles.

  “Did Nadine have any enemies?” Fina asked.

  “I can’t think of anyone who’d want to kill her, not that she was the easiest person in the world.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She liked things to be a certai
n way.”

  “So she was particular?”

  “She had strong opinions about most things.”

  “And she let you know what those opinions were?”

  Christa smirked, but didn’t respond.

  “I’m guessing you were on the receiving end of that,” Fina ventured.

  “I got pregnant when I was nineteen. Nadine didn’t approve.”

  “Because of premarital sex? I’m assuming it was premarital.”

  “It was, and she didn’t approve of that, but she also didn’t like that I was careless. That whole ‘to err is human’ thing never held much sway with her.”

  Fina nodded. “Sounds kind of annoying. I don’t think I’d do well with someone like that.”

  Christa straightened up in her seat. “Don’t get me wrong, she was great in many ways.”

  “Did you see each other often?”

  “Some, but as we got older, we got busier with work and our families.”

  “What do you think of Evan?” Fina asked.

  Christa shook her head. “I think she was a fool to break up with him. He’s a good guy and a good father.”

  Fina heard the edge in Christa’s voice and wondered if that was about Nadine’s choices or her own.

  “I talked with him last night,” Fina said. “He had a lot of negative things to say about CRC.”

  “We both thought she was in too deep.”

  “What is it specifically that you don’t like about the church?”

  “They think men are superior, and they want all your money. Why would I pay someone to treat me like crap?”

  Fina shrugged. “Beats me.”

  Christa glanced at her watch and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll let you get back to work,” Fina said, eyeing the piles on the table.

  “If it were work, at least I’d get paid for it,” Christa said, leading her to the door.

  “Volunteer work?”

  “No. My daughter has learning disabilities and dealing with her school is a full-time job. You can’t imagine the forms I have to fill out and the meetings that are involved. It’s ridiculous. All so they’ll teach her how to read.”