Stealth Moves

by Sanna Hines

  She looked up. “I’m learning about dogs.”

  Holly joined Mike on the terrace. “Liv’s really excited about that puppy,” she said.

  “For now,” Mike allowed, “until the novelty wears off. Later, she’ll be just as irresponsible as her mother, and I’ll get the dog chores.”

  “You and your sister don’t get along,” Holly said, hoping to draw him out. Mike’s attitude toward Liv perplexed her, and it didn’t make her work any easier.

  Mike shrugged. “Oil and water. I did what I was told all my life. Jules did what she pleased. Her idea of advance planning is calling ahead for Chinese.”

  “Jules?”

  “Her real name is Juliet. Jules is her model-name.”

  “Why was she treated differently?”

  “Well, she was a girl. According to my father, ‘Girls get married. Men have to think about their futures.’”

  “Wow,” Holly said. “Old school.”

  “Dad was. So when Jules ran off to New York to be a model, he didn’t change his attitude. ‘She’ll meet someone there and get married.’ Except she didn’t. Six months later, she came back pregnant. My father was furious—wouldn’t talk to her. After Liv was born, Jules took off for California following her baby daddy, a photographer. Turned out he wasn’t the father, but Jules made enough contacts to start a career while she was with him. She stayed in L.A. Then my father had his strokes, and presto! Jules hauled ass to Boston where she could ‘nurse him back to health’.”

  “She had a change of heart.”

  “She saw her chance to snag his whole estate. But Dad wasn’t as brain damaged as she thought. He made Liv his heir—after my mother, of course.”

  “So the issue is money,” Holly concluded.

  Mike shook his head. “For me the issue is my father believing Jules’ lies about me. He despised me before he died, when all I ever wanted was to make him proud.”

  “But Liv didn’t do these things. She—”

  Liv opened the kitchen door and called, “Can we go now? It’s time. The Humane Society is open.”

  Dog adoption, Holly discovered, took time. First, there was the meet-and-greet with the animal, which went well. Teddy took to Liv as though she were his long-lost BFF. As soon as she was in the room with him, he leaped into her arms and tried to lick her to death. Tail wagging, a doggy smile of ecstasy on his face, Teddy was besotted with Liv.

  Holly had to admit the dog was adorable. After bathing and grooming, he looked like a snowball with chocolate eyes. The shelter people said Teddy was about five months old and most likely purebred Bichon Frisé. No one could understand why such a desirable, valuable puppy was abandoned.

  Paperwork and a sizable donation came next. Though shelter personnel were nice, they had their rules, and some of these weren’t working for Liv. For one thing, they wanted a 24-hour waiting period before adoption, and for another, the adopting person had to be over 21. Taking the puppy to Boston added more complications. Finally, after a conversation with Catherine and much pleading from Liv, they relented, letting Mike sign for the dog—and pay the bill.

  Standing by Mike’s car, Holly hesitated. Did he want her to drive to Boston? “I need my prescription for pain pills,” Mike said, getting into the passenger seat. So that decided it. After the drugstore, where Mike also picked up a dog leash and collar, they headed for Boston.

  The interstate was an easy cruise. Holly worried about negotiating the whorls of downtown Boston, but Mike had GPS. She dropped him and Liv in front of their house, left the car at the garage, and jogged to the Smallwood place.

  Catherine was waiting on the couch in the ground floor family room, watching Liv play with the puppy on the terrace. When Holly sat beside her, Catherine said, “The next time I think a trip out of town will be a safer than spending Columbus Day weekend in Boston, please remind me to make a psychiatrist appointment. Somehow, an expedition for a costume fitting turned into two violent crimes and a puppy!”

  “Catherine, if you’ll let me explain—”

  She held up a hand. “No need. I don’t blame you. But my every impulse was to insist you bring Olivia straight home. Why did you stay in Portsmouth on Saturday afternoon?”

  “We thought the dog might be released early, and I felt normal activity would be good for her. She—all of us—needed to do something life affirming, something fun and relaxing. It was a bad call. If Mike and Liv had gone to Boston, he’d be okay.”

  Catherine pursed her lips. “There’s no hope of finding the driver who hit him?”

  “Probably not. Everything happened so fast we didn’t get a useful description.”

  “Makes me furious to think people can get away with things like that. Still, with time, Myron’s arm will heal, but I’m less certain about Olivia’s state of mind. Does she need grief counseling, do you think? How did she react to the discovery of the dead girl?”

  They talked about Liv’s moods and her return to apparently normal behavior. Catherine sighed with relief. “If you’re sure she’s not harboring silent fears, secret dread.”

  “I can’t be sure,” Holly said honestly, “but I don’t believe she’s grieving. I think she’s focused on rescuing the remaining captives. She expects the concert to bring a breakthrough in the case.”

  “The concert, yes,” Catherine said with satisfaction. “Final approvals came through yesterday. It was like moving Everest, but I worked through all the red tape. Emily Fitzgerald, Madison’s mother, will handle publicity, and we’re relying on Taylor’s father to liaise with the performers.”

  “Sounds good. Were you all right this weekend? We worried about you.”

  “I called in a caregiver from a service as a safeguard in case I took a tumble down the stairs or had some other emergency. They sent over a delightful young woman named Marisol. She told me she works weekdays at the Tinsley home tending Myron’s former mother-in-law.”

  “Small world,” said Holly.

  “Beacon Hill is indeed a small world.” Catherine stood and went to the windows. “Such a darling puppy! I’ve always loved dogs. I think a pet will do wonders for Olivia.” Catherine glanced at her watch. “Goodness, look at the time! Shall I order us some lunch?”

  After gorging on Chinese food, Holly was alone on the terrace learning about her new phone when a call came in on the old one.

  “You’re a hard person to get hold of,” Dan Vogel said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I called last night and this morning but got voicemail every time.

  “Oh. I was up in Portsmouth, busy with…stuff.”

  “Big doings up in Portsmouth this weekend. Too bad about the South End girl. I was hoping we’d get all the kidnap victims back alive.”

  “Yes.” Holly sighed. If he only knew… “So what’s on your mind, Dan?”

  “Actually, I want to take you on a gondola ride.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Long story that boils down to this: I bought raffle tickets from my kid sister and I won. Wait—I’ll read the write-up.” There was a pause while Holly heard Dan fiddling with papers. “Okay. It says, ‘Catered picnic at the Esplanade, followed by romantic, sunset Venetian gondola cruise on the Charles. Indulge in the Boston and Cambridge skyline, sipping champagne as your gondolier gently rows his craft and you’re serenaded by one of our musicians.”

  “Sounds intriguing,” Holly said, “but again, why me?”

  “Well, I could take my sister, but that’d be too weird. If I took a friend, I’d spend the next six months at work listening to people urging me to come out, except I’m not gay, so they’d get really mad when I didn’t.”

  Holly smiled. “Surely, you know other women.”

  “I do, but they’re all BPD. Office romance is against regulations. So….”

  “So you’re stuck with me.”

  “I know I’m going about this all wrong. I should have asked in a better way, been more polite. Just consider it a favor,” Dan said.
“I’ve never tried the gondolas, always wanted to. Be fun, I think, and you’ll get a great view of the big city. The picnic is from some fine dining place, and I do owe you a dinner, and—”

  “All right, all right! I’m sold. When?”

  “Tonight,” he muttered.

  “Tonight?!”

  “Like I said, I tried calling you yesterday. I didn’t know before then. My sister had the tickets in her backpack for a week. Completely spaced them until I asked about the raffle. Kids!” Dan huffed. “Oh, and I almost forgot another reason: I met your Israeli friend, Zarah, Ariel Kelly’s aunt. She’s essentially doing her own investigation. Turned up a lead on a guy who bought gelato—”

  “Knit cap!” Holly said. So much happened since Friday, she’d nearly forgotten the man skulking around Beacon Hill. “What did Zarah learn?”

  “Tell you tonight. I’ll pick you up at 4:30 so we’ll have time for the picnic. Cruise starts at 5:30 since sunset’s around 6:00.”

  “You’re on,” Holly agreed. “And Dan—thanks.”

  “My pleasure. See you soon.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Day 9—Sunday afternoon

  “Karina…” Stealth growled. He glared at the phone in his hand, and then hurled it toward a basement wall. As it smashed, he felt a sense of relief.

  Hey! Brandon cried. I had a game saved on that phone!

  “Get over it.” Stealth focused on his computer keyboard. Dust. There was dust between the keys. He pulled a can of compressed air and the mini-vac from his desk drawer. “Bitch,” he muttered.

  Is that any way to talk about your sister? Brandon asked, his mock-frown turning to a grin.

  “Our sister,” Stealth corrected. Spraying air into the crevices, he caught the rising dust motes with the vacuum. “You’re not supposed to be here. This is Stealth’s lab. Private. No one else allowed.”

  Brandon pouted. Karina isn’t my sister. Not anymore. She doesn’t care about me.

  “It’s been eleven years since you died,” Stealth reminded his twin. “She’s moved on.”

  You haven’t, Brandon countered, and the Momster hasn’t. She’s glad I’m still around.

  Stealth nodded. The Momster knew it was Brandon who took care of her.

  You should go see her once in a while, Brandon said, the Momster, I mean. She’s bored.

  “Oh, yeah? She sure found a way to entertain herself while we were in Portsmouth.” Stealth slapped down the cleaning tools. “Made Karina come over and sit with her until just before we got home. She had to feed and wash the Momster. Tore us a new one for that.”

  ‘Bout time your dear sister put in some time around here. Did you tell her the van was being fixed?

  “Of course,” Stealth snarled. “Made things worse.” His voice rose to falsetto, imitating Karina. ‘Honestly, Brent! You have no sense of responsibility. What made you take the van out of town? What if Mom had an emergency? She wouldn’t fit in an ordinary ambulance. If you want to visit Dad up in Maine, take the train.’”

  Brandon laughed. Think the conductor would make us buy an extra ticket for the girl’s body?

  “Not funny!” Stealth snapped.

  It is! What would we do at the station? Hike to our family’s abandoned shack in Portsmouth with a bodybag slung over one shoulder?

  “Get out!” Stealth screamed. “Get out of the lab. You’re disgusting.”

  Brandon crossed his arms. Not yet. The Momster told me Karina wants you to keep your lab unlocked, and she wants the elevator repaired so it’ll reach the fifth floor. People looking to buy our house need to see it all.

  Stealth leaned on his fist. “If Karina would wait a while, give us time to finish the project, everything would be fine. We’d have money to buy her off. There just isn’t enough time.”

  Want to know why Karina’s in such big-ass hurry to sell this house?

  “Yes!”

  Promise you’ll take us out to buy a new phone today, and I’ll tell you.

  Stealth chewed his lip while he looked up phone stores on his computer. “Nearest one is on Newbury. That’s…that’s…”

  About a hundred thousand parking meters away—and you’ll count them all. You’re such a dork.

  “You should talk. You can’t pass by anyone with a school emblem. Have to stand there gawking, don’t you?”

  That’s different. I’m thinking about our Stealthie collection, how to make it better.

  “Like hell you are.” Stealth snorted. “You just like looking at the girls.”

  And you don’t. Your loss.

  “Go away,” Stealth said without real hope his twin would leave. When Brandon had an idea, there was no stopping him. “You never let up. You keep pushing and pushing until—”

  I get what I want. Brandon smiled. Karina’s the same. She wants a new place to live. Got her eye on a brownstone right by the school. The Momster said she’d buy it for Karina but her money’s tied up in this place.

  “How do you know all this?”

  I listen when they talk on the phone. I learn things.

  “Does the Momster want to leave here?” Stealth hadn’t considered her wishes.

  Brandon shrugged. Karina tells her she’ll die if she keeps getting fatter, but the Momster doesn’t want to stop eating. At a rehab place, they’d make her diet. I think she’d rather stay.

  “How much money does Karina want? If we get it for her, maybe she’ll leave us alone.”

  Three, four million.

  Stealth shrugged. “Easier to raise than the twelve mil this house costs.”

  We could sell our Stealthie collection.

  “No!” Stealth shook his head. “The girl’s not worth much, and the boy stays. I need him.”

  Sure, you do. He’s just so special….

  “Shut up. There has to be another way.”

  You know the answer—more Stealthies. Brandon paused. We should talk to Karina to see if she’ll deal. When we visit her, let me take over. You’re hopeless with words.

  “She’ll know it isn’t Stealth.”

  Okay. I’ll just give you prompts. Let’s see her before we get the phone. I want one with a cool case—a skeleton or a lightning bolt or a superhero or…

  The walk to Karina’s condo on Commonwealth took longer than Stealth expected. He didn’t count parking meters; he counted posters. Nearly every building had one, and it worried him that some of the 8 ½” x 11” sheets were in upper-floor windows, easy to miss. Parked cars and ones passing by had posters taped against side or back windows, too. Stealth found himself stopping every few minutes to make sure he got the count right.

  For once, Brandon didn’t rag on him to move faster. Brandon was interested in the posters, particularly when a girl with a Sidley emblem on her shirt stood handing them out at an entrance to the Common.

  Take one, Brandon said, but Stealth stepped back. The girl might touch him. Don’t be a wuss, Brandon jeered, so Stealth reached a gloved hand carefully toward the paper, snatching it out of the girl’s grasp. On the path at a safe distance from everyone, Stealth studied the paper. It showed a back view of a man’s shoulders and head, his right arm extended. Wearing a leather jacket and helmet, the figure could have been anyone, but there was no mistaking the two faces set in circles just beyond the reaching hand. Kyle and Ariel, their names under their images, looked happy—happier than Stealth had ever seen them look.

  The poster’s headline read: Be a Hero! Find them! Bring them back! Below the headline were details of a concert to raise reward money for “information leading to our friends’ safe return.” The band Tripl Thret would play. A sticker read: In Memoriam. Natalie Porcini. Next came a somber picture, dates, and a prayer.

  Stealth pulled his cap farther down his forehead. They found her?

  Yesterday. It’s all over the news.

  Never watch TV. You know that.

  With a sinking sensation in his stomach, Stealth walked on, wondering if the banners stretched across subway ent
rances counted as posters until he heard Brandon say in a thin voice, Stealth?

  He stopped.

  I want to be a hero like that guy on the poster—leather jacket, motorcycle. Cool. People would remember me. I wouldn’t be just a kid who died. Maybe that’s what I need before I go.

  You’re not going anywhere, Stealth said firmly.

  If Karina sells the house and there’s no place where I ever lived, no place with a memory of me, I’ll fade away, disappear. I want to do something important before I go.

  Won’t happen. Stop talking crazy.

  Stealth was so agitated he nearly missed a poster, nearly forgot where he was going, but he collected himself enough to locate Karina’s address on a massive, stone building. Going up wide marble stairs, he passed under an iron awning to reach the front doors. The lobby had a call box.

  He found a button next to the name Tinsley. Stealth hesitated before pressing it. Lots of people touched these things, but he had on his gloves. It was all right. He pushed the button.

  Karina’s voice answered, “Yes?”

  Stealth so rarely used the other name it took a moment to say, “It’s Brent.”

  “Brent? Oh my god! What’s happened?”

  “Nothing. Just visiting.”

  “Really?” There was a long pause. “Well, come on up. Eighth floor.”

  When he stepped off the elevator, he saw his sister in a nearby doorway. “Brent! This is such a surprise. Is everything all right?” Karina reached up to hug him. When he shrank away, she said, “Sorry. I forgot. Come in. You’ve never been here before, have you?”

  He followed her into a room with a table and chairs. “It’s not much,” Karina said. “This is the entry and dining room. Kitchen, living room, two bedrooms and bath—that’s it.”

  Stealth nodded. He didn’t care about her condo.

  Karina did. She headed for the living room, rambling about moldings and French doors and access to a shared rooftop garden. She sat on a damask couch. Stealth perched on a stiff chair across from her.

  “This place can’t hold a candle to our house, can it?” Karina said, wrinkling her nose. “Do you remember how the house was before the tragedy, when we had parties all the time, when the best people flocked to our home? It was the social center.”