“Running for the bathroom,” Justin admitted. “I’d been stuck in the car for almost two hours. You and your partner were already gone by the time I got to the office.”
“Yeah,” Hal said, remembering the call on David Kemp’s death. “We got another call.”
Justin nodded. “I didn’t stay long, just picking up some paperwork for Mother. Was Jay able to help you?”
“Yes. We’re trying to get some information on your board of directors.”
“I don’t know much about the foundation, to be honest.” Justin shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the back of the couch. “Please. Come sit.”
“I was hoping to speak to your mother,” Hal told him.
“Of course. Alice, will you tell Mother she has a guest? She’ll probably want a few minutes to get ready.”
“Yes,” Williams said and retreated.
Justin took a seat in the armchair Williams had perched on, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “Are there any questions I can answer while we’re waiting?”
“I was just asking Alice how long she’s been here,” Hal said, sitting again on the couch.
Justin smiled. “You’ve got her on her second week.” He turned to the stairs where Alice Williams had disappeared.
“Did you have help before Alice?”
Justin shook his head. “Mother’s quite proud, I’m afraid. Thinks she can do it on her own.”
“A house this size requires a lot of upkeep.”
“That fell mostly to me,” Justin said. “I moved back in a few months ago. Mother’s had a rather nasty infection that’s been lingering for a few months. The doctor recommended that she remain isolated until she’s stronger, so I’ve been having someone come in to clean the downstairs and bring meals, that sort of thing. But I’ve tried to keep people away from Mother. Other than her nurse and her doctors, of course.”
Hal tried to envision taking care of his mother. No. That would fall to his sisters, thankfully. It would be impossible with his job. “You work full time?”
“I do.”
“But not for the foundation?”
“No.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I love my mother, but I don’t want to work for her.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an efficiency expert, so I help businesses make decisions that will cut costs and improve productivity.”
“You’re self-employed?”
“Yes. I couldn’t have managed otherwise. I have to be able to leave at the drop of a hat. Thankfully my clients are extremely understanding.”
Williams came back down the stairs. “She said she’s ready to see you.”
“Really?” Justin said. “That was quick.”
“She’s on the oxygen,” Williams explained. “So she’ll be a bit hard to hear.”
“That’s all right,” Hal said. “We won’t keep her long.”
“Thank you,” Justin said, rising from his chair. “She does get tired quickly.” He started for the stairs, and Hal followed. The staircase wound up to the second floor, the chandelier another ten or twelve feet above them when they reached the landing. The doors along the hallway were closed other than one at the far end.
Ruth Finlay’s bedroom was twice the size of Hal’s apartment. A white desk near the door was carved as ornately as the baroque design on the front of the house. A cushioned chair sat in front of it. He could see a bathroom off to one side. Light linen drapes covered the windows and were pulled open to let the light in. Hal had been expecting a hospital bed. Instead Mrs. Finlay was positioned almost in the center of a huge antique four-poster, tiny among a sea of pillows. She had a round face and deep wrinkles that ran from her eyes to her chin, giving her the appearance of a peach dried out in the sun.
From her place, she waved the men into the room with one hand as the other lifted an oxygen mask to her face.
Justin set a chair a few feet away from the edge of the bed and motioned for Hal to sit. “You should be able to hear her okay, and this way we don’t need to worry that she’ll get sick.”
“This is fine,” Hal said, taking a seat.
Justin brought another chair and set it down beside Hal’s. He was about to sit when he stopped and went over to his mother. He helped straighten her in the bed, propping her back with a pillow and tucking the covers up around her neck. “Are you cold?”
“No, dear,” she said.
“I’m afraid she’s had tonsillitis in addition to everything else,” Justin said. “So she’s very raspy sounding. Can you hear her all right?”
“Fine,” Hal said although the oxygen was louder than he’d expected.
Justin took the chair beside Hal.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Finlay.”
She lowered the oxygen. “Of course, Detective. You’ve met my son.”
“Yes,” Hal said.
“Justin’s a godsend,” she said.
“He’s a good son, I’m sure.” Hal wanted to get right to his questions, but he sensed Mrs. Finlay was lonely.
“Do you have other children, Mrs. Finlay?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling behind the oxygen mask. “I have a beautiful daughter. Don’t I, Justin?”
“You do, Mother.”
“Does she live nearby, as well?” Hal asked.
“No, no. She’s traveling. She’s in Nepal now; right, Justin? We heard from her last week, didn’t we?”
Justin called to Williams, who reappeared almost immediately. “Alice, would you please help Mother with a little water? It sounds like it’s painful to talk.”
When Williams crossed to Ruth Finlay, Justin turned to Hal. “My sister isn’t in contact very regularly. Mother finds it upsetting . . .”
“I understand,” Hal said. He would get right on to his questions.
“Justin,” Mrs. Finlay asked from across the room as Williams backed away. Her voice was as raspy as it had been before the water. “What are you saying about your sister?”
“That she’s a very talented artist,” Justin told his mother.
Mrs. Finlay seemed to frown at her son, though it was hard to tell behind the oxygen mask. “Both of my children are very talented,” she said.
“I was hoping to ask a few questions about Todd Posner,” Hal said, ready to get to the purpose of his visit. “I assume you’ve heard about his death.”
“I did,” Mrs. Finlay said. “Awful. Absolutely awful.”
“And you’d known Dr. Posner for a long time—is that right?” Hal went on.
“Oh, yes,” she said. One of her feet made a slow circle under the covers, as if she was making sure it still worked. Being around old people always made Hal hope that death was swift and unexpected. His job made him hope it didn’t come too soon.
“I’ve known Tom since he was in his twenties,” Mrs. Finlay went on.
“Todd,” Justin said.
She lowered the oxygen mask so that Hal saw the thin line of her lips. Deep lines ran vertically above and below them. The area around her mouth was pinker than the rest of her face, and patches of her skin were slightly raised. Like some kind of rash. Psoriasis maybe. His cousin had that. Did people get it on their faces? “What?” she asked.
“Todd Posner,” Justin said again. “His first name is Todd.”
“Well, that is exactly what I said,” she snapped.
Justin nodded. “I must’ve misheard you.”
Mrs. Finlay fingered the oxygen mask. “He was an advocate for our organization from the beginning. I considered Todd a dear friend.” She emphasized the word Todd with a glance in her son’s direction.
“So you didn’t experience any difficulty with him?” Hal asked.
“Oh no,” she went on, her voice gaining volume though it still had the deep, raspy sound he associated with a sore throat. “He was a pleasure and very passionate about our work. His death is a profound loss for the organization.”
“Mother and Dr. Posner were quite close,” Ju
stin agreed, moving to the bedside again. He lifted the oxygen mask back to her mouth. She looked up at him, and Hal thought she seemed frustrated. He felt a little pity for Justin. It would be an impossible job. Certainly he couldn’t imagine taking care of his own mother.
“What about Sandy Coleman?” Hal asked.
Mrs. Finlay stiffened in the bed. “Why? Has something happened to Sandy?”
“No,” Hal said. “Can you tell me about her?”
“She’s a young thing. A survivor,” Finlay said, looking over at her son.
“I think Mother is concerned that her cancer has come back, Inspector. Is that right, Mother?”
Mrs. Finlay seemed suddenly confused.
“You were worried about Sandy Coleman, Mother. She was one of the foundation’s recipients.”
“I know that,” Mrs. Finlay said. “Yes. Yes, I was worried.”
“Sandy seems to be doing well,” Hal said. “I met her last week, and she looks like a healthy teenager.”
“Oh, good. That’s very good.” Mrs. Finlay struggled with the sheets, reaching for the corner to pull them free while holding the oxygen mask. Her shirtsleeve rode up her arm, revealing a mark on her arm like an oddly shaped bruise. The skin was pale, but she was not as frail as he’d expected.
He knew the mind could fail while the body stayed strong. Maybe that was why Justin babied her. Her mind was going—the confusion. Calling Todd by the name Tom.
His grandmother had suffered from dementia. Strong as an ox, she started forgetting things. Then she couldn’t remember her children, her own house. It had killed Hal’s mother to watch her like that. When she’d suffered a massive heart attack, they were lucky she’d gone as fast as she had.
Justin was up again, pulling his mother’s sleeve back down, adjusting the covers. “Are you warm, Mother? Do you need water?”
Hal watched as Justin poured her more water and handed her the glass. “Hold that steady now, Mother.”
Mrs. Finlay’s hand shook slightly as she brought the glass to her lips.
Justin came back as Hal was pocketing his phone again. He wished again that Hailey had joined him. Or Schwartzman. Maybe she could have guessed what was killing Ruth Finlay.
With his mother settled, Justin turned to Hal. “I’m afraid she’s probably getting tired.”
“Sure,” Hal agreed, ready to be gone himself. “One more question, Mrs. Finlay. Were there members of the foundation—board members or staff—who had issues with Dr. Posner? Any arguments you can think of? Any personality clashes?”
Justin remained at his mother’s side.
When she didn’t answer right away, he urged her. “Mother, there weren’t issues with the board, were there? Did Dr. Posner ever fight with the others?” He looked up. “I never heard about anything.”
Mrs. Finlay shook her head. The hand on her oxygen trembled slightly, and Justin took the mask. “You should rest, Mother.” Justin perched over her bed and fastened the oxygen back over her mouth, looping the strap over short gray hair. He flattened the pillows behind her head so that she lay flat in the bed and pulled the blanket up over her.
Hal closed his notebook and stood. He and Hailey had once debated whether they’d rather have their minds fail and their bodies stay strong or maintain their wits while their bodies stopped working. Ruth Finlay seemed to be suffering from both a failing mind and a failing body—but maybe neither would kill her anytime soon. Or maybe death was easiest if all the faculties—mental and physical—went at once. He looked back at the small woman in the middle of the huge bed. It didn’t look easy for Mrs. Finlay.
Hal made his way downstairs. As he passed Williams in the front hall, Justin called down to her. “Alice, could you get Mother some warm water? Maybe with a little honey and lemon.”
“Of course, Mr. Finlay.”
Hal thanked her and left.
Standing in the cool shade, he considered the irony of the murder that had been committed inside the community of Finlay Foundation, an organization whose purpose was to save lives. But the notion that the board members were all a bunch of angels was bullshit. With that much money floating around, there was bound to be ulterior motives. He just had to figure whose motives were strong enough for murder.
He glanced back at the house, his thoughts drifting to Williams, in her second week of work. Was it a coincidence that she had started work with Ruth Finlay the same week Todd Posner was killed?
But he knew the answer to that already. He didn’t believe in coincidence.
26
Mrs. Finlay’s hand trembled as she painted the lacquer across the nail of her ring finger. It took more concentration than it used to. She was older, of course. Justin liked to remind her that the infection had been hard on her body, and she was lucky it hadn’t been worse. Staph. Not even related to the surgery. She’d caught it from being in the hospital.
It was like people said: going to the hospital was as likely to kill you as whatever you had going in. She didn’t remember much of the time in the hospital. She was quite sick. But what she did remember was peaceful. As a child she had been terrified of death, terrified that it would rip her off the earth without a chance to make her mark.
But she’d made it. She could go.
Not that she could tell Justin that. He wouldn’t understand, of course. She didn’t know if she could articulate the sense of peace she’d felt. Resolution. As though her life had been part of a long-standing mathematical equation, and she had finally worked out the solution. It was nothing especially noteworthy—her struggles were mundane compared with most. But the puzzle of her life had been solved. And with her health as bad as it was, she often felt as if she was waiting for death.
Of course, her own death was not something she could take into her own hands. That would undo what she’d accomplished, what her life had meant.
Plus, she wanted to be able to look Saint Peter in the eye when she arrived. If he turned her away, so be it, but it wouldn’t be for a lack of patience. One thing her life had taught her was patience. The second was tenacity. She had both. You didn’t have to be a bear of a man to make life go your way.
She wished she’d known it would turn out this way. It was true that youth was wasted on the young. She was so much freer than she’d been in her youth, free to work in her bedroom if she desired. To hell with her mother’s stupid rules. “A lady never brought work to the bedroom,” her mother had said countless times. And yet there she was, seated at the same antique desk that had been in her mother’s bedroom.
She’d never thought to ask her mother why she would have a desk in her bedroom if one wasn’t to work there. Funny what happened with age. When her mother was close to dying, she could hardly stand to ask if her mother needed water or something to eat. And now she was full of questions for her—banal ones, important ones.
Justin had hovered during the interview with the inspector. He could be so fussy, especially recently. Which was why he went into the business he was in. Efficiency expert. Goodness. That would never have been a thing when she was growing up. People managed their own efficiency. Now you needed an expert.
With her nails painted, she unlocked her iPad screen and navigated to the e-mail about the fund-raiser, rereading the items that were outstanding. They didn’t need her to respond. She liked to be involved if she could, although it wasn’t likely that she would be able to attend the event. It wasn’t worth the risk of getting worse again. Too much time on her feet. Pushing it. She was always pushing it.
These were more Justin words than hers. And she agreed with him, didn’t she? Funny how she felt more like a child with each passing year.
She closed her eyes and inhaled as though simply opening her mail had been too much. Hers was merely a figurehead role, but it was her foundation. The board of directors couldn’t cut her out, not when she held the purse strings.
She glanced across the room into the mirror and smoothed her hair from her face. And that would be a good
long time. Aside from the recent infection, which they had assured her was minor, she was healthy as a horse.
A cupboard closed in the kitchen below. Alice was starting supper. How nice it was to hear the sounds of a household. And Justin would be home soon.
Alice had been her doing, even though Justin didn’t approve of anyone in the house. On Alice’s first day, he’d come straight to her bedroom. “I met Alice.”
She had jumped in the bed and laughed, pressing her palm to the galloping in her chest. “Justin Theodore, you scared the bejesus out of me.”
Justin had entered the room, hands to his hips. “Mother,” he’d said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
She had smiled in response. “Alice is lovely, isn’t she?”
As though summoned, Alice had appeared at the door. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Finlay?”
“No, thank you, Alice.”
“Dinner shall be ready in twenty minutes, Mrs. Finlay. Would you like me to set the table?”
“No need, Alice,” Justin had said. “We’ll eat in the drawing room.”
“No,” she had told her son. “I should like to eat in the dining room tonight.”
Justin had frowned. Disapproving. Didn’t he know he shouldn’t argue with his mother?
“Please,” she’d pressed. “It’s not often we get to sit down to a fine meal, and Alice has done a lot of work. Haven’t you, Alice?”
“It was no trouble, ma’am,” Alice had said quickly, eyes to the ground.
“The dining room it is,” Justin had agreed.
“I’ll take care of it now,” Alice had said proudly. Her clogs thumped along the hallway runner as though she were marching. It had made her smile.
Justin had sat on the edge of the bed to take her hand. “Are you happy?”
She had blinked back tears, holding his hand. “I am, darling. I really am.”
“You know that it’s not a good idea. Alice, I mean.”
She had shaken her head, tears falling. “She’s really very capable, and I do need help, Justin.”
“Of course. It’s just—”
“I know.”
Excise (Dr. Schwartzman Series Book 2) Page 21