by Ingrid Thoft
• • •
“Oh, no. The angel of death.” Frank chortled as Fina took a seat on the couch in the Gillis’s living room. Frank was in his recliner, his nightly bowl of vanilla ice cream in his lap. He muted the Red Sox game and looked at her.
“Very funny. I didn’t kill him.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. “In a related issue, I just got a weird feeling.”
“If it involves a man, I don’t want to know.”
“It does involve a man, but not in the way you think.”
Frank gestured with his spoon for her to continue.
“I think some guy is following me. I was over at Risa’s, and he was hanging around outside. Tying his shoe.”
“Did you inquire about his business?”
“Started to, but he took off.”
“What makes you so sure he’s interested in you? Maybe he was just out for a walk and needed to tie his shoe.”
“And ran away when I went toward him?”
“You do scare some people,” Frank murmured, grinning. “So what’s your next move?”
“Hmm.” She tilted her head from side to side. “I think I’ll proceed with caution. Is that the right answer?”
“Someone taught you well, my dear.”
“The best. When’s Peg getting back from her book group?”
“You mean ‘Masochists Monthly’? Who knew there were so many books about female genital mutilation and wasting diseases?”
Fina laughed.
“I expect her home in about a half hour.”
“I’ll stick around, if that’s okay.”
“There’s diet soda in the fridge and ice cream in the freezer. Help yourself.”
Fina got a drink and watched the rest of the game with Frank. She glanced at him occasionally. Her father and Frank were close in age, but sadly, the similarities ended there.
• • •
Fina was at Milloy’s licking guacamole off her fingers. It was late, and they were sprawled on his couch, snacking and watching a reality dating show that made celibacy look appealing.
Her phone rang. “Yes, Renata?” She really wasn’t in the mood.
“I don’t suppose Rosie has been in touch with you,” Renata said.
“With me? No.” Fina reached for a napkin and cleaned off her hands. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Renata, wait!” Fina struggled up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”
“No, everything isn’t okay,” Renata snapped at her. “I can’t find Rosie.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but calm down.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“Start from the beginning. When did you last see her?” Milloy wandered into the kitchen and raised his eyebrows in question. Fina shrugged and watched him open a Corona. He held the bottle up to her, but she shook her head. Something was telling her she was suddenly on duty.
“As you know, she was annoyed with me on Monday night so she went to stay with her friend Laura. She didn’t come home last night either; I assumed she was still pissed, but when I called Laura earlier today, she said Rosie had left her house on Monday night, and she hasn’t seen her since.”
“So she didn’t stay with Laura on Monday night?”
“No, and she didn’t stay with her last night.” Fina could hear panic rising in Renata’s voice.
“I assume you’ve tried calling her.”
“Of course. She’s not answering.”
“Did you contact the shelter?”
“I just spoke to one of her coworkers. She says that Rosie didn’t go to work Tuesday or today. She called in sick both days.”
Fina dug a speck of avocado from under her nail. “So she blew off work. Sounds like she’s playing hooky.”
“Where? I’ve been calling her all day, and her phone just goes to voice mail. None of her friends have heard from her.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
“She hangs out with a guy from the animal shelter. That’s how she describes it, at least, but he says he hasn’t heard from her.”
“Renata, she’s seventeen years old and has a lot to deal with right now. She’s probably lying low with a friend, blowing off steam somewhere.”
“Maybe, but it looks bad.”
Fina looked at her reflection in the kitchen window. She looked good. Not a day over thirty. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it looks suspicious.”
“What are you getting at, Renata? Are you worried that Rosie killed Hank Reardon?”
“Of course not, but I’m worried the police will think that.”
“Have you spoken to the cops about this?”
“No, I didn’t want to draw attention to her absence.”
Fina walked back into the living room and perched on the arm of the couch. “What would you like me to do exactly?”
“Find her.”
Fina thought for a moment.
“I know I fired you, but you’re rehired,” Renata said.
“I’m not worried about that. We can figure that out later.” Carl wouldn’t like such a loosey-goosey work arrangement, but when it came to a missing kid, Fina could be flexible. “E-mail me a list of her friends, including the boyfriend, and include any addresses you have, not just cell and e-mail info.”
“Fine. I’ll do it now.”
“And we need to tell the cops. Aside from the benefit of their resources, not reporting a missing person looks extremely suspicious.”
“But they’ll read all sorts of things into it.”
“Of course they will; that’s what they do!”
“But she’s my child, and I have to protect her.”
Fina held the phone away from her ear and took a deep breath. Renata’s maternal instincts were wildly inconsistent. “I have to tell them. Just get me that list.”
Fina ended the call and sat back down on the couch. Milloy muted the TV, and she reached over and grabbed a handful of tortilla chips.
“Who’s missing now?”
“Rosie, Renata’s teenage daughter.”
“She one of the cryokids?”
“Yup. I think Renata’s more worried about the timing than her disappearance.” Fina popped some chips in her mouth. “She thinks it looks suspicious with Hank’s death.”
“You don’t?”
“Yeah, but she’s a teenager. You can’t read too much into their behavior. I think they should all be sent to an adolescent leper colony until their brains are fully developed.”
“That seems like an excellent strategy.” Milloy sipped his beer. “Do you need some help?”
“Nah, not yet.” Fina dipped her finger in the bowl of guacamole and ate it.
“That’s what chips are for, you know.”
“Milloy, we have biblical knowledge of each other. Are you seriously suggesting this is too intimate?”
“Not too intimate. Too gross.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and grabbed her phone and bag. “Bye.”
Out on the street, she dialed Cristian’s number, and he graciously agreed to a drop-by.
• • •
Cristian was sitting on the front stoop of his building when Fina pulled up fifteen minutes later.
“Ah, okay. I guess you want to go for a drive,” she said as he climbed into the car.
“Just a quick errand,” he said.
“Okay. Where am I going?”
“Medford.”
Fina pulled into traffic. “Why?” She knew that Cristian’s ex, Marissa, lived there.
“Just drive. So what’s up?”
“Renata Sanchez called me because she can’t find her daughter Rosie. She’s one of Hank’s cryokids
.”
“I know who she is. I’ve been sorting through that gnarled family tree all day.”
“Anywho . . . Rosie is MIA.”
“Why are you telling me this and not Renata?”
“She’s worried that Rosie’s disappearing act looks suspicious given the timing.”
“It does. Has she done this before? Taken off?”
“Not to my knowledge, but she’s seriously pissed at her mom right now.” They stopped at a light, and a car full of teenagers pulled up next to them. Music was blaring, and they were laughing.
“Do you think she might be in danger?” Cristian asked.
“I’m not too worried.”
“Well, you know the drill. File a report.”
“I will, but I wanted to let you know off the record. Don’t you guys want to interview her?”
“Yes, but we’ve had our hands full with the immediate family. Take a right up here.”
Cristian directed her to a neighborhood of small single-family houses. “It’s the white one, so drive by and find a spot.”
Fina followed his directions.
“Can you turn around so we can see the house?” Cristian asked.
“Yeah, yeah, Detective Bossy. What are we doing here?”
“Just checking things out.”
They sat in silence and studied the house. It was a Cape Cod with dormers in the sloping roof and a small yard in front. A light was on in the bay window of what Fina assumed was the living room. One of the upstairs windows was illuminated.
“So her boyfriend’s here,” Fina noted. “So what?”
“How do you know he’s here?” Cristian asked.
“That’s his car.” Fina pointed at a Toyota Camry parked in front of the house. “You asked me to run a background check. I’m a detective, too, you know.”
He ignored her.
“Cristian, this is borderline creepy.”
“I’m trying to figure out if he’s staying over.”
“How long have they been dating?” Fina looked at his handsome profile.
“Two months.”
“Of course he’s staying over. What do you think this is? Nineteen-fifty?”
“No, but not everyone is as horny as you are.”
“Is that a complaint? And I’m not horny. I’m results-oriented.”
“Well, Marissa isn’t like you.”
Fina leaned her head back against the headrest. “Just because she’s the mother of your child doesn’t make her a saint. She’s a grown woman. Let her have sex, already.”
“It’s part of our custody agreement. She’s not supposed to have people stay the night.”
“I thought you were over her.”
“I am.”
“Then why do you care who she sleeps with?”
“I don’t, but we’re talking about my kid.”
Fina looked at him. She knew that Cristian was motivated by his love for Matteo, but she also wondered if a tiny part of him was jealous of the new boyfriend.
“You need a hobby. Nothing good can come from this pursuit.”
Cristian watched the house. “Fine.”
Fina started the car and wound her way back through the residential streets. “Want to get a drink?”
“I can’t. I’ve gotta get some sleep and head back in to the station. There’s a lot of heat on us with the Reardon case.”
They rode in silence.
Ten minutes later, Fina pulled up to Cristian’s building. “Look, if you want me to run surveillance on the guy and document if he’s staying over, I’m happy to. No charge,” she offered.
Cristian climbed out and slammed the door. He leaned in through the open window. “I’ll think about it.”
“If you hear from Rosie Sanchez, would you let me know?” Fina asked.
“If you’ll do the same.”
“Deal.”
Fina watched him unlock the front door of his building and disappear down a hallway.
Worrying about everyone else’s children was wearing her out, and it was too late to contact Rosie’s friends now. Instead, Fina went back to Nanny’s and took a long hot shower.
As she lay in bed, she couldn’t help but think about Hank. She couldn’t ignore the sense of responsibility that was nagging at her. Maybe his death was unrelated to his sperm donation, but there was no denying that Fina was more than a casual observer. Usually, she assuaged any bad feelings she had about a case by reminding herself that she didn’t cause issues, she just uncovered them. But there was no denying that she had helped alter the course of a stream, and Hank’s murder had turned into a deluge.
Juliana Reardon, the old Mrs. Reardon, lived in a house on the ocean twelve miles north of the city. Fina had enjoyed the occasional meal in Swampscott, and another case had brought her there, so she was somewhat familiar with the setting. Its spot on the Atlantic offered prime real estate for those who could afford it, and as she wound through the streets, Fina saw variations on her parents’ ginormous house, although these had more to recommend them architecturally. Like an actual style.
From the outside, Juliana’s house looked generous but unassuming. It was a single story with a two-car garage and attractive landscaping. Fina took a moment to breathe in the ocean air before ringing the bell.
The door swung open, and an attractive woman of indeterminate age faced Fina. She knew from the files that Juliana Reardon was fifty-seven years old, but she never would have guessed from her appearance. She had short-cropped hair that was blond with a few hints of silver. Her skin was tan but taut, and her impressive muscles were on display in bike shorts and a fitted tank top that showed a stripe of stomach.
“Juliana Reardon?” Fina said.
She started to close the door. “I have no comment.”
“No, wait.” Fina stuck her foot over the threshold. “Michael hired me. I’m Fina Ludlow, the private investigator.”
Juliana peered around her to see if she was alone.
“He’s hired me to investigate Hank’s death.” Fina pulled her foot back.
Juliana nodded. “Of course. Come in.”
Fina stepped over the threshold and was met by a stunning view of a sandy beach and the ocean behind it. She sometimes forgot that Massachusetts had sandy beaches, having been raised on a steady diet of pools and the occasional trip to a pebble-coated public beach. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the living room, which was furnished in a shabby-chic style. Two deep couches surrounded a fireplace, and the room led onto an open kitchen with quartz countertops, glossy white cabinets, and a professional-grade wok embedded in the cooktop.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Juliana said. “I was just fixing a late breakfast. I don’t eat until after my training ride.”
“I should apologize for not calling ahead,” Fina said, not really sorry at all. Although common courtesy dictated that she should schedule appointments to see people, Fina was a big fan of the drop-by. First, people were flustered by a surprise visit and didn’t have time to get their ducks in a row, and second, they could usually squeeze you in if you magically appeared on their doorstep.
“Have you eaten? There’s plenty for both of us.”
Fina looked at the ingredients gathered on the counter. Most of it looked dark green and leafy.
“Sure. That would be great.”
How bad could it be? She’d endured worse in the name of detecting, like admiring a creepy ceramic clown collection for half an hour.
Juliana nodded toward a chair at the breakfast bar, and Fina took a seat. She watched as her hostess loaded the roughage into a shiny chrome contraption that looked part blender, part Mars rover.
“So what is all that stuff?” Fina asked.
“Spinach, kale, chard, flaxseed, beets, apples, and my secret protein powder.”
The machine whirred to life, and Fina watched the ingredients rush by in a tornado of roots, seeds, and powder. Juliana poured the concoction into two tall glasses, and Fina followed her outside to the deck, where they sat at a table underneath a wide umbrella.
“To your health,” Juliana said, and tapped her glass against Fina’s. She took a long drink and smacked her lips in satisfaction. “Delicious.” Juliana smiled at her. “Don’t be scared. It won’t hurt you.”
“That obvious?” Fina said, and took a drink from the glass. It tasted like she imagined the clippings from a lawn mower might.
“It’s a bit of an acquired taste,” Juliana admitted, “but it’s so good for you.”
“I bet. It tastes very . . . earthy.”
Juliana laughed. “Don’t feel you have to finish it.”
“No, no. I’m curious. You’re obviously doing something right. You look fantastic.”
Juliana grinned slyly. “For my age. Isn’t that what you mean?”
“No, you look fantastic for any age. You’re in better shape than most twenty-year-olds.”
Juliana took another swig and leaned back in her chair. “So, you want to talk about Hank.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be honest; I don’t understand why Michael has hired you. I’m sure the police are highly motivated, given Hank’s status in the community.”
“I told him the same thing, but he was insistent on having a third party investigate.”
“I think that’s his father’s influence—throwing money at the problem when in doubt.” Juliana looked at the ocean.
“I’m sorry. This must be difficult for you,” Fina said.
“I’m very sad about Hank’s death, but more for Michael than me.” She looked at Fina. “And I’m sorry for the world’s sake; Hank was brilliant. Who knows what he might have done with the rest of his life?”
“How long have you two been divorced?”
“We’ve been divorced five years, and we were married for twenty-four. I assume you’ve met Danielle.”
“I have.”
A small smile crept onto Juliana’s face.
“Do you have an opinion about the second Mrs. Reardon?” Fina asked.