Loyalty (12 page)

“Thanks, Hal. Send me the bill,” Fina said as she took the proffered report.

“Will do. Feel better.” Milloy walked him to the door. He returned to find Fina holding the document and staring into space.

“Why would Melanie be contacting a handbag company?” she mused.

“Why would Melanie be contacting a
fake
handbag company?” Milloy asked.

“Good question. We can definitely rule out the idea that she was actually buying their goods. She wouldn’t have been caught dead with anything you could charge to a shipboard account.”

Fina winced at her poor choice of words.

There was no proof yet.

There was no proof of anything.

Milloy left, and Fina stepped into the shower. She was supposed to keep her bandages dry—so she took them off. The cuts on her palm were red and tender, and she didn’t attempt anything more ambitious than wetting her body and hoping the dirt and sweat would wash off on their own. After dressing and struggling to pull her hair into a bun, Fina rummaged around in the medicine cabinet and found a roll of gauze, which she wound around her hand and secured with small strips of duct tape.

She needed to talk to Haley, who was still ignoring her calls. Haley was typically bad at returning calls, and Fina had hoped the atypical circumstances might change that, but who was she kidding? Ludlows were born and bred to be strong and unemotional. You didn’t moan or cry about things; you acted as if everything were going according to plan, even when it wasn’t. Most teenagers weren’t known for their communication skills, but Ludlow teenagers would have excelled in the CIA.

Before reaching for her cell phone, Fina grabbed Nanny’s cordless phone and punched in her niece’s number. Haley’s curiosity might just get the better of her.

“Hello?” Haley answered after a few rings.

“Where are you?” Fina demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

“What number is this?” Haley asked.

“That’s not important. Where are you?”

“I’m at Neiman’s,” Haley said. Fina could hear voices in the background.

“Why?”

“I need some lip gloss.”

Fina started to pace in front of the windows overlooking the harbor. A large oil tanker was creeping along with a tugboat on either end. “Haley, cut the shit. Your mother is missing. The police are dogging your father, and I was almost killed. It’s time to put on your big-girl pants and get with the program.”

“Why are you being so fucking mean to me?” Haley whined.

Fina held the phone away from her ear and took a deep breath. Teenagers were the best form of birth control.

“I have to talk to you. Now. The only question is where.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Haley?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll meet you at Pap and Gammy’s house.” The line went dead.

“Ugghh,” Fina groaned, and threw the phone at the couch.

The first thing Fina did when she got to Newton was grab a beer from the refrigerator. She popped off the top and took a long pull. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol and more than the recommended dose of pain relievers, but she imagined the warnings were just suggestions, not rules. Kind of like speed limits.

The maid came into the kitchen when Fina was halfway through her beer and pointed in the direction of the media/family room.

“Señora Elaine in there,” she indicated.

“I don’t want Señora Elaine. I want Señorita Haley.”

“She there, too.”

“Damn it.” Fina didn’t have enough meds on board to deal with Elaine, but she chugged her beer and then walked through the winding hallways to the family room.

It was a sunken room that overlooked the backyard, like Carl’s office. It featured an enormous sectional and a large flat-screen TV. One wall of the room was blanketed by built-in bookcases and shelves, which displayed various pieces of crystal and a smattering of family photos. Elaine and Haley were seated on the couch, their backs to Fina, with a selection of makeup spread out before them on the dark wood coffee table.

“This one is called Perilous,” Haley said, while unscrewing the top of a tube of lip color.

“Ooh. That’s pretty,” Elaine said.

Fina stood in the doorway and glared at the back of her mother’s head. She didn’t know where to start. Breathing was probably a good idea.

“Hi,” she said, and walked around the couch. She took a seat on the other side of the sectional. Haley looked morose, and Elaine’s eyes widened.

“What happened to your face?”

“Huh? Mom, I was in a car accident. Didn’t Dad tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me about that,” she said, pointing at Fina’s eye. She shook her head in what translated to a physical
tsk
. Fina knew it well.

“I’m fine, in case you were worried.”

Elaine shrugged. “I’m sure you are.”

“I need to talk to Haley.” Elaine didn’t move. “Alone.”

“Anything you need to say to her, you can say in front of me.”

“Right. Please, Mom?”

Elaine glared at Fina.

“It’s okay, Gammy,” Haley said.

Elaine exhaled loudly. “You can show me the rest later,” she said, and stood up from the couch. She scooted past Haley and galumphed up the deep-pile carpeted stairs.

Fina looked at Haley. Haley looked at a silver compact of eye shadow.

“Sorry I was bitchy before,” Fina said. She really wasn’t sorry, but she needed Haley to cooperate; generally, you do catch more flies with honey—unless you have a gun, of course.

“It’s okay. I was kind of bitchy, too.” Haley flopped back into the couch.

“How are you?” Fina asked. “I mean, obviously, you must be worried about your mom.”

Haley nodded slowly, and her features sagged slightly.

“Haley, you can talk to me.”

“What’s there to say?” Her words came out in a rush. “Mom couldn’t be bothered to stick around, and my dad is a douche who doesn’t give a shit.” Fina didn’t respond. The silence in the room was punctured when Haley burst into tears.

“Oh, Haley, he does give a shit,” Fina said, moving next to her on the sofa. “Why do you think I’m working so hard to find your mom? Your dad, Pap, and the rest of us, we’re doing everything we can to figure this out.”

Haley scrunched up her eyes, and her nose ran as tears rolled down her cheeks. Fina dug around in her bag and handed her niece a tissue. She’d been waiting for Haley to show some emotion, but now she felt helpless and inadequate in the face of her misery. Be careful what you wish for.

“I am doing everything I can to find her.”

Haley sniffled. “Fine.”

“And your parents’ stuff has nothing to do with you.”

Haley wiped under her eyes. “Fine. Could we please not talk about this anymore?”

Fina took a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s talk about Brianna.” The abrupt change of subject was the oldest trick in the book—because it worked. Fina felt a twinge of guilt for pushing her niece, but she couldn’t worry too much about hurting her feelings if it kept her from finding Melanie.

Something flickered across Haley’s face. A wave of recognition or surprise, maybe. “Who?” she asked as she fiddled with the strap of her tank top.

“Brianna. And I want the truth.” Fina squeezed her shoulder. “Tell me the truth, Hale. Everybody is lying to me, and it’s starting to make me nuts.”

Haley examined her manicured nails. “How do
you
know Brianna?” she asked.

“I don’t, not really. We’ve met, and we have some . . . mutual acquaintances.”

“She’s just a friend. We hang out sometimes.”

“How old is she?”

Haley shrugged. “A little older than me, maybe.”

“Where do you guys hang out?”

“Just . . . you know . . . places. Why are you checking up on me? My mom is the one in trouble.”

“You think she’s in trouble?”

Haley rolled her eyes. “She’s missing, isn’t she? Sounds like trouble to me.”

“So where did you meet Brianna?”

“At Crystal.”

“I suppose there’s no point in my giving you the whole underage lecture.”

Haley snorted. “No point whatsoever.”

“Is she a hooker?”

“Huh?” Haley reached out and grabbed the eye shadow compact. She popped it open and studied the smooth, tiny cushions of color.

“Is Brianna a hooker?” Fina asked again.

“Oh my God, yeah right. That’s likely.” She curled her lip in derision.

Fina shrugged. “I think she is.”

“Well, we all know that you’re paranoid. Not that we don’t still love you,” Haley quipped.

“And Dante Trimonti? You know him from the club?”

“What? That sleazy, Italian Stallion wannabe?”

“That’s the one.”

“Everybody knows who he is, but I don’t ‘know him,’ know him.”

Fina looked down at the collection of makeup on the coffee table. She picked up a tube of lipstick and turned the bottom until a wedge of color emerged from the metal cylinder. “This one’s nice.”

“It’s Cinnamon Fun Bun. It would look good on you. Try it,” Haley urged.

Fina rolled the color over her lips and blotted them together. “Well?”

“You should keep it.”

“Thanks.” Fina capped the lipstick and dropped it into her bag. “Have you ever heard of a company called Zyxco?”

“No,” Haley said as she smeared a line of sparkly blue eye shadow across the back of her hand.

“What about Mode Accessories?”

Haley shook her head and rubbed the shadow off her skin. “Don’t know it.”

“Okay.” Fina reached over and gave her niece a hug. She stood up and walked over to the stairs. “Thanks, Haley. If you think of anything or need anything, call me. Okay?”

Haley turned so that her face was in profile. “I will.”

Fina was still for a moment. From that angle, Haley’s face was her mother’s.

Cristian lived in a mid-rise brick apartment building, a few streets outside of Central Square. In the past ten years or so, the area had evolved from gritty to increasingly gentrified, and Fina wondered if, before too long, he would be priced out of the neighborhood, especially since he was paying for another household—that of his ex-wife and young son, Matteo.

Later that evening, Fina rang the bell next to
MENENDEZ
and listened for the static of the security system.

“Hello,” he said.

“It’s Fina. Can I come up?”

His answer was the buzz of the front door.

She climbed up to the third floor and found his door ajar. There was a large circular fan oscillating across the living room. Fina could see that the door to the tiny back porch was open, and she walked out to it via the kitchen. Cristian was sitting in a plastic folding chair, his feet propped on the railing, his chest bare, and a beer in his hand.

“Hola, chiquita,” he said.

“Hola.” Fina pulled a chair away from the railing and eased into it.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Sore. Cranky.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

She reached over and took a sip of his beer. Across the interior courtyard, there were what looked to be a couple of college students sitting on their little deck, smoking. “I hate heat,” she said. “It’s only May. I want my money back.”

“Must be someone you can sue for the weather.” Cristian grinned at her, took back the beer, and had another drink. “Any news today?”

“Yes. People are liars.”

“That’s news?”

Fina put her feet on the railing and tilted her chair back. “How come you never seem jaded?”

“What’s the point? Lying is part of the human condition. People do it. It doesn’t necessarily make them terrible people.” Cristian shrugged. “Sometimes they can’t help it. Sometimes they do it for the right reasons. You, for instance.”

“Let’s put me aside for a moment. I think we can agree that I’m a special case.” Cristian arched an eyebrow. “I know everyone does it, but it bugs me, and it doesn’t seem to bug you.”

“What are my options? Be perpetually surprised and annoyed when people are meatheads? In that case, I better find a new line of work.”

Cristian sipped his beer, and they sat in comfortable silence for a minute.

“Things the same with Marissa?”

“Yup.” Cristian looked glum.

“Do you think Matteo would like
Disney on Ice
?”

“Are you kidding? He’d love it.”

“I think I can get some tickets. Then you could be a bona fide Disneyland Dad.”

“Yeah, ’cause that’s how this feels, like the happiest place on earth.”

Fina wiped her brow. The scabs forming on her arm were scratchy against her face. “I need to stand in front of that fan,” she said, and got up.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Cristian said. He stepped past her and put his beer bottle in the kitchen sink. He took her hand, grasped it loosely in his own, and led her down the hall to the bedroom. When he opened the door, a blast of cold air enveloped them.

“Ahh. Bliss,” Fina said, and walked over to the bed. She stretched out on the duvet and closed her eyes. Cristian lay down next to her.

“This feels so good,” Fina said with a sigh. “I don’t even care if we screw around. You just go ahead and do what you need to do.”

“That’s super appealing,” Cristian said. Fina listened to the hum of the AC and tried to ignore the myriad minor complaints from her body. She could feel the weight of Cristian next to her, but he didn’t touch her.

They slept.

Hours later, the phone rang only once before Cristian grabbed it. Cops learn to sleep on the surface, rarely diving down deep into REM sleep.

“Menendez.”

Fina shifted slightly on the bed.

He listened for a moment. “Yup, okay,” he said, and hung up.

“Fina.”

“What?”

“A body washed up near Logan.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

Cristian touched her shoulder. “It’s a woman.”

Fina’s mind jumped to the image of a runway and the flash of panic she always had when landing at Logan:
There’s no ground, there’s no ground, there’s no ground.