Loyalty (6 page)

Fina ran to her car and drove a circuitous route back to Newton, checking her rearview mirror frequently. Once parked outside Frank and Peg Gillis’s house, she pulled down her visor mirror. There were scratches on her cheek and a small welt emerging on her forehead, but no other physical signs of the fight. He, on the other hand, probably had a black eye, an egg on the side of his head, and—fingers crossed—a bruised kidney.

Fina winced as she pulled open the metal door of the bulkhead and sidestepped down the narrow stairs into Frank and Peg’s basement. She fumbled putting the key into the lock and was greeted by a wash of cool, dry air when she pushed the door open. Fully clothed, she dropped onto the bed facedown and folded the duvet cover over herself like a large human burrito. The pillowcase smelled like lavender, and she struggled to slow the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She’d been tired before her skirmish, but now she was tired and wound up, not a great combination. Fina tried to picture a serene setting—any place her family wasn’t—and finally dropped off to sleep from pure exhaustion.

Hours later, a gentle tug on her leg awakened her, and Fina rolled over to see Frank standing over the end of the bed. He smiled. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Really?” Fina asked. “Have you looked closely?”

Frank gestured for her to scoot over, and he took a seat at the edge of the bed. He took her chin in his hand and studied her face. “Ouch.”

“Exactly.”

Frank Gillis was the private investigator who used to work at Ludlow and Associates and was Fina’s mentor and friend. He’d taught her the trade, and their relationship had evolved over time from strictly business to personal. Frank and Peg were her parents’ age, but unlike Carl and Elaine, they were principled and kind and normal, and Fina sought refuge with them on a regular basis. With Frank and Peg, Fina didn’t question her competency, and she wasn’t required to be perfect, either. In the Gillis home, she had nothing to prove.

“What time is it?” Fina asked.

“Five fifteen.”

“Ugh. Why are you up so early?”

Frank patted his belly, which approximated the second trimester. “It’s time for our daily constitutional. I wanted to check on you. Heard you come in last night and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“I’m fine. I just didn’t want to go home, and I needed some sleep before going to see my dad.” A few years before, Frank had given her the key to the basement once he realized that Fina was essentially a nomad and incapable of creating a real home of her own, despite her glaring need for one. Those nights when she couldn’t face her own place and wouldn’t dream of going to her parents’, she came here, to the tidy double bed in the basement of their modest Newton home.

“So who’d you piss off?” Frank gestured at her face.

“I’m not sure. I think it has something to do with Melanie. You got my message?”

Frank nodded. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not yet, but there may be.”

“Be safe. Don’t get in over your head.” Frank squeezed her arm. “Everybody can, even the best.”

“I know. I’ll call you before I let that happen.” Fina glanced toward the door leading to the hallway. “Is Peg already up?”

“Yup, and I better get up there. She’s like a drill sergeant; doesn’t like any dillydallying.” He stood and walked to the door. “You better shake a leg or the cinnamon toast she made you is going to get cold.”

Fina lay on her back, and the corners of her mouth crept up. “I’ll be right there.”

At Ludlow and Associates, Fina walked in the direction of Carl’s office. Big law offices like the family firm never stop, and it was a hive of activity, even at six in the morning. Billable hours were the coin of the realm, and a second and third shift of paralegals and secretaries manned the office all through the night to provide support services, so the attorneys had no excuse for stopping.

Fina could hear voices from Carl’s office, so she slowed as she approached it. Through the crack in the door, she could see Rand standing in front of her dad’s desk.

“That’s done, right?” Carl asked.

“Yes, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ve heard that before, and then something comes back and bites us on the ass.”

“It’s done.”

“I’m counting on you, Rand.”

“I know.”

The conversation switched to a client, and Fina knocked on the door.

“What?” Carl barked.

“Just me,” Fina said and walked in. She made her way to the couch in the sitting area and lay down with her feet propped on the armrest. She shifted in an effort to ease the aching in her back. Fina closed her eyes and zoned out while they kept talking.

“What happened to you?” Carl asked a few minutes later. Fina opened her eyes to find him standing over her. She rolled onto her side.

“Apparently, I pissed someone off. Some asshole jumped me at Stop & Shop.”

“You were grocery shopping?” Rand asked.

“No, and not really the point, Rand.”

“Let me talk to your sister,” Carl said, and sent Rand off with a flick of his hand.

Carl gripped her under the chin and examined her face. “You’ll live. I assume it wasn’t random?”

“No, it was personal. He warned me to stop nosing around, but I’ve been nosing around on a few fronts, so I’m not sure who sent him.”

“I assume he looks worse.”

“You got that right. I’m sore, but he might need dialysis.”

“Well done. As your father, I’m duty-bound to tell you to be careful and all that business.”

“That’s heartwarming.”

“Ehhh, you can take care of yourself.”

“Well, it’s progress, at least,” Fina said. “I’m going to poke around some more. Maybe he’ll make a return visit.”

“He’d better. We’re running out of options.” Carl went back to his desk and dropped into his chair.

Fina walked to the door. “You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?”

“Like what?” Carl studied the paperwork in front of him.

“Something about Rand that’s going to have an impact on this investigation?”

He looked at her. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Fina.”

She held his gaze. “I can’t do this if I don’t know the whole story.”

“You know everything you need to know to find Melanie.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Just find your sister-in-law.”

“I will, but don’t tie my hands behind my back.”

Carl peered at her. “You saying you’re not up for the job?”

Fina exhaled loudly. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Aren’t you supposed to testify in the Craig case today?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Well, you look like crap. Go get cleaned up.”

Carl picked up a pen and starting writing on a legal pad.

She had been dismissed.

An ache radiated across Fina’s back when she got out of bed the next morning. In the bathroom, she washed down four Advil and stood under a hot shower for ten minutes. Breakfast was peanut butter spread on Ritz Crackers accompanied by a diet soda. She left a message for her insider at the phone company requesting information on the number Milloy had found in Melanie’s recipe box. Her contact was like a crooked government official; Fina had to hand over a lot of money and be satisfied with whatever she got, whenever she got it. The idea of waiting even a few hours for the information made her antsy, especially since the previous day had been eaten up by her court appearance, but she had no choice. In the meantime, she needed to figure out who had sent the goon.

Dante seemed like a good place to start—undisciplined enough to sic someone on her after a “friendly” conversation and green enough to hire someone who wasn’t really up to the job. She worked the phones for the next hour and got an address for Dante. She looked at the clock. If he was home at eight thirty
A.M.
, he was probably asleep and hungover, which suited Fina just fine.

She threw on some cargo pants, a T-shirt, and flats, grabbed her gun, and headed to Allston. Once there, Fina parked outside a two-family house and climbed the front stairs. That small exertion, coupled with the humidity, gave rise to beads of sweat that stung the scratches on her face. Paint was peeling off the porch, and there was a stack of Yellow Pages in shrink-wrap next to the front door. Inside, four mailboxes were nestled in the wall, and a milk crate overflowed with flyers and junk mail. Fina continued down the hall and tried the knob on the last door on the left. It didn’t budge, so she pulled out her kit of lock picks and got to work.

Three minutes later, she was in, gun in hand. Cheap venetian blinds were lowered in all the windows of the living room, so she navigated with care through the dim room. Stacks of dirty dishes teetered on every surface in the small kitchen to the right, and beer bottles peeked out of the top of the trash can. The living room was equally messy—containers of Chinese food on the laminated wood coffee table oozed thick, brown liquid, and dirty clothes lay strewn along the back of the couch. A large flat-screen TV was pushed against the fireplace, flanked by enormous speakers. Fina peered into the bathroom and decided not to flip on the light. She didn’t need to see any more.

That left the bedroom.

The door was ajar. Fina gently pushed it open with the gun and crept into the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. A queen-size bed was pushed into one corner, and a large dresser sat against a wall across from it. There was nothing on the walls except for a Celtics poster and a pinup of a
Playboy
centerfold who was outfitted very practically in a cowboy hat, boots, and piece of straw. Fina tiptoed over to the dresser and leaned her butt against it. She studied the mass on the bed. Either Dante had grown or he wasn’t alone.

“
This
is not at all what I expected,” Fina proclaimed in a loud voice.

There was a flurry of activity under the duvet, and Dante’s head emerged. He was momentarily tangled, and when he freed himself, his gyrations revealed a smooth ass in a thong lying next to him.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” Dante moved to get off the bed. He was naked except for a clingy pair of boxer briefs.

Fina held up the gun. She flicked on the light. “Get back in bed.”

The girl had emerged from the covers. Her dyed blond hair was a mess, and her smoky eye makeup looked like smudged ashes.

“You need to go,” Fina told her. She scampered off the bed and gathered her clothes before running out of the room.

“I’m disappointed in your living arrangement, Dante. I expected more from you.” Fina pinched a pair of briefs between two fingers and dropped them on the floor. “This does not match the up-and-coming pimp persona at all.”

“You’re that girl I met the other night,” Dante said, sitting up straighter. He kicked off the rest of the covers and spread his legs, giving Fina too much information.

“I’m a woman, actually, and yes, we met the other night.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to know why I was jumped by some thug less than twenty-four hours after I talked to you.”

Dante curled his lip. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“I don’t believe you. Have you ever been shot?”

“Believe me, bitch, if I sent someone to mess you up, you wouldn’t be here talking to me.”

“You didn’t answer my question; have you ever been shot?”

Dante flared his nostrils. “You don’t have the balls.”

Fina reached into her purse and took out a silencer. She started to screw it on the end of the gun.

Dante’s eyes bounced around the room nervously. “Are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t order a beat down.”

“I just don’t . . . I just don’t believe you.” Fina gave the silencer a final twist and started to raise the gun.

“I didn’t send anyone after you,” Dante said.

“I’m not going to be happy leaving here empty-handed.”

“You are one crazy bitch, you know that?”

“I’m not crazy; I’m extremely efficient. I could spend a lot of time following you and trying to convince you to cooperate, and that would be a colossal waste of time. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“You’re going to pay for this,” he sneered.

“Well, be that as it may . . .”

Dante breathed heavily.

“Really? You’re going to make me count?” Fina asked. “Ten, nine, eight—”

“I don’t know anything about some goon or that other lady.”

“—seven, six, five—”

“But I know the girl,” he blurted out.

Fina tilted her head and peered at him. “What girl?”

“The one in the picture.”

Fina took a small step back. She reached into her purse and pulled out the photo of Rand, Melanie, and Haley. She held it up for Dante to see. “You mean this girl?”

Dante’s eyes darted between Fina and the photo. “Yeah, her.”

“How do you know her?”

“I don’t really know her, but I’ve seen her around.”

“Where?”

“I don’t remember.”

Fina pulled the trigger, and a confetti of feathers floated up from Dante’s pillow.

Dante scuttled toward the foot of the bed. “I’ve seen her at Crystal and another club hanging out with some other girls. There’s one named Brianna. Talk to her.”

“Where do I find Brianna?”

“I don’t know where she lives, but she’s at the club most nights.”

“You’d better not be jerking me around, and you’d better keep your mouth shut about our little talk,” Fina said as she backed away from the bed. “And if you see the girl in the picture, don’t you lay a goddamn hand on her. If you do, I will come back and shoot off your balls, one at a time.”

“You’re a fucking charmer, you know that?” Dante called out as she left the room.

“I know!” Fina hollered over her shoulder.

Connor rolled over and faced the wall. He stared at the floral garlands snaking across the wallpaper. Seen from across the room, the pattern was dizzying, but up close, he could isolate each flower and vine. He reached out and traced a rosebud with his finger. Footsteps passed by the closed door, and he heard activity in the living room. The view of the wall was preferable to the piles of medical supplies on the bureau. He spent his life in hospitals, but there was something about seeing supplies related to his own parent that made him queasy.

When he’d arrived, having survived the flight from Cincinnati with the help of two gin and tonics, he was newly shocked by his father’s condition. It wasn’t any different from his last visit, but seeing him in the bed, shrunken and helpless, was a sight Connor would never get used to. He braced himself each visit, and yet he always felt rocked when he walked in the room. Where was his dispassionate detachment when he needed it the most?

There was a rap on the door. Connor rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Sugar? Are you awake?”

“Come on in, Mom.”

The door opened and Bev stepped into the room. She was dressed in black pants, a floral blouse, and a yellow jacket with a round neckline and bracelet sleeves. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, and large pearl earrings were nestled in her lobes.

“Did you sleep okay, honey?” she asked, standing over him.

“I slept fine. How’s Dad?”

“The same.” Bev leaned down and straightened the duvet cover. “I made some breakfast, that creamy hash brown casserole you love.”

Connor groaned. “Mom, you’re going to give me heart disease.”

She mussed his rumpled hair. “Oh, come on. Live a little.”

“It’s not good for you, either. When’s the last time you had a physical?”

“I’m fit as a fiddle. Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself and the rest of this family.”

Connor knew that he should protest, that a grown man shouldn’t expect his mother to take care of him, but he wasn’t particularly interested in taking care of himself these days. The idea of letting his mom take charge had serious appeal. Connor closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“You still tired, darling? Go back to sleep. I’ve got some business to take care of, but I’ll be back this afternoon.”

Connor burrowed under the covers, and Bev walked to the door.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I know you may not believe this, Connor, but things are going to get better. Just you wait.”

She pulled the door closed behind her.

Fina’s next stop was 326 Forest Road, the site of Mark Lamont’s new house in Wellesley. Mark wasn’t someone who liked drop-ins, but she didn’t have the time to follow the usual protocol. Every hour that went by was another hour that Melanie was missing, another hour that Rand was under suspicion, and another hour that Fina’s attacker was possibly planning his next move.

Forest Road wasn’t a complete misnomer; there were actually trees swaying in the light breeze. Fina drove between two large stone pillars and pulled around the circular driveway to the front door. The house was set back enough from the street to provide some privacy, but still in full view so it could be admired by all. Fina supposed the enormous dwelling would be characterized as Nantucket-style, given its stone-and-shingle exterior, but it struck her as one of those made-up styles, generated by developers whose wives dressed them.

A crew of sweaty guys was laying sod in the front yard area. They checked her out as Fina bypassed the elaborate stone wall separating the front flagstone patio from the driveway, and she walked into one of the four open garage bays. At the door leading to the house, she grabbed a pair of protective booties from a box, pulled them on, and then walked through a succession of large, empty rooms with floors that shone like mirrors. She found Mark in the powder room just off the kitchen. He was arguing with a man about the walnut vanity.

“It’s supposed to be a rooster,” Mark said, gesturing at a bird painted on the vanity door.

“It
is
a rooster!” exclaimed the man in paint-splattered Dickies.

“It’s a fucking hen!” Mark said. “For crying out loud, just make my wife happy. Whatever she wants. She wants a dick on the damn bird, paint one on!”