Loyalty (5 page)

Dante looked at the picture. There was the briefest flicker of a question mark on his face, which quickly morphed into a scowl.

“This isn’t the goddamn lost and found.” He pushed the picture away dismissively and scanned the room.

“Dante—can I call you Dante?—I’m asking you because you’re in the know. Everyone says that if something is going on, you know about it.” The young, dumb ones were highly susceptible to flattery, too.

He straightened up at the compliment and then reached down and adjusted himself. “Maybe you’re a cop.”

“I’m not.” Fina reached into her bag and pulled out her license. “I’m a private investigator.” She handed it to him, and he studied it for a moment.

“Josefina Ludlow. You related to that lawyer?”

“I’m related to all of them.”

“I know about your pops.”

“Yeah, everybody does. I’m not looking to make trouble for you, and I don’t care about your business.” Fina straightened the picture on the table. “This woman is missing. People care about her and are looking for her.”

Dante flicked the picture toward her with his fingernail. “Can’t help, Josefina Ludlow.”

Fina returned the picture to her bag. “Got it. If you see her . . .” She handed him her card.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Now, why would I do that?”

“Because I know lots of people, and someday, I might be able to do you a favor.”

“You’d do a favor for a guy like me?”

Fina shrugged, pulled her hand away, and slid out of the booth.

Downstairs, she did a cursory search for Milloy, and in the process was cornered by an overeager BU student. Ahmad from Saudi Arabia invited her back to his penthouse apartment at the Ritz, where she could snort some blow and give him a blow job. Tough offer to turn down, but Fina took a rain check and left without Milloy.

The next night, Fina sat in her car in front of Rand’s house waiting for Milloy. It was nine
P.M.
, and she’d spent the morning being deposed for a case she’d investigated and the afternoon tracking down the meager leads she had. Nobody had heard from Melanie—at least nobody would admit it. She had fallen off the grid, which wasn’t easy to do as long as you were breathing.

A black BMW pulled up behind her, and Milloy got out.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he said as they walked up the path to Rand’s enormous colonial Tudor.

“You can see why I called you,” Fina said. She knocked and opened the front door simultaneously. “I can’t search this place on my own.”

Milloy shook his head.

“I just want to take a look around, and I trust you. You’re discreet and can be devious; my favorite combination.”

Scotty greeted them. His tie was off, and he had a tumbler of scotch in one hand. The foyer was the size of a small apartment, with marble floors and a sweeping staircase.

“Dad said the cops were here yesterday,” Fina said.

“And today,” her brother commented.

“So what’d they take?” she asked.

“A couple of bags of clothes and some boxes of paperwork.” He grabbed his suit coat off the stairs and shrugged into it.

“We’re going to take a look around,” Fina said. “Is Rand here?”

“At the office. Haley’s upstairs, though, watching TV.”

Scotty left, and Fina pointed Milloy in the direction of the living room, dining room, and guest bedrooms—the rooms that saw the least amount of traffic—and she went downstairs. The lower level of the house boasted a large family/media room, an outfitted exercise room, and Rand’s office. Both the family room and his office featured French doors that opened to the backyard, which was dominated by a large in-ground swimming pool and Jacuzzi and beautiful landscaping, including a pristine lawn and a plethora of flowers and shrubs. Blue and purple hydrangea bushes bordered the grass, and another bed boasted rosebushes, their colors only hinted at by the tight buds. The rhododendrons had bloomed and their waxy green leaves were left behind. Undoubtedly the gardener had picked the flowers once they’d lost their beauty; Melanie cared how things looked.

Fina stood at the door of Rand’s office. It was anchored by an oriental carpet, and the furniture was made from walnut. The desktop was empty except for a few desk accessories and a pad of legal paper. Fina took a seat in the executive leather chair and began to open the drawers and riffle through the file folders. Next, she moved on to the custom-made filing cabinets, the media cabinet, and the marble wet bar. An hour later, she had nothing to show for her search, except the news flash that her brother was outrageously rich and had a luxurious lifestyle, as evidenced by $40,000 monthly credit card statements for first-class airline tickets, restaurant tabs, and an account at Nordstrom.

Fina climbed two flights of stairs and found Milloy reaching into the depths of a linen closet. She padded down the carpeted hallway and went into the master bedroom. The walls were painted a faint mint green, and another large rug dominated the wood floor. Venetian glass dangled from the elaborate chandelier in the center of the room, and a marble fireplace stood opposite the bed. The wall was dotted with paintings in heavy gold frames, the themes of which seemed to favor boating parties and children frolicking. If their value could be measured in ugliness, then Fina imagined the paintings were priceless.

She looked through the drawers of the matching bedside tables and found nothing to raise suspicion. The first dresser she searched was obviously Rand’s—lots of black socks and boxers. Fina didn’t like pawing through people’s personal belongings, and there was something particularly creepy about searching through the underwear drawers belonging to her brother and sister-in-law. Melanie’s stash was equally boring; pricey, neutral-colored French bras and panties were neatly laid out in the top drawer of the bureau. The other drawers held neat stacks of designer clothes. The walk-in closet was vast but, thankfully, organized, and if Melanie had packed a bag or hit the road with clothes, it certainly wasn’t obvious. Not that it would be, given the size of her wardrobe.

Moving on to the master bath, Fina found Melanie’s ridiculously large collection of firming lotions and moisturizers. There was a drawer of skin care samples from Neiman Marcus, which she pocketed before opening another drawer to continue the search. Beneath the standard over-the-counter pills, Fina found bottles of Xanax and Valium with Melanie’s name on them, which she slipped in her bag. Was it her, or are parents just stupid? You have a teenage daughter with shoddy judgment, and you leave prescription drugs in your bathroom? Duh.

The sound of a TV drifted down from the loft on the third floor, so Fina slinked into Haley’s room. It was straight out of a furniture catalog or a teen magazine. The walls were painted lavender, and filmy white curtains hung from the top of the large windows. The bedding on the queen-size bed was sky blue and lavender striped, and the shaggy rug stretching across the floor was light blue with large white polka dots. There were a dozen pillows of various sizes topping the bed. The surfaces of the white painted furniture were clear, with monogrammed fabric boxes neatly stacked on shelves. The floor was free of clothing, and when Fina opened the door of the large walk-in closet, she was greeted by a color-coded spectrum of neatly hanging clothes.

It reminded Fina of her own teenage room, a memory that never ceased to piss her off. Elaine had always insisted that Fina’s room be neat and tidy, and she had no compunction about barging in and rearranging things. First of all, Elaine had thousands of other square feet to rule, and secondly, whatever happened to having an outlet for a little self-expression? Teenagers have to get their ya-yas out somehow, and having a pigsty for a bedroom seemed to be a healthy way to do that. The alternatives—like banging the boys’ lacrosse team—were undoubtedly more unsavory than an unmade bed.

The neatness of the room made Fina’s search easy, but she paid special attention to the hiding places she’d employed as a teenager—zippered suitcase pockets, shoes, the underside of desk drawers. She did find a small stash in one of the hollowed-out compartments of the box spring, but decided to leave the dime bag and rolling papers. She didn’t want Haley to know about her little search. When Fina was a teenager, she’d hidden a bag of revealing clothes in the deep recesses of her closet and would stuff it in her backpack and change after leaving the house. Given the current state of teenagers’ clothing, this was no longer necessary; walking around buck naked was the only uncharted territory.

Fina climbed the stairs to the loft and found Haley sprawled on a leather sectional. Her niece was beautiful, with long, blond hair and a knockout figure. There was no question that her body was leaps and bounds more advanced than her brain. She was wearing gray sweat shorts, and her midriff was exposed in a clingy tank top. Fina sat on the arm of the couch and watched the TV for a moment. It was a reality show featuring buff guys and seemingly sex-crazed girls.
No wonder the rest of the world thinks Americans are idiots,
she thought.

“Don’t even start the lecture,” Haley said, looking up at Fina.

“What lecture?”

“The ‘there’s too much sex and too much drinking on these shows, blah, blah, blah’ lecture.”

Fina shrugged. “I don’t care if you have bad taste in entertainment.”

Haley snorted. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been calling you for days.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?” Fina asked incredulously.

“Just . . . stuff.”

Fina sighed. “So I’m assuming you haven’t heard from your mom.”

“I haven’t heard from my mom,” Haley said in a monotone. “I wish everyone would stop asking me that.”

Fina and Haley both watched the TV for a moment. A guy with enormous pecs was trying to convince a girl with equally large pecs that he loved her. Fina looked at her niece, but neither fear nor anxiety registered on her smooth skin. Nothing seemed to register there.

“So you don’t have any idea where your mom might be?”

Haley rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Aunt Fina! The spa? Isn’t that the last place she went MIA? I don’t know why everyone’s freaking out.”

Fina knew that this time was different, but she didn’t see the wisdom in telling Haley that. Not yet.

“Do you want me to hang out until your dad gets home?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I thought you might like company.”

“I’m fine, Aunt Fina. Thanks, though.”

On the way downstairs, Fina wondered if she would have been so blasé if Elaine had dropped out of sight when she was Haley’s age, even if she’d done it before. Who was she kidding? She would have been elated.

Fina found Milloy in the kitchen; banks of ecru cabinets with brushed gold hardware ran down both sides of the large room. The island in the middle was topped with brown-and-gold-swirled granite, and a bowl of fruit sat near the sink. The bananas on top were brown. Fina reached into her pocket and passed the skin care samples to Milloy. “Merry Christmas.”

She reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water for each of them.

“You rock,” Milloy said, and stuffed the samples in his pocket.

Fina walked over to the built-in desk and began pulling Melanie’s cookbooks off a shelf.

“Find anything?” she asked Milloy.

“Melanie keeps a tidy house.”

“You mean Fernanda keeps a tidy house.” Fina held each cookbook up by its spine and fanned the pages open.

“I didn’t find anything useful, but I only did a cursory search.”

Fina grinned. “You worried I might sue you if something turns up later?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

Fina restacked the books on the shelf and examined a pile of invitations and flyers. She flipped open a wooden recipe box and pulled out half the stack of cards, which she handed to Milloy. She started sorting through the other half.

“What’s this?” Milloy asked and handed Fina a card. It was a recipe card with no recipe, just a phone number.

Fina turned over the card, but the back was blank. “I don’t know. Maybe she was cooking and had to write down a number before she forgot? I’ll check it out.”

She slipped it into her bag.

On the way home, Fina pulled into a grocery store in the South End and went in to get some batteries for her camera. She was contemplating the missing cooler and the nutritional value of packaged cupcakes as she walked out of the store and across the dark parking lot, which explains how she was suddenly sprawled across the pavement on her stomach, a large man on top of her.

“What the fuck!?” Fina struggled under his weight, but he pinned her down with his knee in her back. He twisted one of her arms behind her and pressed her cheek into the pavement. She could feel the rough surface tearing into her skin.

“Shut your mouth, bitch. Keep your nose out of other people’s business.” He pushed Fina harder, and she felt her lower back muscles contract with pain.

“Fuck you,” she grunted.

He leaned down next to her face. She could smell his sour breath. “Shut the fuck up.” He pushed her head harder into the pavement. “Back off. Got it?” He twisted her wrist.

Fina didn’t respond.

He pulled on her hair.

“Got it! Got it!”

He stood up slowly and released her arm. She pulled herself to her knees and brushed the gravel and dirt off her face. She watched him walk away.

Fina didn’t even think about it. She just ran up behind him and sucker punched him in the kidneys. He cried out, doubled over in pain. She followed with a jab to his face and a quick right hook to the side of his head.

Her fighting skills could be directly attributed to her brothers, a childhood trauma she’d opted to use to her advantage. When Fina was about ten, the boys devised a game called Sucka, which entailed punching one another within a complex system of rules and circumstances. Rand, Scotty, and Matthew saw no reason why their sister should be exempt from the game, and Carl and Elaine were clueless. The siege lasted about two weeks, until the day Carl came home from work and was greeted by a daughter with a huge shiner. Carl lined them up on the couch, Elaine pacing behind him with her cigarette, and screamed at his progeny until he was red in the face. If he caught them doing any more of this bullshit, they’d be out on their asses. His diatribe spooked them, but it was hardly the end of physical skirmishes amongst the Ludlow children. As Fina got older, Boston’s criminal element paid the price.