Identity (17 page)

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.

“Well, I was certainly annoyed that Hank was acting out a cliché, and it put Michael in a weird position, having such a young stepmother.”

“He seems okay with it.”

“I think he’s gotten used to it, and there is a twisted cachet having an attractive stepmother practically your own age.”

“And the money? Is Danielle taking what’s yours?”

Juliana’s eyes widened. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“It didn’t strike me as necessary.” Fina took a swig of the shake.

“You’re right. It’s not. Obviously, I did okay in the divorce, not that I asked for much, relatively speaking.”

Fina raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I could have bought the whole block, Fina—may I call you Fina?”

Fina nodded.

“I could have bought the whole block, if I’d taken what Hank had to give, but my days in the world of grotesque wealth are long gone.” Juliana drained her drink. “That’s part of the reason we split up.”

“Too much money? That’s a first.”

“Once you’ve got ten million in the bank, how much more do you really need? Hank thought you could never have too much, but all you have to do is go to other countries—or even certain neighborhoods in the city—to realize there is such a thing as too much.”

“You’re not exactly slumming,” Fina said, pointing toward the wide sandy beach.

“Hardly. My point is that there’s a wide spectrum, and I didn’t want to live at the very end. I have a pampered life, but I give a lot to charity, and I’m involved in causes in a way we never were as a couple.”

“So you’re not just writing checks.”

“Nope. I’m trying to join the human race, as opposed to watching it from a luxury box.”

“You’re still active in causes associated with the Reardon name even though you’re divorced?”

Juliana looked affronted. “It’s my name, too. She doesn’t get to take that from me.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that, but just like friends get split during a divorce, I assume the causes do as well. Unless you had the most amicable split in the history of mankind and work alongside your ex and his wife.”

“You’re right,” Juliana conceded. “We did split the charities, or rather, I’ve kept the ones that are most important to me.”

“Which are?” Fina continued drinking her protein shake, noticing that the residue of it clung to the side of the glass. She could only imagine what it was doing to her organs.

“I’m most involved with an orphanage in India and the Reardon Breast Cancer Center for Reflection and Rejuvenation.”

“I’m familiar with the center. It’s in Cambridge, right?”

“Yes. It’s a wonderful organization, and we serve an extremely diverse population. We’re focused on the spiritual component of surviving cancer.”

“Which means what?”

“Alternative therapies and mental practices that support traditional medicine. We don’t recommend patients forgo their chemotherapy or anything like that, but things like good nutrition, meditation, stress reduction, they can all play a part in recovery.”

“It sounds interesting.”

“It is. You should visit the center sometime. I think you would find it eye-opening.”

“Is Michael worried about his inheritance? In terms of Danielle, I mean.”

Juliana seemed surprised by the change in subject, but recovered quickly. “I think he’s appropriately concerned. He likes Danielle, but on paper, she certainly fits the profile of a gold digger, and now with Aubrey and these other children emerging . . .”

“What do you think about that?”

“I think it’s just like Hank to create a big mess from what was probably a brief period of impulsivity. And I feel bad for my son,” Juliana added. “He didn’t sign up for this.”

Fina steeled herself to finish her shake. Blech. “Any idea who might have killed him?”

Juliana was silent for a moment and gazed down at the beach. A couple of kids were trying to launch a kite, but the wind wasn’t cooperating. Kite-flying was one of those activities that Fina never really understood; say you finally got it airborne, then what?

“Hank wasn’t overly concerned with people’s feelings, and he played in the big leagues, but killing him is a whole other thing.” She looked at Fina. “I couldn’t hazard a guess.”

Juliana carried the empty glasses into the kitchen and walked Fina toward the door. The walls in the living room featured large photographs that were riots of color. Women in saris, heaps of spices, and dark-skinned children with bright white teeth were the subject matter.

“Are those from India?” Fina asked.

“Yes. I go every year. Have you ever been?”

“No.”

“It’s an amazing place. Very spiritual. My travels in India really set my life on a different path.”

Fina followed her to the front door. She gestured at a sleek bike in the foyer. “You bike?” she asked.

“Actually, I’m a triathlete, so swimming, biking, and running.”

“That’s impressive.”

“You look like you’re in shape,” Juliana said. “You should try it.”

“I run occasionally, but generally, I try to do as little as possible. I think that’s the opposite of a triathlon.”

“Try it,” she cajoled. “You’ll be hooked.”

“It’s really a cult, isn’t it? You exercise junkies are always trying to recruit innocent souls.”

Juliana laughed, and Fina handed her a business card. “If anything else comes to mind, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Sure.”

Fina turned halfway down the stairs. “I hate to ask, but where were you the night Hank was killed?”

“Right here, in bed. All that training makes me sleep like a log.”

Fina climbed into her car. She gazed in her rearview mirror and saw Juliana framed in the doorway. From that angle, it looked like she was holding up the house.

•   •   •

Fina drove from Swampscott back to the city, with a quick stop in Revere at Kelly’s Roast Beef. Juliana’s shake had left her on the full side, but thoroughly unsatisfied; nothing that some fried clams and French fries wouldn’t cure. She sat in her car with the windows rolled down and watched the parade of humanity that meandered by. There were sunbathers of every age and shape enjoying the last gasp of summer. Small children fed the seagulls that loitered beneath one of the gazebos, much to the dismay of a group of old women gabbing on a bench. Teenage boys leered at girls in string bikinis who seemed to welcome the attention.

Fina dipped a clam in tartar sauce and pondered Hank and Juliana Reardon. Was their divorce really that amicable or was Juliana a terrific actress? Fina knew that she had experienced a spiritual awakening of sorts from her travels and charity work, but it was unusual for people to
walk away from money. And it was especially unusual for first wives of wildly successful men to do so. Corporate wives often got little credit for the years of work they put in to further their husbands’ careers. When the marriages fell apart, they wanted to be compensated for the time and effort they could never get back; they didn’t want their generally younger replacements to reap all that they had sown. But maybe Juliana Reardon really was different. She had her causes, and there was no question that she led a full life. She wasn’t sitting around pining for Hank and the way things used to be.