Identity (31 page)

“Wow. That was an emotional moment,” Fina commented.

“I’m going to take off,” Milloy said, rising from the couch.

“You don’t have to,” Fina said. Cristian was silent.

“Nah. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” Once Milloy had pulled the door closed behind him, Cristian took his spot on the couch.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked.

“Kind of.”

“Are you two an item?”

“What decade are you from? Next you’re going to ask if he’s pinned me, and I don’t mean sexually.”

“I’m just curious.”

“Are
we
an item?” She pointed at him. “Probably not, since you’re dating.”

Cristian squirmed on the sofa.

“Exactly.” Fina sat down next to him.

“You told me to get a hobby and stop obsessing about Marissa,” Cristian said.

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Anyway, I assume you aren’t here to talk about your feelings or the speech pathologist. What’s up?”

“I had a visit from Michael Reardon this afternoon. He told me about a fight he had with Hank a few days before his death.”

“Did he, now?”

“He said that you told him to come clean.”

Fina smiled at him. “I did. Is Pitney going to give me brownie points for that?”

“I told her that you had encouraged Michael to be in touch.”

“And I bet she said, ‘That’s what she should have told him.’”

“Something like that.”

Fina looked at Cristian. He was handsome in a completely different way from Milloy, but appealing nonetheless. Variety really was the spice of life.

“I think Pitney holds me to a higher standard than she does most people.”

“Actually”—Cristian scratched his five o’clock shadow—“she pretty much expects everyone to obey the law.”

“It’s a little dramatic to suggest that Michael was breaking the law by keeping quiet.”

“Ever heard of obstruction?”

“Practically every day of my life. It’s your favorite topic; Pitney’s, too.”

“Any other updates I can pass along?” Cristian asked.

Fina pulled her feet up onto the couch. “Not really. I’ve just been talking to people, but there haven’t been any smoking guns. Any thoughts on the murder weapon?”

Cristian shook his head.

She grinned at him. “Liar. You know who was bugging me today? Dan Rubin.”

“The reporter? I thought he was in rehab.”

“He was, but he’s back.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know. Yet another person who wants me to do his job for him?” She grinned at Cristian, who looked annoyed. “I’m kidding. I know you work hard.”

Cristian leaned forward and took her chin in his hand. He studied her face. “It’s looking better.”

“The plastic surgeon assures me I’ll make a full recovery.”

“You’re the only woman I know who has regular fistfights and consults a plastic surgeon afterward.”

“I’m one of a kind, Cristian.” She looked into his eyes. For a moment, they teetered on the precipice.

“I’ve gotta go,” Cristian said suddenly, and stood up.

“It’s early. What’s the rush?”

“I’m taking Matteo to preschool in the morning, and I need to be sharp.”

“The next time you have him, you guys should come to the club. Enjoy the last gasp of summer.”

“And be mistaken for the help?”

Fina followed him to the door. “As if they hire Hispanics.”

Cristian rolled his eyes. “Bring him to a place where he’s an outcast?”

“I know, it’s not ideal, but I bet he’d have fun. He’d be like a tiny little Rosa Parks.”

“You’re appalling.”

“We could hang out with Scotty’s boys. They’d take good care of him.”

“I’ll think about it.” He turned to her at the door. “Let me know if anything comes up with the case.”

“Of course. Don’t forget, I sent Michael Reardon your way.”

“You won’t let me forget.”

“At least not until my next good deed.”

Cristian left, and Fina wandered into the kitchen and rooted through the cabinets. She found a Swiss chocolate bar and took it back to the couch, where she sat watching TV and sucking on the rich squares. It was a poor substitute for Milloy’s magic hands and Cristian’s dreamy eyes, but it would have to do.

Juliana put the phone on speaker and climbed onto her training bicycle in the bedroom she’d remade into an exercise studio. Short of a swimming pool, the room had everything Juliana needed to train: a bike, a treadmill, free weights, and a weight-lifting station. She preferred to do all her training outside in real-world conditions, but sometimes she fit in an extra session while doing other things, liking being on hold.

She was waiting to talk to Edith Steagen, her fellow board member and key ally. Edith was an attorney by trade, but had made a name for herself bringing her father’s medical equipment company into the twenty-first century. Edith was also in her late fifties, and the mother of two daughters. Unlike Juliana’s, her marriage had remained intact.

“Edith Steagen.” The voice materialized out of the ether.

“It’s Juliana, Edith. How are you?” Juliana downshifted her bike and reached for her phone on a nearby shelf.

“I’m fine. How was the funeral?”

Juliana took the phone off speaker and used her other hand to wipe her brow with a towel. She didn’t stop pedaling. “What have you heard?”

“That you were ill-behaved.”

“Well, I wasn’t. Maybe you could get that word out.”

“No, thank you, my dear. I only heard because Susan Wickens cornered me at the institute cocktail party last night. You know I’m not interested in gossip.”

“Danielle thinks I was ‘ill-behaved’ because I was in attendance. But for goodness’ sakes, Hank was my husband a lot longer than she had him, and I wanted to be supportive of Michael.”

“How is he?” Edith asked.

“How should I know? I’m only his mother.”

Edith chuckled on the other end. “I assume you’re calling about center business?” Edith had been an early supporter of the Reardon Center, and her financial contributions and business acumen were tremendous assets to the board. Juliana knew that Edith’s support was critical to the success of any initiatives she might propose.

“Yes, I wanted to convene a committee regarding the expansion into Forty-four Oak Street.” Forty-four Oak Street was the house next door to the center that had recently come on the market.

“Fine, let’s do it at the next board meeting.”

“I don’t think we should wait. I’ve spoken to the agent representing the sellers, and there’s a lot of interest.”

Edith paused. “Juliana, this seems rather impulsive.”

“We’ve always said that if the possibility for expansion presented itself, we would be interested.”

“Of course, but you can’t just jump into something.”

“That’s exactly what we need to do. It could be the difference between getting Forty-four Oak Street and losing it.”

“And how will we be financing this purchase?”

Juliana changed gears on the bike. “Various sources. We have money in the endowment, and we can get a good interest rate. I also hoped that you might consider giving a bit more this year; I’m planning to make a sizable contribution—more than double last year’s.”

Edith made a sound as if she were sipping something. “Does this have something to do with Hank’s death?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, will his estate continue to provide for the center in a meaningful way?”

“Of course, but that’s always been the case.”

“Oh.”

Juliana stopped pedaling. “What is it, Edith?”

“Nothing, really. I’d just heard that Hank was going to pull back in his support of the center.”

“The Reardon Center? The place that bears his name? That is a philanthropic beacon in the city?”

“Okay, okay. I’d heard that Danielle has some cause she wants to support. That’s all.”

“For someone who doesn’t like to gossip, you seem to have heard a lot.”

“Juliana, I’m just trying to do what’s best for the center.”

“As am I, obviously, and I think expansion is what’s best. Think of all the people we’d be able to serve in the additional space.”

“I don’t disagree with the concept; I just want to make sure there are no problems with the execution.”

“As do I, and I appreciate your being forthright, Edith. I rely on your frankness.”

Edith laughed. “If you say so.”

“So would you think about a committee? We could e-mail everyone and see who’s interested.”

“Fine. Why don’t you send something out, and I’ll make some calls in the meantime.”

“Wonderful. I’ll do it right after my swim.”

“In the ocean?”

“Of course in the ocean. That’s where triathlons take place. If King’s Beach isn’t too stinky, I’m going to head in that direction.” The large sandy beach just south of Juliana’s house was lovely but plagued by red tide, which often prompted drivers to roll up their windows even on the nicest day.

“Isn’t it freezing?” Edith asked.

“I wear a wetsuit.”

“That sounds miserable. Enjoy and be safe.”

“I will be. I don’t want to make my child an orphan.”

They ended the call, and Juliana hopped off the bike and walked to the windows overlooking the beach.

She would definitely be careful. This was the start of something big.

•   •   •

Fina wasn’t getting any traction with the mystery numbers from Hank’s call log, so she decided to just bite the bullet and make the calls. She blocked her number and dialed the first mystery entry. It was an inn in Newport, Rhode Island. The second number had been disconnected, but the third was picked up by voice mail.

“Leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.” The speaker didn’t identify himself, but the voice was familiar. Fina called it again and stared out at the water. She struggled to pull a name from the recesses of her brain, but came up empty. Focusing on something else usually helped her subconscious loosen up, allowing the information to float to the surface. In order for that to happen, she needed to switch gears completely.

She dialed the Crystal nightclub and tricked a bartender into revealing a home address for Dante, and fifteen minutes later she pulled into a lot near Downtown Crossing. Fina looked around before exiting her car. She could have walked from her place, but her recent run-in had made her more cautious. In her car, she could lock the doors and exercise some control over her environment; on the street, she was a walking target.

Fina pulled out her phone and punched in a number.

“The Waterstone Building, how may I help you?”

“I’ve got a delivery for Dante Trimonti in unit 802, but my guy says he tried to deliver it and it’s the wrong unit. Sometimes he flips his numbers, so I thought it might be 208, but I don’t want to send someone out there if I don’t even have the right building.”

“Hold on a second.” Fina studied her cuticles as she waited. “You’ve got the right building, but they were wrong about the unit. He’s in 1103.”

“Christ! How hard is it to get an apartment number right? You’re a lifesaver.”

“Happy to help.”

Fina retrieved a reusable shopping bag from her trunk and filled it with some clothing items she kept on hand, topped off with a package of toilet paper. Nobody questioned your motives when you were carrying toilet paper.

She walked over to the front door of the Waterstone and made a fuss rummaging through her bag. In less than two minutes, some poor sap took pity on her and held the door open behind him. Fina strode to the elevators, flashing a bright smile at the man behind the desk, and dove into some chitchat with her unknowing accomplice. Clearly, she was a tenant. Who else would walk in so brazenly with a bag of groceries?

Her new friend got off on the sixth floor, and Fina continued on to eleven. Loud music emanated from 1103. Fina stood to the side so she wasn’t visible through the peephole and knocked on the door. After a moment, she banged on the door.

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Who is it?”

“Golden Pagoda!”

“I think you’ve—” The door opened. “Oh, hell no!” Dante exclaimed when he caught sight of Fina.

“You aren’t happy to see me?” she asked, wedging her foot in the door.

“I’m never happy to see you.”

“Let me in, Dante. I come in peace.” She tried to look doleful.

“Do you have a gun on you?”

“Always, but I promise not to use it.”

He stepped back from the door and walked into the apartment. Dante Trimonti was in his early twenties, handsome, but sleazy. His
hair was slicked back and his skin was golden. He was wearing a tight T-shirt and well-fitted jeans, both of which showcased his impressive body.

Fina followed him past an open kitchen/living room area that had a view over the Common. He picked up a remote, and the throbbing bass line receded in the background.

“Very nice view,” Fina said, gazing out over the park below. “Now, this is what I was talking about.” Fina punched him lightly on the arm, which was solid. “Oww. That’s like brick.”

Dante flexed his arm and nodded at her. “Feel it.”

Fina squeezed. “Very impressive, and so is the apartment.” When they’d met earlier in the summer, Dante’s surroundings hadn’t positively reflected his career aspirations. He was gaining traction in Boston’s criminal world but lived in a dumpy three-family in Allston. “You took my advice: Live and dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”