Brutality (37 page)

“I’m a private investigator who’s in a very bad mood, so move along, young man.”

He sneered at her, but didn’t approach.

“And don’t blame Jill for my little outburst,” Fina added. “She doesn’t even know who I am.”

He left the office, and Fina turned her attention back to the alumni magazine on her lap. She could feel Jill staring at her.

“That was crazy,” the young woman said finally.

Fina met her gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interfered.”

“No.” Jill looked around. “It was crazy good. I hate that guy. He’s a douche.”

Fina shrugged. “I can be a bit heavy-handed, but you know, Jill, you’re allowed to tell someone to back off. You can even do it politely, although that takes the fun out of it, in my opinion.”

Jill shook her head and fiddled with some papers on the desk. “I get sick of being blamed for everything. She’s mad I put it on her calendar. They’re mad I took it off. These weren’t my decisions!” she said more to herself than Fina.

“Pamela doesn’t like giving speeches?” Fina asked.

“Nope. Most of these people love hearing their voices projected across a banquet hall,” she fumed. “Do you want some water while you wait?” she asked Fina, rising from her desk.

“Yes, please.”

Jill left and returned with a cold bottle of water.

Pamela strode into the office ten minutes later. Her color was high, and her hair looked out of place. She was wearing a skirt suit similar to the others Fina had seen her in. It was charcoal gray and tight around her middle.

“What’s going on?” Pamela asked her.

“Why don’t we speak in your office?” Fina suggested. Pamela was lucky that Darryl had crossed her path. Confronting him had taken the edge off Fina’s anger.

Pamela closed the door behind Fina before taking a seat behind her desk. “I’m very busy, Fina.”

“So am I. I just got a call from Bobbi Barone. She was extremely upset.”

“I don’t think we should be discussing the lawsuit without counsel present,” Pamela said, picking up a pen and rolling it between her fingers.

“This isn’t going to be a discussion. You have got to take Liz Barone off your mailing list.”

Pamela put the pen back down. “We did take her off.”

“No, you didn’t. Her mother just found a letter sent after Liz died.”

Pamela laced her fingers together, kneading them gently. “I’m very sorry, but it’s just an administrative error. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Fina sat down in the chair in front of the desk. “Do you really not understand why this is so upsetting to Bobbi Barone?”

Pamela looked at her before her gaze skipped to the window. “Of course I understand. I’m not heartless.”

“Then fix it.”

“I really thought I had, Fina.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you didn’t, so do it now.”

Pamela looked tired. “I suppose you’re going to leak it to the press: ‘Cold NEU hounds grief-stricken mother.’”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that,” Fina said, starting toward the door. “I had a chat yesterday with your friend Kevin Lafferty.”

Pamela’s hands stilled on her blotter. “I wouldn’t characterize us as friends.”

“Acquaintances, colleagues, whatever. I didn’t realize how many ties he has to this case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s his connection to the NEU athletic program, and he’d seen Liz in recent months—not that he admitted that, but I found out. His company was one of the sponsors of a grant that Liz’s lab didn’t get, and then there are the chemicals.”

Pamela squinted. “What chemicals?”

“Someone tried to blow up my car with a device that uses lithium metal, which Barnes Kaufcan has in their labs. It totaled the car.”

Pamela’s face relaxed. “I’m sure there are numerous places to acquire that chemical or metal, whichever it is. That’s the problem with homemade devices. Anyone can make them at home.”

“And yet,” Fina said, “most people aren’t cooking up IEDs in their kitchens.”

Pamela shook her head. “I have little contact with Kevin, so I don’t see how I can help.”

“Right,” Fina said. “Please don’t make me come back here about another fund-raising letter.”

“You made your point.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Fina left and returned to her car.

Pamela had made an interesting point. Lots of people had access to lithium metal and could cook up some trouble at home. Maybe even she did.

—

F
ina picked up Risa and they headed to Kittery. They chitchatted at first, but as the miles and minutes ticked by, they fell into a companionable silence. Risa was undoubtedly thinking about her aunt, and Fina mulled over the morning’s conversations.

The farther north they traveled, the more snow blanketed the landscape. Unlike the drifts in the city, most of the snow at the side of the highway was white and pristine, throwing off an intense glare in the sunlight.

The Popover Place was just off the exit for the outlet mall, the parking lot practically full. As Fina maneuvered into a space, Risa pulled down the visor and flipped open the mirror. She applied a fresh coat of lipstick and examined her face. She futzed with her hair before snapping the mirror closed and pushing the visor back into place.

“Ready?” Fina asked.

“No, but let’s go.”

The restaurant had a small entryway that was divided from the rest of the space by rows of wooden spindles. The young woman who greeted them was wearing a brown dress with a white apron, her hair tucked into a fabric bonnet. The getup fell somewhere between Florence Nightingale and Goody Proctor of Salem witch trial infamy.

Greta was already seated at a booth next to the window overlooking one of the busy thoroughfares leading to the mall. She looked healthier than she had when Fina met her a few months earlier. Her skin was less jaundiced and less puffy, and her eyes looked brighter.

When she caught sight of them, Greta squirmed out of the booth and moved as if to hug Risa. Panic washed over Risa’s face, and she offered Greta her hand. The weak handshake communicated Greta’s displeasure.

“I ordered some coffee,” Greta said once Fina and Risa were seated across from her.

“I wonder if the popovers are any good?” Fina mused.

“They’re excellent,” Greta said.

Risa glanced at the menu before squaring it with the edge of the table. Fina nodded to the waitress, who had just delivered two large stacks of pancakes to the table across the aisle.

“Risa, go ahead,” Fina urged as the waitress stood poised with her order book and pen.

“I’m not that hungry. Just coffee, please.”

Greta shook her head when it was her turn, but Fina wasn’t suffering from the same anxiety-fueled loss of appetite.

“Could I please have a hot chocolate, and how about some popovers for the table? You two might change your minds,” Fina said.

Once the waitress left, a thick silence claimed the table. Greta looked at Risa while Risa studied her manicure. Fina took a sip of water and cleared her throat before speaking.

“Thanks for meeting with us, Greta. You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m on dialysis now. I have more energy.”

“That’s great,” Fina said.

“You look wonderful, Risa,” Greta said, gazing at her niece. “You look like Elizabeth did when she was your age.”

“Do I?” Risa asked. “I’ve always wondered if I look like my birth mother.” Fina sensed the chill under the words, but Greta didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s why we wanted to meet,” Fina said. “Risa would like to hear more about her mother and her birth father, if you have any information about him.”

The waitress brought a coffeepot to the table and topped off Greta’s cup before filling Risa’s. Her other hand gripped a mug brimming with hot chocolate and whipped cream, which she set down in front of Fina.

Greta added some creamer to her coffee and stirred it slowly. “Elizabeth never told me who the father was, which means she didn’t tell anyone. If she wanted to talk about it, I’m the one she would have told. We were best friends.”

“Rockford is a small town, though,” Fina said. “I can’t imagine there were too many candidates.”

“I had my suspicions,” Greta conceded, “but that’s all they were.”

“I’d still like to hear them,” Risa said, looking at Greta over her raised mug.

Greta shrugged. “If it’s important.”

“It’s important,” Risa said, shooting Fina a look.

Greta spent ten minutes describing the two men—boys, at the time—who she suspected might be Risa’s biological father. They sounded like average American boys from the northeast who liked being outdoors, playing sports, and going to the movies. Fina took notes while Greta spoke, in case Risa wanted her to track down either of the men. Greta might not have known the identity of Risa’s father, but that didn’t mean that
he
didn’t know he was the father.

“I don’t think you should bother those men, Fina,” Greta said, glancing at the notebook.

“No need to worry, Greta. I’ll be discreet.”

Greta frowned, but didn’t argue.

A steaming basket of popovers—each the size of a softball—was dropped off at the table by a different waitress. Fina pulled aside the napkin in which they were wrapped and let more steam escape. After a moment, she dropped one onto her plate and reached for a pat of butter.

“I understand why Elizabeth went through with the pregnancy, but did she ever consider keeping me?” Risa asked.

Greta’s hand went to her head, her fingertips grazing her gray curls. “Well, no. Our father wouldn’t have allowed it.”

“Ah,” Risa said. She grasped her coffee cup and raised it to her lips.

“Because he didn’t approve?” Fina asked.

“Of course,” Greta said. “It wasn’t respectable to have a baby out of wedlock. It wasn’t like today, when young girls have babies left and right.”

Fina fought the urge to roll her eyes. Everything was better in the good old days.

“But when did your father—my grandfather—die?” Risa asked.

“When we were in our forties,” Greta said.

Fina pulled open the popover and spread a generous chunk of butter into it, then tore off a piece and put it in her mouth.

“So he died more than twenty years ago?” Risa asked, doing the math.

“Yes.”

“But why didn’t Elizabeth try to contact me after he died?”

Greta sipped her coffee. “Well, she had a child by that time. A son.”

Fina cringed inwardly. Fina wanted to give Greta the benefit of the doubt, but man, was it hard. Greta’s sensitivity meter—if she had one—always seemed to be on the fritz.

“Actually, she had two children at that point,” Risa said.

“Well, you know what I mean,” Greta said.

“So he was my replacement?” Risa asked.

Fina had another bite of popover. Greta looked flummoxed. Risa was asking her tough questions, but they were fair questions.

“No, he wasn’t a replacement,” Greta insisted, “but she had to take care of him. She was busy with him.”

“Did she marry his father?” Fina asked.

“Yes, they were together for thirty-three years before William died.”

“And when did her son die?” Fina asked, drinking from her mug.

Greta swallowed and stared into her coffee cup. “When he was nineteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Fina said. “That must have been very difficult.”

“It was,” Greta said, dabbing at her eyes with her paper napkin.

Risa sat back in the booth. Fina could see a faint tremor in Risa’s hands, which she slipped into her lap.

“Elizabeth’s son predeceased her by how many years?” Fina asked. Until Risa gave her a sign to back off, she’d forge ahead.

“Twenty-two, no, twenty-three years,” Greta said. “I think that’s right.”

“More coffee?” The waitress appeared at the table. Risa put her hand over her mug, but Greta pushed hers forward.

“I know you’re curious about your mother,” Greta said after the waitress had left, “but I’m not sure how all this information is helpful.”

Risa looked at Fina, who tilted her head in question. Risa gave the tiniest nod.

“Greta,” Fina said, “did your sister ever make any effort to find Risa?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“All those years—especially after her son died—she never expressed an interest in finding her firstborn?”

“She didn’t to me,” Greta said, “but that doesn’t mean she didn’t
ever
.”

“But you said you were best friends,” Fina reminded her. “Who else would she have discussed it with?”

“I don’t know. This was all a long time ago.”

Fina frowned. “But it wasn’t really. Your sister died eleven months ago. She had forty-five years to reach out to Risa, and she didn’t.”

“But that’s not my fault!” Greta said. “That was her decision.”

“Absolutely,” Fina said, pulling off more popover. “But did
you
ever broach the subject with your sister or do some searching of your own?”

Greta pulled her cardigan sweater tight across her chest. The top two buttons were undone, and she struggled to do them up. “Not really, but you have to understand, it was a different time.”

“I know it was different forty-five years ago,” Fina said, “but it wasn’t so different one year ago.”

Greta shook her head. “She didn’t want to be reminded of it. Elizabeth didn’t want to talk about it, so we didn’t.”

“She wanted to forget about it,” Risa said quietly, “about me. That’s what you’re really saying.”

Fina reached down and squeezed Risa’s knee. For once, Greta was quiet.

They sat for a moment in silence. Fina stirred the lumped chocolate from the bottom of her mug into the remaining liquid.

“If you didn’t need a kidney,” Risa asked suddenly, “would you have found me?”

Greta’s eyes widened. “I . . . Of course I would have.”

“But you never tried to before,” Risa insisted.

“Because Elizabeth was alive and didn’t want me to, but I always planned to find you.”

Fina studied Greta’s face. It was hard to read, but if Fina had to wager a guess, she’d guess that Greta was lying. She might have even been lying to herself, but Fina found it hard to believe she would have reached out to Risa if her health were good. In Fina’s experience, people did amazingly hard things when they were spurred on by a deep-seated drive. Some projects—like finding one’s birth parents or single parenthood—were only undertaken with a strong dose of commitment and fortitude. Fina didn’t think Greta possessed either quality in any great quantity.