Loyalty (15 page)

Fina followed the slate path that wended its way around the side of the house and climbed the stairs to the front yard.

Some days, being an orphan had great appeal.

Normally, Fina didn’t succumb to the pressures of a case. She was methodical, thought out every move, and made careful decisions, but Melanie’s case was different. The family connection was fraying her nerves, and she found her thoughts ping-ponging around from one lead to another. She needed to regroup and make a plan.

She hadn’t had a real meal in hours, so she pulled off Route 9 and into Kelly’s parking lot. Inside, the excessive air-conditioning and garishly painted walls created an alternate reality. No matter what was going on outside, it was cool and cheerful inside.

Fina gave her order to the ponytailed teenager behind the counter and dropped into a booth to wait. She retrieved her food when her name was called and then sat back down and worked her way through a lobster roll, French fries, a side of fried clams, and a diet soda. It was enough fat and calories to sustain a sports team, but when she looked down at the collection of balled-up napkins on her plate, she felt calmer than she had in days.

Now.

A plan.

She couldn’t wait around for Hal to do more digging on Mode Accessories. She’d have to do some digging of her own, and in order to do that, she had to be someone other than Fina Ludlow.

In her car in the parking lot, she fired up her laptop and fashioned a phony business card. She drove to a nearby copy shop, printed twenty copies of the card on fancy stock, and bought a leather folio. She called her computer go-to guy, who promised he’d post a corporate website place setter within the hour, and she rerecorded the message on her second phone to reflect her new job.

The trunk of her car yielded a black pantsuit in a no-wrinkle fabric, and a stop at Nordstrom Rack netted a silk blouse, some heels, and a high-end purse that was considerably discounted. It was the sort of thing Fina would never carry, with lots of buckles and snaps and chains, but she’d seen plenty of women around town weighted down with similar hardware. Haley would probably love it. Fina ducked into a restroom in the store, put on the suit and her purchases, and smoothed the flyaways that had escaped from her bun. Then she climbed into her car for the drive to Mode Accessories.

Fina sat for ten minutes and watched the front door. No one entered or exited. She pulled down her visor mirror and checked her face. Her bruises were creeping from one end of the spectrum to the other—purple to blue to yellow. Fina sighed. Disfigurement might actually work to her advantage; she looked pretty pitiful. She checked her wallet and made sure the business cards were nestled next to the fake driver’s license confirming her identity as Amy Myers. One deep breath and she was in the bright sunshine, striding across the parking lot.

A plain woman—middle-aged and lumpy—manned the reception desk. The choice of receptionist said a lot about any business and generally confirmed Fina’s theory that workplace discrimination was alive and well. Ludlow and Associates certainly subscribed to the practice, and this woman would never have made the cut; she was too homely.

“Hello. I’m wondering if you could help me,” Fina said brightly, and smiled widely. “I’m interested in speaking with whoever’s in charge.”

The woman looked up from her computer screen and grimaced at Fina’s bruises. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” Fina tried to look pained. “Is that a problem? I wanted to speak with the manager about some potential business.”

The receptionist’s e-mail dinged, and she turned her attention to the screen. “You want Donald. Hold on. I’ll see if he’s available.”

“Of course.”

Fina waited while the woman clicked the mouse a few times and launched a video. She laughed at her screen—it was probably a cat rodeo or something equally inane—and after a minute she pushed back her chair and walked around the partition. Her backside was enveloped in tight black pants that did nothing to conceal the cottage cheese quality of her butt.

Fina dropped the smile. It was exhausting being nice.

The new shoes were digging into the sides of her feet, and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She didn’t understand how or why women wore high heels all the time. Men would never put up with that shit.

After a moment, the receptionist returned to the front desk with a man in tow.

“I’m Donald Seymour. How can I help?” He extended his hand, and Fina shook with her right hand and held her left hand up in surrender.

“Please excuse my appearance. Car accident.” She pouted slightly.

“Must have been a doozy,” Donald said. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about your business, but I’m wondering . . .” She glanced at the receptionist, who had plopped back down into her seat. “. . . if we could talk privately.”

“Of course, Miss . . .”

“Myers. Amy Myers.”

Fina followed Donald through the office area, which held four standard-looking desks. Two equally nondescript women were working on computers, their desks crowded with piles of paper. Donald pushed open a door, which led to a small break room. He gestured for Fina to sit at the table that was wedged into the space.

“Can I get you some coffee or tea?” he asked, and swept some straws and sugar packets off the table and into the trash. Donald was probably in his forties, with brown hair and a mole on his right cheek. His teeth were straight, but slightly yellowed. He was wearing a tan polyester golf shirt and a brown pair of pants that were made from mixed fibers. His belt sat on his rather thick waist like an inflatable inner tube.

“I would love some water. This heat is killing me.”

“I hear ya, but we shouldn’t complain; it will be snowing before you know it.” He put a cup of water down in front of her.

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” Fina said. “I should bite my tongue.”

Donald poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker on the counter and took the seat next to her. Their knees were practically touching, but Donald didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed quite willing to overlook Fina’s battered appearance in exchange for physical proximity to her.

“So how can I help you today, Miss Myers?”

“Call me Amy, please.” Fina took a sip of water. “I work in the retail industry, and I have a client who is very interested in your business.”

“Really. Who’s the client?”

“Actually, I’m not at liberty to say, but I can tell you that it’s a small but prestigious entity in the hospitality arena. Their customers are willing to spend a great deal of money on the right goods, and my client is looking for a new supplier.”

“How did you hear about Mode Accessories?”

“Are you familiar with John Smithson at Hagen International? You know, the parent company of Handbags Plus?”

Donald looked blank.

“I could have sworn he told me to contact Mode Accessories.” Fina put on her best perplexed look. “I hope I didn’t make a mistake. Let me check that I’m at the right place.” She made a motion to reach into her purse.

Donald’s eyes darted around the room. “No, no. I know John Smithson,” he insisted, putting a hand on Fina’s bag. “Sorry, I don’t know where my head is.” Bluffing Donald Seymour was child’s play.

Fina dismissed his apology with a wave. “I forget things all the time.” She leaned toward Donald. “I just wouldn’t want to annoy John by contacting the wrong supplier. It’s an important contract.”

“No worries about that. You’re in the right place.”

Fina continued with her pitch, practically convincing herself that she represented a high-end cruise line that wanted purses for its onboard shops. She finished and sat back in her chair. She smiled at Donald and sipped her water.

“Why don’t I tell you about our business?” Donald offered.

“That would be terrific.”

So Donald talked for fifteen minutes about clutches and satchels and hobo bags. Leather and pleather and vinyl. Fina worked hard to stay focused, but worried that the combination of her meal and the conversation might send her into a deep food coma. She asked questions and took notes so as to stay awake and appear the interested potential client. Donald seemed satisfied by her performance.

“That’s very helpful,” Fina said. She pulled on the hem of her jacket. “I’m just wondering, is this an American-owned business?”

“Yes, ma’am. Stars and stripes all the way.” Donald grinned at her.

“It’s not that I or my bosses have anything against foreign companies, but we’ve had some bad experiences in the past. You know—sweatshops, that sort of thing.”

“Well, I can’t speak for our third-party suppliers, but I can assure you that Mode Accessories is owned by a born-and-bred American. Same as the parent company.”

“Would it be possible to meet the owner? Just due diligence, you know how it is.”

Donald squirmed in his seat and looked toward the bulletin board on the wall. Heimlich maneuver instructions were tacked to it—as if anyone had the time to read a poster when someone was choking. “I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. With travel schedules and such.”

“Oh.” Fina turned her smile upside down. “That’s a shame. I’ll have to talk to my client about that.”

“I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I’ll have to make some calls.”

“I would really appreciate that,” Fina said, and she started to push back from the table. “Is this your whole operation? It seems small for what you’ve described.”

“We have another office, but we don’t need much space.”

Fina tried to look through the swinging door that led away from the front office. Donald beckoned her through the other door. “Do you have a card, Amy?”

“Of course.” Fina pulled out her wallet. She took her time pulling a card out from the clear-paned slot next to Amy Myers’s license. “I hope we can work something out.”

“I’m sure we can.” Donald pocketed her card and followed her to the door. “Stay cool.”

“You, too, Donald. Think snow!”

Fina pushed open the door and was hit by a wave of heat. She got back in her car and waved at Donald as she drove away. Half a mile down the road, she pulled into a mattress store parking lot where she stripped off Amy Myers and stuffed her into a shopping bag.

“How are you holding up?” Milloy asked Fina after she slid into a booth at Romy’s Pizza.

“Eh. I’m okay.”

Milloy had a Greek salad in front of him and was sipping a sparkling water. Fina reached over and took one of the large olives that glistened with oil and bits of feta.

“You can order something,” Milloy told her.

“I don’t want anything, other than your olive.” She popped it in her mouth and savored the meatiness of it. She cleaned it to the pit, which she deposited on a napkin pulled from the silver tabletop dispenser.

The waiter brought her a glass of water, and she took a sip and looked around. A few of the other booths were occupied. Some teenage boys were digging into a large pepperoni pizza, and a couple of Newton cops were eating subs. “Why do you like this place so much?” she asked Milloy.

He chewed on a mouthful of lettuce. “Cheap, fast, and fresh.”

“Ahh. The way you like your women.”

Milloy raised an eyebrow and bit into a pepperoncini. The TV hanging in the corner took a break from the Red Sox game and a local update came on. The volume was low, but Fina recognized the area near the airport where the body had been found.

“I wish a celebrity would die or a politician would screw up,” Fina mused. “Something.”

Milloy craned his neck and watched the screen. “They’ll grow tired of it soon.”

“Not soon enough. So I did a little recon at Mode Accessories this afternoon.”

“How’d that go?”

“I didn’t get anything definitive, but I made a pitch and have put in my request to meet the owner.”

“Did you figure out why Melanie contacted them?”

“No, but it’s definitely a front for something. I thought maybe if I could get a name, then I could have Hal attack it from that angle.”

“How’d you leave it?” Milloy asked.

“The delightful Donald Seymour is going to be in touch with Amy Myers.”

“Good old Amy. Was she perky?”

“Always. However, I don’t think Amy would ever look like she went a few rounds with Muhammad Ali.” Fina pointed at her face.

“Yeah, the cops checked you out when you came in.”

“Really?” Fina looked in their direction and smiled. “They probably think you beat me.”

“Little do they know, you’re the dangerous one.” Milloy neatly laid his knife and fork across his plate. “So, any news from the family?”

“That reminds me. Hold on.” Fina pulled out her phone and checked her messages. “One sec.”

She dialed and waited as Rand’s voice mail kicked in. “Hi, Rand,” she said after the beep. “It’s your sister. I’m still waiting for those details we discussed. Call me.”

“What details?” Milloy asked after she’d hung up.

Fina pressed the paper wrapper from her straw onto the tabletop. “Turns out that Rand has been getting some paid action on the side.”

Milloy shook his head. “Not smart. Was he busted?”

“He was, but Carl made it go away.”

“You think it has something to do with Melanie?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a good place to look. And Haley seems to have befriended a hooker.”

“Kids today.”

“I know, really. If someone were to describe my family to me—if they weren’t my family, of course—I’d never believe it. How many ways can you go off the rails?”

“Many, apparently.”

Fina began pleating the wrapper, making it into a paper inchworm. “If I get the info I need from Rand, I’ll need you to set up a date.”

“With a hooker.”

“An escort, and you don’t need to actually sleep with her. I just want access.”

“Of course you do.”

Fina took a long drink. The cops were getting up from their table, adjusting their belts and holsters as they stood.

“Do you want to join me at Crystal?” Fina asked.

“Weren’t you just there?”

“Yeah, but the people I was looking for weren’t.”

“What do you think you’re going to get out of these people?”

“I have no idea, but I’m kind of running out of options here. I don’t have many leads, so I need to work the ones I have.”

“That’s fine. I’ll go.”

“Thank you, and can you come to the funeral with me? It will keep my mother off my back.”

Milloy had an equally hypnotizing effect on men and women of all ages. Elaine got giddy around him, and even Carl showed him a grudging respect. Fina chalked this up to the way Milloy carried himself; he didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought, and his extreme self-confidence—not arrogance—was intoxicating.

“In the course of this conversation, you’ve asked me to make a date with a hooker—for conversation, not sex—accompany you to a nightclub to interview some punk-ass pimp, and be your date at your sister-in-law’s funeral. Is that everything?”

“I think so. And you love our quality time together, so stop your bitching.” Fina reached into her bag and put a ten on the table. “My treat. Pick me up around eleven
P.M.
?”

Milloy gave a little wave, and Fina pushed through the front door and stepped onto the sidewalk. A guy on a skateboard sped by her, close enough that he stirred up a slight breeze. Fina pegged him to be at least twenty-five years old. She was all for bucking convention, but there was something ridiculous about a grown man using a skateboard for transportation.

Back at Nanny’s, Fina checked her messages again and wondered how much time she would give Rand before tattling to Carl. The way to get anyone to do anything was to get Carl to make it so. This was part of the Ludlow dance. Fina knew it was unhealthy and maybe even pathological, but it didn’t seem like the time to alter her steps.

A cold beer and a lukewarm bath, with a couple of Advil, promised some relief from her nagging discomfort. She soaked for almost an hour, lying back in the tub, submerged up to her ears, only her face breaking the surface. She’d pulled off the gauze before getting in, and after a few minutes of stinging and throbbing, her hand adjusted to the water. The bath may have relaxed her body, but it did little for her brain. She kept thinking about Melanie.

When she was pruny, Fina got out, toweled off, and retrieved her phone from the coffee table in the living room. The envelope icon indicated a message, and she stood naked on the rug as she listened. Rand had left a message with the phone number for the service he used. She scribbled it on a receipt and then went back into her bedroom. Fina lay down on the bed and set her alarm for a couple hours. She’d need her beauty sleep to face the meat market that was Crystal.

Milloy drove up a few minutes after eleven, and Fina hopped in the passenger seat. All the windows were rolled down and the moonroof was open. A warm breeze offered a brief respite from the heat when the car moved. Fina asked Milloy to pull over at a convenience store, and she went in and bought two throwaway cell phones from the Korean man behind the counter. She handed one to Milloy when she got back in the car.

“So don’t make a date, just get some general information.” She pulled the phone number for the escort service out of her bag.

“We’re doing this now?” Milloy asked.

“Why not?”

“Fine. What information do you want?”

“How it works, how much, locations, and if they take requests.”

“What am I requesting?”

“Nothing, tonight, but if you got a name from a buddy, for example, could they set you up with the same girl?”

Milloy took the scrap of paper from Fina and dialed the number. She leaned over into his seat and pulled the phone closer to her ear.

“Do you mind?” Milloy asked.

“Nope.”

After two rings, a woman answered. “Hello?”

“Hi there. I got your name from a friend.”

“Is this your first time calling, sir?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Well, I don’t know how much your friend has told you, but we are the most prestigious firm in the city, hence our name, Prestige. Our girls do this to complement their other endeavors.” Fina scoffed, and Milloy slapped her lightly on the knee. “The rest of the time they are working in professional careers or studying for a degree.”

“A degree in blowjobs,” Fina whispered. Milloy glared at her.

“Our girls see only one gentleman per evening,” the woman continued. Her voice was melodious and reassuring.

“That sounds good. I’ve never done this before.”

Fina grabbed the phone and hit the mute button. “Oh my God! You sound like a twelve-year-old or a
Penthouse
letter!”

“That’s all right, sir,” the woman said. “You said a friend recommended us?”

Milloy wrested the phone back from Fina and unmuted it. “Yes, and discretion is essential.”

“Of course. Our core values are discretion and service that exceeds your expectations,” she cooed over the line.

“I was wondering: My friend talked about a particular girl. Would it be possible to see her?”

“I can certainly try to arrange that for you, sir.”

“The only problem is, I don’t remember her name,” Milloy said.

“Perhaps you could ask your friend, or describe her? I want to make sure you get exactly what you’re looking for.”

“That’s what I’ll do. I’ll ask him and call back. Thanks for your time.” Milloy hung up and dropped the phone in the center console.

“We weren’t done!” Fina exclaimed.

“I need a shower before I go any further.”

“Like you’ve never been with a hooker before.”

Milloy swiveled in his seat. “You think I have to pay for it?”

“Of course you don’t have to pay for it, but I thought it was some sordid rite of passage. Or, you know, if there was stuff you didn’t want to ask your girlfriend for.”

Milloy looked at her. “Just because your brother is a sleazy douche-bag doesn’t mean we all are.”

Fina sat back in her seat. “Touché.”

Milloy started the car and pulled into traffic.

Fina stared out the window. “Great. Now all I have to do is ask Rand for the name of his favorite hooker.”

They left the car with the valet outside Crystal, and Milloy pulled aside one of the bouncers while Fina stood tapping her toe on the sidewalk. Tonight, she was wearing a strapless dress that fit more like an Ace bandage than an item of clothing. She’d stacked bangle bracelets on her arm in an attempt to distract from the scabs that were starting to pucker and peel, and her hair was loose, providing some distraction from her bruised face. Still, her appearance was no credit to the club.