Duplicity Read online

  “Don’t go back inside,” she told Haley. “I’m here to pick you up.”

  “Why are you picking me up? I thought it was going to be Aunt Patty.”

  “Since when do I need a reason to see my favorite niece?” Fina watched Haley start back into the lot.

  “Your only niece. I don’t see your car.”

  “Walk to your right.”

  Haley did a slow turn and started walking in her direction. “Why don’t you ever drive something fancy?” Haley asked. It was odd watching her lips move as she approached, but only hearing the words through the phone.

  “Because of my job. I don’t want to be conspicuous. I need to blend in.”

  Haley ended the call and slipped her phone into her pocket before reaching for the car door.

  “Hey. What’s shakin’ bacon?” Fina asked, leaning over to give her a kiss once she got inside.

  Haley rolled her eyes and reached for her seat belt. “Nothing.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  The girl shrugged and stared out the window. “Whatever.”

  “We could get something to eat. We could go shopping.” Fina felt the shopping offer truly demonstrated how much she loved Haley. She didn’t like shopping, but was willing to brave the hordes at the mall if Haley wanted to.

  “Let’s just go home.”

  “You don’t want a frappe or some pizza or something?”

  Haley looked at her. “I kind of have a headache. I think I’d rather go home and take a nap.”

  “Okay. Whatever you want.”

  Fina’s attempts at small talk were unsuccessful, and the car ride was awkward.

  “Thanks, Aunt Fina,” Haley said when they pulled up in front of the house. “Sorry I’m a party pooper.”

  “It’s okay, sweetie.”

  Haley reached for the door handle.

  “Is everything okay?” Fina asked. “Within reason?” She didn’t know if Haley was aware of her father’s return and if that was the reason for her demeanor.

  “It’s fine.”

  “You know, if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. So are Aunt Patty and Uncle Scotty.”

  “Yes, and I have a shrink, too,” Haley replied impatiently. “I’m fine. I wish you guys would stop bugging me.”

  She pushed open the car door and slammed it behind her.

  Fina watched her enter the house and wondered if she should follow her in and report the failed outing to her sister-in-law. That would probably annoy Haley even more, so she pulled away from the curb instead and made a mental note to mention it to Patty.

  How did parents figure out when to push their children and when to back off? If you were too involved, you could alienate your kid, but if you weren’t involved enough, they might drift off for lack of solid ballast.

  Did Haley really want to be left alone or was that her way of asking them to come closer?

  TWO

  The next morning, Fina was starting to delve into Chloe Renard’s background when her phone rang. The number on the display gave her pause.

  “Good morning, Detective,” she said.

  “Morning. How are you?”

  “Good. How are you?”

  Cristian Menendez was a detective on the Major Crimes squad of the Boston Police Department. He and Fina had been friends and colleagues of sorts for more than ten years. They’d also slept together on a number of occasions. Cristian had recently expressed a desire to start dating like a normal couple, and since then, their friendship had moved into an awkward phase that called to mind junior high.

  “I’m good. Are you free for dinner on Monday?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. Unless something comes up.”

  “Of course.”

  That would be one of the advantages of dating a cop—his line of work was equally unpredictable. Cristian wouldn’t have a hissy fit if she had to cancel at the last minute. One of the disadvantages, however, was that he had sworn to uphold the law. Fina upheld it when it suited her, and she worried that was a difference they couldn’t reconcile.

  “So, is this an actual date?” Fina asked.

  “As opposed to?”

  “Just a friendly dinner, like we usually have.”

  Cristian sighed. “Let’s just go to dinner, Fina. I promise I won’t bring napkin samples for our wedding reception.”

  “Oh barf. That’s not happening under any circumstances.”

  They made a plan to meet at Toscano, an Italian eatery on Charles Street, and Fina got back to her research.

  Chloe Renard was the poster child for a savvy social media presence. Her Facebook page and Instagram account had privacy settings that barred strangers from viewing them, and the only pictures Fina found on the Web were those of her looking resplendent in striking gowns at charity balls. She worked as an art therapist and was mentioned in a couple of articles related to the field. There was also a brief write-up about some of her paintings that had been shown at a local gallery.

  The Covenant Rising website was slick—lots of smiling people representing a rainbow of skin tones. Fina surfed the site, which featured their service projects, their various ministries, and a significant dose of their theology. She read about Pastor Greg Gatchell, his wife, Gabby, and their two children, Faith and Charity. All this virtuousness was making Fina hungry, so she grabbed a Hostess cupcake and a diet soda from the kitchen and returned to the couch.

  Neither the couch nor the condo was technically hers. Carl had purchased the condo for his mother and, shortly after her death, Fina had moved in and claimed it as her own. Nanny wouldn’t mind—she and Fina had been close—and Fina found it oddly comforting being surrounded by her grandmother’s belongings. She hadn’t made any real changes to the place, with the exception of a better TV and the removal of any family photos that included Rand. She had what she needed: privacy and a great view.

  Fina nibbled a bit of white frosting from beneath her nail and clicked through the links providing background on the Gatchells. Originally from Ohio, they had attended a Christian university, where Greg had earned a master of arts in ministry. It wasn’t clear how they ended up in Boston, but what started as weekly Bible study in the Gatchells’ cramped living room had grown into the largest evangelical church in the state. That wasn’t saying much, given Massachusetts’s liberal leanings, but it suggested that the church had staying power. Fina found photos showing the Gatchells doing various good deeds, looking wholesome and energetic. They had a house in Wellesley that they’d purchased for $1.7 million ten months earlier, and their eldest daughter was a student at a Christian day school.

  Another link brought up a selection of Pastor Greg’s sermons. After watching for about twenty minutes, Fina felt quite sure that she was not a “godly” woman. She didn’t believe in Satan, wasn’t interested in deferring to a husband, and didn’t spend time worrying about what came after death. Raised Protestant, Fina’s religious upbringing consisted of attending church on Christmas Eve and Easter. She didn’t begrudge anyone their right to worship whatever god they wanted, but she didn’t think religion should demand the subjugation or mistreatment of one’s fellow man or woman. And the faith thing—that always got her.

  She fired off an e-mail to her financial investigator, Hal Boyd. He did more-detailed searches on her behalf that tended to stray from the bounds of legality, and Fina instructed him to take a look at the church and the Gatchells.

  They were living large, and Fina had to wonder: Did the pastor and his wife have an independent source of income, or was their lovely home due to the generosity of their followers?

  • • •

  With a deep exhalation, he thrust the weights up, away from his chest. His arms shook, and the dumbbells swayed slightly. He grimaced and started counting to ten, but only made it to six before dropping the weights to the floor with
a slam.

  Greg Gatchell peeled his sweaty back off the bench and swiveled to the side, planting his feet on the floor. Sweat trickled down his face and over his lip as he chugged from a bottle of water. Resting his elbows on his knees, he struggled to take deep breaths.

  He hoisted himself off the bench and plucked his iPod from the docking station near the door, turning down the Christian rock that had motivated him throughout the workout. Catching his reflection in the mirror, Greg took stock.

  Not bad. Not great, but not bad. He was carrying a few extra pounds here and there, but there were hints of muscle definition. Every week, Greg stood before his growing congregation and preached to them. If he wanted to move them—to inspire them—he had to convince them that his path was righteous and fruitful. Looking good was one way to do that. It was also doctor’s orders: His most recent checkup had revealed rising cholesterol, and his blood pressure was creeping up. He looked forward to the afterlife and meeting his Heavenly Father, but not just yet.

  Greg was lifting his damp shirt from his stomach to assess his midriff when the door opened, and Gabby popped her head into the home gym.

  “Stop checking yourself out,” she said, leaning against the door frame, her face forming a wary smile.

  “Just assessing my progress.”

  “You look good.”

  Gabby ran her hand over one of the weight machines before taking a seat on a bench. The home gym may have seemed like an extravagance to some, but the couple had decided it was a reasonable investment. Both of them needed to project a certain image, and as the church’s influence grew, they felt less comfortable exercising at the neighborhood YMCA.

  “You need something?” Greg asked.

  “Elder Ben called. He’s concerned about the Raffertys. Their son was suspended again.”

  Greg sighed. “That kid.”

  “You going to go over there?”

  “I suppose I need to. Give Jane Rafferty a call later, after I’ve had a chance to stop by. See if she wants to pray with you.”

  “I’ll do it after Prayer Group.”

  Greg looked puzzled. “I thought Sue was leading that?”

  “She has a conflict. I’m just filling in for her.” She stared at him. “Is that okay?” Her voice was tinged with sarcasm.

  He blinked. “Of course it’s okay. It’s Christ’s work.”

  Gabby left, pulling the door closed behind her. Greg looked in the mirror and flexed his biceps.

  His flock needed a strong shepherd to lead them.

  • • •

  Fina gazed up at the brick-covered brownstone in Back Bay. It was four stories high with bay windows and a miniature balcony around the roofline, sized for small children rather than adults. She’d called ahead, and Chloe Renard had agreed to speak with her.

  “It’s Fina Ludlow,” she said into the box in the lobby. Chloe buzzed her up, and she climbed the wide, carpeted stairs to the second floor. The young woman who greeted her at the door had her mother’s expensive hair color and glowing skin.

  “Please come in,” Chloe said, stepping back into a sun-filled living room.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” Fina said, extending her hand and entering the room.

  Chloe’s home was a compact version of her mother’s; it was welcoming and well-appointed, but smaller. A couch and two matching chairs were placed in front of a modest fireplace, and a dining room set was tucked into the area under the windows. Fina could see a modest but modern kitchen off to one side and a hallway leading in the other direction. It wasn’t a large or fancy space, but she was willing to bet it cost well over a million dollars.

  “Your home is lovely,” Fina said, sitting on the couch. She reached behind her to unearth one of the many pillows nesting there. Fina liked pillows as much as the next person, but when did half a dozen throw pillows become standard? Wasn’t room to sit the point of the couch in the first place?

  “Thanks. Can I get you something to drink?” Chloe asked. “I was just brewing some tea.”

  “Tea would be lovely. This is such a great location,” Fina commented while her hostess puttered in the kitchen. She didn’t want to get to the meat of their conversation until Chloe had taken a seat. “Maybe I should move to Back Bay.”

  “Where do you live?” Chloe asked.

  “Down on the waterfront, near the aquarium.”

  “Do you have a view?”

  “A very nice one. I see the harbor and the goings-on at Logan.”

  Chloe came into the living room with a tray holding a full tea set. The pot was silver, its surface dotted with an exaggerated pattern of flowers and leaves. The cups matched, as did the cream and sugar containers. A plate of scones completed the tableau.

  “That doesn’t look like Pottery Barn to me,” Fina said, gesturing toward the tea set.

  Chloe smiled. “It’s from France—rococo. It belonged to my great-aunt on my father’s side.”

  She poured the beverage using graceful motions and offered the plate of scones to Fina.

  “So my mother has sent you,” Chloe said after taking her first sip.

  “Yes. She and my father are old flames.”

  Chloe broke off a piece of scone. “She didn’t tell me that.”

  “Really? Well, it was a long time ago,” Fina said, downplaying the relationship.

  She picked up her silver teacup and drank. The brew was strong and malty. Fina tended to like her maltiness in malted milk balls and ice cream malts, but you couldn’t be a good PI if you weren’t willing to embrace other people’s preferences.

  “It’s Assam tea,” Chloe explained, noticing the expression on Fina’s face. “From India.”

  “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a tea drinker.”

  “We grew up drinking it all the time; my mother is a real tea snob.” Chloe smoothed her hair. “Speaking of my mother . . .”

  “Yes. She’s asked me to conduct some due diligence on your proposed real estate deal with the Covenant Rising Church.”

  Chloe sighed. “I think it’s a waste of money, but if it will make her happy.”

  “She’s just looking out for you.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I love your painting in your mom’s house, the one of the couple in the restaurant. Is that also one of yours?” Fina gestured toward a canvas propped against the wall.

  “Yes.” Chloe studied the painting. “I’m trying to decide if I should hang it.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. It seems boastful.”

  “People hang their diplomas,” Fina noted, “and your painting is much more interesting.” Smaller than the canvas at Ceci’s, it depicted a young man sitting in a garden, a sketchbook open on his lap. “You’re really talented. Do you paint full-time?”

  “No. It’s hard to make a living as an artist, not that I need the money,” she said, acknowledging the obvious, “but my parents have always insisted we work.”

  “What do you do for work exactly?” Fina already knew the answer from the research she’d done, but it was always interesting to hear people describe their jobs.

  “I’m an art therapist at some area hospitals and nursing homes.”

  Fina chewed a piece of scone. “Do you enjoy it?”

  Chloe tilted her head in thought. She had a button nose and hazel eyes. Her ears were rather large, but her thick hair provided a blind of sorts. “I do. I’d rather paint full-time, but it’s good for now.”

  “So tell me about Covenant Rising.”

  “I’m sure my mother has given you an earful.”

  “I’d like to hear your thoughts. When did you join the church?”

  “A year ago. A friend of mine was a member, but she’s since moved away. We met at one of the nursing homes. She was volunteering, and she invited me to attend
a couple of events at Covenant Rising. They’re incredibly welcoming and do so much for the community. It’s a wonderful group of people.”

  “That all sounds great, but it sounds like a lot of churches. Why not attend the church you went to as a child?”

  Chloe shook her head. “We didn’t go to church. My mom was raised Methodist, and my dad’s a lapsed Catholic.”

  “And Covenant Rising seemed like a good fit? Even with their evangelical beliefs?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first, but they gave me the chance to start an arts therapy outreach program, and it was an amazing opportunity. I couldn’t pass it up.”

  “How does the program work?” Fina asked.

  “We’ve partnered with a couple of shelters, and we provide art therapy to women and children and in one case, veterans. I got to design the whole program, and any time I’ve needed supplies, the church has come through. I feel like I’m making an impact in a way that wouldn’t be possible without the resources and network of Covenant Rising.”

  Chloe picked up the teapot and refilled her cup. She stilled it over Fina’s cup, waiting for a nod. “If there’s a need in the community,” she continued, “the church works to fill it. They step in when people are in crisis. You can’t imagine how many people lose their homes because they miss one mortgage or rent payment,” Chloe said, pouring the liquid in an arc into Fina’s cup. “One month overdue, and families are out on the street. CRC stops that sort of thing from happening.”

  “It sounds like the church is a lifesaver.”

  Chloe gazed at Fina, trying to determine if she was being sarcastic. “It is a lifesaver.”

  Fina wanted to ask her more about the tenets of the church, but decided to hold off. She suspected that Chloe would only get defensive and clam up.

  “What’s the bequest you have in mind?” Fina asked.

  “It’s a large piece of land in Vermont and the buildings on it. There’s a main house, a barn, and a few outbuildings.”

  No wonder Ceci was worried. “That’s a large gift to give after only a year, particularly given that their theology is so different from the way you were raised. I know that the art therapy program is extremely important to you, but enough so that you can ignore the church’s doctrine?”