by T. E. Woods
“Mommy! The policemen are knocking on our door! One of them’s a lady! I wanna be a lady policeman when I get growed!”
More bangs. Aubree’s eyes locked onto Windy’s.
“Open the door, Gabby,” Aubree called. “Let the lady policeman in.”
Windy looked down at the floor when she heard her front door open.
“Hello.” Windy heard a gentle voice. “What’s your name?”
Windy strained to hear her daughter’s words, but none came. Gabby knew not to talk to strangers. Even if it was a lady policeman.
“Are you here alone?” the gentle voice asked.
Windy glanced up to see Aubree’s attention still riveted on her.
“We’re back here, Officer,” Aubree called out. “Down the hall. Bedroom.”
Determined footsteps approached. Four strangers entered Windy’s small bedroom. Two, one of whom must have been the lady policeman Gabby admired, wore the uniforms of the Madison Police Department. The other two—one man, one woman—were dressed in civilian clothes. The plainclothes woman spoke first. Windy recognized her voice as the one who’d spoken to Gabby at the door.
“I’m Detective Jillian Kohler.”
A preposterous thought leaped into Windy’s mind. A detective, huh? You got two women here. One clean and shiny. The other bloody and grimy. Which one of us is the person you’ve come to see?
“My partner here is Horst Welke.”
The man in plainclothes grunted his greeting. All four officers kept their focus on Windy.
Bingo! You got me.
“Wanda Fields? You look more than a little banged up. We’d like to ask you a few questions, but it looks like a trip to the hospital might be a higher priority.” Detective Kohler turned to Aubree. “And you are?”
“Neighbor. Aubree Daniels. What d’ya mean questions? What’s this about?”
“How long have you been here, Ms. Daniels?” This time the male detective spoke. Windy watched Jillian Kohler write down Aubree’s name.
“We—by that I mean Gabby and me—we got here like two minutes before you pulled up.”
“Gabby’s your little girl?” the man asked.
Aubree shook her head. “She’s Windy’s daughter. I watch her when her mom goes to work.”
“Windy?” he asked.
“Sorry,” Aubree said. “Gabby’s Wanda’s daughter. Everybody calls her Windy on account of her being from Chicago and all.”
“But not me! I’m not from Chicago!” Gabby wiggled through the maze of adult legs to stand by her mother. “I was borned right here. Mommy came special so it could happen. That’s right, huh, Mommy?”
Windy’s hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as she lifted it to touch her daughter’s cheek. “That’s right, baby.” She choked on her words. “Just you and me.”
“Ms. Daniels.” Jillian Kohler’s voice was gentle. “Would you be willing to stay with Gabby while Ms. Fields comes with us?”
“She needs a doctor. She’s got a gash on her head.” Aubree pointed toward Windy’s blouse. “You can see for yourself how much it’s been bleeding. And from the looks of it, she’s got some cuts or something on her chest, too. She needs a hospital is what she needs.”
“I’d have to agree with you,” Detective Welke said. “So how ’bout it? Can you stay with the kid while we get her mom checked out? We can always get someone from CPS down here if it’s a hassle.”
“No! No problem at all.” Aubree waved Gabby toward her. “C’mon, kiddo.”
Gabby wrapped herself around Windy’s arm. “I wanna stay with Mommy.”
“Mommy’s got to get fixed up, sweetie.” Detective Kohler’s voice was reassuring. “She’ll be okay. I promise.”
“C’mon, Gabby.” Aubree looked frightened as she ushered the little girl out of the room. “You call me, Windy. You need anything, you call me. Gabby will be safe at my house till you get back. Don’t worry about a thing, you hear me?”
Everyone waited until the closing front door signaled Aubree and Gabby were out of the house.
Windy looked toward the two detectives as the officers in uniforms came to stand on either side of her. She spoke directly to the woman detective who’d been so kind to Gabby.
“You want to ask me about the mayor, don’t you?”
Chapter 8
FIVE WEEKS AGO
“Well, goddamn it! Tell him I’m about to pull the plug on the whole fucking mess!”
Windy hesitated in the doorway when she heard the mayor screaming to someone on the other end of his phone.
Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe he doesn’t have time for this after all. Her hopes evaporated when he looked up and waved her in. Windy kept her eyes down, studying the intricate carpet pattern of his in-home office while he continued his rant. Still she felt his stare.
“You tell that son of a bitch there’s no way I’m stepping one foot in a hotel that doesn’t use union labor. You got that? I’ll have a picket line set up so fast his fat ass will explode.”
She wondered what the person on the other end of the line did when the mayor got like this. How did he or she react when he boomed out his warnings?
Maybe whoever it is doesn’t have to worry about his threats.
“Listen,” the mayor continued, “I don’t have time for this shit. You tell that no-good cocksucker that if he wants me smiling up there on the podium, urging my constituents to look fondly at all the benefits his construction project will bring to the East Side, he’s going to have to find a new venue. I’ll have Madeline send over a list of places that use union workers exclusively. He’s just going to have to cough up the extra dollars to pay them.”
He tossed his cellphone onto his desk and shook his head.
“Politics!” he shouted. “Windy, you don’t know how good you have it. Your job’s simple. You come in. A place is dirty. You know what you have to do to clean it up, and by God, you go ahead and get it done. Quick and easy. Nice and simple. In and out and on to the next.”
Is that the way you see it?
“Maybe so,” she said.
She stood where she was. Focused on the carpet.
Maybe he has an extra chore for me around the house. Maybe that’s why he called me.
“I like that blouse you’re wearing.” His voice was calmer now. “What do you call that color?”
She didn’t look up. “Brown.”
He roared with laughter. “Hell, I know that. I mean, what’s the fancy name for it? You women. Nothing can ever be straightforward with you. Nothing’s ever brown. It’s fawn or sable or desert sand. Some piece of fluff like that. Come on over here. Let me get a look at the material. Maybe you and I can come up with a better descriptor for it than plain old brown.”
She glanced to her left. Toward the window. It was raining. Not hard. Just enough to make the tulips in his garden dance.
“I said come over here.”
She looked his way. He’d slid his chair away from his desk. Sat with his legs splayed apart. She saw his erection from across the room.
She stayed where she was.
The smile on his face vanished. “Are we going to go through this again? C’mon, Windy. You’re a big girl now. With big-girl responsibilities. What’s your daughter’s name again? Abby?”
Gabby. Her name is Gabby. But you don’t deserve to know that.
“Where’s Mrs. Millerman?”
“You don’t have to worry about her. Phoebe’s got a meeting with the good folks at Head Start. After that it’s drinks with the League of Women Voters.” His lips curled and his eyes shifted into a leer. “Unless that makes you hot. Should we pretend we have to be quiet? Or that we need to hurry? Does the thought of us getting caught make your panties moist?” He wiggled back in his leather chair. “What the hell? I’m up for it. Come on. Let’s get started.” He shifted his tone to a more urgent register. “My wife’s due back any minute and I can’t bear another second without your luscious mouth on my cock.
Come to me, Windy.”
She didn’t move.
“I said my wife’s coming home soon. She might discover us. I need to feel those tits of yours.”
She stood motionless.
“What the hell?” His voice wasn’t playful anymore. “This was your game, girl. You in or you out? Doesn’t matter to me. So long as I get some tension relieved before the council meeting tonight. I was just trying to get your juices flowing.”
When she still didn’t approach him, he sighed. Then stood. Then reached into his pocket and pulled out some folded bills. He walked toward her, the money pinched between his first two fingers.
“I know what you need.” He stopped when he was close enough she could see the sweat on his upper lip. “Single mom. No education. I can help you.” He traced the neckline of her blouse. Slipped the money into her bra. “But it’s a two-way street, isn’t it? I’m nice to you.”
He took his hand away and rubbed his erection, still keeping his eyes on her mouth. She felt his warm breath on her face.
“It’s time to be nice to me.”
She felt his hands on her shoulders, pressing her down.
I can take Gabby to McDonald’s tonight. Or maybe pizza. She likes the place with the paper tablecloths she can color on.
The textured carpet scraped against her knees.
We’ll go to the park afterward. She’ll giggle when I push her on the swing. “Higher, Mommy,” she’ll say. “Higher.”
The sound of his zipper was loud so close to her ear.
Her little belly will be so full she’ll fall right to sleep when I tuck her in.
Windy closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
Chapter 9
NOW
Sydney’s eyes jerked open. The room was dark. Silent.
I must have been dreaming.
She pulled her down comforter up around her shoulders, closed her eyes, and settled deep into her mattress. Her mind drifted back to the Low Down Blues. Clay’s hand on her shoulder. The silly bat he’d given her as an opening-night gift. She hoped the images would inspire warm dreams as she felt herself being pulled back into the comforting arms of sleep.
Then her eyes jerked open again.
I’m not dreaming now.
She focused on the ambient sounds in her condo.
Was it a scraping? A movement? What was that?
She stayed motionless in her bed, straining her concentration for any repeat of the sound she was now certain she’d heard. Several moments passed. She heard nothing. Drawing in a long breath of courage, she clicked on her bedside lamp, pulled herself up on one elbow, and surveyed her room.
Everything as it should be.
She sat up, still monitoring her space. Still not hearing again what she’d heard a moment ago. She grabbed her robe from the foot of her bed and stood. She tied the sash tightly around her waist and headed to the closed bedroom door.
I’m eight floors up. What, do I think Spider-Man has somehow climbed the side of this building?
She opened the door, felt across the wall with her hand, and flipped the light switch, bathing her living and dining rooms in soft overhead glow. The lights of downtown Madison shimmered beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. To the south, Lake Monona was an ebony void. She scanned the rooms.
Everything as it should be.
She walked around the space, looking for something that might have fallen off a shelf. Finding nothing, she went into her kitchen. The small lamp she kept on the counter, the one shaped like a chicken that Ronnie had gotten her when she bought her condo, was on.
I must have been so tired I forgot to turn it off.
The clock on the range glowed amber numbers.
2:19.
She pulled a glass from the cabinet, filled it with chilled water from the refrigerator door, and downed it in two long swallows. She put the glass in the sink, turned off the chicken lamp, and headed back to bed. As she passed through the living room, she stopped to double-check her entry door.
The knob turned easily in her hand.
She looked back over her shoulder into the space she’d made her home. Then she opened the front door. The hallway was lit, as always. She looked to her right, then her left and saw nothing but an empty carpeted corridor and the front doors of her three neighbors. She closed her door, double-checked the lock, and made her way back to her bedroom. She could almost hear her mother’s voice in her brain, clucking that Sydney had too much going on. Too many irons in the fire. Forgetting basic safety rules was surely a sign that she was distracted. Another thought nagged, too.
I never forget to lock that door.
—
Sydney didn’t want to open her eyes. It had taken her nearly an hour to fall back asleep. But her phone wasn’t going to answer itself. She glared at her bedside clock and groaned. 9:47. Roland would have been to the farmers’ market three hours ago. He was probably calling to shame her for not accompanying him. She reached for the phone, preparing herself for her chef’s sharp tone.
“I need to be stripped of my best-friend status.”
Sydney laughed at Veronica Pernod’s opening gambit.
“And hello to you, too.”
“I was dressed, ready to go. I wanted to be the first customer through Hush Money’s door. But…”
“Somebody went into labor?”
“Right. This woman’s been trying to get pregnant for four years. When she finally did, she had complications that left her bedridden her last trimester. I was going to induce next week, but the twins decided to stage their own event.”
“Twins!”
“Healthy baby girl and one fragile baby boy. Little fellow gave us a scare when he first arrived, but he should be okay. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course. It’s all part of the deal when you have the best darned fertility specialist in the state for a bestie. You get any sleep?”
“An hour or so. I’m coming tonight, Syd. Promise. Now, tell me everything about opening night.”
Sydney had first met Veronica on her very first day of kindergarten. Her teacher, Mrs. Brandeis, had tried her best to coax Sydney to join the other children at the play table, but Sydney held on to her mother’s leg as though it were the only thing separating her from the bowels of hell. Then a towheaded girl, bigger than the other kids starting their educational journey, came up to her and took her hand.
“Come with me,” she said. “We’ll do this together.”
Through elementary school the girls were two puppies chasing each other’s tails. Veronica was an academic star from day one. She taught Sydney how to organize the worksheets and study guides accompanying their lessons. Weekends typically found Veronica at the Richardsons’ house on Hoyt Street, trying to escape the anger and hostility at her own home. In the coolness of the cinder-block basement, Veronica played teacher, coaching Sydney to straight A’s year after year. In middle school Sydney became Veronica’s champion, standing up to the bullies who believed Veronica’s chubby legs and lingering baby fat were fair targets for torture. When Veronica left high school their sophomore year to begin the early-entry scholars program at the University of Wisconsin, Sydney took it upon herself to remind her friend that despite the study load and high expectations of the faculty, she was still a teenager. She found ways to sneak the brainiac out of the scholars’ dorm a couple of times a month to meet up with friends at the mall.
Veronica graduated from the university a week before Sydney graduated from West High School. Nancy and Joe called the party they threw a joint celebration when they learned Veronica’s parents had been so busy battling each other that they’d let the occasion slip by. And when Sydney moved into the dorm the following September, she was the only freshman who had a first-year medical student as a roommate.
Sydney never regretted being Nancy and Joe’s only child. Ronnie was all the sister she’d ever need.
“Let’s see,” Ronnie teased over the phone. “Hush Money opened at five. I’ll bet your prim
a donna chef had his first meltdown no later than six.”
“Off by a long shot. He was screeching at the kitchen staff before the doors even opened.”
“And of course he recovered enough to accept the evening’s accolades.”
“You should have seen him, Ronnie. Prancing through the dining room like a poodle who’d just won Westminster.” Sydney paused. “Have you seen a paper this morning?”
“You mean the mayor?” The two women had always been like this. No need to explain what the other was thinking. “I heard it on the radio. No details. I always got the impression he was some kind of health nut. They’re always the first ones to bite it. Like I try to tell you, a Twinkie a day keeps the Reaper at bay.”
“Should I write that down, Doctor?”
“You should. Hush Money’s farm-to-table menu might be enhanced by a little deep-fried something.”
Sydney laughed. “Can you imagine the critics’ reactions to that?”
“Hey, charge eighteen dollars and call it Oil-Bathed Chocolate Decadence and they’ll never recognize it as a batter-dipped Ho Ho. You’ll start a new craze.” Ronnie reset her tone to serious. “You think they were there?”
Sydney didn’t need to ask her friend to clarify the question. “I don’t know. I did this open-seating thing. No reservations.”
“So you don’t have names.”
“No. Besides, what does it take to give a maître d’ a fake name?”
“True, that. They’ve been hiding pretty well all these years. Still, Hush Money got a lot of preopening publicity. They might have shown.”
Sydney’s mind flashed on the faces she’d seen the night before. There’d been a couple at table nine, more formally dressed than the typical Madisonian. They could have been the right age. Another woman with champagne hair had lingered at the bar for nearly two hours. She’d left without eating. Sydney estimated her age as late forties, maybe early fifties. Would that be too young?
“I can’t let myself think about that right now.” Sydney threw back the covers and sat up. “I’m going to grab some breakfast, then take a run before heading down to the restaurant. What time do you want me to hold a table for you?”
