by T. E. Woods
My toothbrush at home is blue. It sits in a glass along with my toothpaste. Next to it is my bottle of lotion. Then comes the plastic cup with Gabby’s toothbrush. It’s pink. She likes toothpaste that tastes like bubblegum.
“Step back!” The harsh order jarred her back to reality. “Farther! Stand still. I’m going to open the door. Make a move toward me and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
The guard was a woman. And from the looks of her, Windy wouldn’t bet against her in a street fight. The guard slid her cell door open. A smaller woman, dressed in the same pale blue scrubs as Windy, entered the cell. She carried a brown paper sack in one hand and a half-pint paper carton of milk in the other.
“Breakfast,” she announced. “Put the milk container in the bag when you’re finished. We’ll be back to pick up the trash.”
She left before Windy could thank her. The guard slammed the metal door closed, gave Windy a don’t-even-think-of-messing-with-me glare, then stomped to the next cell. Windy’s fear shifted just enough to make room for hunger. She sat on her bed and opened her bag of breakfast.
Two slices of cold toast. An apple more bruise than meat. A plastic tube of blueberry yogurt. She didn’t recognize the brand. Windy pried open a corner of the milk container and took a sip. Room temperature. She twisted the yogurt open and alternated a squeeze of blueberry mush with a bite of bread. She examined the apple and found a spot offering three nibbles of fresh flesh. Then she chugged the milk as rapidly as she could to wash everything down. When the food wagon came back around in ten minutes, Windy handed her bag of trash through the bars. She went back to her bed, curled into a ball, and pulled her blanket over her body. It did nothing to block out the jeers and shouts from the other inmates. She forced her mind away from the profanity and complaints echoing down the concrete corridor by playing the game a childhood neighbor had taught her all those years ago. Windy would use the game to keep from hearing her mother entertain the long string of men she’d bring home from South Side bars.
She chose the category of animals.
A, aardvark. B, beetle. C, cougar. D, dragon, E, elephant. She was trying to think of an animal that started with Q when she again heard the guard outside her cell.
“Get out from under that blanket! You got a visitor.”
Windy poked her head out and saw a man. He was tall and wore the kind of jeans Windy knew were more for show than for work, and a white polo shirt. He carried a briefcase. He looked too handsome to be a policeman. Besides, she’d talked for hours the day before. What could any police officer want to know that she hadn’t already told them?
“Good morning, Wanda.” The man’s voice was strong and sure. Like talking to a woman hiding under a blanket in the Madison City Jail was something he did as regularly as taking a phone call. “My name’s Andrew Conyer. I’m your attorney. May I come in?”
The guard opened the cell door before she could answer. The man stepped inside, looked around, then gave her a smile she assumed was meant to be reassuring while the cell door clanged shut behind him.
“Not much room, is there?” He pointed toward her bed. “Would you mind sharing? I’ll take one end and you take the other.”
Windy jumped off the bed, pulling her blanket with her. She stood in front of the toilet, hoping the drape of the blanket would hide the embarrassing fixture.
“I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“There’s no need to worry about that.” He sat on the corner of her bed and rested his briefcase on his knees.
“You one of those court-appointed ones? Like on TV?”
“No, Wanda. Do you mind if I call you Wanda? We’re going to be working closely for a long time, and ‘Ms. Fields’ sounds so formal.”
“People call me Windy.”
He nodded. “People call me Andrew. And no, I’m not court appointed. In fact, I’m extremely expensive. So if the old you-get-what-you-pay-for adage holds any salt, you’re in good hands.”
“I can’t afford you.”
“So you said. And I recall saying that’s no concern of yours. Someone else has retained me for you. She’s guaranteed my expenses.”
“Who?”
“Sydney Richardson. The owner of Hush Money. Your boss.”
“Why would Sydney hire you?”
“I asked her that very question. She tells me you’re all alone. She wants to make sure you have someone in your corner.”
Windy felt the strength drain out of her. She wobbled.
“Please, Windy. Sit. I promise I won’t bite.”
She tugged the blanket tight around her and settled on the far corner of the bed, drawing her legs up to her chest. The man pulled a long yellow notepad from his briefcase.
“Do you know why you’ve been arrested?”
“The mayor’s dead. I was there.”
The man held up his hand. “I’m going to stop you for a moment. There’s no need to tell me you killed the mayor or you didn’t. The state’s going to have to prove you did. I want you to tell me what you can to thwart them from doing so. Now, what took you to the mayor’s house on Friday?”
Windy took a shaky breath. She wasn’t sure what she truly remembered or what her brain had pieced together from what the police had told her.
“I think he called me.”
“How do you know the mayor?”
She looked down. “I clean his house. Once a week.”
“For how long?” Andrew scribbled notes as he spoke.
“I guess it’s been about six, seven months now.”
“You do this…this housecleaning…in addition to your waitress work at Hush Money?”
She nodded. “Hush Money hasn’t opened yet.” She hesitated. “But I guess it has. Friday night.” The words choked in her throat. “I was supposed to be there.”
“But you were at the mayor’s?”
“I must have been.”
Andrew’s hand froze over his notepad. “You’re not sure?”
“I had to have been. Right? They told me I was. I saw him. Dead. I picked up the gun. At least I think I did.”
“Who told you? That you were there, I mean?”
“The police. They said people saw me. They said I coded in.”
“Coded in?”
“The security pad. On the mayor’s house. The police said people saw me coming and going.”
“Here’s the first thing I’m going to ask you to do. Look at me, Windy.”
She raised her eyes to his. A flush of modesty rushed through her. She’d never spoken to a man as handsome as Andrew before.
“I want you to promise never to speak to the police again. Got it? You can talk to the guards, but only about what you need or want. ‘I have a headache. Take me to the infirmary.’ Or ‘I want to change the channel on the TV.’ But never, and I mean never, answer a question any police officer directs your way. Particularly any question pertaining to the mayor. Got it?”
Windy nodded.
“Here’s what you say if they ask you anything. You say ‘Talk to my lawyer.’ That’s it. Say it.”
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“Say it again.”
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“Good. It sounded better the second time. I want you to practice that so you don’t get sideswiped by some smooth-talking detective. You leave them to me. Got it?”
She nodded again. There was something about his confidence that made her want to please him.
“Now, back to Friday. Was that a day you typically came by to clean?”
“No. I clean his house on Tuesdays.”
“Did you clean this past Tuesday?”
“Yes.”
“Then why’d he call you?”
“What?”
“The mayor. You said he called you. Why?”
Her mind searched for an answer. Images and sounds flitted through her consciousness; none lingered long enough to be of any help.
“I’m not sure he did. I think he did.”
&
nbsp; Andrew studied her for several silent seconds. “Windy, tell me where you live.”
She gave him the address of her house on Warwick Way.
“Where’s Gabby?” she asked. “Do you know?”
Andrew smiled his assurance. “I do. She’s with your friend Aubree.”
“Aubree Daniels? Still?” Panic flashed through her as she imagined how furious Frank would be if Gabby interfered with the way he ran his house.
“Yes. She’s been hired to look after her. I understand she has daycare experience. Now she has only one child to tend to.”
“Hired? By who?”
“Sydney Richardson again. I’ve been told Aubree lost her job two months ago when the place she worked at lost its license. Sydney’s made sure she’s being well compensated for taking care of Gabby. Seems Aubree’s quite happy about her new employment. She’ll keep an eye on your little girl until we can get you home.”
For the first time in two days a tease of hope flickered deep within her. “Home? I can go home?”
“Of course. I’m afraid you’ll have to spend another night here. But you’re due to be arraigned tomorrow morning. I’ve searched for your record but found none. You have steady employment, a daughter, roots in the community. I’m sure I’ll have no problem getting the judge to grant a reasonable bail.”
The hope vanished.
“I can’t afford bail.”
“You let me take care of that, all right?”
The dream of holding Gabby again was enough to inspire her to trust this stranger.
“You can’t remember why the mayor called?” Andrew asked.
There’s only one reason the mayor calls me.
She bit her lip and shook her head.
“Is he usually the one you coordinate with? Forgive me if this sounds sexist, but in my house my wife takes care of things like that.”
“It’s Mrs. Millerman who hired me.”
“And she arranges your schedule?”
Windy nodded.
“Then why would the mayor call?”
She lowered her gaze.
“I should have told you this earlier. I always assume folks know. Windy, everything you say to me is confidential. Whatever it is. I need to ask. You need to tell me. I’m here to keep you out of prison. And trust me. Prison’s going to make this place look like a five-star resort.” The warning hung in the air before he spoke again. “Windy, why did the mayor call you?”
Her heart beat so loudly she was certain he could hear.
“Were you having an affair with the mayor?”
She jerked her head up at the accusation. “Not an affair! Never! It wasn’t like that!”
“Then tell me what it was like.” His voice was calm. He remained silent while Windy struggled to put words to her shameful truth. It took her several minutes.
“I guess you could say he gave me odd jobs….”
Andrew sounded as kind as a parson’s wife. “Sexual jobs?”
She gave one quick nod. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Okay. I have the gist. If I need more we’ll come back to it. I promise to be respectful.”
I took money to let him put his hands on me. Lay on top of me. And more. So much more. I don’t deserve respect.
“May I assume the mayor called you on Friday for one of these odd jobs?”
“Probably. But like I said, I can’t say for sure if the mayor really called me or if that’s what the police told me.”
“Easily resolved. I’ll know what the police have by tomorrow. We’ll check your phone. If he called, we’ll know.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“I happen to be freakishly good at my job. All you have to do is remember not to talk to the police any further.”
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“That’s right. Now tell me about that conspicuous knot on your head. There seems to be some blood still caked in your hair.”
Windy reached up to touch the spot the ER doc had had to shave. Twelve stitches, they’d told her.
“I don’t know how this happened. I have these images. Like pictures. I don’t know if they’re real or imagined. They float in and out.”
“Did the mayor hit you? Was that part of the odd jobs?”
He never hit me. His injuries were different.
“No.”
“Was there a struggle on Friday?”
She strained to remember. “I was in the house. Or at least I think I was. I remember knowing he was dead.”
“You knew?”
She nodded. “It was like I was in another room, but I somehow knew if I went into his office he’d be there. Dead. Then it was like—poof!—there I was. It seemed like I didn’t even take a step but I was suddenly there. In his office. And there he was.” Her voice drifted into a faraway place. “They said I went into the woods. Maybe I hurt my head there.”
“The police? They said you went into the woods?”
“Yes. Gabby asked me if I’d gone camping. She was upset I didn’t take her with me.” The thought of her daughter thinking she’d had fun without her filled her eyes with tears.
“Stay with me, Windy. I need you to focus. Can you bend your head down so I can see your injury?”
She did as he requested.
“This is to the back of your head. Might the mayor have come up from behind and coldcocked you? Do you remember losing consciousness at all?”
Again she struggled to remember details of that day. Still her brain teased her with ghosts of memories dancing between pillars of fears.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Did the mayor ever suggest he might enjoy having sex with an unconscious person?”
The mayor would never go for that. He always wanted a crisp and clear picture of every despicable thing he did to me.
“No. He never said anything like that.”
Andrew’s face changed. She could almost see a new idea forming in his mind.
“Could someone else have been there? Not the mayor coming up behind you, but someone else. Was there anyone else in the house that Friday?”
She focused on the images floating though her memory. Again and again.
“No. I don’t think there was anyone else there.”
“Try to remember, Windy. This is more important than you can ever know. Who else was in that house with you?”
She tried again, eager to help this man who seemed so sure he could help her. Nothing new rose in her consciousness.
“I’m sorry. No. There was no one in the house.”
Andrew’s expression shifted again. This time she couldn’t read it.
“You’re certain?”
“As certain as I am about anything that happened that day.”
He nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, close to tears of despair.
“No, no. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He looked at her and his brown eyes took on a heavy sadness. “I’ve worked you enough for one day.” He tucked his pen and notepad into his briefcase, then pulled out a large plastic bag. He handed it to her.
“From Sydney. She says I’m supposed to tell you to trust me. Perhaps that’s another thing I should have mentioned when I first came in.”
Windy opened the bag. She saw an assortment of toiletries, including toothbrush and toothpaste. Granola bars, a bag of almonds, packages of cheese and crackers and other snacks nestled around copies of People, O: The Oprah Magazine, and Time.
“She didn’t know your reading preferences, so she got you a sampler.”
Windy felt her throat tighten in a mixture of gratitude and shame. She didn’t speak as Andrew gathered his things. He stood and she did the same, wondering what words were worthy enough to express the debt she realized she owed him.
“Try to make today as good as you can.” He crossed to the cell door and called for the guard. “I’ll have you out of here tomorrow. I promise.”
“I’m so happy you ca
me.” She flinched at her anemic attempt to thank him.
“My pleasure. And I mean that.” He gave her one last smile as the guard opened the door.
“Leave it to me, Windy. I’m going to take care of everything.”
He hadn’t been gone two minutes before Windy was brushing her teeth and washing her face. She was halfway through her second granola bar when the voice of certainty called out in her mind.
Don’t you dare hope. You know what you did. There’s not an attorney in the world who can save you.
Chapter 15
NOW
“I think the lamb will be the big seller tonight.” Nancy Richardson accompanied her daughter on a preopening walk-through of the front of the restaurant. “Chef’s serving it with rosemary gravy. Anita’s selected an aged Rioja reserva that pairs perfectly.”
Sydney stopped and shook her head clear. “Rioja reserva? All right. Who are you and what have you done with my mother?”
Nancy couldn’t stifle her smile of pride. “Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? My joint never needed the fancy go-withs. My customers drank coffee. Water. If they were feeling particularly frisky, they’d ask for a diet soda. Anita’s teaching me.”
“Good for you. Reservations full?”
“Next available table is six weeks from now. How’s that?”
Sydney’s response was interrupted by an incessant knock on Hush Money’s glass front door. She glanced at her watch. 4:35.
“What’s his deal?” Nancy asked. “If he’s counting on getting in before the reserved crowd, he’s got another thing coming.”
He was a small man. Sydney guessed he was at least two inches shorter than her own five feet nine inches. Perhaps no heavier than 140 pounds. Dressed in a cream silk suit cut to accentuate his delicate build. Though he seemed to have no problem standing, he carried a silver-topped walking stick, which he used to rap again on the glass.
