by T. E. Woods
“I’ll take a raincheck on that burger. And Kitz, I mean it. From here on in let’s you and me not talk about Windy and the mayor.”
Chapter 17
NOW
“You did what?” The vein in Andrew Conyer’s throat was throbbing. Sydney could see it from three feet away. She’d called him immediately after Horst left and asked him to come to the restaurant. The news she had to give him didn’t seem the type to be conveyed over the phone.
“I was certain Horst would see things the same way I did.”
Andrew ran an exasperated hand through his thick chestnut hair. “You thought giving a piece of evidence that builds yet another physical link between my client—the client you’re paying me to represent—and the person she’s alleged to have killed to the detective building a case against said client…You thought that would be a good idea?”
Sydney suddenly felt very small. The hot gaze of Andrew’s condemnation melted her into a pool of self-damning misery. “I see that what I did was wrong. But—”
“There is no ‘but,’ ” he interrupted. “I haven’t received the full extent of what the cops have against Windy yet. But they’ve given me a pretty good overview. And if half of what they’ve got holds up, it’s bad. Real bad. And the very last thing we need is another solid piece of evidence tying Windy to the mayor. Particularly since that piece of evidence suggests Windy is more than a murderer; she’s a thief. Juries don’t take well to patterns.”
“I’ve trusted Horst for years. He’ll do the right thing.”
“You bet he will. He’s the detective. Doing the right thing to him means building a case. Brick by brick. And you just handed him a keystone.”
She watched him pace her office. He stayed silent, but his anger radiated in steaming waves of disgust. Several minutes passed before he stopped and turned to her. She was grateful his voice seemed to have calmed a bit.
“Tell me again exactly how you came to have the medallion.”
Sydney recounted the story of finding it beneath the hostess stand.
“And which of your staff members put it in the lost and found?”
“I don’t know that. Not yet. After Horst left, I checked with every employee who worked either Friday or Saturday night and is also working tonight. None of them recall putting the medallion in the drawer. I’ve got calls out to three others who worked one of those two nights. It has to have been one of them.”
“Who are they?”
“Does it matter? I don’t want my staff to get worked up about this.”
“Of course it matters, Sydney!” The anger was returning to his voice. “We’ve got to know who left that medallion. Your servers will know at which table they found it, maybe even tie a face or a name to whoever left it behind.”
“Then what?”
Andrew inhaled deeply. She got the impression he was trying to calm himself before answering. “Then I go talk to that person. See what I can learn.”
“And if you get an inkling that they’re tied to the mayor’s murder, we pass that on to Horst?”
“Damn it, Sydney! No!” He stopped himself and took another deep breath. “Look. If you care about your friend, you’ll help me do my job. Not Horst. Me. Understand?”
“But if we can show someone else is likely to have killed the mayor, won’t that help Windy?”
“Reasonable doubt, Sydney. Reasonable doubt. If we give a name to the police and they check it out and there’s no connection, it makes us look desperate. But if we discover a connection and keep it quiet until trial, then we can introduce it before the prosecution has time to prepare a rebuttal. If we can divert attention away from Windy long enough to come up with a plausible alternative for the jury to consider, then we have—”
“Reasonable doubt.”
“Exactly. We’ve got to figure out who dropped that medallion. If it’s Windy, we say nothing. Trust me, the cops will take care of making sure the jury hears all about that. But if it was someone other than Windy, and your server’s testimony can support that? Well, then, we keep that as a secret weapon.”
His strategy seemed to make sense. But the thought of keeping evidence from Horst went against every cop-daughter cell in Sydney’s body.
“Horst himself suggested he and I not talk about this case.”
Andrew threw up his hands in celebration. “Amen to that, sister! I know he’s your friend. But a cop’s a cop. On the clock or not. He’s got a nose that will sniff out whatever dirt he needs to build a case. You’re spending a lot of money on me, Syd. Let me show you I’m worth it. Please. Don’t talk to the police about anything related to Windy Fields’s case. If they ask you any questions, you tell them to come talk to me. Got it?”
She felt like a naughty schoolgirl, ashamed to have been called into the principal’s office but happy to know her scolding was coming to an end.
“I’ve got it.”
“And get me what those servers know. Anything. Even if they can’t give me the name of the person who dropped that medallion. Hush Money was filled with people I know on opening night. If they can give me the slightest description, I might be able to figure out who’s who.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know who put it in the lost and found.”
“The second you know.”
“I will. I promise.” She paused. She didn’t want to risk another tirade. But after her major blunder, she wanted to check with him before she acted. “I want to see Windy tomorrow. At the jail. Would that be okay with you?”
“I don’t see how it could hurt. She’s scared. She’ll be arraigned first thing in the morning. I’ll be there for that. Then I’m going to spend the afternoon learning the full extent of the case the prosecutor has against her. If you could time your visit for then, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” He headed to the door, then turned around. “Remember, Sydney. Everything you say in that visiting room will be recorded. No impulsive reassurances. No Nancy Drew questions. Say nothing about the medallion. We don’t want to tip our hands to the cops in any way.”
His efforts to make sure she understood were beginning to seem like punishment. She wanted to tell him so, but knew she deserved every warning he felt it necessary to pass along.
“I only want to make sure she’s okay. Maybe bring her up to date regarding Gabby.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.” He headed to the door.
“You’re welcome to stay for dinner. On me,” she offered. “Call your wife. I pulled you away on a Sunday evening. It’s the least I can do.”
His face softened. “I’ve been a bear tonight, haven’t I?”
“You’re protecting your client. I understand. It’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?”
“You’re not paying me for harsh tones. If I came off too surly, please accept my apologies.”
“Only if you’ll accept my assurance that my mistake with Horst won’t be repeated.”
“That’s a deal.”
“Shall I have Sabrina hold a table for you and Cynthia?”
“Some other time. Cynthia was exhausted when I left. I’m sure she’s curled up in bed, binge-watching her shows until she drifts off.”
“You’re always welcome. I hope you know that.”
He nodded. “Remember. The second you know who found that medallion, you let me know. I have to know who dropped it.”
—
By nine-thirty the dining room of Hush Money was empty. A few patrons lingered over nightcaps in the bar, but Sydney knew they’d be gone within the hour. The midwestern work ethic was too strong for Madisonians to make Sunday a late night on the town.
“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” she said as she passed Sabrina at the hostess stand.
“I’m on my way out. Dianne and Steve are working the bar. They told me they have things covered.”
Sydney smiled. “You’re off tomorrow, right?”
“And Tuesday. Gail’s hosting the next two nights.”
�
��Good.” Gail was one of the three Sydney needed to check with for Andrew. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, then. Enjoy your time off.”
Sydney closed the door to her office, plopped into the chair behind her desk, then punched 2 on her speed dial. Veronica Pernod answered on the third ring.
“I wake you?”
“It’s not ten o’clock yet!” her best friend replied. “Just what kind of mole do you think I am?”
“The kind whose day starts with a six a.m. patient and who never knows when somebody’s going to go into labor in the middle of the night. I hope you’d be catching sleep whenever you can.”
“Nope. Just me sitting here. Trying to erase what’s left of my last pedicure. Getting reminded with every attempt to dab a cotton ball on my toe that those twenty extra pounds seem to have taken permanent residence around my midsection.”
“Leave it. They’ll take the polish off at the salon.”
“I probably won’t have time until next month. My toes look like little rotting shrimp. Half bare, half blue. I can’t stand it another minute. Whazzup with you? Another stellar night with the haves? What are you wearing?”
Sydney laughed at her friend’s question. “A simple sheath. Navy.”
Ronnie’s sigh was heavy. “Dry-cleanable, I’ll bet. With sexy shoes. And I’ll bet not one person squirted you with blood, urine, amniotic fluid, or any of those other substances I get baptized in every day.”
“Such is the life of an obstetrician. At least you get to wear sensible shoes.”
“That’s why I signed up for this gig. What’s new?”
Sydney related her gaffe of giving the medallion to Horst instead of Andrew. Ronnie listened as Sydney verbally beat herself up about doing something so stupid.
“Enough! You trusted Horst to do the right thing. Where’s the sin in that?”
“Oh, but Andrew was so angry. You should have heard him.”
“Did he get that genius-talking-to-a-third-grader tone he likes to use when he thinks he’s in the right?”
“Exactly! I was humiliated. I didn’t know you knew him.”
Ronnie’s silence lasted only a second. “I know men. Let’s say that.”
“Yeah, well, I need to do better if I’m going to be any good for Windy.”
“You’re doing plenty. She’s lucky to have you in her corner.”
“I’m going to see her tomorrow afternoon.”
“Come by for lunch. I was supposed to speak at this conference, but they had some sort of viral outbreak and canceled after half their attendees got sick. I had two hours blocked off and I’m gonna let it ride. Come rescue me and we’ll have one of those leisurely lunches I’ve heard rumors about.”
“You’re on. Pick you up at noon?”
“Perfect. Now let me get back to tackling these toes. And Syd?”
“Yeah?”
“Andrew works for you, Syd. Remember that the next time he cops an attitude.”
Chapter 18
NOW
Sydney nearly plowed into him as she jogged around the corner onto Wilson. He reached out and steadied her to keep them both from tumbling to the sidewalk.
“Clay!” She shuffled to gain her footing. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
He held her arms until she was fully upright. “I’m fine.” He looked to his right and left, as though surveying the early-morning traffic. “I suppose I should say something witty like ‘Nice running into you.’ ”
“Sounds more corny than witty. And you don’t strike me as the corny type.” Despite his harried demeanor, she liked the way the morning sun lit his eyes. “What has you out and about at this hour? I always suspected you saloon owners were part vampire. Never to be seen in the light of day.”
“Maybe more giraffe than vampire. Did you know giraffes only sleep two hours a day?” He looked away with an embarrassed half smile. “Smooth, huh? Impress the girl with my knowledge of mammalian sleep habits. Sorry, Syd. I can typically hold up my suave facade a bit longer before my inner geek exposes himself.”
“Are you trying to impress me?” She hoped the tease in her voice signaled she’d be quite pleased if he was.
He bent over to pick up the valise he had dropped when she nearly collided with him. “Actually, I’m escaping my accountant.” He nodded toward a two-story building across the street. “She likes to go over my weekend receipts first thing Monday mornings. Now there’s a vampire for you. Seven o’clock and she’s already digested the data my registers download to her computer every Sunday night after we close.”
“And her analysis?” Sydney had no interest in Clay’s bookkeeping. But it was nice to stand in the sunlight and hear his voice.
“Same thing every Monday morning. ‘Stop spending so much on talent. Find a way to stretch a few more drinks out of every bottle.’ ”
“My mother gives me the same advice.”
He glanced down at her outfit. “You’re a runner?”
“Some days more than others. I like the city in the morning. Being out here, watching it wake up.”
“You live near here?”
She knocked on the aluminum wall of the high-rise condo they stood in front of. “Right here. Eighth floor. You feel like coming up for a cup of coffee?”
He leaned against the side of the building, holding her gaze with a look that sent heat climbing up her spine.
“I’d love to,” he said. “But it won’t be this morning. Too many places to be before the Low Down opens. Raincheck?”
She pushed aside a small sense of disappointment. “Anytime.”
“What’s your day?”
“I’m meeting a friend for lunch. Then it’s back to the restaurants by four.”
He nodded but didn’t move. He seemed content to spend a few more moments looking at her. At last he pointed his valise ahead of him.
“See you soon?” he asked.
“You will.”
She watched him until he crossed the street and walked out of sight. Then she turned and entered her building. When the elevator doors closed, she pressed 8, sighed, and wondered why she’d been hesitant to tell Clay about her plans for a jailhouse visit with Windy.
—
Sydney parked her Mustang in the side lot at 11:45. She supposed she’d have to get used to Ronnie’s new business address. She understood that it made more sense for her friend’s clinic to be on Fish Hatchery Road. The proximity to St. Mary’s Hospital meant Ronnie could be bedside in less than five minutes, should any of her hospitalized patients need emergency attention. But as she sat in her car, looking at the low-slung modern building of brick, glass, and stainless steel, Sydney found herself missing Ronnie’s old Victorian on Regent Street.
Times change, she thought. Roll with them or get run over. Isn’t that what Mom always says?
Sydney crossed the wide patio that served as the clinic’s entrance. A woman came out of the building’s double glass doors. She stopped to put on sunglasses before walking toward the parking lot. It took a moment, but Sydney recognized her.
“Cynthia!”
The tall blonde stopped. She glanced toward Sydney but made no move to come closer.
“Did I startle you?” Sydney asked once she was close enough. “I’m sorry if I did.”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m Sydney Richardson. We met Friday at my restaurant. Hush Money. Thanks for coming, by the way. I hope you enjoyed it.”
A nervous smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Forgive me. I guess I’m preoccupied these days.” Cynthia turned and glanced toward the clinic. “Pregnancy jitters, I assume. Of course I remember you. And, yes, we had a wonderful time. Thank you for remembering me.”
“Andrew didn’t mention you were pregnant. Congratulations.”
Cynthia’s spine stiffened. “Why would my husband discuss my pregnancy with a restaurateur?”
Sydney decided not to respond to the condescension. “No reason. You wear it well. I hope you have as eas
y a time as possible.”
“Tell me how you know Andrew.” Cynthia spoke with an old-money presumption that made each statement more demand than request.
“We have business.” Sydney decided she didn’t need to provide the imperious woman with any further details. “As I do now. Have a great day, Cynthia.”
—
“So that’s everything there is to see.” Ronnie led Sydney back into her office after a brief tour of her clinic. “How do you like it?”
“It’s something else. I’ll give it that.”
Ronnie’s face melted in disappointment. “You hate it.”
“No! I don’t hate it at all. In fact, it’s quite stunning. Who did your design?”
“Lindsay Platt over at Whitcomb and Jones. You hate it.”
Sydney laid a reassuring hand on her lifelong friend’s shoulder. “Stop saying that. You know me. I’m not good with change. Maybe that’s why it took me nearly eight months to finally get over here to see it. It’s a masterpiece. The layout, the furnishings, even the art. It’s going to go a long way toward convincing couples struggling with fertility issues that they’re in the right place.”
“Don’t tell me you miss that drafty old house I used to practice in? Syd, the radiators sang so loudly every time we needed heat that I was terrified my patients would think someone was going into labor in the next room.”
“But it’s where you started.”
“Because it was all I could afford! I used to drool, literally salivate, whenever I dreamed of moving out of that place. Finally I did. Be happy for me, Syd.”
“Oh, Ronnie, I am. Just give me time to get used to all the sleekness, okay?” She leaned closer and whispered, “What did you do with Old Iron Guts?”
Ronnie burst out laughing. “Wasn’t she atrocious? A near-life-sized painting of someone who had to have been the meanest woman of her day. Remember when we saw her in that antique shop?”
“Antique shop? What delusion are you living under? Ronnie, that was a junk store. You’d just signed the lease on the Victorian. Every penny you could beg or borrow went to medical equipment and rehabbing the place. In those days neither one of us could afford to walk into any antique shop.”
