Hush Money

by T. E. Woods

  “His name is Steel. He’s twenty-one years old.”

  “Twenty-one? But you’re forty. That means…”

  “I can do the math. Yes, I was quite young when Steel was born.”

  “Steel?”

  “It was his mother’s idea. She wanted to name him after me. I wasn’t feeling too good about myself in those days and suggested she come up with something better. She decided ‘Steel’ was stronger than ‘Clay.’ Like I said, we were young.”

  “His mother?”

  Clay’s smile disappeared. “Miranda. At least that’s the name her parents gave her. The name I knew her by. Over the years she’s used others. Rainbow…Zephyr…I think there was a year or two when she went by Glow Beam.”

  “Sounds like a free spirit.”

  “Or something.”

  “You never married?”

  “No. I grew up in Montana. Bozeman. Mom and Dad had a ranch. Some cattle. Mostly horses. Miranda and I met in high school.”

  “You were a cowboy?”

  “You could say that. I loved everything to do with horses. Not so much the cattle. But my dad did his best to make sure I appreciated the ranch life. I was an only child. I guess he wanted me to follow in his footsteps.”

  “Owning a blues bar is a long way from ranching.”

  “My mom loved music. She had me taking piano lessons from the time I was four. Dad didn’t much take to that, but he could see I loved it. It was an idyllic childhood, actually. All the rough-and-tumble of the ranch coupled with the heavenly escape of the piano. I was lucky enough to get a full scholarship to Oberlin. By then even Dad had to admit I probably had more of a future in music than in horse trading.”

  “I’m sure they’re very proud.”

  Clay took a long sip of his tea. She watched a cloud of emotions wash over his face, a mixture of sadness and regret.

  “I was at Oberlin one semester. I loved it. I couldn’t wait to come home and show my folks all that I’d learned in just a couple months. My mom had the piano tuned and ready for a Thanksgiving recital. That’s when I found out Miranda was pregnant.”

  “So you asked her to marry you?”

  “Of course. This was my doing. I had to make it right. My parents were devastated. They begged me not to marry Miranda, but I couldn’t see being one of those fathers who dropped by from time to time. Turns out I didn’t have to worry about that.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning Miranda was as disinterested in being a mother as she was in being a wife. She turned my proposal down flat. I can’t blame her. I was a skinny, pimpled kid. What did I know about being a husband or father? Her parents had thrown her out. She was living with friends. After Steel was born, she suggested I take him home. Said my parents and I could offer him a more comfortable landing spot than she could. She came by every day. About a month later she stopped. Her friends said they woke up one morning and Miranda was gone.”

  “Where?”

  “I have no idea. That was the last I saw of her.”

  “Steel’s never met his mother?”

  Clay shook his head. “There have been a few letters over the years. She sends them to my parents’ place. Last one was about six years ago. It was postmarked from someplace in Mexico.”

  “My God! You were nineteen! What did you do?”

  “I dropped out of Oberlin. Worked the ranch for a year. Grew up fast. My parents were more than generous. Steel and I stayed with them. I knew I’d never be able to provide for him the way he needed on a ranch hand’s wages. So I enrolled at the University of Montana. Mom took care of Steel during the week while I was in Missoula. I’d come home every weekend. I graduated with a degree in business. Music became my minor.”

  “How’d you end up here in Madison?”

  “Been coming here since I was a kid. Dad would haul horses here to sell every year and I always tagged along. I loved the place. When I graduated from college, Steel was needing to start school. Madison’s got great ones, so we moved here.”

  “How’d your parents feel about that?”

  “Mom was crushed, of course. She felt she was losing us both. But I got steady work. First at the state. Then with a bank. We always made it back to Bozeman for Christmas and two weeks in the summer. Dad made sure Steel knew his way around a horse. But I never felt right wearing a suit and tie. My heart was always in music. The whole time I was doing the junior executive thing I’d sit in on bands whenever I could. Got to know folks in the business. Four years ago the chance came to open the Low Down and I jumped at it.”

  “Where’s Steel now? I’d love to meet him.”

  Clay was quiet for a time. “I wish you could. He’s quite the young man. I just wish he knew it.”

  “Sounds tough.”

  “It is. Like I said, he’s a good guy. Smart. Strong. Honest. Kind. With fingers that can coax sounds out of a guitar like his old man only wishes he could.”

  Sydney had a difficult time thinking of Clay as anyone’s old man.

  “But there’s something missing in him,” Clay continued. “Maybe it’s not having a mom. Maybe it’s something I dropped the ball on. I don’t know. He graduated from West High with high honors. Got accepted here at the university. Northwestern, too. He did one semester here, then dropped out. Said school would always be there, but he needed to get to know himself better.”

  “Lots of kids aren’t ready for college.”

  Clay shook his head. “It’s bigger than that with Steel. There’s a self-doubt about him that he’s trying to shake. I was about a year or so into the Low Down when he dropped out. He worked for me for a while. Prep work, cleaning up, stuff like that. He’d take the stage on Wednesday nights. Had himself quite a loyal following. But that wasn’t enough, I guess. He quit. Went out to Montana for a spell. Came back and found work driving a school bus. That lasted about a year. Ten months ago he decided he needed a road trip and headed off to Europe. Works odd jobs to pay his way. Last card I got from him was from Passau, Germany.”

  “He’s having quite an adventure.”

  Again Clay was quiet. “I don’t know if I’d call it that. He’s searching. My fear is he’s looking in the wrong place.”

  Sydney reached across to lay her hand on his. “He’s your son, Clay. He knows he’s loved. And it sounds like he’s got all the raw material for turning into as spectacular a man as his father did. Give him time. He’ll come back.”

  Clay’s weak smile seemed more politeness than agreement. He looked at his watch.

  “Well, Miss Restaurateur, time for you to swap those shorts for something more elegant.” He stood and took their glasses to the sink. “I hope I haven’t scared you away.”

  Sydney tried to imagine Clay at nineteen, faced with the overwhelming task of raising a child while still one himself. The sacrifices he had made.

  He could have tossed his son aside. He could have burdened Steel with the same lifelong sense of not belonging anywhere that my birth parents laid on me.

  She stood, crossed to the sink, and wrapped her arms around him. He pulled her close. His kiss was long, warm, and tender. He held her, his cheek pressed to hers.

  “One thing you need to know about me, Mr. Hawthorne,” she whispered. “I don’t scare easily.”

  Chapter 26

  NOW

  Sydney pulled her car in front of the Millerman home a few minutes earlier than Phoebe had suggested she arrive. The house was dark. No car was in the drive. An overlooked remnant of yellow crime-scene tape clung to a rosebush in front of the white clapboard Dutch Colonial.

  She’s going to be home soon. She’s going to walk into that house and nothing’s going to be the same. Her husband is dead. Her home will be trashed. She’s no longer the city’s first lady.

  Sydney recalled the weeks and months after her father’s death. She and her mother had sleepwalked through a dense fog of pain and bewilderment. How could he be gone? What was normal supposed to look like now? She remembered having to
manually override her instinct to set three places at the dinner table. To correct herself each time she responded to a teenage friend’s invitation with “I have to ask my dad.”

  You’ll never get over this, Phoebe. You’re forever changed. A widow now. Every truth you held will be tossed aside.

  But grief was something a person could get through. New routines established themselves. The expectations of daily life contributed to a protective scab covering your heart’s wound. New people entered your world, promising a future that could take many different routes.

  Like Clay. She smiled at the memory of his kiss. He’d made himself vulnerable to her by sharing his home and the story of raising his son. I wish you could meet him, Dad. You’d put him through the wringer, I’m sure. But Clay would be up to the task. You two would be friends.

  She sent a silent thought to her father, wherever the universe held him.

  I love you, Dad. Ever and always.

  A dark Chevy pulled into the Millerman driveway, snapping Sydney back to the moment. A tumbled shock of salt-and-pepper hair told her it was Phoebe behind the wheel. Sydney left her car and walked up the drive.

  Phoebe remained motionless in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead. Hands on the wheel.

  Sydney tapped on the window. She hoped her smile would encourage the older woman to remember she didn’t have to enter her home alone.

  Phoebe responded with a mirthless, abbreviated purse of her lips. She got out of her car.

  “Look at me. Miss Hotshot First Lady. With nobody to walk me in but a stranger. How’s that for a turn of the tide?”

  “Every friend starts out as a stranger. You ready for this?”

  Phoebe took her time looking at her house. Her face gave no clue to what emotions she might be experiencing. Sydney assumed years spent in the glare of public politics had taught her such inscrutability.

  “Roger and I bought this house when we didn’t have two dimes to rub together. Spent the entire first year with nothing but a bed and a card table.” She glanced toward Sydney. “We made good use of that bed, I’ll tell you what. Our idea of a fun Saturday in those days was to walk through furniture stores. Pretend we were outfitting a particular room.” She nodded to the second-story windows. “Two of those bedrooms were supposed to be for kids. One’s my office. The other we use for extra storage.”

  “If only life went the way we hoped.”

  Phoebe shrugged off the platitude. “It’s part of the ride, isn’t it? Seeing what each day brings. God, he wanted kids. We both did. I sometimes wonder if maybe he wouldn’t have become who he did if we’d been able to have a couple. Might have given him some balance. Showed him there was more to life than power.” She paused. “We spent a lifetime filling this house up. Thing by meaningless thing. Now it’s my job to empty it out again.” She squared her shoulders. “Come on, stranger. Let’s see what the cops left me with.”

  The dark shadow of graphite coated the front doorjamb and porch railings. Leftovers from the forensic team’s fingerprint search. Phoebe held the screen open with her hip while she inserted the key in the front door. Sydney noted the slight tremble in the widow’s hand.

  Phoebe clicked on a hallway light when they stepped inside. Sydney gasped. Phoebe remained composed.

  The graphite smears covered nearly every surface on the entryway and front room. Dark stains, unmistakable deep tinges of rusty red leaving no doubt they were blood, soiled the hardwood floors and plaster walls.

  “Where’s my rug?” Phoebe asked. “Roger bought me that Persian for our sixth anniversary.”

  “The police must have taken it. Evidence. Would you like me to make a call? See what else they might have?”

  Phoebe ignored her questions. Her eyes lingered on the rust-colored streaks along the walls. She walked down the hallway.

  “This is where I found him.”

  Sydney followed her.

  “His chair’s gone,” Phoebe said. “And look.” She pointed to two holes in the wall where plaster had been removed. “What do you think that’s about? Bullet holes? Handprints?”

  “I could try to find out. I have a friend who’s a detective. As a matter of fact, he’s the lead on this case.”

  Phoebe spun around to give her a curious stare. “And you’re looking to clear the woman he’s arrested? How’s that work out over Friday-night beers?”

  “As you said, it’s all part of the ride. Want to check out upstairs?”

  The two of them climbed a staircase in the rear of the house. Sydney was grateful to see nothing was disturbed on the second floor. She could sense Phoebe felt a similar relief. At least one part of her home was untouched by the savagery of her husband’s murder. Phoebe sat on the bed in the master bedroom, looking like a woman who couldn’t take one more step. She pointed to a pair of upholstered chairs flanking a small table on the opposite wall. It was the kind of arrangement decorators offered up as a place for morning coffee or evening wine.

  The still-taut fabric suggested the setup hadn’t gotten much use throughout the years.

  “I want to thank you, Sydney. For being here, I mean. This is harder than I thought.”

  “Maybe it’s too soon. Would you like to go back to the hotel? I can arrange to have a crew come in and clean up this place.”

  A weary smile crossed Phoebe’s lips. “You mean someone like Windy? This would be right up her alley. What with her eye for detail.” She ran a hand across the heavy damask bedspread. “But this is my home. My mess to clean up. I thank you for your kindness. Truly.”

  Phoebe seemed lost in memories as her fingers traced the intricate pattern of the bedclothes. After a while she brought her attention back to Sydney.

  “You said you wanted to speak to me in confidence. We seem to be sisters of the trench, don’t we? No other person on earth has walked me past my husband’s blood smeared on my living room walls. What’s so secret you’re willing to step into my little house of horrors?”

  Sydney thought about challenging Phoebe’s description. But the few interactions she’d had with her had taught her Phoebe was a woman who used gallows humor as a first line of defense. She’d let that protection stand.

  “I’ll speak frankly.”

  “I’d appreciate it. There’s enough bullshit in my life to choke an elephant.”

  Sydney imagined that was part and parcel of a life in politics. “You told me Windy would have represented one kind of woman the mayor might have been interested in. Young. Vulnerable. Alone. You compared him to a lion seeking out a wounded zebra.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I had no illusions about the man my husband had become.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you I’ve come to learn your assessment was accurate. Mayor Millerman had indeed been using Windy. Sexually.”

  “Sex had nothing to do with it, Sydney. Sex was just the weapon. It was always about power with Roger. I’m sorry Windy got used that way. Nobody deserves that.”

  “No. They don’t.” Sydney was impressed that Phoebe held no jealousy or recrimination toward Windy.

  “I’ve also learned your husband used Windy to exert his power over others. Well, at least one other. Windy tells me he arranged for her to put another man in an incriminating situation. She says she has a feeling your husband taped the encounter.”

  “You mean like blackmail?”

  “Maybe.”

  Phoebe shrugged. “Roger was never one for pornography. If there was a tape, I’m certain it wasn’t for his own viewing enjoyment. Any idea who the man was?”

  “Brooks Janeworthy. Do you know him?”

  “That foppish flower? Of course I know him. He’s been to dinner here at least two dozen times. Drank tea instead of coffee after dinner. Always looking for Roger’s support with zoning variances or tax packages. He’s become a very wealthy man thanks to my husband.” She paused. “Brooks Janeworthy? Now there’s a bet I would have lost. I figured him to be about as asexual as fungus. Too caught up in his own appearan
ce to cast a longing eye on anyone else.”

  “Apparently even fungi have desires.”

  “But why would Roger need that kind of hammer over Janeworthy? I always got the impression Roger had the upper hand in their relationship. Brooks never seemed to fight him over anything. Roger selected the parts of town to be developed. Brooks followed his lead like the lapdog he is. Take the public market, for instance.”

  “I’ve read about that.”

  “It’s going to be huge. At least it was. Who knows what Melanie White’s plans are now? The market was to have been the crown jewel in Roger’s administration. A destination stop that would bring Madison into the league of the most sophisticated cities of the world. Some members of the Common Council, including our newly sworn-in mayor, wanted the market downtown. But Roger was having none of it. He recognized the power that project could bring to raising up some of the more neglected parts of the city. He worked with Cynthia Conyer to include a literacy location within the market. People from the neighborhood—adults as well as children—could use it as a learning resource as well as a hub for jobs and commerce. Janeworthy kowtowed every step of the way.”

  “Maybe there was some other project. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with construction at all.”

  “If Brooks Janeworthy was involved, it had to do with development. That’s all that man lives and breathes. Builds high-rises all over town. No doubt to overcome his own shortcomings.”

  Sydney smiled at Phoebe’s ability to bring bawdy humor to such a dark time.

  “You know I’m hoping Windy didn’t kill your husband.”

  “You’ve made that abundantly clear. And the prosecutor has assured me no one else could have.”

  “It looks bad for Windy. The police aren’t looking anywhere else. That’s why we have to. They won’t stop looking at Windy until we’re able to produce another, more plausible alternative.”

  “And you’ve decided it’s Brooks Janeworthy? I don’t mean to stick my finger in your bubble gum, but any twelve-year-old could take that piece of fluff.”

  “Not if he had a gun. And you said yourself, Janeworthy was so wrapped up in his own image he had little interest in anything else. What might he do if he felt his public image was vulnerable?”