Bad Girl

by T. E. Woods

He ignored her question. “What’s up with this church thing you mentioned?”

  Sydney shrugged. “I don’t know much. She had a young woman with her on Christmas Eve. I got the impression she was part of the mission, too.”

  “Miranda tell you that?”

  “I’m not sure. It might have been Steel who mentioned it.”

  “Does this girl have a name?” Rick asked.

  “Tawney.” Sydney was surprised Rick didn’t pull out a notebook. “I don’t think I ever heard her last name.”

  “You said she was young,” he continued. “How young?”

  “Difficult to tell. She looked like someone whose life has been hard.”

  “Steel’s age?”

  He’s fishing. “I’m not sure I want to talk about this anymore.” She wondered if Rick was looking for a potential romantic link between Steel and Tawney. “Especially not with you.”

  “Stand down, Kitz.” Horst’s tone was kind. “The man’s just doing his job. Can’t blame him for asking a few questions.”

  “Not to worry, Horst. I can handle Sydney.” Rick’s eyes suggested she could take that announcement any way she’d like. “Besides, I’ll be out of her hair soon enough.”

  “Oh?” Sydney asked. “Going somewhere?”

  “We’re sending Rick to Ann Arbor,” Horst answered.

  “Miranda’s home. You’re thinking someone she knew from Michigan killed her?”

  Horst and Rick exchanged a glance Sydney couldn’t decipher.

  “Think of it more as background,” Rick explained. “Jillian and Horst will work the case from here while I go see what we can learn about the victim.”

  “It makes perfect sense.” Sydney nodded. “Why would anyone in Madison want to hurt Miranda? I mean, no one here knew her.”

  “You mean no one except her son,” Rick corrected. “And her son’s father. And her son’s father’s girlfriend. And some hard-road-walker named Tawney.”

  This time she couldn’t stop herself. She shoved her chair back, stood, and turned to her mother. “Thanks for all your help at Hush Money tonight.”

  “Calm down, Sydney.” Nancy reached for her hand, but Sydney stepped back before she could touch her.

  “Kitz, sit.” Horst’s voice was soft and kind. “No more talk about murder cases. How’s that?”

  “I’m done, Horst. Good night.” She turned again to Nancy. “See you tomorrow.”

  She left without another word to Rick.

  Chapter 22

  Rick Sheffield tossed his duffel bag to the floor of the Dane County Regional Airport gate six waiting area. He sat, balanced his to-go cup between his knees, and reached inside his jacket to check his pass. Twenty minutes till boarding began. He tucked it away, leaned back, and hoped the hot, black coffee would work its magic.

  He hadn’t slept much the night before. Even Jocko’s insistent canine grumble that he come to bed hadn’t stopped him from spending the hours after he left Ten-Ten sitting in his living room poring over files. He tried to chalk it up to conscientious diligence as he prepared for his first solo investigative assignment, but he knew it was more than that. His files on the Miranda Greer murder were in order. He was ready. The facts of the case were locked in his mind, and the Ann Arbor PD promised to have a conference room waiting for him, along with a detective to answer any questions he might have about the local scene. Rick took another long sip of coffee, trying to push his mind clear of what else had kept him from crawling into bed with his recently retired golden retriever.

  She’s locked in. She may never be able to accept this. But evidence adds up and points where it will.

  He didn’t want to be the one who’d break the damning evidence to her.

  Women like Sydney are loyal. Even when loyalty isn’t deserved.

  He glanced about the gate area, estimating the number of passengers. He tried to guess who was flying away from home and who was returning to it. All cities have a look about their citizenry, something that signals the tribe to which they belong. But as he took in the members of the soon-to-depart crowd, he realized they had a similar appearance. Every one of them was white. Each looked well fed, well rested, and so familiar with air travel that boredom appeared to be the dominate facial expression. They wore high-end parkas and boots and carried expensive backpacks.

  Madison and Ann Arbor. Might as well be the same place. Overeducated, corn-fed Midwesterners. College-town folks. Liberal in their politics. Secure in their notion that their way is the best.

  A woman dressed in the blue uniform of the airline stepped to the microphone.

  “Good morning, all. This is the initial call for flight 1277, nonstop service to Ann Arbor. We have a short but full flight today, so please take a moment to review your boarding pass. When your row is called, please step forward.”

  The waiting crowd put away their tablets, newspapers, and music devices. Some stood. Rick figured those for the front-of-the-plane folks. His was row seventeen of the small plane. He sipped his coffee and watched the line form.

  “We’ll begin by asking those passengers with young children or in need of assistance to board at this time.”

  The crowd looked around, as if trying to find the people who won the early-boarding jackpot. None came forward. Rick wondered if a 7:02 flight was too early for parents to wrestle with car seats and diaper bags.

  “At this time we’d like to ask passengers in rows one through seven to board.”

  Travelers started to shuffle toward the boarding ramp. Another woman wearing a uniform stood by an electronic scanner, waving the boarding passes presented to her in front of a blinking red light and wishing each person a good morning.

  “Passengers seated in rows eight through fourteen are now welcome to board.”

  Rick drained the last of his coffee in one long pull. He stood and tossed the empty cup into a trash bin. He turned back to pick up his duffel bag. The sight of her stopped him cold.

  Her skin was the color of ivory, so delicate that even from twenty feet away he could see the rose blush the winter chill had left on her cheeks. Her jet-black hair was pulled into a ponytail that brushed the back of her slender neck. Her jeans were tucked into snow boots. Her sweater was gray, a shade or two darker than the parka folded over her arm. For a moment, everyone else in the busy airport terminal disappeared.

  A heartbeat later, time and movement returned to him. He grabbed his own bag and crossed the carpeted area to where she stood.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

  She turned. Her blue eyes flashed an enchanting dare of stubborn defiance. “I’m going to Ann Arbor.”

  “I can see that. Why?”

  “Because that’s where the answers are.”

  Sydney continued toward the ramp while he stood there, waiting for his number to be called.

  Chapter 23

  Sydney saw him in a cluster of disembarking passengers. He wasn’t smiling.

  “Horst know you’re here?” He didn’t bother with greetings as he headed toward the airport exit. She kept pace beside him.

  “I left my mother a note. When she finds it, she’ll call Horst. No doubt he’ll call us both a second later. You want to wager on who he dials first?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Care to slow down a bit?” she asked. “You’re moving through this airport like it’s on fire.”

  He stopped. “Any heat you’re feeling is my anger, Sydney. You’ve got no business being here.”

  “But I’ve certainly got every right.”

  “This isn’t the time to be cute.”

  “Not trying to be. You and Horst have Clay in your crosshairs for Miranda’s murder. Horst has probably given him the don’t leave town speech. He’s stuck in Madison.”

  “So he ships you off to Ann Arbor
to play amateur private detective.”

  She stumbled as a large man pulling a giant suitcase bumped her shoulder and hip. Rick caught her. He wasted no time planting her back on her feet.

  “Clay has no idea I’m here,” Sydney insisted. “And I’m not exactly an amateur.”

  “Oh? You got a police badge hidden somewhere I don’t know about?”

  “Now who’s being cute? I didn’t grow up with the best detective Madison ever saw without picking up some skills. And remember, I was the one who delivered the mayor’s murderer to the cops last year. You guys were barking up the wrong tree then, and you’re doing it now.”

  “Nobody’s barking anywhere. Our investigation is in its early stages.”

  “That’s bull and you know it. Right now Horst is digging deep into Clay.”

  “And where are you pointing your shovel?”

  Sydney readjusted her shoulder bag. She’d packed light, but it still weighed more than was comfortable. “Like you said, it’s early. Where are you staying? We can split a cab.”

  He resumed walking, this time at a more manageable pace. “The city’s got me at the Hilton Garden Inn. I assume you’re at someplace fancier.”

  “I haven’t made a reservation. The Hilton sounds great to me. I’m here to work, not relax.”

  “This isn’t a battle worth fighting, is it?”

  “Not unless you need the practice.”

  * * *

  —

  “I’m hoping you can put me in a room next to my friend here.” Sydney handed her credit card to the desk clerk. “One with those doors that open between would be great.”

  The clerk looked past her to where Rick stood. “I could put you both in the same room, if that works.”

  “No!” they called out in unison.

  “Adjoining rooms will be fine.” Rick’s tone suggested he’d save his energy for arguments he stood a chance of winning.

  The clerk worked his fingers over the keyboard before producing a card key for Sydney. “You’re in room 416. Do you need help with luggage?”

  She told him she didn’t and stepped aside for Rick to check in. Then she led the way to the elevators. They didn’t speak until the doors slid open on the fourth floor.

  “Looks like we’re this way.” Sydney pointed to the right. They walked down the carpeted hall, arriving at room 414 first. Rick slid his card into the lock. He went into his room without a word. Sydney keyed into the next door. She went inside, tossed her shoulder bag on the king-sized bed, and opened the door on her side separating their two rooms. She knocked three times.

  “Open up, neighbor. Time to get to work.”

  The door on Rick’s side stayed closed. She knocked again. Still no response. Wondering if he might be in the bathroom, she decided it was a good time for her to use the facilities herself. A minute later, when she was in no position to respond, she heard the door to 414 slam. She pulled herself together and raced down the hallway just in time to see the lights of the elevator signal Rick was already down in the lobby. She ran back to her room, pulled back her drapes, and saw him, four stories below, shaking the hand of someone in a dark green parka before the two of them disappeared into the backseat of an Ann Arbor police sedan.

  Sydney cursed out loud, went to the phone on the nightstand, and pressed zero.

  “Front desk.”

  “This is Sydney Richardson in room 416. I need to rent a car.”

  * * *

  —

  Two hours later Sydney pulled the rented Chrysler 300 into a visitor’s stall in front of MidWest ImEx. She turned off the ignition, took a deep breath, and shoved aside the nagging inner voice that told her she was nuts. She rehearsed one last time the story she’d concocted on the drive over from the rental agency. She took a quick glance in the rearview mirror, assured herself the fatigue in her eyes could pass for grief, and got out to begin her charade.

  MidWest ImEx was bigger than Sydney imagined. She entered through massive glass doors built into what must have been a century-old brick façade. Like the entry, the massive building was a fusion of old and new. The first few floors signaled its history as a manufacturing warehouse. But the top floor was sleek, nearly futuristic. Once she stepped inside, Sydney could see the entire interior had been refurbished to reflect that same past-into-future sentiment. She slowed her step and walked wearily to the main information desk.

  “Welcome to MidWest ImEx.” The tiny young woman with a close-cropped Afro and sparkling brown eyes smiled up from behind a gleaming hickory and steel desk. A silver name tag pinned to the lapel of her denim vest announced she was Shiree. “May I help you?”

  Sydney stood in what she hoped would be interpreted as bewildered silence for a few heartbeats. “I hope so…I mean, I don’t know…Actually, I don’t know what I’m doing here. Is this crazy or what?”

  Shiree’s eyes transitioned instantly into compassionate curiosity. “Are you here to see someone? Do you have an appointment?”

  Sydney pulled a tissue from the pocket of her parka and dabbed her eyes. She wished she had an actress’s ability to manufacture tears at will, but hoped the symbolic gesture would be enough.

  “My friend…I have a dear friend who…who…”

  “Does your friend work here?” Shiree asked helpfully.

  Sydney gulped in a noisy breath. “My friend is dead,” she whispered.

  Shiree’s hand reflexively went to her chest. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

  “She worked here…at ImEx…oh, how Miranda loved her job.”

  “Miranda?” Shiree looked to her left and right. “Are you talking about Miranda Greer?”

  Sydney nodded. “Did you know her?”

  “You poor thing.” Shiree stood and reached across the desk to take Sydney’s hand. “Everybody here knew Miranda. She ran the place. What am I talking about? You know that, I’m sure. We’ve all been in such a state of shock since we heard what happened.” Shiree’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She hanged herself? In a barn?”

  Sydney surmised only the surface facts had been released. It made sense that anyone not aware Miranda had been murdered would assume suicide.

  “I can’t believe it myself,” she whispered back. “I just saw her a few days ago. Everything seemed fine…”

  “You saw her? You were in Madison with her?”

  She nodded. “Dinner on Christmas Eve.”

  Shiree squeezed Sydney’s hand tight before she released it. “She was there on church business. Are you a member of the Church of Today?”

  Sydney shook her head and held the tissue tight against her eyes.

  “I am. Four years now. My name’s Shiree Evans.”

  “Sydney Richardson.” She forced a smile. “Nice to meet you, Shiree.”

  “What brings you here, Sydney?”

  She stuck to her rehearsed story. “Miranda and I knew one another as kids. We’d lost track after high school. You know how that can happen.”

  Shiree murmured her understanding.

  “She looked me up the minute she got to Madison. I was surprised to hear from her after all these years. But we met for lunch and it was like…it was like…” Sydney drew in another ragged breath.

  “Like you saw her just yesterday,” Shiree completed her thought. “That was Miranda, all right. I didn’t know her real well, but I could tell that woman never met a stranger.”

  Sydney nodded. “We caught up on what we’d been doing with our lives. Miranda had become quite the success. She started telling me she owed it all to her church.”

  “She was living God’s bounty, that’s for sure. She told you all about how God wants us to have everything?”

  Two men with briefcases entered. They walked up to the information desk. Shiree called out to another woman to come help them. Then she winked, came out fro
m her station, and linked her arm through Sydney’s.

  “Come on, let’s go have a chat. I want to hear everything Miranda shared with you.”

  Shiree pointed down a wide hallway marked with signs signaling a coffee shop was nearby.

  “I’ve been running on caffeine ever since I heard the news,” Sydney told her brokenly. “No offense, but the last thing I need is another cup. I miss her so much. I was wondering…I know this sounds crazy…but I just want to be near her again. Close to this place. The place she loved. Is there any way I could maybe talk to someone who worked closely with her? I’d love to know why ImEx brought her such joy.”

  Shiree pulled Sydney into a quick hug-and-release. “Oh, you dear thing. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I mean, my heart’s heavy and I didn’t know her anywhere near as well as you. Makes sense you want to see where she lived her life.” She thought for a moment. “If I had to point you in any direction, I’d say the people closest to Miranda were Alden York. And Natalie.”

  “They work here?”

  “Work here? Girl, Alden York built this place. Of course, he’d be the first to tell you it was Miranda who took it to the next level. Natalie’s his daughter. She comes in from time to time, but she never worked here. Tell you the truth, none of us could understand why Natalie and Miranda were so close. Miranda working all the time and Natalie flying here and there, enjoying the fruits of her daddy’s labors. Most folks figured Miranda stayed close to Natalie just because she’s the owner’s baby girl. But I don’t think so. I saw those two together a couple of times. Reminded me of how it is between me and my own sister. Know what I mean? Miranda never talked about them?”

  Sydney hoped her lying skills weren’t so dusty she’d trip herself. “We were so excited just to be with one another. And it seemed the main thing on her mind was the church, of course. But now that I think about it, she might have mentioned Natalie.”

  “Of course she did.” Shiree nodded.

  “Is Natalie a member of the church?”

  “No. But Mr. York sure is. He’s not only the biggest donor, he’s like the best salesman for our cause. He’s the reason I joined. Mr. York came to talk to my high school business ed class a few years back. Told us how the sky’s the limit and God wants us to have it all. Our teacher about had a fit what with him talking about God right there in a public school, but Mr. York didn’t seem to care one little bit. He invited us all to a service. Ten of us took him up on it. Six of us joined. These years later, I’m happy to say the six of us are climbing that ladder. We’re gonna have it all, and Mr. York’s the one to thank.”