by T. E. Woods
“Like I said, we can work out those details later.” She stood and looked around his office. “I promise to be mindful of your overhead.” She stepped forward. “What do you say, are we a team?”
He stood, his eyes fixed on hers. “Do I have another option?”
“No, Myron. You really don’t.”
Chapter 40
“Any word from Madison?” Sydney hoped she was speaking loudly enough for Rick to hear over the din of the convenience store parking lot she’d pulled into after leaving Fulcraft’s church.
“Why are you still here, Sydney?” Rick’s irritation needed no interpretation. “If my opinion wasn’t enough, I’d have thought the urging of the FBI would have sunk into that thick skull of yours.”
“What can I say? Ann Arbor’s a lovely town. What do you hear from Madison?”
His sigh told her he’d accepted she wasn’t going anywhere. “I got a call from Horst about a half hour ago. We got some DNA from the silo scene. Results came back this morning.”
“And it’s not Clay’s,” she predicted.
“And it’s not Clay’s,” Rick confirmed grimly. “We’re ruling his son out, too.”
A wave of relief made her dizzy. “I’m glad to hear that.” She managed the words through a tight throat. “Does this mean the FBI will be hopping in on the murder?”
“No. Murder is a state crime. Their focus is those contraband shipments. If Miranda was operating alone, it’s likely her customer will come looking for someone else at ImEx to fill her shoes. If she had an accomplice, they’ll find out.”
“You said it had to be someone with executive power,” Sydney said.
“It takes that kind of authority to change cargo manifests.”
“Meaning our suspect list isn’t too big.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Rick’s voice boomed in loud and clear. “There’s no our here. Sydney, you’re done with this. You wanted Clay cleared. Mission accomplished. Now get back to this hotel, pack, and put yourself on the next flight to Madison. Let the rest of us do our jobs!”
Sydney turned on the ignition and disconnected the call before Rick could lodge another protest.
* * *
—
Shiree greeted Sydney with a smile and a wink, then pointed to her headset to indicate she was on a call.
“Natalie in today?” Sydney asked when Shiree was finished.
Shiree leaned forward to whisper. “Left for lunch at eleven. Just got back a couple minutes ago. Told me to hold her calls. Her breath smelled like my Uncle Jessup’s when he’s spent too much time in the garage, if you catch my drift.”
Sydney nodded her understanding. “Can you let her know I’m here, please? She might not be in any shape for visitors.”
Shiree tapped a few keys. “Ugh! Hang on.” She keyed again. “I’m still getting used to this new computer.” She then nodded her success.
“Anna? This is Shiree. How you doing?” Shiree paused, then grimaced. “I thought the same thing. Listen, I got Sydney Richardson down here, wanting to see her. What do you think?”
Sydney wondered if Natalie would care if she knew she was the subject of office conjecture. Probably not.
Shiree hung up the phone. “Go on up. Stop by Anna’s office first, okay? She’ll escort you to Natalie.”
Sydney thanked her, rode the elevator to the top floor, and turned right. She walked into Anna’s office and found her focused on her computer screen.
“Hello, Ms. Richardson. Let me finish two more lines in this email and I’ll walk you down to Natalie’s.”
“Take your time.”
Sydney wondered if the elegance of the space was another part of Miranda’s legacy to the firm. A maple credenza fronted the wall across from Anna’s desk. It was covered with dozens of miniature objects. No two were alike. Did the collection represent gifts or mementos from trips Anna may have taken? She bent down to get a better look at a small glass globe.
“That’s from Chicago,” Anna told her. “A little art studio on the west side. Lovely, isn’t it?”
“It captures the light beautifully.” Her eyes drifted over the rest of the collection. Another piece caught her eye. “Where’d you get this?”
Anna pushed herself clear of her desk and stood, embarrassed. “My boyfriend. Silly, isn’t it? But it brings me a smile.” She raised her hand to fiddle with the lace trim on her blouse’s collar. “Come on. I’ll take you to Natalie.”
Sydney followed her down the carpeted corridor. She saw Natalie through the glass walls of her office as they approached. She was seated behind her desk, chair turned away, looking out the window.
“Do you want me to announce you?” Anna asked. “Or…I could stay if you’d prefer.”
“No need. But thank you. I just want to check in.” She waited until Anna disappeared around the corner before entering.
“Knock, knock.”
Natalie spun around. She grabbed the arms of her chair and squeezed her eyes shut. “Whoa! What is this, Disneyland?” She chuckled at her own joke. “Sydney! Darling! Have you come to rescue me?”
Sydney sat in one of the two peach-colored leather chairs in front of Natalie’s desk. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m dying.” Natalie spread her arms wide as she lowered her head onto her desk. “I’m due at something called a quarterly projections meeting in twenty minutes. Daddy said it’s a must-attend. Tell me, Sydney. What, pray tell, is a quarterly projection?”
Sydney laughed. “Remember that trust fund you told me about?”
“It was supposed to save me from all this.”
“Does your financial person tell you how much you can expect to earn each year?”
Natalie sat back up with a quizzical look. “Am I supposed to know that? He schedules meetings. I tell him I’ll attend, but truth be told it doesn’t take much effort to find something more attractive to do.”
“You should go next time. He probably wants to tell you what your income will be. If you met with him four times a year, he’d tell you each time how much money he anticipates your funds earning.”
Natalie leaned back. “Ooooh! Four times. A quarter of a year. Anticipation equals projection. Darling, you’re a genius! You must come to me every day and decipher the bluster and jargon of corporate speech.”
“I wish I could,” she ventured. “It feels so right here. Like Miranda is closer to me somehow.”
Natalie’s face softened. “You miss her desperately, don’t you?”
Sydney did her best to look desperately sad. “No more than you do.”
Natalie gazed at Sydney for several long moments before speaking.
“Stay,” she demanded. “Stay here. Work here. With me.”
“What?” Sydney tuned her voice to flustered disbelief. “Just like that? You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. You’ll be my executive assistant. Daddy has Anna. I’ll have you. Anna does all Daddy’s work. You could do all mine.”
“But…but…”
“But nothing!” Natalie stood and steadied herself. “I’ll not take any answer but yes.”
“Doesn’t your father have some say in this?”
“What is it I’m supposed to have a say in?” The voice of Alden York pulled their attentions toward the office door. “Hello, Sydney. You look well rested. Whatever it was that took you away from dinner must be fully resolved.”
“I feel fine, thank you. Please accept my apologies for such a rude departure.”
“Nonsense, my dear.” York came over and clasped her hands in his. “We’ll do it again quite soon.” His demeanor shifted. Briefly, but surely. She didn’t have time to categorize the change before he resumed his gracious welcome. “Bishop Fulcraft tells me you’ve decided to s
tay in town awhile longer.”
“Is that true?” Natalie asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me? Darling, that makes this all the easier!” She turned to her father. “Daddy, I want Sydney to work here. With me. She’s to be my Anna. She knows all about business. She’s already prepped me for that important quarterly meeting. I’ll be so much more efficient with her around.”
Alden York looked at Sydney with an attitude she couldn’t define. After a few moments, he tightened his grip on her hands.
“I think that’s a splendid idea. Tell me, dear, do you have a place to stay?”
“I’ve got a hotel. I guess I’ll need to find something more permanent.”
York smiled. “There’s no searching to be done. We’ve plenty of room in the guesthouse. Don’t we, Natalie?”
Chapter 41
It was four-thirty when Sydney pulled her car into the lot of the Hilton Garden Inn, but already the deep shadows of evening enveloped the space. Despite the day’s milder weather, the encroaching darkness brought the frigid air rushing back. Sydney kept the engine running while she dialed her phone. He answered on the first ring.
“How are you?” Clay didn’t bother with a greeting. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m still in Ann Arbor.”
“Come home. Madison is grim and miserable without you.”
She smiled. “You’ve heard the good news?”
“About Steel?”
Of course, that would be his first concern. She silently chastised herself for being so glib. “I’m sorry, Clay. No, I’ve not heard from him. And I gather you haven’t, either.”
“I have. This morning. He’s been in Minnesota.”
“Minnesota? What took him there?”
“Tawney.” Clay did not sound pleased. “The girl Miranda threw out like yesterday’s trash.”
“You’re not telling me they’ve eloped!”
“Thank God, no. In fact, from what Steel tells me, there’s no romance at all between them.”
“Then what’s in Minnesota?”
“A treatment center. My son found Tawny and took it upon himself to drive her to a residential facility. Worked with the administrators until they figured out a way to pay for her stay. Evidently, he’s been visiting her every day. Told me this was the first time she seemed settled and willing to work the program. Said he felt comfortable leaving her there without fear that she’d run away and use again. He’s on his way home. I expect him in a couple of hours.”
“You must be so relieved.”
She heard him blow out a deep exhale. “I am. But my hard work is ahead of me. Steel asked me not to tell his mother Tawney was in rehab. Said he didn’t feel she had the right to know.”
“Oh, Clay!”
“Miranda was a screaming typhoon of anger the last time Steel saw her. He’s been on the road, then wrapped up with Tawney’s rehab. How could he know? I told him to come straight to my place. I don’t want him driving six hours with this kind of news fresh in his mind.”
“I wish I was there.” She didn’t know what she could offer, but she wanted to be next to him, giving whatever support she could.
“I wish you were, too.” He sounded exhausted. “You said something about good news.”
“It’s not as good as Steel coming home, but it was music to my ears. Did you know the police have cleared you as a suspect in Miranda’s murder? Steel, too.”
His end of the line was quiet for a few moments. “No. I hadn’t heard. Maybe they only let you know when they do suspect you.”
“They got DNA out of the silo. The tests came back today. It’s not a match for you. And I guess it was so not a match they were able to rule out Steel, too.”
“Sheffield told you?” Clay’s question was clipped.
“Horst called him.”
“Must have been disappointing for him.”
“I don’t care. But for me, well, I could have danced through the streets of Ann Arbor!”
He didn’t respond.
“Clay? Are you there?” She wondered if the news might have overwhelmed him.
“I’m here.”
“This is a day filled with great news, isn’t it?”
“It’s great news that Steel’s coming home.” His words were terse, his voice cool.
“They’ve cleared you in Miranda’s murder, Clay. That’s pretty damned exciting!”
“Not for me it isn’t. I guess I’m a little surprised at the way you’re taking it.”
She was confused. “Why wouldn’t I be excited?”
“I knew all along I didn’t kill Miranda, Sydney. I figured you did, too.”
* * *
—
The connecting door was open. Sydney heard movement coming from Rick’s room, but she wasn’t in the mood for company. Clay’s disappointment in her was crystal clear. He accepted her apology and explanation, but he’d been eager to end their conversation. He used his need to prepare for his difficult conversation with Steel as his excuse.
She peeled off her parka and threw it on the bed. Then she kicked off her shoes and didn’t care when one of them hit the far wall.
“There you are!” Rick had one hand on each side of the door jamb separating their rooms. “I expected you hours ago.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, too filled with self-disgust to bother turning around. “Well, see? That’s your problem. People would be much better off if they didn’t expect anything of me.”
Rick stepped closer. “What’s with the grim face? Your boyfriend’s in the clear, remember? I thought you’d be floating.”
“What floats up, must crash down.”
“Uh oh. You talk to Hawthorne?”
Sydney shot him a don’t ask look and sat on the side of the bed. “What’s happening on your end? Bring me up to speed on what Stanwick and Delgrasso have learned.”
Rick leaned against the bureau and crossed his arms over his chest. “Never mind what the FBI’s doing. I told you to steer clear of all that.”
“Look around, Detective Sheffield. This is Ann Arbor. You have no jurisdiction here. So stop telling me what to do. Deal?”
His eyes softened. So did his tone. “You want to tell me what has you so riled up? I can be a pretty good listener when I put my mind to it. Jocko always seems to appreciate me, anyway.”
She smiled at the mention of his dog. “Yeah? Well, he has to put up with you. You’re the guy who feeds him.”
He crossed over and sat beside her. “I could feed you, if you think that would help. We still have time to check out the Hearthside.”
She bristled. “You think a juicy steak is going to make everything all better?”
“It couldn’t hurt. At least you’d have the energy to tell me what the everything is. Maybe we could put our heads together. Come up with an all-better plan.”
“I’d settle for solving this case,” she replied.
“You leave that to me, okay? I’m the one the city’s paying.”
She stood and walked toward the doors separating their rooms. “Then I’ll leave you to it. You. The FBI. And anybody else you want to touch base with. Don’t let me get in the way.”
He didn’t react to her anger. “Is that what has you upset? Not being part of the investigation? Go home, Sydney. You’ve gotten what you came here for. Hawthorne’s off the suspect list.”
“Don’t tell me what I came here for!”
He crossed over to her. His voice was calm, but his eyes signaled zero tolerance for resistance. “You need to leave, Sydney. No meddling. No Nancy Drew mystery play time. Go home. Tonight, if there’s a flight. Tomorrow at the latest.”
She stared at him, saying nothing.
“C’mon. I’m hungry. Let’s go get something.”
“You’re
on your own, Detective. Just like I am.”
His tone now matched his resolve. “Steer clear, Sydney. The FBI won’t play.”
“Good night, Detective.”
He shook his head and turned away. When he walked past her to return to his own room, she slammed the connecting door. She hoped he heard her engage the deadbolt.
“Next flight out, Sydney.” His voice was only a bit muffled as it came from the other side.
She went back to the bed and sat. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, allowing its steady rhythm to settle her. Soon she was able to put both her tense conversation with Clay and Rick’s casual dismissal in perspective. She felt calmer.
And hungry.
She considered knocking on the door and announcing she was ready to take Rick up on his offer to buy her dinner. But the thought of his smug grin changed her mind. She pulled the room service menu off the side table, and called down. The woman on the other end of the line told her it would be forty minutes before the steak sandwich, fries, and chocolate shake she ordered would be ready.
“I’m real sorry, ma’am. We’re backed up like crazy down here. We got a bunch of guys on the second floor. Bachelor party, I think. Their order’s filling every burner and oven we got. Don’t tell the manager you heard it from me, but I was you, I’d consider the chophouse across the street.”
Sydney looked out her window. A mist of falling snow sparkled. “Put my order in. And take your time. Those bachelors are giving me space to take a nice hot shower.”
“You sure? Might actually be closer to an hour.”
“I am. No worries.”
“Well aren’t you the nicest person who’s called me today. Tell you what. I’m going to put a little extra something on your plate. You like brownies?”
“As long as they don’t have nuts.”
“One smooth brownie, heading your way. On me.”
Sydney thanked her and hung up. The woman’s kindness and emphasis on customer service would have made her a prime candidate for getting hired at one of her restaurants.
Mom could train her the Hush Money way. A ripple of loneliness breezed over her. She thought of her mother, matching Roland will for will in the battle for kitchen supremacy. An image of Ronnie floated into her mind. She wondered how many babies she’d delivered in the days she’d been gone. She inhaled deeply and the phantom scent of Clay, masculine and woodsy, teased her nostrils. Maybe Rick’s right. Maybe I should go home.
