by T. E. Woods
She watched him pedal away as she leaned against her favorite magnolia. Her legs reverted to their earlier, rubbery state.
This time there was no bike ride to blame.
Chapter 18
“Sorry, Detective.”
Horst knew the uniformed officer barring him from entering Frankie Vistole’s hospital room. She was Taylor Whatley. And she had been on the force less than a year. Horst always thought she looked like a ten-year-old playing cops-’n’-robbers whenever he saw her at the station.
Hell, he thought. They all look like ten-year-olds these days.
“You got a good reason for keeping me from doing my job, Officer?”
Whatley shook her head. “I’m not trying to interfere with your job, sir. Just trying to do mine. Sergeant Lovash said no one gets in this room who’s not on the list.” She glanced back down at her clipboard. “And you’re not on the list, sir.”
“Gimme that thing.” Horst pulled it from her hands. He saw a listing of several people with MD or RN after their names. Two physical therapists were listed. He saw the names of the two detectives who were working the case that turned into something else once Rick was shot. He also saw the name of an assistant state’s attorney.
“Who gave you this list?” Horst demanded as he handed Whatley back her clipboard.
“I relieved Officer Plantus of duty at 7:30 this morning, sir. He handed it to me. But Sergeant Lovash was clear when he assigned me. No one gets past who’s not on the list.”
Horst substituted collegiality for the earlier harshness in his voice. “Listen, Whatley…Can I call you Taylor?”
Whatley’s brown eyes were riveted to his as she nodded.
“Taylor, I know you’re new to the force, and I appreciate you want to make a good impression on your sergeant, but let me tell you how things really work. Now, I respect orders as much as the next guy…or woman…whatever the case may be. But what you’ll come to learn, Taylor, is that good policing sometimes means letting the guard down. Just a little bit. Know what I mean?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“This list. My hunch is it was put together when Vistole first landed in the hospital. Am I right? You been working this patrol since the start?”
“Yes, sir. Since they brought him in last Friday. Plantus, me, and York. Do you know them?”
“I do. Fine officers, all. I can see why Lovash chose you.”
“We take shifts.”
“And you’ve had this list the entire time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And there’s been no changes made to the list, am I right?”
Officer Whatley thought for a moment. “The assistant state’s attorney was added a couple of days ago. Haven’t seen her yet, though.”
Horst nodded. “You know how rapidly things can change in a case. Now, I know I wasn’t assigned to Vistole. But it so happens the case I am working overlaps with this one. Just a little. Not so much I need to involve myself with the good work you all are doing, but just so much that I can obtain the information I need from Mr. Vistole in order to proceed with my case. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, while it makes sense I’m not on the list, wouldn’t you say, for the good of crime fighting everywhere, that it makes sense I get in to chat with Mr. Vistole for a few minutes?”
“I see your point, sir. But there’s nothing I can do.”
“There sure is.” Horst struggled to keep his frustration low. “Just stand aside and let me in.”
Whatley shook her head. “Won’t do you any good, sir.”
Horst pulled himself as tall as he could. He leveled his voice. “You’re telling me, cop to cop, you won’t do me this favor?”
“No, sir. I’m telling you Vistole’s not here.” She turned her clipboard toward him and pointed to a name. “He came and got him twenty minutes ago. Vistole’s going to be in PT for at least an hour.”
Chapter 19
Lilac wished the meeting could have been in the garden. If it was mandatory to come all the way back into Chicago, Lilac would have appreciated an opportunity to enjoy the summer air. But Boss said to meet him in the kitchen, so in the kitchen it was going to be. Lilac looked at the granite countertops and stainless steel appliances while waiting for the big man to appear.
You’re trying to intimidate me, aren’t you? As though a magazine kitchen would make me quake in my boots. Lilac knew full well anything could be remodeled. A house. A plan. A flower.
As Boss walked in, with two men marching behind him, Lilac was mindful to pay attention to the scene being played out now. There was plenty of time for changing plans. But at the moment, pleasing Boss was the best use of time and talent.
“You got answers for me?” Boss didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. Didn’t even ask if Lilac wanted coffee or maybe an iced tea. “How’d Billy Shakes steal my money?”
“I’m getting closer.”
“Closer?” Boss glanced behind him and spoke to the two men. “What? We’re playing horseshoes now?” He turned back. “There is no close. There is A and there is B. A is Yes, sir. Here’s your answer. B is Sorry, Boss. I fucked up. I got nothing.” He paused. “I’m going to ask again. How did a lowlife like Billy Shakes get anywhere near my money?”
Lilac heard blood pulsing against eardrums, felt hands closing into fists, and hoped no one would see the core-burning humiliation blazing inside. “I need a couple more days. I’ll have your answer.”
Heat radiated from Boss’s stare. Lilac held eye contact, even though natural defenses demanded a shift toward the two men to calculate their movements. To plot an escape route should one of them make a move.
There’s no escape. I learned that years ago. There’s Boss. That’s it.
After a long and silent minute, Boss blinked. “What about the other? That taken care of?”
“He’s under guard.”
Boss’s face clouded over. “Who the fuck cares? I pay big to make sure that kind of stuff doesn’t mean shit. Take care of it. Or, what, you want me to get somebody else who will?”
“No!” The response flew out of Lilac’s mouth. “It’s done. I’ll let you know when.” Lilac hesitated, wondering how Boss would react to the next bit of news.
“There’s a snag,” Lilac confessed.
“There’s always a snag. And it’s always a cop,” Boss shot back. “Am I right? What makes this one special?”
“He’s working Billy Shakes.”
“So, what do I care?” Boss asked. “It’s like on the golf course. There are obstacles everywhere. Drive around them. All I want to know is how Billy Shakes got his hands on my money and what you’ve done to make sure it never happens again.”
“Same cop shows up at the hospital this morning. Wanting to speak to Vistole.”
Boss considered that new piece of information. He looked back again at the two men behind him.
“I’ll handle it,” Boss decided. “You keep your attention fixed on the hole you’re playing.” He paused. “I’d hate to see you shank your shot, Lilac. Nobody ever really comes away from that.”
Chapter 20
“And then he pedaled away.” Sydney shrugged.
“I can’t believe it.” Leslie Arbeit leaned back against the cream-colored banquette in Hush Money’s bar area. “After you two left our place…Allow me again to apologize for my boorish brother. I feel like any new friend of mine should be oriented to the toxins that might wash around me.”
Sydney waved off her apology. Leslie had called her that afternoon, after Sydney’s ill-fated bike ride with Clay. She said Charles had just called to tell her he’d be working late, and she wanted to know if Sydney could come by.
“I can’t promise much more than takeout,” she’d said. “But the wine will be good and there’s supposed to b
e some sort of sailing race on the lake. It could be fun.”
Sydney asked for a rain check. She’d left the restaurants early the night before to run Rick’s meal over to the hospital. She didn’t want the staff to think she was turning into an arm’s-length owner. Especially with this being Roland’s first night away. Instead, she invited Leslie to have drinks and a light supper at Hush Money. Sydney hadn’t meant to turn their visit into a woe-is-me session, but the pang of Clay’s declaration proved too hurtful not to share.
“Anyway,” Leslie continued. “After you left, I said to Charles, We’ll be attending their wedding this year. Truly, I did. You two seemed so perfect for each other.” She stared at Sydney, then demanded, “How’s your heart?”
Sydney considered her question. Her friendship with Leslie was new. If it was Ronnie sitting there she could blabber the many, many reactions she had to Clay announcing he didn’t want to be with her until she was ready to commit fully, and not worry about what she might think. But Ronnie was in the Dominican Republic.
“I’ll be all right,” she answered. “It’s not my first heartbreak.”
Leslie took a sip of her Old Fashioned. “It’s hard for me to understand how any man could leave you, what with that movie star glam you’ve got going on.”
You’d be surprised how many men have left, Sydney thought. With my birth father leading the exodus straight from the beginning.
“Clay’s not the kind of guy to be swayed by anybody’s looks,” Sydney explained. “He said I was chasing something. Practically accused me of being some kind of adventure junkie with ADD.”
Leslie’s eyebrow arched. “He said those words?”
Sydney had to smile at her new friend’s ability to call her out. Ronnie would have done the same thing. “Not exactly. But that’s what he meant.”
“That’s what you thought he meant. And look at what you’ve got going on here.” Leslie nodded to indicate the room. “Hush Money. The Ten-Ten. That’s a lot for one person. Of course you’re distracted. Could it be Clay’s hoping for a more traditional woman?”
Sydney almost choked on the pinot grigio she’d just sipped. “Clay? Oh hell no!” She went on to give Leslie the thumbnail sketch of how Clay, at age nineteen, gave up a full scholarship to Oberlin College to return to the Montana ranch where he was raised once he learned his high school sweetheart, Miranda, was pregnant. She explained how, just weeks after the child was born, Miranda abandoned both of them, leaving Clay to raise his infant son on his own.
“Clay Hawthorne isn’t one to get hung up on gender roles,” Sydney added decisively. “And he isn’t anyone who settles for less than everything that he wants.”
“Then what did he mean? What does he think you’re chasing?”
Again, Sydney considered how much to share. “I’m curious about my birth parents.”
“I’d say that’s normal for any person who’s been adopted.” Once again Leslie’s supportive comment sounded exactly like something Ronnie would have offered.
“Maybe a bit more than some, I would say.” Sydney felt no need to delve into the efforts she’d put forth into learning anything she could about the man and woman who’d conceived her. She also didn’t mention all her labors were for naught. Despite spending countless hours on the Internet, as well as nearly thirty thousand dollars in private investigator fees, Sydney knew no more about her biological parentage than what she learned in the letter her birth mother had sent her on her thirtieth birthday. “I think he wants me to accept I’ll never know where I came from.”
The look on Leslie’s face shifted, and Sydney suddenly wondered if the lovely woman sharing a drink with her might have her own mysteries that she’d wrestled with accepting.
“And then there’s my tendency to stick my nose where Clay…and my mother…and Ronnie”—Sydney stifled a laugh–“and quite frankly about a dozen other people tell me it doesn’t belong.”
Leslie’s blue eyes widened. “Sydney Richardson! Are you confessing to me that you’re a busybody?”
“No. But you could say my body’s been busy. Maybe it’s being a cop’s daughter. Maybe it’s owning a cops’ bar. Without ever setting out to do so, I seem to have developed a habit of seeing myself as a one-woman crime-solving force.” This time Sydney didn’t bother to hold back her laughter. “I’m sure your husband would have a thing or two to say about that.”
“That explains why he knew your name when I told him about our first meeting. He must have come across it in police reports or something.”
Sydney grimaced. “And how meddlesome did he describe me?”
“Charles? Not one word of disparagement came from his lips. He’s smart enough to know that members of the community are often the best sources of information we have to solve crimes.” Leslie took another sip of her drink. “So, tell me. What wrongdoings are you working on these days?”
“Not a one, I’m happy to report! The only crime that interests me at the moment is the shooting of Rick Sheffield.”
“Ah! The officer who went down the night of our double date.”
“Yes,” Sydney answered. “And that’s no mystery at all. Rick shot the guy who shot him.”
“If only all mysteries were so easily resolved.” Leslie’s smile turned conspiratorial. “And what about this Rick guy? Is he someone Clay might have been concerned about distracting you?”
Sydney felt her face flush. She took a long drink of wine, reminding herself she was definitely too old to blush. She was mentally formulating her response when a voice called across the room.
“There you are!”
Both Sydney and Leslie turned toward the man approaching them.
“Oh, God,” Leslie moaned. “Blanket apology in advance, eh, Syd?”
“Hush,” Sydney whispered. “He’s obviously delighted to see you.”
Barney Fitzgerald strode toward the table, smiling wide and rubbing his hands together as though he was a child who’d unexpectedly come across his favorite toy. When he reached them, he leaned down to kiss his sister’s cheek. Sydney was taken aback when he bowed to buss the side of her face as well.
“Don’t we all look lovely this evening?” Barney asked, without waiting for an answer. “Where’s the chief, sis?”
“Working.” Leslie’s response held no warmth. “What do you want, Barney?”
Barney brought an open palm to his chest. He wore an impeccably tailored light gray suit, snow-white shirt, and a tie patterned in pink and gray swirls. Sydney wasn’t in the habit of shopping for men’s clothes, but she was certain the man’s outfit had set him back well over a thousand dollars.
“Dear sister, mind your tone, lest passersby think you’re not thrilled to see me.”
Leslie’s smile was forced. But when she asked her brother if he wanted to join them, Sydney noticed her tone was warmer. Barney slid in beside his sister, opposite Sydney, and ordered a scotch, neat, when Yolanda came by for his order.
“This is a happy coincidence, my running into you,” Barney said. He turned to Sydney. “And it’s delightful to see you again, too. You both seem manless tonight. Have I come just in time to save your reputations?”
“This isn’t Tehran, Barney,” Leslie said. “And this isn’t 1953.”
Barney nodded his gratitude to Yolanda as she set a heavy crystal tumbler with two fingers of amber liquid in front of him. “You wouldn’t prove it by the amount of blood I was standing in all day.” He took a sip of his scotch, closed his eyes, and hummed his appreciation before opening them. “Forgive me for mentioning that. A surgeon’s lot is not appropriate fodder for conversations with ladies as gentle as yourselves.”
Sydney watched Leslie squirm. She had to admit she found Barney’s over-the-top presentation whimsical.
But then, I’m not related to him, she reminded herself.
�
�You certainly clean up well,” Sydney offered. “One would never imagine you’ve been hip-deep in bones and guts all day.”
Barney held her gaze for several heartbeats before smiling and raising his glass. “I like this one, sis. Where’d you find her?” He spoke this time to Sydney. “I can only take scrubs so long. Can you imagine? It’s like working all day in one’s pajamas. One’s polyester pajamas.”
Sydney didn’t hold back her chuckle. “Well, you do Hush Money proud.”
“And may I echo that appraisal right back at you, my dear? That frock is beyond.”
“Why are you here, Barney?” Leslie pressed. “On a weeknight? Alone? Dressed like you’re getting ready to play pinochle with Princess Kate?”
Barney’s smile toward his sister seemed warmhearted. “I’m stepping in where you stepped out.”
“What’s that mean?” Leslie demanded.
“I’m here on a mission from Mother. The one she asked you to handle. The one you said you were far too busy to do, what with all the projects you’ve been juggling at Prairie and with Charles’s new job. Ringing any bells?”
Leslie’s face softened with recognition. “Father Moran! Don’t tell me she’s stuck you with the arrangements?”
“She’s only got the two of us,” Barney reminded her. “And she dare not leave anything as, forgive the pun, sacred as dinner with Father Moran to some secretary. Oh, no! Only a Fitzgerald is fit enough to plan a meal for the holiest of them all.” Barney turned toward Sydney and surprised her again by laying his hand over hers. “Do you know Ian Moran? Father Ian Moran?”
“Should I? I’m afraid I don’t.”
Barney patted her hand. “No need to fear. Father Moran is an enormous fish in a very large, but unheralded pond. There’s no way one would expect someone not in the inner sanctum to recognize the name.”
“Tell me, brother, do you spend time developing that particular brand of supercilious patronizing, or does it come naturally?” Leslie asked her brother. She didn’t wait for his answer before explaining things to Sydney. “Ian Moran used to be a priest. Well, technically, I guess you could say he’s still a priest. Aren’t you always, or something like that?”
