NOW
Sydney intended to be the first one into Hush Money the next morning. But when she walked through the darkened dining area, she heard voices coming from the kitchen. It was only nine-thirty, but Roland Delmardo was already in high dudgeon.
“Get that idiot on the phone!” Sydney wondered to which of his staff the chef was barking orders. “I want them to come here and tell me to my face how exactly they determined these shrimp to be of sufficient quality for my kitchen. And you!” He turned to another assistant. “Why are you polishing the glassware this early? Our doors do not open until five o’clock. Do you think I have powers to keep the dust away until then? You never shine earlier than four. Never!”
“Everything okay in here?” Sydney asked. “Do I need to worry about bloodshed?”
Roland’s face registered his incredulity at her question. Sydney waved him over and escorted him into her office, waiting to clarify until the door was closed.
“What’s this yammer about blood?” he asked.
“Don’t you think you ride your staff a little hard, Roland?”
The chef drew himself to his full height, shoulders thrown back, right hand to his throat. “Do you have any idea how many people would stand in line and lick the soles of my boots if I thought they were dusty? Sydney, I am Roland Delmardo. You hired me to bring the highest level of culinary creativity to Hush Money. Do you have any complaints?”
“Of course not. You’ve far exceeded all my expectations. But Hush Money is more than a place to dine. I have hopes for the type of environment I want created here. I want a staff who will remain dedicated. A permanent workforce of respected employees who know how much I appreciate their hard work. I wonder if browbeating them is the best way to achieve that goal.”
Roland grimaced at her criticism. “The president himself had me cater his preinaugural family dinner. Perhaps you don’t know my responsibilities go far beyond putting a tasty scoop on a shiny plate. I am also a mentor. A teacher. Someone who will raise up the next generation of top-tier chefs. That is why the line is long of people clamoring to work for me. They understand my demands are high. They know they will emerge from my tutelage the best of the best. I will not apologize for my standards.”
“I appreciate that. I just wonder if you need to be so harsh.”
“This is my kitchen. Respect my methods.”
“Respect my employees.”
Roland held her gaze. She wondered if she’d pushed him too far. Hush Money had opened with great success. Would that success be sustainable if the restaurant lost the star power her chef offered?
He blew out a long breath. His face softened.
“Here’s my deal, Sydney. The first time—the very first time—you hear a complaint from one of my staff about the way I treat them, I’ll change my ways. Until such an imaginary time arrives, I ask you to trust that I know what I’m doing. Is that something you can agree to?”
She considered his offer. Her only kitchen experience had been in her mother’s diner. Nancy treated every employee like family. She also ran through short-order cooks as fast as pancake batter.
“I can agree, with one stipulation.”
“What’s that?”
“You are never—and I mean never, Roland—to speak to my mother the way you address your staff. She is not yours to train.”
She braced herself for an ultimatum. Instead a look of playful joy crossed Roland’s face.
“Girlfriend, I know how to keep my fingers, toes, and every other appendage attached to this fine body. If I ever spoke to Miss Nancy with so much as a raised inflection, I have a feeling she’d impress me with her creative use of a tenderizing mallet.”
Sydney chuckled. “You know her well. Thanks for the chat.”
He hadn’t cleared her office door before his bellowing began again. “Not on the marble, you idiot! Move that to the butcher block! The marble is for desserts!”
Sydney was an hour into her paperwork when she heard a knock. She looked up and saw Windy Fields standing in her doorway.
“May I come in?”
“Of course. How are you? How’s Gabby?”
Windy stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She kept her gaze lowered.
“She’s fine.” There was a tremble in Windy’s voice. “We’re fine. More than fine. I can’t thank you enough for putting up that bail money. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m going to pay you back. I promise you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to not worry about that? You keep working with Andrew. Show up where and when you’re supposed to. Other than that, focus on your little one.”
Windy glanced up. “We had a fine day yesterday. I kept her home with me all day. We played. Took a bubble bath together. Made tacos for dinner. Might not sound like much, but it was heaven to me.”
Sydney pondered the simple joy of mother-and-daughter time. She’d enjoyed many similar days with Nancy.
Yet not one with the woman who’d given her birth.
“What brings you in?”
“I don’t have my schedule. Thought I’d stop by and see when you needed me.”
Sydney took a deep breath. Would she have the same work ethic after just being released from jail? “Where’s Gabby?”
“She’s with Aubree. I told her I’d let her know what my hours were as soon as I found out.”
“Windy, sit down, will you?” Sydney waited until the young woman was seated across from her desk. “I’m happy to help. I hope you know that. But I think the best place for you right now is with Gabby. And Andrew, of course. Your defense has got to be your top priority.”
“I got nothing to tell him. That night’s nothing but a blur. It’s like you and him want me to tell you I didn’t kill the mayor. But I don’t know that.”
“You don’t know that you did, either.”
Windy sucked on her lower lip.
“I need the money,” she confessed. “I appreciate you paying for Mr. Conyer and all, but Gabby and I need to eat. We need a roof over our heads.”
“Why not let me give you a stipend until all this settles out?”
“A what?”
“A salary. Money to cover your expenses until this is all behind you and you can come back to work.”
“Money for nothing?”
“Money to allow you to stay focused on what’s important right now. You and Gabby being together. Working with Andrew on your defense.”
Gabby was quiet for a nearly a minute.
“You don’t want me here,” she said at last. “Folks will talk. Hush Money can’t have a murderer waiting tables.”
Sydney didn’t respond. She had too much respect for the young mother to lie. The truth was Sydney could offer as much help as she wanted behind the scenes, but to flaunt the woman accused of killing the city’s top citizen would put the entire enterprise at risk. Too many people were counting on Hush Money for her to place it in jeopardy.
“I’ll quit. As generous as you’re being, I can’t have you paying me to do nothing. I still got two customers who say I can clean for them.”
Sydney flashed on Phoebe Millerman’s regret at losing such good help.
“And might be there’s another restaurant that’d hire me. Not as fancy as Hush Money. Maybe you’ll give me a reference?”
Sydney remained silent. She recalled her mother’s warning about saving strays.
“Come with me.” She stood and headed toward her door, but Windy remained in her seat. “C’mon. I have an idea.”
They walked into Roland Delmardo’s kitchen.
“Chef Roland,” Sydney called out. “You remember Windy Fields.”
The chef raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I remember she was to clean oysters for me last week. I remember she didn’t show.”
Windy lowered her head.
“She was otherwise detained.” Sydney rested a hand on Windy’s shoulder. “We need to reassign Windy for a bit. Keep her out of the front of the house.”
Roland looked at Windy. “You’re the one who murdered the mayor.”
Windy gave a small nod. “That’s what the police tell me,” she whispered.
Roland shifted his attention to Sydney. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Then the great chef sighed, wiped his hands, and walked over to Windy.
“Well then, Miss Killer, you ought to be pretty handy with a knife.”
Sydney stepped out onto Wisconsin Avenue a few minutes past noon and smiled into the soft summer sunlight.
“Sydney!”
She turned to see Andrew Conyer headed her way. He waited until he was next to her to speak. “I’m on my way to see you.”
“And I’m on my way to lunch. Care to join me?”
“I don’t have much time.” Even his startling good looks couldn’t hide the concern on his face. “There’s news regarding Windy’s case.”
“I was going to grab something from a truck. That quick enough for you?”
Andrew glanced at the myriad food trucks lining the square around the Capitol. “So long as we take it back. Your office or mine. We’ll need some privacy.”
Sydney pointed to the shining chrome beast parked directly in front of them. “How’s Thai? We can step right back into Hush Money.”
He nodded. They stepped up to place their order.
“Pork pad thai,” Sydney requested. “Two stars.”
“I’ll have the same.” Andrew hadn’t bothered to look at the menu. They stepped aside and let the couple behind them order.
“Congratulations, by the way,” she told him. “On the pregnancy. This your first?”
Andrew blinked. “How do you know about that?”
Sydney smiled. “Oh dear. Is it too soon? Not going public yet? I’m sorry. I ran into Cynthia as she was coming out of Veronica Pernod’s office. I’m afraid the beans got spilled.”
“How do you know Dr. Pernod?” He glanced down at Sydney’s abdomen. “You’re not…”
“Pregnant? No. Ronnie’s been a friend since grade school. Kindergarten, actually. I swung by to have some time with her, saw Cynthia, and there you have it.”
Andrew seemed to relax. “That explains it then. Yes. This is our first. We’re quite excited. But it’s still early. So if you wouldn’t mind keeping it under wraps, I’d appreciate it.”
“Enough said. Is Cynthia feeling well?”
“Floating on a cloud. We both are. Your friend is an excellent doctor.”
“She is that. You’re in good hands.”
“I know that now. I have to tell you, when I first walked in and saw that hideous portrait, I wondered what we were getting ourselves into.”
Sydney laughed. “Old Iron Guts. Quite an imposing figure, wouldn’t you say?”
“I remember Cynthia saying if Dr. Pernod had half the steel of the woman in the portrait, we were exactly where we needed to be.”
The swarthy man in the food truck leaned out to call that their order was ready. Andrew handed him a twenty-dollar bill, told him to keep the change, and turned toward Hush Money. Sydney followed, then led the way back to her office. As they passed through the kitchen, they saw Windy standing at the butcher block. Her head was down as she focused on chopping a mound of carrots. Sydney bumped her office door closed with her hip and urged Andrew to use her desk as a table. She set her own food down, grabbed two bottles of water from a small side cooler, and settled into her chair.
“You have Windy back at work?” he asked.
“She isn’t comfortable with handouts. She was either going to work here or somewhere else. I figured the closer we kept her, the better.”
Andrew considered the options. “You’re right, of course. How’s she doing? Any new insights?”
“Says she still can’t remember much about that night.”
Andrew stabbed a plastic spoon into his pile of noodles but brought none to his mouth. “The police are sure they can piece together what happened.”
“I spoke to Phoebe yesterday.”
“Phoebe Millerman? When? Why?”
Sydney noted the surprise in his voice. “At the funeral. Mom and I went to pass along our condolences. Phoebe suggested we chat. She told me there were people who might not be so upset that the mayor was dead.”
“You? Of all the people to share her concerns or doubts with, she chose you? Do you know her well?”
Sydney took a bite of noodles, shook her head, and waited until she had swallowed to answer. “I met her on Hush Money’s opening night. She was more than a little drunk. Making a bit of a scene. I put her in a cab and sent her home. She told me yesterday she was grateful. She also led me to believe she had warm feelings for Windy.”
Andrew played with his food in silence for a moment. “Tell me about this scene she was making.”
“Now you’re sounding like Horst. He thought it was a little too convenient that Phoebe was here, on a big night, making sure everyone knew who and where she was.”
“She said her name?”
“In a don’t-you-know-who-I-am kind of way. She didn’t like the idea that it was last call for her.”
“Did she make a big deal out of the time?”
Sydney thought back. “She said she’d been waiting for her husband for several hours.”
“And of course, the bartender can verify that?”
“Along with perhaps fifty or sixty dinner guests.” She could almost see Andrew’s theories swirl across his face.
“It’s not like it would be the first time a wife offed her husband. After all, rumors have run rampant for years about the way Roger Millerman treats women. Particularly his wife. Maybe she’d had enough. Maybe she caught him red-handed. One humiliation too many. She kills him, cleans herself up, and heads out to Hush Money. Where dozens of folks will swear she was drinking her troubles away.”
Sydney recalled the look on Phoebe’s face when she discussed how she had once deeply loved the man who would become mayor. She shook her head. “That doesn’t feel right to me.”
“That’s not for us to decide, is it? Remember what I said? All we need is reasonable doubt. The prosecution’s going to mount an ironclad case that Windy’s the killer. It’s our job to put a crack in it. To offer the jury someone—anyone—who might have killed Millerman. Someone other than Windy.”
“But Phoebe?”
“You’re paying me to get Windy out of this jam. If you’re convinced she didn’t do it and you want to find the real killer, hire a detective. I’m the attorney. And I need a list of plausible alternatives to do my job. Which reminds me. Which of your servers turned in that medallion?”
Sydney shoved her plate away. “I have no idea. I’ve spoken to every server who worked Friday or Saturday. No one remembers picking up the medallion and putting it in the lost and found.”
“It’s a pretty distinct object. Surely someone recalls.”
“No one. I even checked with the cleaning crew. Kitchen staff, too. No one retrieved it.”
“Damn it! We need to know how it got there. We need to place it in somebody’s hands. Somebody other than Windy. Because if we can’t, the police are going to make the only conclusion they can.”
“Which is?”
“That Windy Fields is the one person with access to the mayor, the medallion, and Hush Money. We need to link that medallion to someone else.”
The tension in his voice alerted her. “You said there was something new.”
“There is. And it’s not good. I got a call from the state’s attorney. There was a 911 call the Friday afternoon the mayor was murdered. It slipped by them at first.”
“What do you mean ‘slipped by’?”
“It was from a cellphone. No corresponding landline address popped up. The call ended abruptly. Only one word spoken. The 911 folks could narrow the origin to a certain tower. Put it out over the air, and a couple of squad cars canvassed the area. They saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was only after the arrest was made that the 911 operator went back to relisten to the tape. Call came in synced with the coroner’s TOD. Cell number matches a private cellphone found at the mayor’s residence. The prosecutor’s making a case that it was the mayor naming his killer. Like I said, the call ended after the mayor said one word.”
“And that was?”
“Windy.”