NOW
“How do you get these eggs so creamy?” Sydney took another bite. “Every time I try I end up with hard bullets of yellow ick.”
Nancy Richardson stood in front of the stove where she’d prepared Sydney’s meals from infancy through college. “Two little tricks. First, a splash of water in the eggs. Mix ’em up good and frothy. Second, pour ’em into a hot pan. Let ’em cook for about twenty or thirty seconds. Then turn that heat down low and stir as they set. Easy. It’s not like I’m concocting something exotic like in Roland’s kitchen.”
“There’s nothing more satisfying than perfectly scrambled eggs, Mom. And you make the best.”
Nancy poured herself another cup of coffee and joined her daughter at the breakfast nook table. Each sat in the spot she occupied at every meal. Nancy took the chair closest to the kitchen, ready to jump up if anyone needed anything. Sydney sat to her right. The red vinyl chair to Nancy’s left, Joe’s seat, would forever remain empty.
“You want to tell me what’s got you here at this hour?” Nancy asked her daughter.
“I told you. I woke up early. Went for my run and was starving.”
“You own two restaurants. Roland could have whipped you up something fabulous with ingredients I’ve probably never heard of. Even Roscoe would have put something together at the Ten-Ten. Why drive across town?”
Sydney arched an eyebrow. “Nancy Richardson,” she teased. “Are you hiding some man back in the bedroom? Am I cramping your style with an early-morning drop-in?”
Nancy took a casual sip from her cup. “I know the sound that souped-up Mustang of yours makes. I have plenty of time to scoot my lovers out the back door whenever I hear you coming. I was tiring of Eduardo, anyway.”
“Eduardo, huh? Some kind of Italian playboy?”
“Better than that. He has the secret for an exquisite marinara. Now that he’s taught me, I’m done with him.” Nancy stepped away from their game. Her face was serious. “What’s on your mind?”
Sydney had thought of little else since she and Andrew reviewed the contents of the thumb drives Roger Millerman had kept locked in his safe. On the one hand, she was excited about what they could mean for clearing Windy. The sexual encounter between Brooks Janeworthy and Windy was damning enough. But it was the second recording that had Sydney on edge. What was going on in that meeting put Sydney, Andrew, and anyone else who knew about it in mortal danger.
But keeping silent about it all made her miserable. She’d spent a sleepless night, tossing in her bed, fearing what Horst would think when he found out what she’d uncovered. Would he view it as a betrayal? Would her mother interpret her silence as disloyalty to everything she and her father stood for?
But she had to remain quiet. She opted for a dodge.
“I met a guy.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome? Hangs with a gorgeous golden retriever named Jocko? That guy?”
“No, Mother. Another guy.”
Nancy shoved her coffee cup aside. “Who? Where? When? Who?”
“Ever the cop’s wife, huh, Ma? His name’s Clay Hawthorne. He owns a bar on the square.”
Nancy’s eyebrow shot up. “A saloon owner?”
“Think of it as a music venue. The Low Down Blues. Do you know it?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve never been, but Doris and her husband go there.” Doris was Nancy’s favorite book club member. “They have good things to say about it.”
“Clay books some big names. It’s a nice place. I’ll take you sometime.”
“Soon.” Her mother’s face wrinkled in concern. “The hours he must keep. Drunks around all the time.”
“Have you forgotten what I do for a living? His hours aren’t that much later than mine. And I’ve never seen anyone drunk at the Low Down. Clay wouldn’t put up with that.”
“You’ve been going to this bar for how long?”
“It’s not a bar, Mom. It’s a great little place to hear wonderful music. And I’ve been going awhile. I heard about the place when I came back from traveling. It became routine for me while we were putting the restaurants together. I’d swing by for a glass of wine at the end of the evening.” She thought about the baseball bat Clay had given her when Hush Money opened. “He’s given me some pointers.”
Nancy looked unconvinced. “What kind of pointers?”
“He’s a great guy, Mom. A single father. Raised his son all on his own.”
“Raised? How old is this bartender?”
“Will you relax? He’s forty. Five years older than me. And before you start clucking, remember Dad was seven years your senior.” She told Nancy about Clay’s decision to drop out of college when he discovered his girlfriend was pregnant. How he had raised his son after she disappeared from their lives. “He even lives in a regular neighborhood. Lawn, garage, rosebushes, the whole shtick.”
“You’ve been to his home? How long has this been going on? Why is this the first I’m hearing about anything?”
“Gee, Mom, I don’t know. Maybe because of exactly how you’re acting now? I wanted to make sure this thing was going to last awhile before I brought you and your third degree into it.”
“Does Horst know?”
“No. And when I do introduce Clay to Horst, I’m counting on you to shut down any interrogation. Clay doesn’t need some detective grilling him like he’s the linchpin in some terrorist cell.”
“Then I’m going to have to meet this Clay person first. After that I’ll let you know what I’m going to say to whom.”
Sydney took the last bite of her eggs and washed it down with a long gulp of orange juice. She hadn’t meant to bring up Clay. She’d done it to avoid the subject of Windy’s case. But now that she had, it felt good. She wanted to bring Clay further into her circle.
“I’ll tell you what. Let me see what Clay thinks about meeting each other’s people.”
“What? Does he have something to be ashamed of?”
“No, Mother, I’m sure he doesn’t. It’s just that you’re…you’re…”
“I’m what, Sydney?”
“You’re a lot, okay? So is Horst. I want to make sure he knows what he’s in for. Let me run it by him and we’ll set something up.”
“By the weekend. I’m free every night.”
Sydney reached over to pat her mother’s hand. “I’ll see him tonight. I’ll bring it up, I promise.”
Her mother nodded. She was quiet for a moment. Sydney knew better than to try to imagine what was going through her mind.
“Clay, huh?” Nancy finally said. “That his real name? Sounds like something from a romance novel.”
“It gets better.”
“Oh?”
Sydney grinned. “His son’s name’s Steel.”
“Oh, good lord.” Nancy Richardson shook her head. “This weekend, Sydney. I meet this guy no later than Sunday.”
Once again Hush Money’s tables were filled by six-thirty. Sydney had already made one pass through the dining room, greeting patrons and wishing them a delightful evening. She recalled how Clay had described Hush Money as a celebration kind of restaurant and wanted to make sure she did all she could to make her diners’ experience as memorable as possible. A party of four at table two announced they were marking the publication of one of the men’s third book.
“Really?” she asked. “What’s the title? I’m always looking for a good new read.”
The author’s smile was modest. “It’s called Sewer Renaissance: A New Look at Wastewater Management. Something tells me it’s not the type of book you’d want on your nightstand.”
“Sounds like a niche read to me. Congratulations. Here’s hoping everyone who should read it does.”
She felt her face flush when she recognized the woman dining alone at table five. She was as elegantly dressed as she’d been on opening night. Sydney carefully took in the woman’s features.
Her nose is straight. Like mine. Her eyes could be green.
She approached the table.
“Welcome to Hush Money. Are you enjoying your evening?”
“I am, my dear. I think this will become the restaurant I visit each time I come to Madison.” Her voice was soft yet throaty. “You’ve created a masterpiece here, Sydney.”
“Forgive me.” Sydney’s flush deepened, this time accompanied by an electric hum racing up her spine. “Have we met?”
The woman’s smile was indulgent. “It is I who should apologize for being so familiar. Everyone knows Sydney Richardson is the force behind this lovely establishment.”
“You’re not from around here.”
“No.” She hesitated. “I have…ties to the area.” The woman gave a general wave to include the entire space. “And now, of course, I have this wonderful place to entice me.”
She could be the right age.
“You’re welcome here anytime, Miss…Mrs….?”
The woman’s soft blue eyes held Sydney’s. “My friends call me Elaina.”
“Elaina.” She suddenly felt weak in the knees. “Please. Enjoy your meal, Elaina. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“And I you, my dear. You’ve brought to fruition a magnificent vision. You’re making people quite proud.”
Sydney nodded her thanks and walked over to where Anita Saxon stood. Her sommelier was resplendent in a white satin tuxedo.
“You look like a woman who needs to sit down,” Anita commented.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re as pale as a ghost.” Anita’s accent made even the most casual observation sound profound. “Shall I bring you water?”
Sydney silently chastised herself for being rattled by the solo woman diner. I have to stop this. I have to stop looking for phantom parents at every turn.
“I’m fine, Anita.” She willed her voice to sound stronger than she felt. “Do me a favor. The couple at table seven. They’ve been married thirty-two years.”
“Ah! An anniversary. How lovely.”
“No. Not their anniversary. His wife starts chemotherapy on Monday. This is what he called their ‘last hurrah’ before she begins treatment.”
The festive look on Anita’s face immediately shifted to one of concern.
“Can you find out what they’ve ordered, please?” Sydney asked. “Pair it with the perfect wine. On me.”
“Of course. And please, Sydney, go sit somewhere for a moment, will you?”
“One last time, I’m fine.” Sydney walked toward the bar, forcing herself to avoid another look at the woman at table five.
As in the dining room, every seat in Hush Money’s bar was filled. In addition, at least half a dozen people stood, drinks in hand, talking in intense, low voices. Sydney wondered if they were all waiting for their dinner reservations or if her elegant bar, located directly across from the Capitol and small enough to command a certain elite status, might be emerging as the place for politicos to grab a drink and swap inside stories before heading to the next fundraiser or evening committee meeting. She stood to the side and watched three waitresses weave their way through the space, balancing cocktail glasses on small trays, while two bartenders in crisp white shirts filled drink orders with a seemingly choreographed grace.
Her stomach tightened when she got a good look at the group sitting in the far corner. Melanie White, Madison’s new mayor, was holding court. Four men and two women were clustered around her. Her three-man entourage stood behind her, checking their phones and trying to look important.
Turn around. Walk away.
Her mind turned again to the white flash drive she and Andrew had viewed the night before. The tape showing Melanie, unmistakable with her flaming red hair and distinctive voice, promising, demanding, colluding to do the unthinkable. Negotiating her prices. Sydney studied the faces of the people engaging the mayor in conversation. None were those of the two men recorded on the drive.
Of course not. The conversation they were having would never be held in a public place.
Her gaze stayed riveted on the mayor. So young. So sure of herself. Listening to those speaking to her with an imperial bearing. Giving the occasional brief nod. Dismissing, sometimes, with one wave of her hand.
Roger Millerman knew what you planned. He had the proof.
Andrew’s voice echoed in her memory. He’d warned her of the dangers of what they now knew. She was to do nothing—say nothing—until he could confer with colleagues as to how best to proceed.
Turn around. Walk away.
At that moment Melanie White looked up and caught Sydney’s gaze. For several seconds the two women held each other in a mutual stare. Melanie was calm yet studied. Sydney got the impression she was sizing her up, perhaps wondering if she was worth the time to acknowledge.
Sydney put a smile on her face and walked toward the group.
“Welcome, Mayor White. It’s so nice to see you again.”
Melanie looked back toward her trio of toadies. The nearest bent over and whispered in her ear.
“Ah, yes. Sydney,” the mayor said. “Everyone, this is Sydney Richardson. She owns this place.” Melanie returned her attention to Sydney. “And if my sources are correct, you’ve also opened up a cop bar. Did I hear correctly?”
If you know me well enough to know that, why the pompous show of your flunky reminding you of my name?
“The Ten-Ten,” Sydney replied. “It’s a neighborhood pub. But we’ve been lucky enough to have Madison’s first responders make it their hangout.”
“How fitting. You being a cop’s daughter and all.”
Why do you know so much about me?
“You never know when you’re going to need to call in law enforcement,” Sydney said.
Melanie cocked her head.
Careful. Don’t tip your hand.
“And we hope you and your type stick around, too,” Sydney continued.
“My type? What would my type be?”
Deplorable. Despicable. The kind of people who don’t give a damn about the law.
“Political, of course.” Don’t give it away. She can’t know we know. “We hoped our proximity to the statehouse might draw the legislative crowd. We’re thrilled that even the local government sees us as a suitable place to relax.”
A man spoke. “Well I, for one, will be back. It’s a great-looking joint and your bartenders aren’t afraid to pour.” His comment brought nervous laughter from everyone except the mayor. “Then we can really get some work done.”
“Spoken like the lobbyist you are, Adam,” Melanie White said without taking her eyes off Sydney.
“It’s true,” the man persisted. “Get a couple of stiff drinks into any elected official and you might finally hear some truth.”
Another round of anxious guffaws ensued. Sydney didn’t shy away from the mayor’s gaze.
“We didn’t call it Hush Money for nothing.”
The look on Melanie White’s face shifted from imperial boredom. “There’s no need to fret about that, Sydney. It’s my intention to run an absolutely transparent administration. Your bartenders can pour as strong a drink as they’d like. No one on my team has anything to hide.”
For whose benefit are you making that announcement?
“Is there something I can do for you, Sydney?” the mayor asked icily.
Sydney realized she was being dismissed.
“Just know you’re welcome here. I want this to be the place where you’ll always get the treatment you deserve.”
A look of questioning concern crossed the mayor’s lovely face.
“Enjoy your evening,” Sydney said. “Let us know if there’s anything you need.”
The mysterious woman at table five was gone by the time Sydney returned to the dining room. Anita told her the couple at table seven had been appreciative of the wine she’d sent over. And each time Sydney stepped into the kitchen, she noticed a distinct diminishment in the level of drama. She nearly stopped dead in her tracks when she overhead Chef Roland compliment the pastry chef on her lemon soufflé.
Around nine-thirty, with the last round of diners finishing their meal, she started down the hallway toward the Ten-Ten, only to turn around before entering the bar. She’d bet good money her mother was there. That would mean Horst now knew about Clay, which would bring questions she was in no mood to answer. Besides, it was difficult enough holding what she now knew about Brooks Janeworthy and Melanie White. She didn’t want to run the risk of proving Andrew right about her apparent inability to hold her tongue. She turned on her heel and headed back to her office. She checked her cellphone and found two texts, both from Andrew, asking to speak to her. She glanced at her watch, hoped it wasn’t too late to be calling the home of a pregnant woman, and dialed his number.
“Who have you spoken to about this?” Andrew wasted no time getting down to business.
“No one.” She was irritated by his assumption. “I did see our new mayor, however. She was here at Hush Money.”
“Did you speak to her?” The worry in his voice was obvious.
“Yes. Nothing of substance.”
“Damn it, Sydney! We can’t risk her knowing anything. Not until we’re ready to act.”
“Relax. She had her entourage with her. I welcomed them to the restaurant. That’s all.”
Andrew was quiet for a moment. “Your tone of voice. Your mood. The look in your eye. You gave away nothing?”
“She seemed a bit guarded. But I’m sure it was nothing I said or did.”
His worry morphed into irritation. “You can’t be sure of that. Don’t speak to her again. Not until we know what’s next.”
“Did you make any headway?”
“I reached out to two people I know in the FBI. I spoke in broad strokes. No names. No specifics.”
“Did you link what we saw on the tape to the mayor’s murder?”
“No. The last thing we need right now is a planeload of agents swooping in to investigate Melanie White.”
“You think it’ll come to that?”
“Sydney, we have a tape of the president of the Common Council making a deal to sell her vote on a multimillion-dollar development project! Specific dollar amounts are agreed upon. Time lines discussed. We have her assuring them she can handle any push-back from the mayor. And to top it off, we have them promising to deliver the election to her when she runs against the mayor. I’ve been able to identify the two men in the recording. One’s Benjamin Roethken.”
“Who’s that?”
“He owns the company contracted to provide and maintain the voting machines for the entire city. What we have, Sydney, is Melanie White conspiring. Not only pay for play on the development contract. We have her agreeing to a plot to compromise the integrity of an election. That’s as bad as it gets.”
“Bad enough to get Roger Millerman killed?”
“Melanie White’s looking at decades in a federal prison. If she had any inkling Millerman might reveal what she was up to, what do you think she would have done to keep that from happening?”
“Phoebe did say Melanie wasted no time clearing out Roger’s office and moving herself in. Maybe Roger let her know about the tape. She could have been looking for it.”
“I want you to think about that. A person who’s killed once has just lowered their barrier to killing again. Remember that anytime your urge to be helpful threatens to get the better of you.”
“What about Janeworthy? Did you speak to anyone about him?”
“Don’t need to. As despicable as what Millerman and Janeworthy did is, no laws were broken. But that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook for Millerman’s murder. Janeworthy spends a lot of time and money sustaining his image. If the mayor was blackmailing him, it’s not beyond the pale to think Janeworthy would take lethal steps to eliminate the threat. And he’s already made the link between Windy and you. He’ll assume she’s told you what happened that day at the mayor’s home. What he doesn’t know is that we have the tape. If he were to find out, you’d be as great a threat to him as Millerman was.”
“So what do we do?”
“Nothing. I’ll follow up with my friends at the Bureau. I’ve got my trial team working on the best ways to introduce alternative theories of who might have killed the mayor. In the meantime, we let the police go right on thinking Windy’s their killer. She’s doing a good job laying low?”
“As far as I know, she comes to work, goes home, plays with Gabby.”
“Good. We have to keep her away from Janeworthy. There’s not much chance he’ll be dropping by Hush Money. Not after the scene you described when the two of them met on the street.”
“I agree.”
“It shouldn’t be too much longer. I’m pressing hard for a court date as soon as we can get on the judge’s docket. What are your plans?”
“For what?”
“For staying safe. For keeping this quiet.”
Sydney thought for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would need her own safety plan.
She recalled the night she had discovered her front door unlocked but shook the thought free. It was a memory lapse. No sense making something bigger of it.
“I live in a high-rise. There’s no listing of who occupies which unit, but I’ll let the concierge know not to let anyone up unless I’ve approved it.”
“Can you do that without tipping your hand?”
“I’ll say I have a disgruntled employee.”
“That’s good. I’m sorry it’s come to this, Sydney.”
“You sound like you think this is going to get worse before it gets better.”
“It’s going to be what it has to be. And sometimes that’s no good for anybody.”