NOW
“Tuna salad on white bread. With potato chips on the side.”
“And it’s extra special when you can get it here. In my mom’s kitchen.”
Horst put his hand on Sydney’s shoulder. “If ever there was a time for comfort food, I guess this is it.” He looked up at Nancy, thanked her, and asked where her own sandwich was.
“Don’t worry about me.” She picked a chip off her daughter’s plate. “Been a hell of a three days, hasn’t it?”
“I’m doing fine, Mom.”
Nancy tossed Horst a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-her look. “I don’t call ducking bullets while a madman corners you in your own restaurant doing fine. Those six stitches in your leg…”
“The bullet grazed me, Mom.”
“And I’m supposed to take comfort in that? A bullet’s a bullet. So you can stop right there with your sugarcoating.”
“I’m with your mother on this one, Kitz. Although I must say I’m mighty impressed with the way you handle a bat. Still, things could have ended up a lot worse.”
“Will you two stop? I’m here. Andrew’s in jail. Justice prevailed.”
They both reached out to hold her hand, Nancy on her right, Horst on her left.
“This sandwich isn’t going to hop into my mouth on its own.”
Horst and Nancy did a synchronized pullback.
“What about Ronnie? Did Andrew admit he did that shooting?” Nancy asked.
“Andrew’s not saying squat to anybody. He’s a lawyer, after all. But the bullets we pulled out of Hush Money’s walls are a perfect match to the casings we found at Ronnie’s. It was him shooting at the two of you. Not to mention we’ve got film putting him at the scenes. Coming and going. Both from the mayor’s house and Ronnie’s. We’ve got you to thank for that, Sydney.”
“I kept thinking about those questions you asked after Ronnie was shot. You asked me to use my senses to jog my memory. What did I see? What did I smell? I told you I didn’t hear anything. That didn’t make any sense. Then I realized Andrew must have used his bike. That’s why I didn’t hear a car.”
“Sure enough. We checked the cameras on the bike paths. One runs right behind the mayor’s house. There he was. Pedaling fast at a time that corresponds to the time of death. Same when he tried to shoot you and Ronnie. He scooted up that path like a cockroach scurrying under the fridge.”
“He wasn’t trying to kill me. At least not that night. Ronnie was the target. She knew the baby Cynthia was carrying couldn’t possibly have been Andrew’s. I think in his own twisted logic Andrew thought he could eliminate her and no one would ever be the wiser.”
Nancy’s voice was firm. “As far as I’m concerned, Andrew Conyer could be launched to a frozen planet in some far corner of the galaxy. Let him die a slow, cold death.”
“What’s the prosecutor have to say?” Sydney asked Horst.
“She’s ready for whatever Andrew and his defense team want to trot out. Cynthia’s been interviewed. She’s on record saying that Andrew told her he killed the mayor. She says that, along with other experiences she’s had with him throughout their marriage, made her afraid to say anything to anyone.”
“I guess there’s no way of knowing what goes on behind closed doors, huh?”
“There’s going to be lots of charges,” Horst continued. “Aggravated murder, assault with intent for his attack on you and Ronnie. Obstruction.”
“So long as he never sees the outside of a prison cell,” Nancy said. “What about Melanie White and that tiny snot Brooks Janeworthy?”
“Melanie White’s going to be spending a whole lot of her daddy’s money on lawyers,” Horst said. “The FBI’s moved in. Last I heard, they’d removed more than twenty boxes of files from her office and home. Computers and cellphones, too. Same thing goes for the two men conspiring with her on the tape.”
“Is she still mayor?” Clay asked.
Horst shook his head. “The council acted quickly. She didn’t put up a fight. My guess is a special election will be called. Till then everyone’s paying extra attention to the rule book. As for Janeworthy, I don’t have a clue.”
“He’s gone, too.” Sydney washed down the last of her sandwich with a long sip of iced tea. “Hush Money may be closed, but gossip finds its way. Word is he’s headed off to London. Told his vice president he planned to spend at least a year there, drumming up the international side to their development business.”
“Sounds more like a duck and run, if you ask me,” Nancy said.
“Probably. It’s unlikely the tape of him abusing Windy would ever see the light of day, but I’m sure he wants to put as much space between him and her as possible.”
“Poor Windy,” Nancy sighed. “What she’s been through.”
Sydney pushed her chair away from the table. “Windy Fields is the last person in need of a pity party, Mom. She’s strong stuff. All she wants is a chance to take care of her little girl.” She turned to Horst. “All charges against her are dropped, I assume.”
“You assume correctly. And my sources tell me the State Journal’s planning on running an in-depth article on Sunday outlining the police department’s rush to judgment. We’ll end up with a bit of mud on our faces, but there’ll be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Windy was innocent from the start.”
“Good.” She leaned over to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Thanks for lunch. Marvelous as always. But it’s back to work for me.”
Sydney didn’t get to the hospital until nearly eight-thirty. She walked into the ICU, headed to Ronnie’s pod, and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the empty room.
“What are you doing here?” The nurse she’d come to like best came up behind her.
Sydney couldn’t bring herself to ask the question.
“Your sister’s gone.”
Sydney pressed her right arm against the wall to keep from falling over.
“What…what happened?”
“Didn’t they call you?”
“No.” Her voice was a fragile whisper. “No one called.”
“Damn it. It’s always the little details that get overlooked. There’s no excuse for it.”
Little details? My best friend’s death is not a little detail.
“Dr. Pernod’s up on F6/4.”
“What?”
“This afternoon. They moved her around six o’clock, I think. She’s passed all her benchmarks. No need for ICU.” The nurse swiped her finger over the electronic tablet in her hand. “F6/418. Do you know how to get there?”
Sydney breathed in the sweetest, freshest breath of her life. “I’ll find it.”
“What the hell?” Sydney walked into Ronnie’s new hospital room.
“Look at you! All dressed to the nines. I’ll bet they don’t get many folks dressed like you visiting up here.”
“And you’re not going to have anybody visiting you anywhere if you don’t explain why you didn’t let me know you got transferred. My God, Ronnie! I thought you were dead!”
“Mom didn’t call you? She said she would. I was just lying here wondering why I hadn’t heard from you.”
“Olivia’s here?”
“Yep. Got here this morning. Clucked around me for about forty-five minutes, then went for a massage. By the time she got back, I’d gotten word I was being transferred. She said she’d let you and Nancy know, then said something about how long it’d been since she had a Village burger. I sent her on her way.”
“Well, no one told me.”
Ronnie turned her head one way and then the other. “Notice anything?”
“The feeding tube’s gone!”
“Look out, Jell-O and beef broth. Here I come.” Ronnie’s voice was thin and reedy.
“Don’t overdo it.”
“Said the pot to the kettle.” She raised a shaky arm laden with IVs toward the television. “I see everything worked out okay with your murder project.”
“It wasn’t a project.”
“Crusade?”
Sydney pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat. She leaned her head over and let Ronnie lay a heavy hand on her hair.
“I was so scared,” she whispered.
“Me, too.” Ronnie patted her one more time before withdrawing her hand. “So it was Andrew Conyer? He shot me?”
“Yep.”
“Damn. Couldn’t he have settled for a bad Yelp review?”
Sydney laughed through her tears and sat up.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“Rehab starts in the morning. Docs say I ought to be out of here in three or four days.”
“I love it. No slouching. Whatever they tell you to do, you do.”
“Yes, dear. Now you. What’s your plan?”
“Keep those restaurants afloat.”
“Not that.” Ronnie’s voice was fading. “The other plan.”
Sydney leaned back in her chair. She held on to her friend’s hand as she spoke.
“You’re talking about Clay?”
“Spill it.”
“Nothing to spill. Things were going well. At least I thought they were. We got into a bit of a fight….”
“About what?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does if I’m going to figure out if it’s a legit fight or just you running away from commitment again.”
“He thought I wasn’t taking this whole shooting thing—the one where you got shot, that is—he thought I wasn’t taking it seriously enough. That I was too wrapped up in the drama of solving the mystery.”
“What happened then?”
“He yelled. I walked away.”
“The typical Sydney Richardson move. Then what? Oh, wait. Let me guess. He called, probably to apologize, and you didn’t take the call.”
Sydney let go of her friend’s hand.
“And you still haven’t called him back? How long has it been?”
“Four days. And I might add he hasn’t called me, either.”
“So maybe that means he’s a guy who respects your wishes. Honestly, Sydney. When are you going to stop being so damned defensive? Not everyone’s your birth parents, you know. Not everyone’s out to hurt or abandon you.”
“It’s not that.”
“The hell it isn’t. You like this guy, Syd. From everything you’ve told me, he feels the same. Stop pushing away people who love you.”
“Do I do that?”
“Oh, God!” Ronnie moaned. “If I were to start down the list, I’d drain what little energy I have left. And I need every ounce of it to get better so I can keep an eye on you!”
Sydney said nothing as she let her eyes drink in the beauty of her lifelong friend. “You really are going to be okay?” she finally asked.
“Trust me,” Ronnie said, smiling. “I’m a doctor.”