Hush Money

by T. E. Woods

  “I’ll get rid of him,” Nancy said.

  “It’s okay, Mom. Let’s see what he wants.”

  The man straightened his off-white tie when he saw them approach. Nancy turned the lock and the man inserted his walking stick into the jamb as soon as she opened the door. Nancy looked down at it and Sydney could feel her mother’s temperature rise.

  “We don’t open for another twenty-five minutes,” Nancy told the stranger. “And we don’t let people wait in the bar.”

  “I can assure you, my dear woman, I am not a man who begins drinking before a more suitable hour. I’m here on an errand that will take not more than a minute of your time.”

  His formal words were spoken with a flat midwestern accent. Sydney had the feeling the man would have loved nothing more than to have a highborn British inflection. His pale blue eyes conveyed an air of condescension. His dark blond hair, combed straight back and secured with a light sheen of pomade, gave the impression he was a man who spent considerable time dressing to convey a certain social status.

  “What is that errand?” Sydney asked.

  He looked her up and down. The navy cocktail dress Sydney had chosen for the evening must have met with his approval. He offered her a smile and slight bow.

  “I’m Brooks Janeworthy. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re the owner of this establishment. Am I right?”

  “You are.” Sydney reached above her mother to open the door wider. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Janeworthy? We’re preparing to open, but if this will only take a moment, I’m sure we can help you.”

  Nancy shot her daughter a you-let-one-in-you’ll-let-’em-all-in look. Sydney ignored it and stepped aside to let the man enter.

  “I had the pleasure of dining here last evening. It’s so easy to ruin scallops. Pulled two seconds too early and they’re a gelatinous mess. Two seconds too late and they’re as rubbery as a schoolboy’s eraser. Your chef chose the hair’s-breadth moment of perfection to remove them from the grill. And the caper sauce was a marvelous surprise.”

  “I’m happy you enjoyed your experience,” Sydney said. “I’ll pass along your comments.”

  He sighed. “So enraptured was I by the entire meal—topped off, I might add, with the most exquisite charlotte russe I’ve ever encountered—that I’m afraid I left without my sunglasses. I needed them when I arrived at six-thirty, but of course they were unnecessary when I made my reluctant though thoroughly sated exit two hours later. I’ve been squinting all day. Would you be so kind as to retrieve them for me?”

  “I’ll check the lost and found.” Nancy turned and stomped toward the hostess stand. Sydney and Janeworthy followed.

  Nancy tugged at the drawer beneath the counter holding the evening’s reservations. It took three tries, followed by a strong yank, before it slid open.

  “This thing’s been uncooperative since the day we got it. I’ve been meaning to call the handyman, but there always seem to be bigger fish to fry.”

  Brooks Janeworthy cast Sydney a look that registered his disappointment in Nancy’s trite metaphor. She stepped over to her mother and searched the drawer.

  “No sunglasses here, I’m afraid.”

  Janeworthy grimaced. “I’m certain I left them here. Would you be so kind as to check again?”

  Sydney pulled the drawer farther out. “Looks like we have a cellphone, an Overture playbill, and two tubes of lipstick.” She reached into the back of the drawer to be sure there was nothing she didn’t see. Her hand scraped against rough wood. She turned a questioning look toward Nancy before pulling the drawer free of its runners. When she set the drawer atop the stand, it was clear there was a three-inch gap in the rear.

  “So much for handcrafted workmanship,” Nancy remarked. “For what you paid for this stand, there shouldn’t have been any cut corners. I’m going to call that guy. What’s his name? Pete? I’ll get this fixed, Syd.”

  Sydney looked to the floor beneath the hostess stand. The solid maple sides cast deep shadows. She bent down, reached out to run her hands over the carpet, and felt the familiar shape of sunglasses. She ran her hand across the entire area and came across another object. She grabbed them both and stood.

  “Are these yours?” she asked Janeworthy.

  “Eureka!” He squared his slight shoulders as he took the glasses from her hands. “I’d be embarrassed to say how much I spent on these. I’m pleased they’d been retained instead of finding their way into some waiter’s pocket.”

  “Now, that’s about enough.” Nancy moved toward him. Sydney stepped between them before the wrath of her mother could be visited upon this arrogant little man.

  “Our staff conforms to the highest ethical standards, Mr. Janeworthy.”

  “Of course. No insult intended.” He nodded toward the second object Sydney had pulled from beneath the counter. “I have one of those. They’re quite valuable. I’m surprised someone would carry it with them while dining. Let alone lose it. But then, I lost these sunglasses, didn’t I? Pot to kettle and all.”

  Sydney picked up what appeared to be a heavy bronze medallion. It was about two inches across and half an inch thick. On its face was a cast representation of an armored knight on his steed. He carried a shield in one hand and a lightning bolt in the other.

  “That’s the crest of Vilnius. Madison’s sister city in Lithuania,” Janeworthy explained. “I was part of a trade mission a few years ago. The medallions were cast from the melted bronze of church bell that was originally made in 1622. The church was destroyed by the Soviets, but the citizens hid the bell. The good people of Vilnius welcomed us each with just such a medal. The symbol of their city on one side and an homage to our individual trade role on the other. Mine is cast with two buildings. I recall the executive director of the Dane County Airport’s medal had an airplane.”

  Sydney turned the medallion over to examine its back. Cast in deep relief was the Capitol dome, illuminated by radiating beams.

  “Looks like the city’s manhole covers,” she said.

  “And those decorations they’re putting on all the new bridges and overpasses,” Nancy added.

  Janeworthy’s face drained of color. His jaw set. Sydney was certain she saw his breathing accelerate.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  Janeworthy tapped his walking stick twice on the ground. He cleared his throat, turned, and stalked out of the restaurant without another word.

  “What a horse’s ass!” Nancy exclaimed as she crossed to relock the front door. “And quite the dandy. What Madison man wears off-white silk in the middle of the afternoon? Or any time of day, for that matter.” She watched Sydney rub her thumb over the medallion. “What’s going through that noggin of yours, kiddo?”

  Sydney quickly slipped the medallion into her pocket. “Open the doors when it’s time, will you, Mom? I’ve got to get hold of Horst.”

  “Horst? Now? Why?”

  “Because I’d bet these restaurants and everything in them this medallion belonged to the mayor.”

  Chapter 16

  NOW

  Horst Welke walked into the Ten-Ten a few minutes before seven o’clock and greeted Sydney with a warm hug.

  “Look at you, Kitz! All dressed up and shiny. You could have had your choice of company tonight. What makes you want to spend a lovely Sunday evening with a lug like me?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “And you felt the need to bribe me with one of your hamburgers? I would have come for the beer alone.”

  Sydney knew Horst needed no inducement. From the day her father was murdered, no matter what the request, whenever she needed him, Horst had been there, willing to slay any dragon that dared breathe fire in her direction.

  “Can you come to my office, please? There’s something I need to show you.”

  “Lead the way. But don’t think for a moment I’m not coming back for my eats.”

  —

  He was impressed with the corridor that joined her two r
estaurants, telling her it reminded him of a secret passageway. He was less enthralled with the bustle and tension that greeted them when Sydney opened the door to Roland’s kitchen. But she grabbed Horst’s big paw and tugged him into her office before he could utter any critique that might set off the volatile chef. She closed the door, appreciative of the quiet that instantly enveloped them.

  “So this is your headquarters, huh?” Horst did a turn to take in the space. “Classy. Nothing less than I’d expect.” He stepped to the credenza behind her desk and scooped up a silver-framed photograph. “That’s me and your dad! Look how flat my belly was! I remember that day. It was one of his famous annual backyard cookouts. Half the force would come. Maybe more.”

  “He may have played the hero, but trust me, it was my mother who did all the work. He’d put on the apron and direct the folks to the food, but the cooking was pure Nancy.”

  “And aren’t we the better for it?” Horst chuckled. “When it comes to the kitchen, Joe Richardson was one hell of a detective.”

  He picked up another item and his amusement left him. A glass dome with a polished mahogany base. He looked at what was displayed inside and seemed to float far away, as though drifting on a river of memories.

  “Your father’s shield. Nice.” He was quiet for several moments. “I’m going to solve it, Kitz. His murder may be officially listed as a cold case, but you have my word. I’ll bring in the bastard who ordered his death. Or I’ll die trying.”

  “I know you will, Horst. I know you will.”

  He set the dome back on the credenza and stood quietly, resting his hand tenderly on top of it. “You didn’t bring me down here for a chat. What’s on your mind?”

  “What can you tell me about Windy?” Sydney leaned her hip against her desk and urged Horst to sit. “How much trouble is she in?”

  “Let me ask you something.” His voice suggested his curiosity was genuine. “Why are you so interested in this gal? I know she worked for you and all. But there’s something more, isn’t there?”

  “She’s a good kid. Looking for a break.”

  “She shot the mayor.”

  “Are you so certain? I mean, really, Horst. Are you sure?”

  “Look, word down at the department is that this Andrew Conyer fella showed up this morning, sayin’ he was her attorney. That’s the end of Wanda—Windy, whatever she’s calling herself—cooperating with me and mine, I can tell you that much. That guy charges an arm and a leg for his counsel. Two arms and a leg. And he’s gotten more than a few bad guys off. I know it’s none of my business, but are you the one footin’ his bill?”

  “Are you saying she doesn’t deserve a defense?”

  “She does. And don’t sidestep my question, kiddo. I know you’re sitting on a mountain of money. And I know you’re not afraid to use it when you think it can do some good. I’m going to thank you again for that fat donation you made to the Boys and Girls Club. We appreciate the new computers. But if you think your money is going to get Wanda Fields off, you’re wrong.”

  “What do you have on her?”

  “Read the papers, Kitz. Or let Conyer tell you what we got. It’s not good for us to be talking about this. I love you like you were my own, but it’s best we keep off this topic. I don’t want anything blowin’ back and queerin’ this case. Or botchin’ up what we got going, either. Deal?”

  “Can you at least tell me if she’s safe? Well fed? Warm?”

  “The jail’s not the Ritz, but it’s secure. The food’s not Hush Money, but she won’t starve. Monday’s visiting day. If you’re so curious, get on down there tomorrow. See for yourself.” He paused. “I get it. I do. Wanda…What do you call her? Windy?”

  “Yes. Everyone does.”

  He nodded. “Seems like a nice girl. I had to fight to keep my protective instincts at bay myself when I was interviewing her. But trust me. Without going into details, I can tell you one thing for sure. She killed the mayor. We didn’t have to take any time arresting her because we have her dead to rights. Three neighbors saw her enter the mayor’s house around what the coroner says was the time of death. Two more caught her walking away. Both of them said she looked a mess. One thought she might have spilled wine all over herself. Don’t even get me started about her prints all over the place.”

  “She worked there. Of course you’d find her fingerprints!”

  “Streaked through blood?” Horst shook his head. “Windy herself can’t tell us she didn’t kill him. Maybe Conyer can get her a lighter sentence. Maybe Windy felt she had to do what she did. I don’t know. But she shot him dead and things gotta run their course.”

  “Can I show you something?”

  “What?”

  Sydney opened her top desk drawer. She took out the medallion she’d found on the floor on Hush Money’s hostess stand. She handed it to Horst.

  “What’s this now?” He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket and put them on. “Heavy.”

  “It’s bronze.”

  “Like the Olympic medals?” He examined the front. “Looks like a knight in shining armor. Some guy give this to you? You want me to check him out?”

  “That the symbol of Madison’s sister city. Vilnius. It’s in Lithuania.”

  “That so? What’s it mean to you?”

  “I’ve been told that these medallions were gifts to welcome a trade mission from Madison. Like a symbol of friendship. Their town’s shield on the front. On the back a distinct representation for each role every particular mission member played.”

  Horst flipped the medallion over. “The mayor was on this mission?”

  “I think so. I also heard the medallions are valuable. Not some little good-luck charm a person might carry around in their pocket.”

  “How’d you come to have it?” Horst’s tone had stepped away from that of a loving family friend.

  “It was here. At Hush Money. In our lost and found. Well, not really, but on the floor beneath where we keep stuff customers leave.” She explained about the drawer where left-behind articles were kept. She told him about the gap and how some things, whenever the drawer was yanked hard, might get shaken and fall to the carpet below.

  “Who found this?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out. But think of what it means, Horst.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think it means first?”

  “I discovered the medallion today. Sunday. Before we opened for business. Hush Money’s opening night was Friday. That means whoever had the medallion left it here then or on Saturday.”

  “Phoebe Millerman was here opening night, right? Could be she had the medallion. Dropped it in her drunken state. Maybe she doesn’t even know it’s gone.”

  “Or maybe whoever killed the mayor stole it.”

  Horst leaned back, a look of disbelief on his face. “You’re suggesting someone was at the mayor’s house, shot him, stole this gizmo, then went home, changed into their glad rags, and hit the fanciest restaurant in town while carrying some of the loot?”

  “It sounds unbelievable when you say it that way, but who knows? Maybe. And if it was stolen, Windy certainly couldn’t have been the thief.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “For one thing, she doesn’t strike me as someone who steals. She works two jobs to support her kid. If she was prone to thievery, I don’t think she’d be that industrious.”

  “You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen, Kitz. People you least suspect do all sorts of things.”

  “Perhaps. But Windy couldn’t have brought it because she wasn’t here. Not on Friday. Not on Saturday. Someone else stole that medallion. Why couldn’t it be the person who killed the mayor?”

  “We don’t know if it was stolen. Hell, we don’t even know if this is the mayor’s!”

  “What other trade member would have the city’s symbol on their medallion?”

  Horst nodded and Sydney felt the stirrings of hope. Those feelings grew when she saw him
reach into his jacket and pull out a plastic evidence bag.

  “You carry those around with you?”

  “I got two jackets. I wear ’em to work. I keep ’em stocked.” Horst slid the medallion into the bag. He sealed it, initialed it, and jotted down the time and date.

  “What’s the next step?” she wanted to know.

  “I’m going to take this to the widow Millerman. See what she has to say. Maybe the mayor gave it to someone, I don’t know. But if it turns out to be what you’re thinking, that the medallion was stolen, then maybe you’re onto something.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning there might be a chance that whoever stole this medallion shot the mayor.” He tucked the plastic bag in his pocket and stood.

  “And that’s good news for Windy, right?”

  A veil of resigned weariness draped across Horst’s face. “No, Kitz. It’s very bad news for Windy.”

  “What are you talking about? She wasn’t here Friday or Saturday. She couldn’t have left it.”

  “But she’s been here every other day for, what, a month? Six weeks maybe? Training. Learning. Getting things ready. She’s been here dozens of times, right?”

  “Yes, but…but…”

  “She ever tell you she cleaned house for the mayor?”

  “No. She didn’t. I mean, I knew she cleaned houses, but I didn’t realize the mayor was one of her clients.”

  “Well, now you do. It’s always the simple answer, Kitz. Things add up just the way they’re supposed to. And from where I’m sitting there’s only one person linking the mayor’s house, which provided access to this medallion, and Hush Money. It’s a two-dot arrow that points straight to Windy Fields.”

  He crossed to the office door. “I’ll check things out with Mrs. Millerman, but I think the likelihood that she dropped the medallion is about zero. I’m sorry, Kitz. Maybe it’s time to face facts. Don’t waste any more of your money on Andrew Conyer. A court-appointed can cut as good a deal as Mr. Fancy Pants can.”

  Sydney didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what to say.