Hush Money

by T. E. Woods

  “And now it’s Melanie White. Does Mayor White share your vision for development?”

  Nancy’s elbow pulled her attention away before he could answer. They were next to greet the widow Millerman.

  Phoebe’s eyes were ringed with the heavy bags of fatigue. She wore a dark gray dress covered in a black cape. Her salt-and-pepper hair was piled haphazardly atop her head. When Sydney stepped forward to shake her hand, Phoebe responded with robotic precision. One, two, three pumps, then release.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Millerman,” Sydney told the widow. “The city’s loss as well. Please accept not only my condolences but the sympathy of the entire Hush Money staff.”

  An awareness kindled on Phoebe’s face. “You’re the woman who cut me off. At the bar. The night Roger was killed.”

  Sydney bowed her head, hoping to signal her regret at that being the memory Phoebe tagged to her.

  “It was a difficult time,” she said.

  Phoebe gave a coarse laugh. “Difficult? Waiting for my husband? What’s your name again?”

  “Sydney. Sydney Richardson. This is my mother, Nancy.”

  Phoebe nodded her recognition. “Waiting for Roger wasn’t difficult at all. Second nature. Comes from years of practice. You kept me from making an ass of myself. In public, no less. I owe you.”

  “You owe me nothing, Mrs. Millerman. I hope you’re being gentle with yourself as you grieve.”

  Phoebe breathed another short guffaw. She turned toward the long line. “Sorry, folks. I need a break. Give me a few minutes to get off my feet, will you?” She turned back toward Sydney. “What do you say you and I grab a cup of coffee? You, too, Mom. Let’s have a chat, just us girls.”

  Brooks Janeworthy stepped aside to let them pass. The sting he felt at being ignored by the mayor’s widow was evident to any who cared to notice.

  Phoebe led them to a pew at the far end of the sanctuary. Nancy asked her how she liked her coffee.

  “Black and strong.”

  “I’ll go get you a cup.” Before she left them, Nancy threw Sydney a look warning her not to press too hard.

  “I was the one who found him. His body, I mean. You sent me home in that cab. Again, thanks for keeping me from doing something that might have ended up in the papers. I lose my sense of decorum sometimes when I’ve had a bit too much sauce. The driver was nice enough to escort me to my door. Don’t worry. I tipped him big.” Phoebe glanced away. Her voice shifted to a softer, almost numb tone. “I walked into what I thought was an empty house. Something sticky was on the floor. I thought maybe Roger had spilled a beer. I flipped on a light and saw the bloody footsteps. Then the walls. A red trail like someone had dragged a hand across. I called out his name. I went down to his office. There he was…dead. The gun was there. Bloody. Needless to say, I sobered up real fast.”

  Why are you telling me this?

  Phoebe took a noisy breath. She leaned in toward Sydney.

  “You’re funding Windy’s lawyer. And if the gossip spinning around town is right, you’re the one who made her bail, too.”

  Sydney braced herself for a tirade. But Phoebe surprised her.

  “It’s good she’s got somebody. I always liked Windy. Probably the best damned cleaning lady I ever had. Details. Girl paid attention to the details. I’ll miss her.”

  “The police appear to have a lot of evidence against her.”

  “So they tell me. But you think they’ve screwed it up, don’t you? Got anything by way of proof?”

  Sydney shook her head. “Nothing beyond a hunch.”

  “Never underestimate that. It was a hunch that told me to accept Roger’s proposal despite his having nothing in his asset column but big dreams and a bigger mouth. I could have married that handsome Billy Afton. He came from old money. Boring as hell, but deep pockets.” Phoebe chuckled. “Oh, my father was so upset when I told him I was marrying a penniless state worker. But it turned out okay. Things were good. At least for a while.”

  “Do you think Windy killed your husband?”

  Phoebe shrugged. “We’ll see what the jury has to say. I’ll tell you what. If she did kill him, I’m sure she had her reasons. A sweet kid like her? No one around to protect her? She’d be just Roger’s type.”

  “Meaning?”

  Phoebe’s face settled into a mask of resigned regret. “My husband was a good man once upon a time. I loved him dearly. But you know that old saying about power corrupting? Well, Roger loved his power. The more he got, the more he had to have. And with each step up the ladder he felt more entitled to the trappings. Access to women who got their panties moist screwing men whose names were in the paper being the perk he liked most.”

  “Did Windy strike you as that kind of woman?”

  “No. Not at all. It was more of a lion seeking out a wounded zebra kind of thing. Unprotected. That was another type of woman my husband liked lording his power over.”

  “Do you think he might have been using her that way?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “Roger kept his escapades quiet. At least he tried. Who knows? Maybe that was part of the kick for him.” She looked Sydney straight in the eye. “I have no idea whether or not he was using Windy. But he was involved with someone. That much I’m sure of. One of those women who like to sleep with power.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  Phoebe leaned back. “You’re not married, are you?”

  “No.”

  “A wife comes to know her man. In ways he has no idea. His habits. His weaknesses. The way he acts when he knows he’s done something wrong, thinks he’s gotten it by you, but still feels that nagging twinge of guilt. For the past few months Roger’s been gone more than usual. Coming home later from meetings. Closing the door to his office when he was on the phone. He was sleeping with somebody. I’ve seen it too often.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “No. Like I said, he was kind enough to keep it quiet. But I knew. I think it might have been over, though. The last couple of weeks he’s been kinder to me. Softer. Like he’d made his decision.” She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Be married a couple of decades. You’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  “It must have been difficult for you.”

  Phoebe ignored the observation.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Sydney asked.

  The widow nodded toward the crowded sanctuary. “These folks here? I think most of them are here to pay their genuine respects. Roger did a lot of good in this town and people are grateful. They’re gonna miss him.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  Phoebe pointed toward the mayor’s casket. “Like that one.”

  Sydney saw Cynthia Conyer looking down into Roger Millerman’s lifeless face. She gently placed one yellow rose inside his coffin before turning away.

  “I know her.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Phoebe said. “But she’s more than the wife of that lawyer you’ve hired for Windy. Cynthia Conyer is head of the Literacy Commission. She may look like a hothouse bloom, but she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty.” Phoebe smiled at some pleasant recollection. “I’ll tell you what. She wasn’t afraid to make demands, either. She rode Roger until he freed up tutoring spaces in buildings all around this city. Cynthia does a lot of good and she knows she couldn’t have accomplished much of it without Roger’s help.”

  “Your husband was a great mayor.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt a whole lot of folks feel that way. But there’s another group here today, too. The ones who really knew him. Had to work with him. Came face-to-face with his my-way-or-nothing steamroll. Got used by him, then tossed aside. And I’m not just talking about his women. No. There are people here for completely different reasons.”

  “Which are?”

  The look on Phoebe’s face morphed into disgust. “To make sure he’s dead, of course. Who knows? Maybe it wasn’t Windy. Maybe it’s one of these good citizens, who wants to make sure Windy gets tucked
away and the case gets closed before somebody figures out it was them who actually did it. I just want you to know: No matter what you may be about to learn from Windy, my husband wasn’t some one-dimensional bad guy. Remember that, please.” Phoebe nodded toward Nancy, who walked their way carrying a paper cup of coffee. “I better get back in line. Thank your mother for her kindness, will you?” She stood and took two steps toward the mayor’s casket before stopping and turning back toward Sydney.

  “Tell Windy no hard feelings. Like I said, good help is hard to find. Windy always struck me as a good girl.” She turned around and marched back to her place in the receiving line.

  Chapter 21

  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 re
ference?”

  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.