Hush Money

by T. E. Woods

  Minutes passed before she gathered enough strength to pull herself up and walk to her master suite. She tossed her purse on the bed, unzipped her wreck of a dress, wiggled free, and kicked it to the side.

  I’ll take a long, hot shower. Drink some coffee.

  She sat on the side of her bed, then leaned back.

  She didn’t move again until her phone rang at 9:32.

  “Where the hell are you, Sydney?” She was becoming skilled at recognizing Andrew’s voice, even when it sounded this angry. “We agreed to meet this morning.”

  It took her a moment to orient. There was a moment of blissful ignorance when her only thought was that she had disappointed Andrew by missing an appointment. Then the events of the previous night rushed in.

  Ronnie’s in the ICU. Someone shot at us.

  “I had a rough night, Andrew.”

  “Were you drinking? You didn’t talk to anyone about what’s going on with Windy’s case, did you?”

  “No. Nothing like that. I spent the night at the hospital.”

  Andrew’s voice shifted from anger to confusion. “The hospital? What happened? Are you okay?”

  She pulled herself upright. She kept her gaze on the view outside her bedroom window. East. Toward the blue-collar side of Madison. The smokestacks and warehouses always gave her comfort. They reminded her the city was more than political correctness and intellectual posturing. It was filled with good people working hard to raise families and live honest lives. She needed that reassurance as she told Andrew about the happenings of the night before. She couldn’t allow the impulsive cruelty of one person to break her love of this place.

  “Dr. Pernod’s been shot? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Two bullets to her chest. Surgery went as well as could be expected. She’s in the ICU now.”

  “My God! Cynthia’s due to see her next week. I can’t believe this!”

  “I’m sure the clinic will make arrangements for all Ronnie’s patients to be well cared for.”

  He must have heard the irritation in her voice. “I’m sorry, Syd. That was selfish of me. Of course my thoughts are with Dr. Pernod. And you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I may never be okay again. Didn’t you hear me? A bullet flew past me and struck my friend.

  “I’m fine. A little tired.”

  “Then get some rest. What I’ve learned can wait until you’re feeling better.”

  “Tell me now,” she urged. “Especially if it’s good news. Have you heard anything more from your friends at the FBI?”

  “I’d rather not discuss it on the phone. I’ll tell you when I see you. For now, sleep until your body says it’s ready to wake up. Focus on you. On your friend. I’ll take care of the case. Call me when you feel up to talking.”

  Her mind flashed on the last time she had seen Ronnie. A small, pale face floating in a sea of tubes and wires. Fighting alone for the highest of stakes. The image shifted to Windy. Another woman fighting alone to overcome risks just as vital. Ronnie was surrounded by the finest medical care. Windy had no one.

  “I need a shower. I’ll meet you at your office in an hour. Have coffee.”

  —

  “So we’re basically where we were yesterday?” Sydney poured herself a second cup of coffee from the carafe on a sideboard in Andrew’s office. “Maybe a couple new players named, but nothing more to link either Janeworthy or Melanie White to the mayor’s murder.”

  “If you think that, you weren’t listening.” Andrew sat behind his desk and tapped an open file folder. “We now know who the two men in the video are. The men who were not only buying her votes but colluding with her to steal the election. These are powerful men, Sydney. Rich. Connected.”

  “You think one of them shot the mayor?”

  “Highly unlikely. If Melanie knew of the tape’s existence, I don’t think she’d tell these guys. Men like these don’t give in to threats. They manage them.”

  “Even if it means murder?”

  “When their freedom is at stake? Scores of millions of dollars? Not to mention controlling the political climate for decades to come? C’mon, Sydney. I once defended a man who killed his neighbor because he couldn’t keep his dog from barking.”

  “So if Melanie found out about the tape…”

  “She’d kill the mayor and remove the threat before they learned she’d been sloppy enough to allow them to be compromised. It would be the only way she could save her own skin.”

  Sydney nodded. It made sense. “Or maybe she told them. Without thinking it through. Out of fear or desperation. If these guys are as crooked as you say they are, they certainly have…What do you call it?…Muscle? People they could call on to take care of things like this?”

  Andrew shook his head. “My money’s riding on Melanie doing it herself. She’s too confident. Too calm. Either she doesn’t know the tape exists or she thinks that by killing the mayor she’s home free.”

  “And what about Brooks Janeworthy?”

  “Janeworthy’s as viable a suspect as he ever was. He’s got to know the mayor taped his encounter with Windy. Who knows? Maybe that was part of his fun. But he may not have had any idea Windy was a local girl. I doubt Janeworthy would have agreed to anything involving someone he might run into casually. He wouldn’t risk his reputation.”

  “But the mayor knew Windy lived here.”

  “And that may have been another tool ensuring his control of Janeworthy. He could produce the woman on the tape at any moment. She could assure the press, or whoever else the mayor might threaten to show it to, that the tape’s legit.”

  “But why would the mayor want to blackmail a developer?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t blackmail. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. What if it was simply to control the largest and most important developer in the city? Roger Millerman had a plan for this city. He made great strides in providing housing for the homeless and revitalizing neighborhoods. The tax base grew under his administration. And he did most of it with the help of Brooks Janeworthy.”

  “So why would he want to risk a partnership that was working?”

  “Maybe Janeworthy didn’t want to play along anymore. He’s grown so large he can lobby the Common Council on his own. He wouldn’t need the mayor, and Millerman might not like the thought of being thrown out of the pilot’s seat. Or maybe the opposite was true. Maybe the mayor was finished with Janeworthy. I can’t see someone like that taking his pink slip and slithering away.”

  “And he’d be so angry he’d kill the mayor?”

  “Maybe. But what’s important is we don’t have to prove either Melanie or Janeworthy killed the mayor. We just have to make them plausible in the eyes of a jury. Let the jury see the police made no effort to consider other alternatives. They were lazy. Sloppy.”

  Sydney knew her father held Horst in the highest esteem. His track record in the years since her father’s death underscored the accuracy of that assessment. Horst Welke was a lot of things, but a sloppy, lazy detective wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t comfortable participating in any endeavor that might lead people to think otherwise.

  “What do your FBI friends think?”

  “They’re itching to see the tapes. I’m not going to show them until Windy’s been acquitted. Then they can do what they will with Melanie White and her partners in crime.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to simply go to the police with what we have? Let them do a thorough investigation?”

  “And risk the blue wall closing ranks? Trust me, Sydney. I’ve spent my career around these guys. If you make any one of them look less than poster-child perfect, they make it priority number one to shut you down. They’ll have every piece of evidence we have as soon as Windy is acquitted. Until then, these tapes are our secret weapon.”

  A hollow pain burned in the pit of her stomach. She loved Horst. She’d built the Ten-Ten out of respect for the local police. How could she participate in something that stood to humiliate t
hem?

  “What’s next?”

  “We zero in. I’ve got my investigators digging into both Janeworthy and Mayor White. Each of them clearly has a motive for shooting the mayor. Now let’s see what we can learn about opportunity and means.”

  “Neither of them were at Hush Money on Friday. They were both there on Saturday.”

  “You let my team figure out if either of them has an alibi.”

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.”

  Andrew’s voice was suddenly stern. “Then get comfortable. Either that or disappear until this is over. You’re either in or out, Sydney.”

  “I’m in.” Her voice shook at the possibility of betraying Horst. “Windy needs to be with Gabby. Save her.”

  “You won’t be sorry. Now go home. Sleep. Eat some chicken soup. Visit your friend.” His tone shifted to kindness. “I’m sorry you went through what you did last night. Madison’s growing. Maybe too fast. These things are part and parcel of big-city risks. I only wish it hadn’t happened to you.”

  It happened to Ronnie. All I did was duck.

  “If there’s anything Cynthia or I can do for you or Dr. Pernod, all you have to do is let us know.”

  He stood.

  Once again Sydney felt like an errant schoolchild dismissed from the principal’s office.

  Chapter 32

  NOW

  She got to Hush Money at 4:37. She’d intended to take only a brief nap after leaving Andrew’s office, but her body had other plans. When she opened her eyes and glanced at her bedside clock, she was stunned to see she’d slept the day away. She grabbed her phone. Her first call was to the hospital, still clinging to the ruse she was Ronnie’s sister when she was put through to the ICU.

  “Dr. Pernod is resting comfortably,” the nurse told her. “She’s not awakened, but that’s not unusual. Her body’s been through significant trauma. Other than running a slight fever, her vital signs are where they should be given all that’s happened.”

  “What about a visit?”

  “Let her rest. Maybe in a day or two. Would you like us to contact you if there’s any change?”

  Sydney gave her number. “That’s my cell. I always carry it. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  She showered and got ready for work, reflecting on the nonsense of playing dress-up as she stepped into a champagne silk skirt and black lace blouse.

  —

  “You have no idea how many bones I need to pick with you.” Nancy marched through Hush Money’s dining room. “If it’s your intention for me to run this place without you, at least let me know and we can discuss a salary that’ll blow your mind.” Nancy stopped her tirade when she saw her daughter’s face. “What’s going on?”

  The touch of her mother’s hand on her shoulder was enough to blast through the defensive wall she’d erected.

  “Mom…Mom…” She got no other word out before tears spilled down her cheeks. Nancy pulled her toward her, locking her in a fierce embrace.

  “Oh, baby girl. Is it that guy?”

  “Ronnie. Mom, Ronnie’s been…She’s been…”

  Nancy stepped back. “What? What’s with Ronnie?” She looked over her shoulder to see at least fifteen staff members looking their way, anxious faces expressing their concern at seeing the owner of their place of employment sobbing in her mother’s arms.

  “We open in ten minutes!” Nancy barked at them. “You know what you’re supposed to be doing. Go do it!” She put an arm around Sydney’s waist and led her back to the office. She closed the door, settled Sydney into a chair, and knelt beside her.

  “Take some deep breaths, sweetheart. You want some water?”

  Sydney shook her head.

  “Something stronger maybe?”

  “No.” Sydney swiped the tears from her cheeks. She looked into her mother’s eyes and saw the love there. “Mom, Ronnie’s been hurt. She’s in the ICU right now. She hasn’t regained consciousness.”

  Nancy leaned back in disbelief, lost her balance, and landed flat on her bum. “What are you telling me? When did this happen?”

  Sydney told, for what felt like the hundredth time, the story of meeting her friend for a glass of wine the evening before. She explained how a simple walk to the car had ended in tragedy.

  “I’d heard there was a shooting.” Nancy pulled herself to her knees. “On the car radio. Roland called and said he hadn’t heard from you all day. I was so focused on getting here I didn’t pay attention.”

  “The police aren’t releasing names. Not until I figure out how to contact her mom.”

  “Olivia doesn’t know yet? You leave that to me. Does Horst know?”

  “I think he’s in charge of the case. He was at the hospital last night.”

  “He knew you were almost killed and he didn’t call me?” Nancy’s fear morphed into fury. “You, I can understand. You were in a state of shock. Him, there’s no excuse.”

  “I asked him not to call you, Mom.”

  “And the reason was?”

  “There was nothing you could do. Not for Ronnie, anyway. I didn’t want you to know anything until you could see I was okay.”

  “But you’re not okay. Look at you. You’re shaking like a leaf in a tornado. Horst should have known you’d need your mother.”

  “Mom, I need to get out there. Open the restaurant.”

  “That’s the last thing I want you thinking about. I’ll get hold of Olivia. She’ll be on the next plane home. Let me have Roland get you a plate.”

  Sydney stood. “No. These are my restaurants. I rely on you too much.” She managed a smile. “And I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “That’s something you’ll never have to worry about. All the way, kid. You and me.” Nancy pulled herself up, licked her fingertips, and resettled Sydney’s hair around her face. “Maybe the distraction will do you good. There’s no sense sitting at home, willing your phone to ring with an update from the hospital. If you’re going to insist on playing hostess tonight, you better go fix your makeup.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “Then stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Next time some bad guy shoots at you, I hear about it the instant it happens, okay? Seriously, Syd. Wash your face. You look like a raccoon after a four-day bender.”

  —

  Sydney kept her cellphone tucked inside her bra as she greeted and interacted with restaurant patrons. Each time it vibrated, hope quickened her heart. But it was never the hospital.

  Come on, Ronnie! You’ve always overachieved. Put it in gear and come out of your sleep. At least long enough for me to tell you how much I love you.

  Just after eight-thirty, Roland Delmardo walked out of his kitchen toward table six. She followed him and arrived in time to hear one of the four male diners voice his concern over his meal.

  “The veal is exquisite,” commented the man with the Shorewood Country Club golf shirt under a navy blazer. “But I ordered it à la Oscar.” He used his knife to push several shards of crab shell around on his plate. “What happened here?”

  Sydney watched her award-winning chef’s face lose its color. “This is unacceptable.”

  Another man at the table smirked through fleshy lips. “I would have thought that was our line.”

  Roland glanced toward Sydney. She could see the chef’s humiliation was near total. His hands were curled into fists and Sydney was glad no words came out when Roland opened his mouth.

  “We are so sorry for this.” Sydney took over the conversation before her chef could find his voice. “Thank you for calling it to our attention. This is not the type of presentation we expect here.”

  A third man at the table spoke. “Don’t worry about him, ma’am. I just finished what was probably the best rib eye I’ve ever put in my mouth. Hank here wouldn’t consider the evening a success unless he had something to carp about.” He turned toward his companion. “How was that crab, Hank?”

  “Perfect. Fresh. And plent
y of it.”

  The man nodded. “And the appetizer? You liked the mushrooms?”

  “I thought the inclusion of roasted rosemary was inspired.”

  “Mm-hmm. And what about the wine that gorgeous sommelier suggested?” The man looked up at Sydney. “No offense intended. Woman knows her stuff. It’s difficult for me to overlook her beauty.”

  “No offense taken,” Sydney assured him. “Anita’s loveliness is difficult to ignore.”

  The man turned back to his complaining friend. “Hank, you’re three courses into what is most likely the finest meal you’ve had in ten years. Do you really want to let a couple pieces of shell mess it up?”

  Hank glanced at each of his dining companions, letting his gaze linger on the one who was taking him to task. Finally he looked up at Chef Roland. “My friend’s wrong. It’s actually been at least twenty years since I’ve had a meal this impeccable. Let’s chalk these shells up to a lax moment.”

  Roland pulled himself taller, nodded his acceptance of the compliment, and walked back into his kitchen.

  “Again,” Sydney said. “I thank you for calling this to our attention. Please allow me to host your final course.” She glanced toward Anita Saxon, who responded immediately. “Anita, can you propose a wonderful wine to accompany these gentlemen’s dessert choices? With my compliments.”

  She left the men at the table murmuring their satisfaction and headed toward the kitchen. She expected to hear her chef venting his anger but encountered a staff cowering in near silence while the renowned Roland Delmardo paced his six-foot-three self around the perimeter. He stopped and pointed an accusatory finger at Sydney when she entered the space.

  “No more!” His volume was low enough to avoid diners’ ears but sufficiently loud to relay his immense disgust. “This is what happens when I allow amateurs to inform my decisions.”

  “What are you talking about? It ended fine. The men are pleased. They told you it was the best meal they’d had in ages.”

  “They will remember the shells!” He caught the decibel level of the last word and forced his voice down to a rumbling hiss. “They will tell the story for years about how they had the opportunity to taste Roland Delmardo and were reduced to spitting out shells. And the uninformed poseurs listening to them will retell the tale, assuming the flaw will elevate their position in their provincial foodie universe. I’m ruined! My career crumbled in tatters at my feet! And I blame you!”