Bad Girl

by T. E. Woods

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  By five-thirty nearly every seat in the dining room and bar was filled. Sydney’s publicist had advertised the night’s concept well. She’d even arranged for Roland to appear on a local morning newscast to demonstrate one of his simpler recipes. Guests knew there’d be no reservations on Christmas Eve. They’d pay one price for all the Roland Delmardo hors d’ouevres they wanted. Sydney walked through the rooms decorated with glass snowflakes and golden Christmas trees. She exchanged holiday wishes with her guests while servers in velvet trousers and red plaid vests rolled carts laden with various and exotic samplers. The sound of laughter and easy conversation filled the elegant space.

  “Looks like we’re a hit.” Nancy gave her daughter a sideways hug as she passed her on the way to check on things in the kitchen. “Great idea, Syd.”

  Sydney thanked her and surveyed the room again.

  I’m doing this, she thought. This is really working.

  Her moment of self-congratulation was cut short, however, when she saw Gail, one of two hostesses on duty that evening, seat three new guests at table nine. Sydney spun around, putting her back to the dining room.

  Steady. Slow. Just breathe. That’s all you have to do. Just breathe.

  When she was calmer, she turned. She took one step forward, put her best Merry Christmas smile on her face, then walked over.

  “Happy holidays, everyone.” She rested a hand on Steel’s shoulder. “It’s a delight to see you.” She turned her attention to the platinum blonde sitting across from him. Miranda dazzled in a silver angora sweater with an elegantly draped cowl-neck. A two-inch broach in the shape of a star was pinned to her right shoulder. The glistening cascade it cast with Miranda’s slightest move announced its faceted stones weren’t rhinestones. “Merry Christmas, Miranda. I wish I’d known you were coming.”

  “Why?” Miranda’s pale blue eyes taunted. “Would you have baked us a cake?”

  Sydney turned to the third member of Miranda’s party. “I’m Sydney Richardson. Welcome.”

  The girl looked toward Miranda and said nothing. She was thin. Too thin, Sydney decided. Her eyes were sunken and shadowed in a way that suggested she probably couldn’t remember the last night she’d slept well. Her brown hair was clean, but begging for a trim. Sydney found it difficult to assess her age. She looked to be somewhere around thirty, but the way she held herself made Sydney think she was probably much younger.

  “This is Tawney,” Miranda announced. “Tawney Gorleski. She just arrived in Madison this morning. Tawney, say hello to Sydney.”

  Tawney looked up quickly before lowering her attention to her hands. “Hullo.”

  “You’ll have to forgive Tawney,” Miranda said. “She’s new to all this. But give me a month or two and she’ll be a changed woman.”

  “Mom’s taken her on,” Steel explained. “That’s what she does. With her church, I mean.”

  “Her church?” Sydney asked.

  “Yeah. Above and beyond her professional job, Mom helps people reach their full potential. She’s going to be Tawney’s mentor.” His eyes glistened with pride as he looked at the thin girl to his right. “You couldn’t be in better hands, Tawney. My mom’s the best.”

  Sydney turned to Miranda. “I understand you live in Ann Arbor. Is that where your church is?”

  “It’s where it’s headquartered,” Miranda answered. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it. The Church of Today?”

  “Can’t say I’m aware of it.”

  “It has branches all over the country,” Steel explained. “Even in France and England. And it’s growing. That’s why Mom’s here. She’s in charge of expanding an outreach center right here in Madison. She—”

  “Now, Steel,” Miranda interrupted. “I’m here to see you. First, foremost, and always. But if I can do a little bit of God’s work while I’m here, so much the better.”

  Sydney tightened her grip on the back of Steel’s chair when she felt her breath escape her. “You’re planning on staying?”

  Miranda’s eyes shifted into something daring while her lips still held a smile. “This is where my family is. Steel could be a big help to me, and now we’ll have Tawney, too. And there’s always Clay, of course. I’ll go back to Ann Arbor from time to time, but Madison might be my new home. I’ve been looking at property. As luck would have it, I saw something I liked just yesterday.”

  Sydney could think of nothing more interesting to say than “Oh?”

  “Yes. A condominium. Rather small, but then again I won’t be needing anything larger for a while.”

  A while? Then what?

  “It’s right on the water.” Miranda brought a perfectly manicured hand up to rest her chin upon. “You must know it. It’s called the Marina.”

  Sydney looked away. Her blood drained to her feet, and she shifted her weight to remain standing.

  “Hey!” Steel said. “You didn’t tell me where it was, Mom. Isn’t that where you live, Syd?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  Miranda leaned back in astonishment. “Well, isn’t this another example of just how small the world is? My unit’s on the twelfth floor. Where are you, Sydney?”

  Sydney thought her own voice sounded far, far away. “Eight.”

  Miranda locked her eyes on Sydney’s, her smile never faltering. “This is too funny. Think of it, Syd. Me, always hovering above you.”

  Chapter 10

  “I have to put this down right now before I start blubbering like a five-year-old girl and ruin my he-man image.” Horst ran his hand over the leather-bound book of his family history one last time before he set it on the table beside him. “Thank you, Kitz. From the bottom of my cold German heart. I don’t know how you got this done, but I plan to devour every single word of it.” He blew her a kiss across Nancy Richardson’s living room.

  Ronnie balled up a large piece of blue-and-silver wrapping paper which earlier that Christmas morning had covered one of the dozens of gifts piled beneath Nancy’s tree. She chucked it toward Sydney, just missing her best friend’s head.

  “What’s that about?” Sydney laughed.

  “That is evidence of my continued jealousy at your ability to always choose the perfect gift.” She waved the small, flat box that held her own present from Sydney. “Like this spa-of-the-month club. Now, wherever did you get the idea I might like something like that?”

  “A little bird told me.” Sydney pulled another present from under the tree. She handed it to Nancy. “Here you go, Mom. Merry Christmas.”

  Nancy shook her head. “You’ve already gotten me my favorite lotion. And the bubble bath to go with it.” She pulled off the red velvet bow and ran her finger under the tape on the package’s gold foil paper. “This is going to get downright embarrassing.”

  “I hope you like it.”

  Nancy pulled out a silver frame that held a five-by-seven photograph of a wooden bench centered between two mature blue spruce trees atop a snowy hill. She smiled as she turned the photo around for the others to see. “This is in the arboretum, isn’t it? These are the trees where your dad and I used to lay out the blanket for you in the summer. You loved to roll down that hill when the snow was deep. I haven’t been there since…” Her voice faltered. “There wasn’t the bench, though.”

  “The bench is new,” Sydney told her. “Look in the box.”

  Nancy pulled a heavy cardboard folder from beneath tissue that cradled the picture frame. Inside was a sheet of creamy vellum. Nancy read it. Then she looked at her daughter through tear-filled eyes. “You put the bench there.”

  “Some wonderful city workers took care of that. Do you like it?”

  Nancy read the paper again. She nodded.

  “What’s it say?” Ronnie asked.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Horst added.

&nb
sp; Nancy handed the message to Sydney. “You.” Her words were choked with emotion. “I can’t.”

  Sydney took the sheet and looked toward Ronnie and Horst. “This is the inscription on the bench.” She cleared the emotion from her own throat before reading.

  “In honor of Joseph and Nancy Richardson. May whoever sits here experience the love they knew from their first dance on into eternity.”

  Horst and Ronnie responded with simultaneous sighs.

  “Perfect, Kitz,” Horst offered. “You’ve given me a place to go when I want to have a word or two with my old partner.”

  “Do you really like it, Mom?” Sydney asked as she handed the card back.

  Nancy traced a finger over the words. “I can’t wait to go. By myself the first time, if that’s okay with you, Syd.”

  Sydney crossed the room to hug her mother. “I expect I’ll want some alone time there, too.” She turned to Ronnie. “What do you say you and I go serve up those hot ham sandwiches? Let these two relax.”

  Before Ronnie could answer, Horst held out his hand to stop her. “Wait. There’s one last gift. Behind the tree stand there.”

  “I almost forgot!” Nancy swiped a tear from her cheek. “Thank you, Horst. I promised Syd would get it Christmas morning.”

  “Another one?” Syd asked. “I’m going to need a truck to haul all my loot back to my place.”

  The box was heavy, clumsily wrapped in red paper festooned with chubby Santas. There was enough tape for five gifts, but no tag. To Sydney was written across the wrapping in heavy black marker.

  “Who’s this from?” Sydney asked.

  “Not me,” Ronnie replied. “Those silver pumps were my contribution to your holiday cheer.”

  “And I love them.” Syd turned toward Horst. “From you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, I know it’s not from my mom. She spends hours wrapping gifts to be as luscious as whatever’s inside.” Syd saw her mother grinning. “You know who gave me this, don’t you?”

  “Just open it,” Nancy teased.

  Syd struggled with the tape until her frustration pushed her to rip off the paper. Inside was a book. The cover was heavy canvas with dust embedded in the creases and crooks.

  “Barkeeps Who Tamed the Wild West.” Sydney laughed as she read out the title. “This is great!” She opened the front cover and read the handwritten inscription aloud.

  “I was prowling a used book store, saw this, and knew you had to have it. Every saloon owner should know her roots. Take a look at page 107. Then tell me drink-pushing isn’t in yours.”

  Then she read out the names of the gift-givers.

  “Rick and Jocko?” Ronnie asked, frowning. “Who’s that? Jocko sounds like a clown’s name.”

  “Rick Sheffield,” Nancy answered. “And Jocko is his dog. Well, maybe not his. Rick works the K-9 unit for Madison PD. Jocko is his dog partner.”

  “And he’s not on the K-9 unit for long,” Horst added. “Sheffield’s passed his tests. He’ll be wearing a detective’s shield after the first of the year.”

  “What’s he doing giving Syd a gift?” Ronnie’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you have an admirer I don’t know about?”

  Sydney ignored her friend and thumbed to page 107. “Oh, my God!” She handed the book to her mother.

  “Well, look at this!” Nancy said after seeing the picture. “Sydney, this could be a photograph of you! Like the ones at those carnival places where they dress you in old-time clothes.”

  Horst and Ronnie scrambled to peer over Nancy’s shoulder.

  “Syd!” Ronnie exclaimed. “That hair! This is in black and white, but look at those eyes. If they aren’t the same deep blue as yours, I’ll eat my hat. Who is that?”

  Horst took the book and read the caption under the photo. “Says here this is a picture of Esther Woldhaven. Taken in 1858 in front of her saloon in Allentown, Iowa. Look at the sign. Essie’s.”

  “If ever there’s a time for that phrase spitting image,” Ronnie offered. “Clone may be more like it.”

  Sydney struggled to stay on her feet. Esther Woldhaven. Are you a relative of mine, Essie?

  As though reading her daughter’s thoughts, Nancy put her arm around Syd’s waist. “You okay, sweetie?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” Sydney lied. “Just a little weird.”

  “A face from history is all.” Ronnie’s voice suggested she, too, knew where Syd’s mind was headed. “Come on. Let’s get busy with that lunch. If Christmases past are any indication, there’s warm potato salad, coleslaw, and apple crumb pie involved, too.” She grabbed Sydney by the hand and tugged her toward the kitchen. Once there, Ronnie opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a bowl of coleslaw as well as a berry salad and handed them to Sydney. “Put them on the counter. We’ll do an assembly-line thing.” Her voice shifted to something more conspiratorial. “Tell me about this Rick guy. Does Clay have anything to worry about?”

  Sydney’s focus shifted away from her preoccupation. She glanced over Ronnie’s shoulder toward the living room. Horst and her mother were busy thumbing through the book Rick had given her.

  “Yeah. Clay has plenty to worry about. But none of it from Rick Sheffield.”

  Sydney began a quick recap of her encounter with Miranda Greer the night before.

  “What?” Ronnie interrupted. “Of all the restaurants in Madison she picks yours to have a Christmas Eve nosh? What’s she trying to prove?”

  “Beats me. She’s got some other person with her at the table. A young woman who looks like her life has been anything but easy. Miranda starts talking about how she’s going to work with this girl. I don’t have a clue what she means by that.”

  “I thought Miranda worked in Michigan. Ann Arbor, right?”

  “Yeah. But she announced she has a project that might keep her in Madison.”

  “What kind of project?”

  “Something with her church. Evidently it’s a growing concern and Miranda’s going to be involved with their expansion into Madison.”

  “The city where it just so happens her son and his father live?”

  Sydney nodded. “She’s going to be here long enough that she’s looking for more permanent housing.”

  “Where?”

  Sydney took a deep breath. “The Marina.”

  Ronnie blinked twice. “Clay’s baby mama is moving into your building?”

  “Fourteenth floor. Penthouse. Even made some comment about always being above me. Hovering.”

  “You and Clay had your Christmas last night after Hush Money closed, right? What did he have to say about all this?”

  “I didn’t tell him.”

  “You what? Syd, don’t you think he has the right to know that Miranda’s plotting something?”

  “That’s a strong word, don’t you think? She’s doing church work, for goodness’ sake.”

  Ronnie threw up her hands. “This is not the time to go all Pollyanna on me! You don’t look like Miranda looks—or speak as cattily as she does…remember when she referred to you as just another of Clay’s customers? You don’t pull those kinds of stunts unless you’ve got plans.”

  “She’s Steel’s mother. They’ve been separated his entire life.”

  “By her own actions.”

  “Nonetheless,” Syd continued calmly. “If you could see Steel when he’s around her. He’s besotted.”

  “I’m sure he’s got all kinds of fantasies about what his life will be like now that Mom’s back in town. But that woman’s trouble.”

  Sydney knew her friend’s cynicism was born out of her fierce protection of her. They’d been each other’s champions since they were five years old.

  “This isn’t my business, Ronnie. This is between Clay and Steel and Miranda.”

  Ronnie
didn’t seem convinced.

  “Besides, we’ve got a couple of hungry people out there and a luncheon fit for a king. Let’s focus on that. Keep whatever drama Miranda might be bringing far away from us. What do you say?”

  Ronnie stared at her for several seconds before responding. “All right. We’ll try it your way. But I’ll tell you one thing: we may not know what Miranda’s thing is that brings her here, but if stuff goes the way I think it’s going to, then it becomes my business.”

  “Meaning what, Dr. Toughie?”

  “Meaning if she hurts you in any way, I’ll stop her myself before she can do it again.”

  Chapter 11

  “You know, the butcher told me I was out of my mind buying a six-pound prime rib for three people.” Miranda Greer set the just-passed platter on the end of Clay’s dining room table. “But I figured you two grown men would make the most of it at dinner, and we’d have enough left over to make a wonderful hash for brunch tomorrow. Little did I know that Steel Hawthorne might be capable of polishing off the entire thing himself.”

  Steel’s grin was wide and bright as he speared another chunk of meat. “What about Dad? Don’t think I didn’t see you take thirds, old man!”

  Clay loved seeing his son so relaxed and happy. His trepidation about fulfilling Steel’s wish to spend Christmas Day with Miranda turned out to be unwarranted. Miranda had arrived around ten that morning, looking casually beautiful in black velvet jeans and red sweater. She’d come laden with gifts, and Clay was pleased to see all but one was for Steel. He’d been impressed with Miranda’s apparent knowledge of their son, despite the near two-decade lack of contact. She’d given him several CDs. Steel had detailed knowledge about each of the bands and was delighted to have their latest releases. She’d inscribed the leather-bound journal she gave him with her hope that the pages would soon be filled with accounts of his latest travels, indicating to Clay that she appreciated their son’s love of exploration and adventure. Even the hiking boots she gave him—European and far more expensive than Clay would have been able to afford—fit him so well one might assume Miranda was the type of mother who’d been outfitting her son since the day he was born.