by T. E. Woods
There was Clay. Standing less than four feet behind Rick. Cheeks painted brilliant red by the frigid night air. Hair dusted with snow. Holding a single red rose in his gloved hand.
Eyes telegraphing disbelief.
“Clay!” She backed away from Rick.
She only managed two steps toward him before Clay pivoted and stalked out of the Ten-Ten, leaving an arctic chill to blast through the room when he didn’t bother to close the door.
Chapter 18
“Who needs TV with your kind of drama to entertain me?” Ronnie lavishly buttered the corn muffin that sat beside her rack of baby back ribs. “Have you tried calling him?”
“Three times.” Sydney hadn’t taken a single bite of her own plate of brisket. “First time right after he left the Ten-Ten.”
“That must have gone over big with Rick. I mean, the two of you just shared a passionate kiss at the stroke of midnight and the next minute you’re calling your boyfriend.” She loaded a fork with baked beans. “If I was ever blessed with two handsome hunks vying for my attention, I’d be more discreet.”
Sydney bristled. “The kiss just happened, okay? It meant nothing.”
“Didn’t sound like nothing. Sounded to me like you enjoyed that little sizzler as much as I’m sure Detective Stud Muffin did.”
“Are you teasing me?”
“I’m living vicariously.” Ronnie nodded toward Sydney’s untouched plate. “Come on. It’s good luck to eat pork on New Year’s Day. Besides, you’ll need to keep your strength up if you plan to juggle two men.”
“Knock it off.”
“So. Clay didn’t answer? Not any of the times?”
Sydney shook her head.
“You leave a message?”
“I tried. Everything came out sounding lame.”
“Don’t tell me you tried the old it wasn’t what it looked like gambit.”
“It wasn’t!”
Ronnie shrugged. “Like the song says, a kiss is a kiss.”
“Will you please stop saying kiss?”
“Smooch. Tongue tag. Buss. Smacker. Liplock.”
“Stop!” Sydney chuckled despite herself. “Clay’s pissed. That’s for sure. Do you think he’ll ever give me a chance to explain?”
“Of course he will. You two are tit-for-tatting right now. One set of scarlet undies leads to one steamy kiss that should never have happened. You guys will get past this. My hunch is Clay’s trying to find a way back to you that doesn’t involve rehashing what he saw between you and Officer Awesome.”
“I told you. It was nothing.”
“I’m looking straight at you. The view from here does nothing to support your assertion. Admit it. You’re drawn to Rick Sheffield.”
Sydney’s mind drifted back to the raw feral energy that had pulsed between them when the clock struck midnight. She recalled his arms wrapped around her. His breath on her neck.
“I hardly know him,” she retorted. “Besides, aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to accept the fact I’m in a relationship with Clay?”
“I’m starting to see why you fight me on it. Sydney Richardson: torn between two lovers.”
Sydney groaned. “So, what do I do?”
“You’re asking a thirty-eight-year-old chubby girl who hasn’t had a date in over a year?”
“I’m asking my very best friend.”
Ronnie set her fork down. She reached across the table and laid her hand over Sydney’s. “You wait. You’ve called Clay three times. You’ve left a few bumbling messages. Now you wait. When Clay’s ready, he’ll get in touch with you.”
Sydney wasn’t so sure. “What about Rick?”
“Has he called?”
“You mean since the ball dropped on the new year? All of eighteen hours ago? No, Ronnie. He hasn’t called.”
“He will.”
Sydney hated that she hoped her friend was right. “What will I do if he does?”
Ronnie picked up another rib and grinned. “You’ll remember every detail so you can share it with me.”
* * *
—
Sydney pulled back the bedspread and climbed beneath her covers. Unexpectedly, the memory of her father came to her. Joe Richardson had always made it his practice to spend one-on-one time with his daughter. His ritual on special calendar days was to sit on the end of her bed and review the occasion. New Year’s Day always brought the same questions from him: what was she happiest for in the year just ended? And what did she hope for the year just beginning?
I opened two restaurants. She wondered if her father could hear her thoughts. I’m happy about that. Her breath quickened as she considered her hopes for the upcoming year. She closed her eyes. An image of Clay instantly surfaced, bringing with it a warm and solid feeling of something she imagined was love. Then the vision of Clay floated into the darkness, replaced by a new image. Rick Sheffield. He had his back toward her, playing with Jocko. His virile masculinity on full display as he roughhoused with his dog. He turned to look at her, and Sydney felt her body respond.
She opened her eyes and forced away the stirrings the image of Rick kindled.
It’s Clay. Clay’s the one.
She picked her phone up off the nightstand, checking it one more time.
Isn’t he?
She clicked off the light and settled down in the darkness, counting her breaths in an effort to keep her worries at bay. Her body grew heavier. Her mind cleared. She drifted in the blissful limbo that promised sleep.
The trill of her phone yanked her back into full consciousness.
She used one hand to reach for her cell and the other to push herself upright. Her chest tightened when she read the screen.
Clay was calling.
“Is this too late?” His voice was husky and low when she answered.
“No. No. Not at all. How are you?” She heard the frenzy in her voice. It was several long seconds before he spoke.
“That Sheffield guy. What does he mean to you?”
She took her time building her response. She owed Clay the full truth.
“I’m not sure,” she answered.
“And me?” he asked. “What do I mean to you?”
Her answer this time was immediate. “So very much.”
“I guess we better talk.”
She could almost hear his pain. She nodded as though he could see her. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Tomorrow? Breakfast?”
“Name the place.”
He was quiet for several heartbeats. “Could you come here? I’m pretty good with eggs. And I’m not eager for us to have this conversation in public view.”
“Is eight o’clock too early?”
Clay huffed out a grunt that lacked any humor. “Eight o’clock’s fine. I got a feeling I’m not going to be doing much sleeping tonight, anyway.”
“I’ll see you then.” She wanted to say so much more, but didn’t have the words.
“Good night, Sydney.”
He hung up before she had a chance to wish him the same.
Chapter 19
Their plates of eggs sat in front of them, growing cold. She was grateful for the coffee. It fueled her through the difficult tension. Its taste mirroring the bitter sting of her regret.
“Where do we go from here?” he asked after listening to her explain the spontaneity of her New Year’s kiss with Rick Sheffield.
“I’d like to think we go forward. But there are roadblocks…”
“You got ’em labeled?” he asked.
She had a few, but wasn’t sure she had them all. “We’re both busy. It’s going to be difficult to find time for a relationship.”
“We seem to be able to make do.”
She nodded. “That was before.”
“Before Sheffield?”
“No.” She hated knowing she was responsible for the hurt in his voice. “Things are different now.”
“How?”
“For one thing, Steel’s back in town. You’re on full-time father duty.”
“If we’re going to talk, Syd, let’s talk straight. Steel’s going to be twenty in a few weeks. I might hate to admit it, but he’s a man on his own now. Traveling the world. I love him. Every minute I spend with him jazzes me. But I don’t exactly have day-care issues.”
“How about Miranda? She can tell anyone who’ll listen that she’s here for some church thing, but you and I both know she’s here for you.”
“And I have a say in how far she takes it.”
“She’s taking it pretty far, I’d say.”
Clay’s eyes were cold and gray. “If you’re worried about Miranda coming between us, don’t.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve handled it.”
“How do you handle a woman like Miranda, Clay? She strikes me as the type who will always find a way to get what she wants. Whether it’s business or Steel or her church. And I think especially where you’re concerned. She sees me as a stumbling block in her quest to get back into your life.”
“Her quest? Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”
“Not any more dramatic than red silk panties in your bedroom!” She hated the shrill she heard in her tone.
“I’ve explained that. Miranda and I shared nothing more than an argument. Can you say the same thing about Sheffield?”
She took several long, calming breaths. “I didn’t come here to argue, Clay.”
His own tone was softer when he spoke. “You’re right. You said the kiss meant nothing, and I believe you. It’s up to me to deal with any fallout I have about that.”
“I can tell you again I’m sorry.”
“No need. I’ll deal with whatever my head wants to conjure up.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’ve got to do the same regarding Miranda. I’ve explained what happened. You’ve got to ask yourself if you believe me. And if you do, well then, it’s up to you to deal with whatever might pop up in your imagination.”
She smiled wryly. “That movie can get pretty vivid.”
He didn’t return her smile. “I’ve taken care of Miranda, Sydney. She’s not a threat to whatever you and I decide we’re building here.”
An insistent knock sounded on his front door, startling them both.
“Steel must have forgotten his keys again,” Clay offered. “It’s about time he found his way home. He went out with friends on New Year’s Eve. I’ve not seen him since.” He stood and made his way to the door. Sydney stayed put. If Steel had been celebrating for two days, he’d be more eager to get to his bed than have a conversation with her.
“Horst!” She was surprised to hear Clay’s greeting. “What’s up?”
Sydney walked into the living room in time to see Horst enter, followed by a woman she recognized. It was Jillian Kohler, the detective who had partnered with Horst on the Roger Millerman case. The look on her face suggested she hadn’t arrived to offer New Year’s greetings. Sydney saw the same determined mask on Horst’s face.
Oh, my God! They’re here as cops. That can only mean one thing.
Clay must have come to the same conclusion. He reached for the door, steadying himself with both hands, as though that might support him in ways his legs couldn’t.
“Are you here about Steel?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Steel?” Jillian pulled a notepad from her parka pocket. “Is that a person?”
“He’s my son.” Clay’s voice was instantly more relaxed. “You gotta excuse me. I thought you guys were here in official capacity. Like to tell me my son had been in an accident.”
Jillian Kohler stepped further into the room. She nodded toward Sydney as she walked to the hallway. “Bedrooms down here? Anyone home beside the two of you?”
“I don’t live here.” Sydney immediately regretted her need to tell Jillian that. “I mean, I came by for breakfast.”
“Sydney and I are here alone.” The tension crept back into Clay’s voice. “What’s this about?”
Horst met his worried glance. “What is your relationship to Miranda Greer?”
Clay glanced toward Sydney before answering. “Miranda is my son’s mother.”
“How long you two been separated?” Horst threw a disapproving look to Sydney. “This a recent breakup or what?”
Sydney stepped closer. “Miranda and Clay were never married, Horst. He hadn’t seen her in nearly twenty years before she turned up on Thanksgiving.”
“You sound pretty upset,” Jillian observed. “There bad blood between you and Miranda?”
“Easy there, Jillian.” Horst shot Sydney a you, too gaze before turning his attention back to Clay. “Miranda was new in town, then. That’s what you’re saying?”
“Was?” Clay frowned. “What the hell is going on?”
Horst looked again toward Sydney. His barrel chest heaved before he explained. “A couple of teenagers were out sighting their guns. They noticed a car parked where it shouldn’t be. Long story short, they went looking and found a body hanging from a beam inside one of the silos there on the land. They freak out. Can’t say as I blame ’em. Body’s that of a woman. Tall. Thin. Hair so blond it’s almost white.”
“My God!” Sydney gasped.
“Are you telling me Miranda’s dead?” Clay asked. His voice was ice.
“The woman we found hanging in the silo is. That car the kids spotted is a rental. Agency tells us they rented it to a Miranda Greer. You telling me she fits the description?”
“Miranda hanged herself?”
Horst ignored Clay’s question. “Does she have any family? Beside her son and you, I mean?”
Clay shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I haven’t been in touch with her. Not before she came to Madison, I mean. She used to have family in Montana, but they’ve been estranged for years.”
“Estranged?” Jillian looked up from her notepad. Sydney realized she’d been writing down everything Clay said.
“It’s what I know from back then,” Clay explained. “Miranda’s never given me any indication that’s changed.”
“Where’s your son?” Horst asked. “Steel? That’s his name?”
“He went out with friends. He travels a lot. Likes to spend time with his buddies when he makes it home.”
“He spend time with his mother?”
“He did. But they’ve had a bit of a falling out.”
Sydney was surprised to hear that.
“Oh?” Horst shot Jillian a look. “What was that about?”
“Steel didn’t like the way Miranda treated one of his friends,” Clay answered.
“Would you say he and his mother were estranged?” It was impossible to miss the tone with which Jillian accented the last word.
“Don’t answer that, Clay.” Sydney crossed the room to sit next to him on the couch. She laid a hand on his knee. “Horst and Jillian are homicide detectives. If Miranda’s death was a suicide, they would have sent uniforms, maybe a chaplain. They’re here to ask questions.”
“Miranda was killed?” Clay asked her. “Murdered?” His self-control was starting to disintegrate.
“We all need to stop talking,” Sydney announced. “Right this minute.”
“Her driver’s license was in her purse,” Horst said. “We’ve got the rental agency security camera. We could tie things up neat if a next of kin confirmed the identity.”
Sydney stood. “Give Clay some time to decide if he’s willing to get that involved. For now, it’s time for you to leave. That is, unless you have any official moves you need to make…”
Hor
st’s glare telegraphed his wish for her to stay out of whatever was going on.
“We’ll be getting back to you with more questions,” Horst told Clay, ignoring Sydney. “What I need to know now is where your son is.”
“He’s told you. Out with friends.” Sydney stepped to the door and opened it. “We’ll call you when he comes home.” She raised her hand toward Jillian to stop her from asking the question forming on her lips. “Until then, barring any official act you may have to perform right now, I’m going to wish you both a good day.”
“You know where I’ll be.” Horst leveled a firm but loving stare at Sydney as he left. But not before adding, “Be careful, Kitz.”
She closed the door on them without replying.
Chapter 20
“We’ve got to get to Steel,” Sydney told Clay. “Now.”
He didn’t move from the sofa. Sydney realized he was in shock.
“Come on. Think. Where would he be? What friends was he with?”
“I should go to her.”
She instantly knew who he meant. “Clay.” Her voice was as soft as she could manage in her anxious state. “I need you to focus. We need you to focus. Unless you want Steel finding out his mother is dead from some radio or television announcer, we’ve got to get to him first.”
At Sydney’s warning, his mind seemed to clear. He reached into his pocket. “Where’s my phone?”
“How do I know? Did you leave it at the bar? By the beer taps?”
His eyes focused on her with a defensive appraisal. “How do you know about that?”
“Francie told me. What’s your place here? At home, where do you always keep your phone?”
He pointed toward the kitchen. “On top of the fridge.”
Sydney went to the kitchen. She ran her hand on top of the refrigerator and felt the hard plastic. She went back and handed it to him. “Check your texts.”