by T. E. Woods
Horst’s nod was slow, as though he was making a show of pondering something. “Jillian, weren’t you telling me there’s a way to erase those?”
“Of course. I get so many texts a day that if I didn’t clear them I’d burn up my memory in no time.”
“So someone could have gotten a text…or sent one…erased it…and it wouldn’t show up?”
“Not on the screen, no. But they’re always there.”
“Where?” Horst’s voice indicated he knew exactly what she’d say next.
“Stored. Nothing digital is ever truly erased.” She tapped a few times on the screen of Clay’s phone. Moments later her eyes widened in faux surprise. “Son of a gun. A long list of cleared texts. Including one sent to Miranda Greer’s Ann Arbor number.”
Horst kept his stare on Clay. “We got a time stamp on that text?”
“December 31. Nine thirty-four p.m.”
“That can’t be!” Clay insisted. “I’ve never texted Miranda.”
“Can you retrieve it, Jillian? Maybe Steel was texting his mom to see if he could swing by that fancy suite of hers.”
Again, Detective Kohler tapped Clay’s screen. “Here it is.” She handed him the phone.
Horst shook his head while he read.
“What is it?” Clay asked. “What’s the message?”
Horst pulled himself straighter in the chair, as if preparing for a recital. He cleared his throat and read from the screen. “Miranda. Forgive me. We’ve lost so much time. Let’s dream about new beginnings. Start again? Tomorrow. Four o’clock. 1622 County Route J. You hold my soul. Clay.”
Clay jumped from his chair. In a heartbeat Jillian Kohler was on him, pushing him back down.
“Stay calm, Mr. Hawthorne,” she warned. “I can have some pretty large guys in here if we need them.”
Clay squirmed against her hold. “I didn’t send that text!”
“Are we going to need them, Mr. Hawthorne?” she asked.
Clay glared at Horst. The burly detective hadn’t moved at all. “No.” He forced himself to settle. “No.”
Detective Kohler relaxed her grip but remained standing behind him.
“I didn’t send that text, Horst.”
Horst pursed his lips, then shook his head. “Miranda’s phone was found at the scene. Forensics found this same text on it. Nine thirty-four, December 31. She must have received it, because she was there. Four o’clock, just like you told her. She drove to that County J address and walked right into that silo. Whoever she met slipped a noose around her neck and strung her up.”
Chapter 26
A rail-thin woman with soft, mousy hair nodded when she met Sydney at the elevator. She wore a sensible plaid skirt and brown cardigan sweater.
“Are you Anna?” Sydney asked.
“I am.” Anna’s voice was as strong as her handshake. She led Sydney down a hallway of polished hardwood, past glass-walled offices.
“It’s beautiful here,” Sydney remarked. “More modern than you’d guess from the outside.”
Anna nodded. “This floor’s an addition.” She stopped midstep and turned. “Actually, this is your friend’s doing. Miranda worked shoulder to shoulder with the architect and designers. This is her vision.”
Sydney looked around. She wondered if the exquisite taste demonstrated by the surroundings came naturally to Miranda. Or was it cultivated during those years she spent away after she’d abandoned Clay and their son?
“You knew her well?” Anna asked.
“Kids together,” Sydney lied. “Hard to believe she ended up a big business executive.”
“She had the drive. I’ve worked here nearly twenty years. Show that girl an opportunity and she’d make the most of it.”
“She told me how much she appreciated the chance Mr. York gave her.”
“Miranda worked for every success she had. It’s tragic. All that talent. Beauty. Why she’d kill herself is just…” Anna stopped as though remembering she was speaking to someone introduced to her as Miranda’s friend. “I’m so sorry. We’re all devastated by the loss, as I’m sure you are. Mr. York’s been in a daze. It’s like he’s going through the motions, but everyone can tell his mind is on Miranda. In fact, I’m surprised he’s back.”
“He’s been away?”
Anna nodded. “He’d come to rely so much on Miranda. When she left for Wisconsin, he was like a boat without a rudder. He supported her leave of absence, of course. It was church work, as I’m sure you know.”
“Miranda was so thrilled Mr. York introduced her to the church.”
Anna placed her right hand over her heart and closed her eyes for a moment. “Mr. York missed her so much. He finally stopped coming in to work altogether. I hadn’t seen him since a couple of days after Christmas. And only an hour or two at that. Then came the news of Miranda’s death. It devastated him. Today’s his first day back. Poor man just sits behind his desk. Staring at the walls. Like he’s waiting for Miranda to come into his office with some new plan for expansion. Maybe time with someone who cared for Miranda as much as he did is just what he needs. I’m sure he’ll have questions about her time in Madison.”
“Maybe we’ll help each other.”
Anna led her to a corner office. She gave Sydney a quick, reassuring smile before pushing open a heavy glass door. “Mr. York? May I introduce Sydney Richardson. She’s a friend of Miranda’s.”
Alden York smoothed a hand over his perfectly tailored dark suit as he rose and came around his desk. His face bore the lines and weariness of a man carrying the weight of grief, but his posture was straight and his movements were elegant as he shook Sydney’s hand. He welcomed her and offered her coffee. When she declined, he dismissed Anna and pointed Sydney toward an upholstered sofa on the opposite wall. He chose the brown leather chair across from it.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. York.” Now that she was in his presence, she wasn’t sure where to take the conversation.
“How did you know Miranda?” While his question was direct, his demeanor was kind.
“We grew up together.”
“In Montana?”
“Yes.” She immediately regretted not taking the time to learn the basics of Big Sky geography before spinning her tale of childhood friendship. “We lost touch with one another after she left. I was thrilled to see her again.”
York’s nod seemed more polite than acknowledging. Sydney wondered if he’d heard her at all.
“Was she beautiful as a child?” he asked.
“Yes.” She forced a commentary she imagined he’d hoped for. “You know Miranda, always the clotheshorse. She always looked good. Even on the playground.”
“You were both poor?”
Clay had told her little about Miranda’s younger years. She opted for vagueness. “She had it rough.”
“Did it surprise you to see her? As she was now, I mean.”
“She walked in on Thanksgiving evening. Wearing a sweeping black coat that looked like something off a Paris runway. But that hair…those eyes…it was Miranda, all right. Looking like a movie star.”
His lips twitched. “She knew how to make an entrance.”
“I understand you played a big role in her transformation into world-traveling woman of glamour.”
York was silent for several moments. Sydney wondered what memory trail he was following. Then he cleared his throat. “I offered her a job. She was a fast study. The world-traveling part was all hers.” He fell quiet again. “My daughter had a hand in the glamour part.”
“Natalie.”
York blinked. “Miranda told you about Natalie? About their relationship?”
“Miranda loved her like a sister.” Thank you, Anna! “But I would imagine you had a role in her new look, too.”
“Me?” For the first time,
York smiled. It was brief, but it found a way to shine through his obvious grief. “Don’t let this expensive suit fool you. Like this entire floor, I am a product of Miranda’s doing. She polished me. Did she tell you we met at a diner?”
Sydney thought it best to stick to the truth wherever she could. “She told me often how much you meant to her, but I don’t think she mentioned how you met.”
He pointed toward the window. “Across the street. Sal’s. Not the place to go if you’re watching your cholesterol, but it’s kept me going more than forty years. If you’d have seen me then…the day I met Miranda…you would have bet I worked at the loading dock at ImEx. Never would have occurred to you I owned the place. Jeans and polo shirts. That was my wardrobe.” He patted his hand on his flat stomach. “Carried thirty more pounds right about here, too. My late wife tried her best to get me to take better care of myself. But back then it was bacon and eggs. Hash browns covered in sausage gravy. Finish it all off with cinnamon rolls.” He shook his head. “I probably would have been dead before my sixtieth birthday if it wasn’t for Miranda. After Lucy died—Lucy was my wife—Miranda decided to take care of me. Put me on a strict diet. Hired a personal trainer and made sure I went four days a week. The weight came off. I got stronger.” He huffed out a short laugh. “Then she took me to a tailor. Told me I was forbidden to wear jeans on any day that wasn’t a Saturday.” His pause had a faraway feel. “Now here I am. New and improved. I’ll be seventy years old in a few months. Stronger than ever. Dapper as a dandy.”
“I would have guessed you’d be getting ready to celebrate your sixtieth birthday, if that,” Sydney said truthfully.
He waved away her observation. “Doesn’t matter what people think, does it? We can use all the products in the store. Wear the finest London tailors. Maybe even fool ourselves. But in the end, it all comes down to the calendar.”
“You miss her very much.” Sydney sat silently while she waited for him to answer. When he did, York was speaking from a different place, as though he’d weighed the words he’d shared with a stranger and found them lacking.
“Do you mind if I call you Sydney?”
“I wish you would.”
“And you must call me Alden.” He stood. “What are your dinner plans, Sydney?”
She acknowledged his intention to end their conversation by standing as well. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“I’d be delighted if you came to my home this evening. Let’s say six o’clock. I’ll make sure Natalie’s there. She can fill you in on the personal side of what Miranda’s life was like after she left Montana. Would you like that?”
“Very much.”
“Good.” York stepped to his office door. “Anna can give you the address.”
He turned his back to her and returned to his desk without waiting for her goodbye. Sydney watched him reach for a folder and busy himself with its contents. She walked down the polished hallway toward the elevator. Anna was there, wearing the same no-nonsense attitude as when they’d first met. She handed Sydney a folded sheet of paper.
“Mr. York’s address. He can send a car for you, if you’d prefer.”
Sydney knew her GPS app would lead her straight there. “That’s kind of him, but unnecessary.”
“Was Mr. York able to give you what you came for?”
Sydney slipped the paper with York’s address into her purse. “It’s a start.”
Chapter 27
Sydney turned off the shower, bent over to squeeze the excess water from her hair, then wrapped a towel around her head. She stepped out of the tub and folded another scratchy hotel towel around herself, tucking it closed under her shoulder. She had just finished brushing her teeth when she heard a soft knock from Rick Sheffield’s side of the door.
“Hang on!” She pulled a courtesy bathrobe from the closet and hurried to open the space between their two rooms. “What the hell was that? I thought we were in this together.”
He gave her a slow once-over. The gentle humor in his eyes caused her to double-knot the robe’s sash.
“You ditched me like I was a bad blind date,” she said.
“I had work to do.” He entered her room and took the one chair available. “And as to the investigation of Miranda Greer’s murder, any inclination that we’re in this together is something you cooked up in that beautiful noggin of yours.”
“You were at the police station. I saw you get into a cruiser. What did you learn?”
“Never to drink Ann Arbor PD coffee.”
“Don’t be snide.” She didn’t want to stand in the doorway. Sitting on the bed didn’t feel like a good idea. So she crossed the room and leaned her backside against the chest of drawers. “Any leads?”
“That’s why I’m here.” Rick’s dark eyes were serious as he locked them on hers.
“What did they tell you?” Her breath quickened. He waited long enough to respond that her heartbeat was pounding in her throat.
“They told me to stay away from the joints around the university. If we want a good steak, we should head out to a place called the Hearthside. It’s a little out of the way, but I figure we can catch a cab.”
Her jaw tightened. “You think this is a joke?”
“I think this is a homicide case. My homicide case. But since you’re here, and since I don’t particularly enjoy mixing work with food, I decided to turn down the generous offer of burgers and beers with Ann Arbor’s finest and come see if you might be hungry.”
“Is ‘arrogant jerk’ a new persona you’re trying out?”
“How’d you spend the day?”
She glared at him, hoping he’d see the determination in her eyes. But he sat patiently, looking more handsome than she needed him to in jeans and a black sweater.
“I went to MidWest ImEx,” she told him after a moment. “Spoke with several people who worked with Miranda. They all seem to be under the impression Miranda killed herself. At least the secretaries are. Can’t say the same for Alden York.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You met with Alden York? CEO of MidWest ImEx?”
She nodded and the towel around her head loosened. She pulled it off and draped it across her shoulders. “I did.”
“Just waltzed into York’s office, did you?”
“I was escorted. By Anna. I think she might be his executive assistant.”
Rick didn’t move, but she could sense his body tensing. “And what did you say to Mr. York?”
“I told him I was a childhood friend of Miranda’s. Grief-stricken to learn she was dead after we’d so recently reconnected.”
“What did you hope to gain from that?”
She shrugged. “I needed a toe in. And it worked. I’ve been invited to his home for dinner. He’s going to introduce me to his daughter.”
“Natalie.” Rick’s voice had none of his earlier playfulness.
“Is she on some list you and the Ann Arbor police drew up?”
He didn’t respond.
“Anyway, I’m due there at six. And as you can see, I’m nowhere near presentable. So, unless you’ve got anything more to tell me about what you’ve learned, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“Don’t do this, Sydney. This isn’t a game.”
“It’s not? Aren’t we playing Who Killed Miranda? and you’re rigging the match against Clay?” She was surprised at the anger in her voice. “I’m rolling the dice on the other side, Rick.”
He stood and took two steps to close the space between them. She felt his heat radiate against her still-damp skin. She struggled against the urge to look away from his insistent eyes.
“Drop this, Sydney. Leave it to the pros.”
“So what? You can wrap this in a bow, send Clay to prison, and move on to whatever’s next? I can’t do that.”
“You’re going to get hurt.”
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“By whom? What did you learn today?”
“Anyone who doesn’t know what they’re doing is in danger when they mess with stuff they shouldn’t.” His voice rumbled. “So dry your hair, take off this robe, grab some jeans, and let’s go eat a steak.” He paused, then flashed a smile more suited to a Hollywood screen than a Midwest police department. “Unless you’d like me to take off that robe. Maybe this place has something that can pass for room service…”
She put both hands on his chest, pushed him back, hard, and crossed to the open doors between their two rooms.
“Time to go. I have dinner plans.”
“The Hearthside comes highly recommended.”
“I’m due at six. Anna made it sound like Alden likes people to keep on schedule.”
He shook his head and walked toward her, stopping where she stood. He looked down at her exposed skin peeking out between the lapels of her robe.
“Could be a lot more fun to stay here,” he said.
She gave him a gentle push into his own room and closed the door.
Chapter 28
Sydney parked her car and took a moment to absorb the place. Her phone’s GPS had announced she’d reached her destination after she turned right onto a freshly plowed driveway and meandered nearly three hundred yards through amber-lit birch trees before ending in a roundabout large enough to handle a dozen cars. A gentle snow falling from a low black sky added to the overall opulence of Alden York’s stately home. With its stone walls, slate roof, and leaded windows, Sydney wondered if its design was more the dream of York’s late wife than the humble man she’d met earlier. She pulled her phone out of her purse, checked it for at least the fifth time that day, and shook her head to see the only call she’d had was from her mother.
Where are you, Clay?
She’d texted him before she boarded the plane in Madison, letting him know she was on her way to Ann Arbor to see what she could learn. He’d been angry the last time they spoke. Clay thought her suggestion to document his and Steel’s time was an indication she believed one of them might have been involved with Miranda’s murder. She’d used her early morning message to assure him that wasn’t the case and hoped her trip to Ann Arbor was proof. She’d asked him to keep her up to date with what was going on there.