by T. E. Woods
She heard the door slam before she’d taken two steps past its threshold.
Chapter 29
Rick Sheffield thanked the bartender and brought the freshly delivered mug to his lips. He winced and swallowed hard.
No Spotted Cow here, he thought. One more reason to get my butt back to Wisconsin.
He’d spent time on the computer after Sydney left for her dinner with the Yorks, but closed his laptop in disappointment after forty minutes of reading nothing to contradict or add to what he’d learned from Mitch Calblonz. From all the Internet had posted, Miranda Greer was a civic-minded community member eager to share her time and talent with organizations deeply embedded in Ann Arbor’s culture. He’d seen plenty of photographs of Miranda posing with various groups, always smiling and offering a check to some worthy cause. He reexamined the local and state police blotters and learned nothing new. Miranda Greer appeared to be exactly what she seemed. No tickets, no warrants. No allegations, no investigations. No lawsuits filed by or against her. The only intriguing thing about her, beside her considerable success at business, was that he couldn’t find one item suggesting she might have had a romantic life. No photographs at black-tie fundraisers standing with an escort. No social page gossip suggesting a paramour. No marriage licenses applied for and left to expire.
How’s a woman who looked like that get to be forty years old and not leave a string of broken hearts in her wake?
His mind flashed on Clay Hawthorne. Miranda had been involved with him long enough to bear his child, but that was twenty years ago.
What the hell had she been doing about that since she’d left Montana?
Rick took another pull from his mug and wondered if he’d ever know anything about women. He leaned back in his stool and surveyed the room. The hotel bar was populated with the usual suspects. Two tables, each large enough to seat four, had been shoved together to accommodate a loud group of men and women still dressed in business attire despite it being nearly seven o’clock. Adhesive name tags suggested they were in town for some sort of conference and had made their way to the lounge following a long day of PowerPoint presentations and corporate projections. Two smaller tables, closer to the modest and empty dance floor, each held a pair of women wearing outfits better suited for younger, leaner bodies. They drank large, iced drinks and glanced toward the bar’s entrance every ninety seconds while they talked, giggled, and fluffed their hair.
Divorcees, he surmised. Happy to be kid-free for a few hours. Hoping someone will ask them to dance whenever whatever local wannabe finishes up his day job and heads on down to the deejay booth up there on the small stage.
The bar where he sat enclosed a center well where two bartenders washed glasses, filled garnish trays, and monitored the few customers spaced around the wooden counters. Rick was the only one seated on his side. To his right, three men sat, nursing drinks and watching the television mounted in the corner. They’d positioned themselves to leave an empty stool between them.
In town for a couple of nights. Maybe missing their families, maybe not. Bored, hoping for a little company. A heated sports or political conversation would do, but something involving walking hand in hand back to their empty hotel room would be preferable.
Two people sat across from him. The six stools separating them heralded their lack of connection. One was a man, middle-aged, thinning hair, white polo shirt emblazoned with the logo of the local gas company. He swirled his beer glass as though it contained a precious red wine needing to breathe. His eyes kept drifting to the two tables of women over by the dance floor. He’d jerk his attention back to his drink when one of them caught him looking.
Make your move now, buddy. Once that deejay starts spinning, there’s no way you get next to any of them without first getting out on that floor.
The other person across from him was the only woman at the bar. Dark hair. Rick couldn’t be more color-precise given the dim lighting. She wore it shoulder length. Her drink was in a tall glass. Clear. Maybe gin and tonic, though that was hardly a drink he’d expect anyone to be having when the thermometer had hovered around freezing all day. She kept her attention on her tablet, leaning her cheek against her knuckles while her eyes tracked back and forth. On the young side, maybe not yet thirty. She glanced up and looked at him. He wondered if she’d sensed his stare. He smiled. The one she offered in response dripped in polite no thank you. She was good-looking enough that she probably got hit on enough times to have developed a built-in rejection mechanism. He toyed with the idea of going over, explaining he meant no harm, and seeing if his charm was tuned up adequately to have her invite him to sit a spell. But then he shook his head clear of the thought and took a long pull off his beer.
Don’t get me wrong, miss. You’re a looker for sure. Only thing wrong with you is you’re not Sydney.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
He blinked when he heard her voice. He turned to see Sydney standing there, her hand on the back of his barstool, nodding toward his mug.
“How many of those have you had?”
“My first,” he answered. “You lose your nerve? Or did you and Old Man York eat from a drive-thru sack?” He turned the stool next to him her way and waited as she took off her jacket and settled into it.
“Oh, I’m sure Juju had a fine meal planned for us.”
“Juju? Us?” He waved the bartender over and ordered a glass of pinot grigio.
“Juju’s the cook. Maybe the maid, too. I’m not sure. The Yorks live large. Mansion, guesthouse, dinner jackets. The whole shebang.”
“Then what are you doing here?” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve been gone all of an hour.”
“I got tossed out.” Sydney thanked the bartender for the wine he set in front of her. “This is my first, too. I barely got to hold my glass at the Yorks.” She winced when she took a sip. “I’ve got a dollar says it would have been better than this.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re not at Hush Money. Drink it, be grateful, and get back to the tossed-out part of your story. You blot your lipstick on their fine table napkins or what?”
“It was the bishop what did it.”
“The who?”
“That church Miranda was involved with. Church of Today. It’s headquartered here in Ann Arbor and Bishop Denton J. Fulcraft is the big cheese. He was at Alden York’s house, along with Natalie, York’s daughter, and Brice, Natalie’s husband.” She raised her eyebrows and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Her third husband.”
“Ouch. Has kind of a serial feel. Like he’s keeping the spot warm for number four.”
“He’s a magician. Pulled a red thing out of my ear.”
“Sounds disgusting.”
She smiled and Rick sensed the dim room light up. “Everything was going fine until Fulcraft takes me by the elbow, under the guise of showing me around, and walks me right out the door. Turns out he googled me when Alden invited him to dinner.”
“Your cover was blown.”
“Like a paper plate at a windy picnic.” Sydney took another sip of wine. She didn’t wince this time.
“So, you got nothing. I told you we should have gone for steak.”
“I wouldn’t say nothing. For one thing, I learned York was planning on naming Miranda to replace him when he retired from ImEx.”
“Makes sense. From what I’ve learned she’s the brains behind the outfit.”
“But how do you think that makes his only daughter feel?”
“Did Natalie York give you any indication she was upset at the plan?”
Her exhale demonstrated her disappointment. “Seems she’s got enough money to support herself and as many husbands as she cares to collect. I did learn, however, that Alden York was nowhere to be found around the time Miranda was killed.”
Rick leaned forward. “Go on.”
“S
hiree, one of the women I met at ImEx, told me Alden hadn’t been around since a few days after Christmas. Today was his first day back at work.”
“He told her he was in Madison?”
“Well, no. Why would he? It’s a seven-hour drive. He could have made it easily.”
“Or he just as easily could have been celebrating the holidays with his family.”
“Natalie said her father was devastated when he learned Miranda had a child with Clay. Apparently nobody but the reverend knew anything about that. She claimed York was crushed by the notion that Miranda would abandon her kid.”
“So he drove over to Madison to kill her? Two months after he found out? Is that where this is going?”
She bit her lower lip, a move he’d never seen before. “Fulcraft referred to her as Alden York’s beloved Miranda. Miranda was putting the moves on Clay, wanting to explore the possibility of their getting back together.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“How? Besides her checking out a condo in my building, I mean. What, exactly, are you aware of?”
“I talked to Horst tonight. He and Jillian interviewed Clay. We know about the underwear she left at Clay’s place on Christmas. He’s denying anything happened between the two of them.”
“Because nothing did.”
“If you say so.”
“Clay wouldn’t lie to me.”
“If you say so.”
“Stop saying that.” She paused, looked down at her wineglass, and seemed to be trying to compose herself. “What if Miranda let Alden know about her feelings for Clay?”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was never the plan for her to stay in Madison long. But when she decided to buy a place and be closer to Steel…”
“And Clay. She wanted to be closer to Clay.”
Her jaw churned. “Whatever. It makes sense she’d tell Alden about her change in plans. He’d have to find somebody to replace her at ImEx, right? Remember, Fulcraft called her Alden’s beloved. He might have gone off into a rage.”
“A seventy-year-old man?”
“You should see him. Fit as a fiddle. Good-looking, too. Natalie says he keeps himself that way because of Miranda.”
“That’s a lot of speculation, Sydney. Listen, I know this is tough for you. This Hawthorne guy’s come to mean a lot, I get that.”
“Stop calling him this Hawthorne guy. His name’s Clay.”
He hated seeing her loyalty wasted. It pulled at his core to think of Hawthorne taking her faith, love, and trust and soiling it with his lies. “I told you I spoke to Horst.”
“What else did he tell you? Is Clay all right?”
“You haven’t heard from him?”
The disappointment on her face was his answer.
“There was a text,” he told her. “We recovered it from Miranda’s cellphone. It was from Clay. Apologizing for his behavior and asking her to meet him at the silo.”
“Did it say Clay’s name? Alden York could have driven to Madison. Maybe it was from him.”
He let his silence be his response.
She reached into her purse and pulled out her own phone. She swiped it open, called up messaging, and tapped her fingers over the screen. She was returning her phone to her purse when his own phone hummed. He pulled it out and read the text she’d just sent him.
You sexy hunk. I long to put my hands all over you. All my love, Emma Stone
“Emma’s a bit young for my taste, but I get your point.” He slipped his phone back into his jacket. “You know what a bulldog Horst is. He and Jillian took a look at Clay’s phone.”
“And they found nothing. Am I right?”
He drew in a deep breath, hesitant to say what he knew would hurt her. “Partially. There was no record of the message Miranda received in Clay’s text file.”
“Of course there wasn’t!”
“He’d erased it. They were able to retrieve it. On Clay’s phone. Same message sent at the exact time it was received by Miranda. He lured her to that silo.”
It took a while for her to speak. He hated the fear in her voice when she did. “You saw it?”
He shook his head. “Horst did. Jillian did. It’s evidence now.”
She was quiet again. He waited.
When she showed no signs of responding, he shifted topics, making sure his voice reflected the tenderness he felt for her. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat. We can head back to Madison in the morning.”
She pushed her wine away, stood, and gathered her parka.
“We could still drive out to the Hearthside,” he offered. “Grab a steak.”
“You go.” Her voice was firm and determined. “And you can go back to Madison if you want. I’ve got work to do here.”
He watched her march out of the bar. He reached for his wallet and signaled for the bartender. As he paid his bill he glanced across the bar. The lovely brunette looked back at him, shrugging her shoulders in a sorry, Slugger, maybe next time message of encouragement.
Chapter 30
“I’m so happy you answered!” Sydney exclaimed. “I was afraid with my luck tonight someone would be in labor.”
“It’s only eight o’clock,” Ronnie replied. “No self-respecting infant would make an appearance until about twenty minutes after I’d fallen asleep. What’s up?”
“I need a favor. A big one.”
“Kidney big or lend-me-money big? Wait, you’re a multimillionaire. Good God, Syd. Do you need a kidney?”
“This isn’t the time for jokes, Ronnie. I need you to go to the Low Down and get Clay’s phone number.”
“You don’t have it?”
“Miranda’s dead.” She hoped the short explanation would be enough.
“What!”
“I don’t know how much has made the papers…”
“There was a body found in an abandoned silo out on County J.”
“That’s her.”
“What was Miranda doing in a silo?”
“Ronnie, please. I don’t have a lot of time now. Horst came by when I was at Clay’s. Some kids found her hanging from the rafters.”
“Suicide?”
“No. Murder.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“I need to talk to Clay. Can you go get his number for me, please?”
“What’s stopping you? And I swear, if you talk to me about giving Clay space or some other bullshit I’ll come right over to Hush Money and pop you in the nose.”
“I’m not at the restaurant. I’m in Ann Arbor.”
“Michigan! What are you doing…wait, isn’t that where Miranda’s from?”
“I’m here with Rick Sheffield.”
“Officer New Year’s Kiss?”
“Focus! Every cop in Madison is pointing a finger at Clay. I’m trying to find out if anyone from here is involved.”
“Does Horst know you’re there?” Ronnie took a sharp intake of breath. “Does your mother?”
“They both do. Listen, the police have confiscated Clay’s phone. I’m hoping he’s gotten another one by now. I need to speak with him. Can I count on you to get his number?”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
“I’m the something, all right. And, Syd?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you remembering what happened last time you stuck your nose where a bad guy didn’t want it?”
“My best friend almost died.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t. Which may mean you only get one lucky break in matters like this.”
Twenty-seven minutes later Syd’s cellphone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but she knew the area code.
“Ronnie said you wanted t
o talk to me.” Clay’s voice was stern. He hadn’t bothered with the pleasantries of a normal greeting.
“How are you?”
“I’ve been better. Horst fill you in on our little visit?”
“I haven’t spoken to Horst since last night. But I know the police have your phone.”
“I don’t want you involved in this, Syd.”
“Did you get my text?”
“I saw I had a message from you. Horst wanted me down at the station first thing. I didn’t look at it.”
“And now you can’t. Clay, I know you didn’t kill Miranda.”
He said nothing for a few moments. “I overreacted. Syd, there’s a text on my phone. It was sent to Miranda. Asking her to meet me New Year’s Day at the silo. Even listed the time.”
“You didn’t send it.”
“Damn right, I didn’t.”
“There’s an answer to this puzzle. We’re going to find it. How’s Steel handling this?”
He was quiet for so long it was only the background sounds of the Low Down that kept her from thinking the connection had been lost.
“Clay?”
“I haven’t seen him since New Year’s Eve. I don’t know where he is. He’s not picking up my calls. His buddies haven’t seen him. I called my folks, hoping maybe he’d gone to their ranch.”
“They haven’t seen him?”
“No. I didn’t tell them what was going on here. No need to worry them until it all shakes out.”
“We’ll find a way out of this, Clay.”
“Some light better start shining fast.” He sounded angry.
“Trust Horst. He’s a good detective. He’s looking at you, and I’m pissed as hell at him for that. But believe me, if he really thought you’d murdered Miranda he’d have you in a cell by now.”
“Miranda’s always left a trail of disaster in her wake, and it’s been my history to be the guy stuck cleaning it up.”
“It’s different this time. You’ve got me in your corner.”
He was quiet again. “It’s good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you.”
“Same here.”
“Come over after Hush Money closes. Let me gaze into those gorgeous eyes and pretend everything’s normal.”