by T. E. Woods
“Oh, no,” Shiree protested. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
“It’s my pleasure. You were very kind to share your experiences with Miranda. I insist.”
Shiree glanced at her watch again, urgency on her face. “If you’re sure. I really do need to get back. I hope what I had to say brought you some comfort.”
“You’ve helped me more than you know. Hurry, now. You wouldn’t want to miss your three-minute goal.”
Shiree left with a flurry of hurried good wishes. Sydney sat back and sipped on the ice water their server had finally brought them halfway through their meal. She had no idea how long it would be before the check arrived, so she pulled out her phone.
She had four text messages. Two were from her mother. Each began with some tidbit of news from the restaurants and ended with a stern admonition to be on the next plane home. One was from Ronnie, asking for an update on your two men. Sydney decided she’d respond later. The fourth text was from Clay. She read it twice.
Why do we argue? he’d written. My life runs more smoothly when you’re in it. Hurry home. She was grateful he hadn’t mentioned Rick Sheffield. Her smile was wistful as she responded to his text.
We argue because we’re passionate people. We’ll have many more arguments, I’m sure. Let’s promise to always make up quickly. Any word from Steel?
She pressed send as her server came by the table.
“You alone now? Hope you weren’t countin’ on your friend payin’ her share of lunch. She just zoomed out of here. And if you think I’m going to pull the cost of her lunch from my tip pocket, you can guess again.”
Sydney swallowed the urge to instruct her on the proper care and feeding of paying customers. “My friend needed to get back to work. Do I pay you or is there a cashier?”
The server slapped open her folder, sifted through a stack of checks, and tossed two of them on the table. “I can take care of it. If you’re paying with a card, let me know how much the tip’s gonna be ’cuz I gotta authorize that, too.”
Sydney glanced at the tally, reached inside her wallet, and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
The server walked off. As Sydney shook her head, her phone pinged with a text from Rick.
Earliest flight I could get is eight-thirty tonight. Done at police station. Grabbing lunch then heading back to hotel. I’ll be in the bar. Stay out of trouble.
She bristled. Something about that man always seemed to goad her into overreaction. She pushed the image of Rick Sheffield out of her mind and considered her next step. She followed an impulse and dialed a number she’d stored in her phone.
“MidWest ImEx,” the operator answered. “How might I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak to Shiree, please. I’m sorry. I don’t know her last name. But she’s the wonderful woman working the information desk in the lobby. Do you know her?”
“Know her?” the operator asked. “I’m looking right at her. Hang on a sec.”
Sydney heard two mechanical clicks before a familiar voice came on the line.
“This is Shiree Evans. How may I help you?”
“Shiree, this is Sydney.”
“Sydney? Did I leave something at the diner? I just left you…”
“I’m afraid I need a favor,” Sydney interrupted. “I’m still at the diner.” How many lies would she would have to tell before it stopped feeling uncomfortable? “I wanted to call Natalie York and thank her for last night’s dinner. But I left her number back at my hotel. Do you happen to know it?”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you! Hang on a second. Let me see if we have it here.”
Sydney heard the clicking of a keyboard.
“Got a pencil?” Shiree asked.
Sydney grabbed a pen and notepad from her purse. “Shoot.”
“It’s 734-616-5212. I don’t know if that’s a land line or her cell. But it’s the only personal number we have listed for her. If you want, I can ring you through to her office right now. See if she picks up…”
“Natalie’s there?” Sydney cut in. “At ImEx?”
“She keeps an office here. Hardly ever uses it, but she’s been here the last couple of days. Computer says she’s in. Want me to transfer you?”
“Yes, please. And thank you.”
“No problem at all. You hang on. It’ll go straight to her voicemail if she’s not taking calls.”
Sydney listened to the void of being placed on hold.
“Hello?”
“Natalie?”
“Damn it. Yes, this is Natalie York speaking. I’m supposed to say that when I pick up the phone, aren’t I? Honestly, I need to make a cue card for myself. Who’s this calling?”
“This is Sydney Richardson. I wanted to call to—”
“Sydney? From last night? Darling, how are you? We were all worried sick when Bishop Fullofhimself told us you’d taken sick. Daddy wanted to send a car to check on you, but none of us knew where you were staying.”
“I’m fine.” Sydney was grateful Fulcraft had, indeed, made excuses for her. “I don’t know what hit me, but it was sudden. And over as quickly as it came on, I’m happy to say. I just wanted to apologize for my abrupt exit.”
“Say no more. I’m thrilled to know you’re feeling better. Shall we reschedule?”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. While I’d love to talk with you, I don’t know how long I’ll be in town.”
“Are you at your hotel?”
“I’m in the diner across the street. I just finished lunch.” She hoped her luck held. “I thought maybe, if you’re not busy, I could come up and see you now.”
“Sydney! You are my salvation! Daddy’s working his twisted plan to teach me the business. He’s dragged me in here and left enough reading material to bore a Franciscan monk. I’m half worried there’s going to be some sort of a pop quiz. Give me a reason to leave this jail cell. I beg you. I can meet you immediately. Happily. Indebtedly.”
“Would you like to come here? We could have dessert.”
“Be serious, darling. Why would I trade one hellhole for another? Tell me you didn’t eat anything they served. If you did, you’ll be right back in your sick bed. Get out of there this instant. Don’t touch anything. Do you have a car?”
“I do.”
“Then hurry to it. Turn right out of the parking lot. It’ll take you a mile or two to get out of this industrial zone, but stick with it. Take another right on State Street. Just past the football stadium…you can’t miss it…there on your right…is a bar. Hunter’s Lounge. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes. All drinks on me. It’s the least I can do to thank you for springing me from this prison. I mean, honestly. Do you realize people come to work here every day? Every day!”
Chapter 34
Rick Sheffield was surprised at how good that burger was. He hadn’t expected much when he’d selected his lunch spot from the few options the strip mall offered. But they made it the way he liked it: medium rare, bacon, raw onions, and mustard. Whoever was frying things up in the kitchen knew what they were doing.
Probably the college influence, he decided as he paid his bill and thanked his waitress. This many students hanging around town, if you can’t make a great burger or a great pizza, you might as well not even open the doors.
He pulled on his parka, left the darkened restaurant, and stood outside letting his eyes adjust to the glaring sunshine. He checked his watch: 1:56. Then he checked his phone. No response from Sydney. He took a moment to survey the scene, hoping to find a cab dropping off a fare, but knowing that was unlikely. The parking lot was nearly full, and foot traffic was heavy with people hustling to the dry cleaner, liquor store, shoe repair shop, and four restaurants that made up the small shopping center. To his right, across the broad lot, one block up and across the s
treet, was a bank doing a brisk business at the drive-through. Next to it was one of those dare-to-be-shabby coffee shops that sprang up like weeds in university towns. He decided to take advantage of the mild weather, walk over, and relax with a cup while he waited for the cab he would call to take him back to the hotel.
The sun felt good against his skin. After a few yards, he considered taking off his parka. He’d always wondered about folks who’d take the first sunny day after a cold spell and push their luck by going coatless while the snow still covered the ground, but on this day, after too many weeks of ice and arctic air, he understood the draw. He resisted the urge and settled for keeping his gloves in his pocket.
He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He’d seen the gray car back at the restaurant, and chose his route accordingly. Now he made his way across the parking lot, cutting a diagonal across the lanes to reach the sidewalk.
The car trailed behind him, making its way to the lot’s entrance. Rick used the reflection off the windshields of the cars to track its movement. The dark gray Chevy sat idling, despite there being broad breaks in the midafternoon traffic. When he reached the sidewalk and turned north, the Chevy pulled out and did the same.
He made his way toward the corner, confident the Chevy wasn’t far behind. When he came to the intersection, he made a show of blowing warm air into his cupped hands, hoping whoever was driving the Chevy would see it as the nonchalant move of a man who didn’t know he’d picked up a tail. He allowed himself one brief glance toward the car as he crossed the street. It was enough to verify the driver.
He kept walking.
When he got to the coffee shop, he paused, leaned back to make an exaggerated read of the overhead sign, then stepped over to a colorful handmade sandwich sign wedged into the snowbank and heralding the specials of the day. Then he walked into the shop. He chose a table near the large front window and claimed it by draping his parka over the chair.
The Chevy slipped into a curbside spot diagonally across the street.
Rick stepped to the counter and ordered a hot chocolate, extra whipped cream. Then he headed toward the hallway at the rear of the shop. He walked straight past the men’s bathroom. A wooden door was labeled with a handmade sign. This one informed whoever cared to read it that the door was to be kept unlocked during business hours. Rick opened it and stepped out into an alley made sloppy with puddles of melting snow. He jogged past the rear entrances of two other shops. He turned right, crossed the street, and made another right, slipping his hand up under his sweater to unsnap the holster on his belt. Whoever was driving the Chevy would be keeping eyes focused on the coffee shop. Still, he hurried his step as much as he dared on the slippery walk. He didn’t want to risk being seen in the rearview mirror. As he got within ten feet of the Chevy, he lowered into a crouch, making his way along the driver’s side, wishing away the bright sunshine he’d enjoyed earlier. Misty clouds would be better cover for his advance. He was parallel with the Chevy’s rear bumper when he made his lunge. Quick and seamless. One hand on his gun, the other reaching for the rear door handle. He opened it, slid into the backseat, and closed the door behind him in one swift movement.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
From this distance he could see they were brown. It had been too dark in the bar the night before to catch that detail.
“Keep your hands on the wheel. Ten and two, just like in driver’s ed,” he commanded. “I’ve got my gun. Don’t make me draw it.”
The girl with the shoulder-length dark hair tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She kept her eyes on his.
“Now,” Rick said. “Let’s start with the basics. Who are you?”
“Listen, mister, I don’t want any trouble.” Her voice quavered with a fear her eyes didn’t reflect. “Take what you want, just don’t hurt me.”
Before Rick could call out her charade, the door next to him yanked open. A body slammed against his, knocking him across the seat. He hit his head against the window with enough force to drive his left hand instinctively to his scalp to check for blood.
“We’re going to have to practice surveillance a bit more, eh, Ellen?” The woman speaking to the driver pinned Rick against the door with one strong arm against his neck. “When I release you, I want you to settle back against the seat. Keep your hands on your knees. Do not speak until I tell you to. Do you understand?” She pressed harder, pinching a nerve in his neck and squelching any impulse he might have had to resist. He nodded against the cold glass of the Chevy’s side window. She pulled her arm away. He swallowed a mouthful of bile-tinged saliva, placed his hands where she’d instructed, and sat back against the rear seat.
“That’s a good lad.” The woman was older. Rick judged from her short gray hair and the lines in her wind-worn face that she probably saw her fiftieth birthday several years earlier. But he’d never seen a middle-aged woman as fit. She’d pinned him like he was a butterfly and that Chevy door was a wax mounting board.
“Here’s what’s going to happen now,” she told him. “Ellen is going to loop around to the coffee shop. You’re going to jog on in, pick up your gear…by the way, Ellen, did you notice how he put his stuff in the front window?”
“Yes.” The woman in the driver’s seat kept watch in the rearview mirror.
“Should have been your first sign he was onto you. That position allowed him to see the entire street. When he was ready, he could scoot out the back while you assumed he was camped out at the counter, waiting for his order.” She turned back to Rick. “Like I said, you pick up your stuff…did you order anything? Remember, don’t speak until I say it’s okay.”
Rick nodded.
“You pay for it already?”
He nodded again.
“Good. No need for a shopkeeper to lose money in this. You get your gear, don’t forget your beverage. You paid for it, might as well enjoy it. Then you’re going to come right back here, get in the car, and Ellen’s going to drive you someplace where we can chat. I’ll be right behind you. You understand?”
He stared at her.
“Okay, tough guy. You can talk now.”
“Who are you?” Rick asked. “Why are you following me?”
“I’m Avery Stanwick.” She nodded toward the young woman in the driver’s seat. “Your chauffer here is Ellen Delgrasso.” She reached inside her parka and pulled out her identification. “I’ll let you surmise which one of us is the senior agent.”
“FBI?”
“Just like the badge says.” Stanwick tapped her hand on the back of the front seat. “How about it, Ellen? Let’s get this show on the road.”
Chapter 35
Sydney didn’t have any trouble finding the Hunter’s Lounge, but she did need to take a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark interior. When she was finally able to fully make out the space, she was surprised at its elegance, more country club than downtown watering hole. A man wearing a red vest over a starched white shirt greeted her. She told him another woman would be meeting her and asked for a quiet table.
“No problem there, ma’am,” he said. “Folks don’t start filling the place till around five, five-thirty. Even then, we don’t exactly draw a rowdy crowd.” He led her to a U-shaped booth covered in burgundy brocade along the back wall. “My name’s Aaron. First time at the lounge?”
“It is.” Sydney slipped in behind the table covered in heavy white linen. “First time in Ann Arbor, actually.”
“Welcome to Tree City.” Aaron clasped his hands behind his back. “Would you like something now, or will you wait for your friend?”
“I’ll have a glass of pinot grigio, please.”
“Very good. If there’s anything else I can get for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Sydney reflected on how different the service here was than what she’d experienced at the diner. Natalie
York was accustomed to being pampered, and chose her destinations accordingly.
Aaron had just brought her glass when Natalie strolled in. She walked directly toward Sydney. Tossing her purse on the table, she peeled her leather gloves off one finger at a time.
“Aaron! You magnificent beast. You have no idea how desperate with delight I am to see you.” Natalie shimmied out of a red cashmere coat, handed it to him, and slid into the booth.
“May I bring you your usual, Ms. York?”
“You know you may.” Natalie gave him a wink before he hung her coat on a booth-side peg and left.
“Sydney! You look ravishing! Whatever bug felled you so suddenly last night has left your skin glowing. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were the picture of perfect health. What do you think it was?”
Sydney hated the idea of layering one lie after another. She opted for relaying the truth of the moment. “I woke up feeling fine. Thank you so much for meeting me.”
“Darling, the thanks are mine to heap on your gorgeous shoulders. Really, my dear. Do people tell you all the time that you’re movie-star gorgeous? You look like Angelina Jolie and Elizabeth Taylor somehow made a baby. What sort of gene pool did you swim out of?”
Sydney felt the flush of frustration she always did when people commented on her looks. A mental image of Joe and Nancy Richardson flashed through her mind. She felt a pang of envy for people who knew which family members they resembled. She swallowed her discomfort and did what she always did in such circumstances: dodged the subject.
“You didn’t sound happy to be at the office today. But it’s my good luck you were.”
“The office! Work! ImEx!” Natalie ran a hand through her thick copper hair. “How do these worker bees manage? Were they born with some natural resistance to boredom that I somehow lack?” Her green eyes widened. “Oh my. Have I offended you? Are you one of the lucky ones who can spend eight tedious hours in a padded cubicle and still look forward to drawing your next breath?”