Bad Girl

by T. E. Woods

  The prospect of Rick thinking he’d influenced her decision pushed the notion out of her mind. She shook her head clear of home and headed to the bathroom.

  * * *

  —

  She was dressed in fresh pajamas, glowing from the hot shower, and sitting on the side of the bed rubbing lotion on her feet when she heard the knock on her door. She glanced at the clock. It had been forty-two minutes since she’d placed her order. As if she were one of Pavlov’s dogs, her stomach let out a growl for attention. She walked to the door, determined to eat that brownie first.

  A man stood in the hallway. She glanced past him, expecting a service cart, but found none. She looked back at him, noticing his parka and scarf. A heartbeat later, she realized she knew him.

  “Brice? What are you doing here?”

  He clicked the heels of his boots together and saluted. “At your service, madam. Or at Big Daddy’s service, I should say. I’ve been dispatched.”

  “I don’t understand. Hang on a second, will you?” Sydney hurried to the bathroom, grabbed a white terry cloth robe from the hook, and slipped it on. “What do you mean, dispatched?”

  “Natalie and her father were abuzz with news when they arrived home this evening. You’re coming to live with us, I understand. Well, not with us exactly. You’ll be assuming the Miranda position. In the guesthouse. My wife was so excited there was some concern she might actually skip cocktail hour.”

  “Were they expecting me at dinner? I don’t recall saying I’d be there.”

  “My dear, if you’re to live amongst the Yorks, you’ll need to understand one simple rule. What you recollect doesn’t matter. It’s all about their wants. Daddy Dollar and his red-headed spawn have decided it would be fun to have you in the guesthouse tonight. I’ve been sent, like a little trained dog, to fetch you.”

  “As you can see, I’m settled in for the evening. Please tell them I appreciate their enthusiastic welcome, but I couldn’t possibly come tonight.”

  A quick streak of something…fear?…crossed his handsome face. “I can wait.”

  He reminded her of that old adage her father liked. If you marry for money, you’ll earn every penny. She suddenly felt sorry for this man. He’d traded his good looks and fraternity connections for a limited shelf-life marriage.

  “I’m not coming with you tonight, Brice. I’ll speak with Natalie in the morning. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  He shrugged. “Your funeral, I guess. One thing those Yorks don’t like is to be disappointed. You’ll probably find your guesthouse offer rescinded. The job, too.”

  She thought about her goal of discovering who murdered Miranda. She’d need to stay close to the folks at ImEx. “I’m not packed.”

  He smiled at the crack in her refusal. “Like I said, I can wait.” He pointed beyond her. “Mind if I come in?”

  She stepped aside, allowing him to pass, and wondered if Miranda had felt the same desperation to please the Yorks that this man obviously did. Is that why she became involved with the contraband scheme?

  Sydney took her small suitcase from the closet. “This shouldn’t take long. Have a seat.”

  Brice walked over to the desk and pulled out the chair. “You planning on staying with us long?”

  She pulled clothes from the drawers. “I don’t know. I’ll play it by ear, I guess.”

  “Sometimes it’s a race.”

  “What?”

  “Seeing who grows tired of whom first. Miranda had staying power. Natalie was genuinely sorry when Miranda moved into her own condominium. That’s unusual for her. She has the focus of a third grader with ADD where relationships are concerned.”

  Sydney looked at him. She saw his anxious fret; the tension in the way he held himself.

  “Are you afraid her attention is ebbing away from you?” she asked bluntly.

  He gave her a weary smile. “Is it that obvious? Or did Natalie mention something?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to divulge Natalie’s confidences. “I’m a keen observer, let’s say that.”

  His smile was warmer this time. “You seem nice. Miranda seemed nice, too. You knew her as a child. Tell me, did she seem nice all those years ago?”

  “Are you implying her kindness was an act?”

  “We shan’t speak ill of the dead. Miranda was successful. Very successful. I imagine she got that way by seeming whatever way she needed in any given situation.” He gazed off, as though thinking of something that had nothing to do with their conversation. “Do you like Madison?”

  “I do.” She crossed to the closet, took out the few things she had hung, and folded them into her suitcase.

  “What did you do there?”

  “In Madison? I worked in a restaurant.” She felt no need to fully explain her role.

  “Aren’t we the industrious drone? Are you afraid you’ll come to miss the place?”

  “No way to tell the future, is there?”

  His eyes took on that faraway look again. “I suppose there isn’t. Sometimes it comes at you faster than you ever thought possible. I like Madison, too. Maybe I’ll live there one day.”

  “You’ve been? Great town, isn’t it? It’s got it all. Sports, high-tech business, hometown feel. The university. Wonderful festivals and music, too.”

  “Garbage is from there, right?” He became a bit more animated. “And Clyde Stubblefield. God, I loved his drumming. Gone too soon, as they say.”

  “Stubblefield played with all the greats, that’s for sure. Everyone from James Brown to Leadbelly Mud.”

  “Woman knows her tunes! You like Leadbelly? I heard him once. In Madison, as a matter of fact. Man, that guy could coax the devil out of hell with his gravelly voice.”

  Sydney smiled in recognition of the great musician’s talent. But suddenly, her mind sounded an alarm. She shot a quick glance toward Brice. He looked relaxed, as though he enjoyed talking music with her.

  “I forgot to tell you.” She worked to keep her voice steady. “I ordered room service. They should be here any minute. How about I meet you down in the lobby in about an hour?”

  “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I’ve got to eat. Low blood sugar. Besides, I’m not going to show up at the York mansion in my bathrobe, am I? Do you mind stepping outside while I put something more suitable on?”

  His eyes scanned her face as though searching for clues. Then his own face hardened.

  “Well,” he said, “this changes things, doesn’t it?”

  “Leave. Now.”

  “We both know that’s not going to happen.”

  Sydney assessed the room. The bed, the desk, and Brice stood between her and the door.

  “Stay calm, Sydney. Dare I ask what gave me away?”

  She wondered if he was armed. “It was Leadbelly.” She hoped to keep him engaged while she figured out her next move. “He only played Madison once. At Clay Hawthorne’s place. This past New Year’s Eve.”

  “That was sloppy of me.”

  “And the red feather ball.” She raised her voice. Maybe Rick would hear her.

  His brow furrowed. “What?”

  “On Anna’s desk. She said her boyfriend gave it to her. It was exactly like the one you pulled from my ear the night I met you. Were you using Anna? Romancing her to continue the scheme after you killed Miranda?”

  “Clay Hawthorne killed Miranda.” He took a step toward her. “The police will find the text he sent her soon enough.”

  “You were at his bar. Watching him. You saw him set his phone down.”

  He tilted his head in humble acknowledgment. “I couldn’t believe my luck. How best to keep the police away than to offer them another suspect?” He came another step closer.

  “Stop!” Sydney shouted. She held up a hand in protest. Where was Rick
? “Why’d you kill Miranda? There must have been enough money for the both of you.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Everything. The FBI told me.” She fabricated a lie. “They’re behind me getting close to Natalie. They knew about the shipments. Figured Miranda had an accomplice. I was supposed to go in and learn what I could.”

  “Miranda’s accomplice? Is that what they think?” He scoffed his disbelief. “Miranda? Going against Alden York? Stupid, stupid bumpkins. It was me. Me! Oh, I needed someone with executive authority to change the ports of call and the longshoremen directives. Anna was good enough for that. A few romps in the hay, a couple of promises, and she did whatever I told her. She’d been signing for York for years. What’s a few more slips of paper? But Miranda couldn’t be happy playing Miss Executive. No big-picture strategizing for her! She still checked the details of every shipment ImEx put out. She went digging. Anna proved to be only half the helpmate I’d hoped she’d be. She only doctored the loading manifestos. Careless of her. Miranda investigated the discrepancies and traced everything back to me.”

  “Why? You have all the money you’ll ever need.”

  “Natalie has all the money! She wasn’t going to keep me around forever. And Miranda made damned sure my severance pay was little more than minimum wage. I didn’t put up with the Yorks all this time to be sent back to Detroit with nothing!”

  “Miranda threatened to expose you.”

  He shook his head. “She couldn’t do that. Can you imagine the federal investigation that would ensue if word got out I used ImEx ships to sidestep federal embargos? Contraband weapons and ammunition floating into war on Daddy Wallet’s boats? ImEx would be ruined. Alden York might avoid prison, but he’d never outlive the scandal. No, Miranda wasn’t going to expose me. She was going to torture me. Keep me on a leash so short I’d choke every time I tried to stand. She wanted me to sign away my right to any financial compensation from Natalie.”

  “So you killed her. You went to Madison, lured her to those silos, and killed her.”

  “Everyone in Ann Arbor was aghast when they learned about Miranda’s love child. I counted on the people in Madison being just as shocked when she returned. Shocked enough to want her dead. I went to Clay’s bar hoping to pilfer something to leave at the silos as a clue. Tie him to the kill. When I saw him abandon his phone…right there by the register…well, he was practically begging me to implicate him, wasn’t he?” He pointed toward the suitcase. “Now be a good little girl and get dressed. You needn’t bother packing.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  “But the Yorks. They’re expecting me.”

  He shrugged. “You weren’t here when I arrived. I waited awhile, but you didn’t return. They’ll ask if I checked the bar and restaurants. Then they’ll sputter about my bumbling inadequacies. When you don’t show up tomorrow, they’ll move on. One thing about the Yorks, they never linger in wistful might-have-beens. Daddy Checkbook will be on to his next project and Natalie will call for her next pitcher of margaritas. Now get dressed!”

  Where is that room service? Where’s Rick?

  Brice came toward her. She stepped back. In three steps her back was against the wall. Brice came closer. He grabbed her arm and she pivoted. He tightened his grip, pulling her toward him as she struggled to twist free.

  She screamed. Loud.

  Brice slapped her across the face. Hard.

  She screamed louder. She felt the warmth of her blood trickle into her mouth. She spat it directly into his face. Brice reflexively relaxed his grip and she spun free. She leaped onto the bed, hoping to make a direct escape to the door. He grabbed her ankle and yanked, bringing her stomach-flat onto the mattress. She tried to yell again, but his hands were in her hair, pushing her scream down into the thick comforter. She labored to bring in her next inhale but got little more than a desperate gasp. She brought her legs up and pummeled his back with her feet, bucking beneath him. He wrapped his hand tightly in her hair, yanking her neck back. She felt the strain against her muscles, the pain in her spine, the frantic pulsing in her veins as she fought to breathe. She twisted. Brice teetered over her, but held on. She had just enough time to register the rage in his face before his hands went to her neck and tightened. She kicked in protest. Dimly, she heard the bedside lamp crash against the wall.

  With what felt like her last burst of strength, she kicked again. Her knee connected with the small of Brice’s back with enough force to propel him forward. His hands released her neck as he tried to balance himself. She shoved both hands into his face, gripping and twisting his cheeks, digging in her fingernails while she pushed with all her might.

  He groaned in pain. She heaved and he was off her, landing in the space between the bed and the wall. She jumped onto him. Her left foot landed in the soft flesh of his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs, while her right foot crashed onto his chest. She heard his ribs crack as he flailed at her legs.

  She gave another mighty kick, caught him under his jaw, and his body went limp.

  She gulped ragged gasps of air and scrambled back over the bed. She grabbed the bedside lamp from the floor and yanked its cord free from the wall. She rolled back over the bed to Brice’s unconscious body and tied his hands behind his back.

  He moaned.

  She kicked him again.

  The space was tight, his body was heavy, and her own arms were leaden weights. Still, she managed to maneuver Brice’s left leg under the bed. She pulled on his feet until his crotch met the sturdy king-sized frame. She steadied herself with both hands as she made her way to the top of the bed. She yanked a pillow out of its case and used it to tie Brice’s knees together.

  Then she crawled toward the dresser and collapsed.

  Her chest was still heaving when she heard a knock at the door. She looked down at her bloodied hands and torn pajamas. She somehow found the strength to laugh when she heard the voice from the other side.

  “Room service!”

  Chapter 42

  Sydney glanced at her watch. It was only nine o’clock. She had plenty of time before heading over to Hush Money. Her mother and staff had done such a great job managing the place while she was in Ann Arbor that she felt the freedom to linger over a quiet breakfast. She popped a muffin in the toaster and poured herself another cup of coffee.

  It’s good to be home. Her plane had landed at noon the previous day. Rick had offered to accompany her, but she assured him she’d be fine. He had clean-up work to do, wrapping up the case with the FBI. Agents Stanwick and Delgrasso were at the gate in Ann Arbor to see her off.

  “Hell of a job you did there,” Stanwick had told her. “The Bureau could have used an agent like you.”

  The agents told her Brice was chained to a hospital bed. “He’s a bit hoarse, and he’s not saying anything now,” Stanwick said. “But before Natalie got a lawyer to him he gave us plenty of details.”

  “Both how he moved the contraband and how he killed Miranda Greer,” Delgrasso added. “Nothing left for us now except to finish the paperwork and turn him over to the AG’s office.”

  Nancy and Horst had been waiting for her in baggage claim once she landed in Madison. After sufficient hugs, inspections, and assurances, Sydney endured their lecture as they drove her back to her condominium. Both offered to come up, but she’d begged off, telling them she wanted nothing more than an afternoon and evening to herself.

  “A long bubble bath, some wine, and a little trash TV,” she’d told them. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  It had taken a while to convince them, but they left. She smiled at the memory of Rick calling her three minutes after she got inside.

  “Are you settled?” he’d asked. “How’d you manage the flight?”

  He’d been no more than two steps
away from her since he saw the red lights of the local police, called to the scene by a rattled room service waiter and confused property manager, pull up in front of the hotel’s coffee shop where he’d gone for a burger. He’d argued with her when she refused medical assistance, succumbing to her stubbornness only after she agreed to let him stay with her. Her room was declared a crime scene. Brice was hauled off and after her shoulder bag was dusted for prints, Sydney was allowed to pack her stuff and relocate to a two-bedroom suite the hotel offered. When they were finally alone, Rick double-locked the door to the hall and stood in the door of the bedroom she picked.

  “You might feel safer if I was in the bed next to you,” he’d said. His smile had been just what she needed: a normalizing blend of mischief and dare.

  “As a public service, you mean?”

  “What can I say? I’m a dedicated professional.”

  She told him it was the chair or nothing. She’d awakened to find him, butt in chair, feet on the bed, sound asleep.

  She kept his check-in call short, telling Rick she was fine and that she was looking forward to a quiet evening.

  “Have you called Hawthorne yet?” he’d asked.

  “I just got home!”

  “He should be there.” Rick paused. “Or I should be.”

  “Clay has no idea about what happened in Ann Arbor,” she said. “Don’t judge him.”

  “I’m not. But I’ve got to wonder why it is you haven’t let him know what went down.”

  She’d ended the call without giving him a reason.

  Her muffin popped clear of the toaster. She was slathering it with butter when her intercom buzzed.

  “Yes?” she spoke into the speaker.

  “Sydney? It’s me. Steel Hawthorne.”