Bad Girl
Page 30
“Oh! Hi! What’s up?”
“I was wondering…well, I don’t know…maybe if…”
She waited for words that didn’t come. “I’ve got fresh coffee up here. Care for some?”
“I’d love it.” She could hear the relief in his voice.
* * *
—
She poured him a mug of coffee. He drank it black, like his dad. She motioned for him to sit at the breakfast table. “I’m sorry about your mom.” She didn’t know if Clay had told him she’d been in Ann Arbor.
He held his mug in two hands, nodded his acknowledgment of her sympathies, but didn’t say anything.
“It must feel like a cheat. So many years without her, then she’s here, back in your life in a big way. And suddenly she’s gone.”
He looked up at her. “That’s the word. Cheat. That’s exactly what it feels like.”
“It hurts like hell, doesn’t it? But I’m betting you wouldn’t have changed having the time with her, even if it meant you’d have to go through this pain.”
“It’s the ending I’d change if I could.” He hesitated. “And not only her murder. I’d do anything to make that go away, of course. But I wish I didn’t have that last memory.”
“Your dad told me. Sounds like your mom was rough on Tawney.”
He set his mug on the table. “Tawney was strung out. Mom went at her like she was the scum of the earth. But Mom could be kind, too. You know she was way into her church work, right?”
“I do. And she was trusted enough to be sent to open a new congregation here.”
“Yeah, well that’s off. I don’t know if it’s a for-the-time-being thing or if it’s permanent.”
“That was kind, what you did for Tawney. Most people would have walked away.”
“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with this world.”
Sydney watched this young man as he took a slow drink of coffee. She was again amazed at how much he looked like a time machine version of Clay. “Is that what lies ahead for you, Steel? A life of not walking away from things?”
He shrugged. “I gotta figure that out.” It was more than a minute before he spoke again. She let him have his own pacing. “That guy called me this morning. York. The one my mom worked for. Do you know about him?”
She nodded. “From everything I can gather, Alden thought the world of your mother.” She didn’t feel the need to fill him in on the details of how Miranda’s desire to save York’s firm from ruin cost his mother her life.
There was time enough for that.
“He says a lawyer’s going to come talk with me. My mother left me some money.” He didn’t sound like he cared one way or the other. “A lot, from what he says.”
“She loved you very much.”
She saw his hand quiver as he returned the mug to the table. “Did she, Sydney? Is that what I’m supposed to believe? That a pot of money means she loved me and just forget about all the years she wasn’t there for me?”
A memory of another lawyer came to her. This one bringing her a message of alleged love offered from a distance and underscored with money.
“Maybe that’s the only way she could show it, Steel. Maybe you can find a way to love her, blunders and all.”
They sat in silence while they each stared blindly at the low, gray clouds outside her windows. Winter was hanging on.
“Do you love my dad, Syd? Blunders and all?”
She didn’t want to lie to this suffering young man. “That’s a complicated question.”
“Why? Seems to me if you love someone it ought to be easy. Maybe the work is hard, making a relationship and building a life together. I get that. But why should the love be some kind of complex riddle?”
She wished she had an answer for him. She thought of Clay: generous, warm, sexy. It ought to be as easy as breathing to love such a man.
An image of Rick came to her. She drew in a long inhale and breathed it out slowly.
“I don’t know, Steel. I really don’t have a clue.”
Acknowledgments
Starting a new series is fun…sometimes awkward to make the shift…sometimes scary as you see where the characters are taking you…sometimes stymieing when you hit a wall that certainly wasn’t supposed to be there. A person needs a crew. Boy, howdy, do I have mine. Endless, heartfelt, and any-words-are-insufficient thanks to my agent, Victoria Skurnick, and editor, Kate Miciak. I call them my Fabulistas. If you’re lucky enough to know them, you understand no other term will do. Much gratitude to the extraordinary Random House specialists who make my words dance. I haven’t met one who isn’t the complete professional. Thank you to my sisters, Micki and Barbie; one by blood, one by heart, both essential to any good move I make. Much gratitude to my readers. Thank you for staying loyal to this new series. Thanks, also, for the time you take to write me to let me know what you think. I love connecting with you. My family and friends deserve a round of applause for indulging me as I burrow into my writing hole. Please know I’m always surprised and thrilled to see you’re still there when I emerge. And to that guy…good old what’s his name…thank you, my darling, for giving me my dreams. Always encouraging, forever blunt with critique, and never hesitant to take on all the responsibilities of this whole marriage/family/home enterprise when deadlines loom. Every dream I have…not merely the literary ones…seems to be at the top of your To Do List. Oh, what a lucky woman I am!
BY T. E. WOODS
The Fixer
The Red Hot Fix
The Unforgivable Fix
Fixed in Blood
Fixed in Fear
Dead End Fix
Hush Money
Bad Girl
About the Author
T. E. WOODS spent more than twenty years as a clinical psychologist in Madison, Wisconsin. She now devotes herself full-time to writing, and lives with her guy and dogs in Bayfield, Wisconsin. For random insight into how her strange mind works, follow her:
tewoodswrites.com
Facebook.com/TEWoodsWrites
Twitter: @tewoodswrites
teriwoods2014@gmail.com
If you enjoyed Bad Girl,
read on for a thrilling excerpt from
Private Lies
A Hush Money Mystery
By T. E. Woods
Available from Alibi 2018
Chapter 1
Billy Tremble stopped walking and considered the question that had just popped into his head. It was an important one and he didn’t want to shrug it off or give some bullshit off-the-cuff response. His dad used to hammer on him about that. Think before you speak, kid. This world’s got assholes enough in it. I’ll not have anyone thinking another one fell out of my tree. Billy wondered if his father thought about his own words all those times he called his only son “worthless” or “idiot” or worse. His mother would try to soothe the sting of his dad’s harangues. It’s just the drink in him, Billy. You know he wouldn’t talk like that if he was sober.
Billy would have laid down good money that his father’s drunken state didn’t ease his mother’s pain that afternoon all those years ago, two days before Billy’s ninth birthday. The old man had beaten her up good and proper. Left her crying in a blood-smeared heap in the kitchen. Telling her she wasn’t woman enough to keep him chained. Then he turned to his only son and raised an accusatory finger toward Billy.
“And you, you son of a whore. You’ll never amount to anything.”
Now Billy gave a weary shake of his head at the realization that the bastard’s words still haunted him as he considered his answer to his spontaneous mental question. Even though he was twenty-seven years old and, for the first time in his life, a man with money to burn.
Yes, he decided. Yes, I am happy. He took a deep breath and nodded his consonance with his assessment. I’m happier than I’
ve ever been. He smiled and continued walking down State Street. The warm July night seemed gentle and special, as if the world itself was celebrating his good fortune.
He saw two men reclining on the covered bench of a bus stop. Their overstuffed duffel bags and filthy jackets signaled they weren’t waiting for the Number 32 to take them home to kith and kin. These men had nowhere to be. Nothing to do. They’d chosen to rest a bit before they continued the soul-draining work of being homeless. Billy reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills. He examined them in the light of a Nepalese restaurant, feeling his grin strain the muscles in his cheeks.
Yes, sir. I’m happy, happy, happy. Funny what a bucket of cash can do for a man’s attitude.
He approached the two men. “Here you go, buddy.” He handed the first man, the one with a beard more gray than brown, a bill. Then he nodded to the second man. This guy had smooth cheeks. Billy figured that the good-deeds lady from Grace Episcopal must have been passing out shaving gear that morning. “I got one for you, too, man.”
Each man nodded and shoved the bill in his pocket. Billy knew the protocol. Put the money away fast. Don’t speak to the person who just gave the handout. Don’t look ’em in the eye. Don’t give them any reason to acknowledge you’re an actual human being. Just let ’em do their feel-good of the day and they’ll be on their way. Everybody wins.
Billy was four steps down the street when he heard the bearded guy call out. “Hey! Hey! Thanks, Mister. God bless you.”
Billy surmised he’d taken the time to examine his gift. Probably been years since the old man held a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Billy kept walking. Kept feeling good. A strain of music started to play in his head, providing a tempo that demanded a strutted step. He stopped by a woman sitting cross-legged next to an ATM, her own bag of possessions beside her. A matted dog, looking to weigh twenty pounds where he ought to weigh thirty, let out a low growl.
“Don’t let Buster scare ya,” the woman said. “Ain’t got energy to bite anything, but he can sure still give it a good tease.”
“Looks like Buster could use a meal. You, too, if you don’t mind my saying.”
The woman looked up with rheumy eyes. Billy had a feeling she was at least a decade younger than she looked. “You got a burger in your pocket, do ya?”
Billy smiled. “Let’s see.” He reached into his pocket and let his fingers pull off five bills from the wad he’d tucked in earlier that evening. He handed them to the woman. “How’s that?”
The woman stared at the fortune in her fingers. Billy hoped she was dreaming about the couple of weeks’ safety it would buy her in the kind of hotel that didn’t demand a credit card imprint at check-in. The bathtub would be stained, but it would have enough hot water to scrub the street off her. She’d have a bed. Buster could curl up beside her and wouldn’t have to growl at anyone.
And the two of them could eat.
“There’s five hundred dollars here,” the woman whispered. She looked up one side of State Street, then down the other. “I ain’t sellin’ what you’re lookin’ to buy.” She lifted her hand to return the money. “Now get on down the way before I sic my dog on you. You might be surprised what he’s capable of if I yell loud enough.”
Billy shook his head. “I’m not buying anything. Had a run of luck, is all. Truth told, a couple of weeks ago I might have staked out this stoop myself.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. Billy put a hand over his heart.
“True as can be. Took my showers at the Y every other day. Stood in line at Bethel for them hot lunches. My luck has changed. It makes me feel good to share a bit of it. Nothing more than that.” He cupped his hands around the woman’s and gently pushed back. “That money’s yours.” He scratched the top of Buster’s head. “I’ll be on my way.”
Damn! This feels good! Maybe them preachers been right all along. Maybe it is better to give than get.
He was nearing the capitol square when he felt a tug on his arm. Here it is, he thought. He knew how rapidly word spread on the street. If there was a mark to be had or a soft touch to be milked, everybody with no place to be would know within minutes. He shoved his hand back in his pocket. What the hell. I’ll give it all away tonight. Plenty more where this came from. He put on his best smile to greet whoever was hoping to get a bit of the sugar Billy had been passing around.
His smile disappeared when he turned to see who stood behind him.
“Hello, Billy. Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
Billy looked to his left and right. For what, he wasn’t sure.
“Get in the car, Billy.”
Billy glanced to the street. A dark sedan sat idling. Its back door was open.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Billy said.
A hand tightened around his arm. In an instant Billy found himself facedown on the car’s leather backseat. His legs were shoved in behind him. The door slammed shut and he heard the locks engage. He struggled to pull himself into a seated position as his kidnapper swung into the front passenger seat.
“It wasn’t an invitation, Billy.”
Billy didn’t feel happy anymore. His gut burned with fear.
“Your fingers have gotten quite sticky, Billy. Now what do you suppose I’m going to do about that?”
The car pulled away from the curb fast enough to throw Billy back against the seat. He closed his eyes. A vision of his father’s face appeared.
And you, you son of a whore. You’ll never amount to anything.
Every great mystery needs an Alibi
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