Private Lies Read online

  “What’s that?” Sydney dipped a spoon into the red wine reduction and tasted it. She nodded her approval to Sands.

  “Solo diner. No reservation,” Gail said.

  “Serve him at the bar,” Sydney suggested.

  “I offered that. He told me to check with you. Said you’d make sure he had a table.”

  “We don’t play favorites here.”

  “I know that. But he insisted I tell you he’s here. It’s that guy from last night.”

  An invisible fist squeezed at Sydney’s gut. “Ted Fitzgerald? Tall, older man? White shock of hair?”

  “Not that one.” Gail lowered her voice. “But what’s up with him and his giant walking stick? No, it’s the other one. The priest.”

  “Father Moran?”

  “If you say so. We were never formally introduced. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “I’ll handle it.” Sydney smoothed a hand over her pink silk sheath and left the kitchen.

  * * *

  —

  He wasn’t wearing his priestly collar. Ian Moran was, instead, dressed like the high-powered New York financier he was. Dark gray suit, cut in the same European style as the one he’d worn to Leslie and Charles’s dinner party the evening before. White shirt, starched so heavily Sydney wondered if his neck got chafed each time he turned his head. Softening the look was a rose-colored tie and matching pocket square.

  “Father Moran.” She held out her hand. “Welcome to Hush Money.”

  The tall man tugged nervously at his earlobe and gave her an ingratiating smile. “I come unexpected, I know. I was wondering if we might have a bit of a visit.”

  Sydney felt her defenses lock into position. “About what?”

  Moran’s eyes were hypnotically blue. “You’ve become close to Leslie Fitzgerald.”

  “She’s Leslie Arbeit to me.” Sydney felt the need to protect her new friend.

  “Of course. Forgive my slight. It’s that I’ve known her since she was a child. Change comes slowly, I would imagine.”

  “And I don’t know how close you’d call us.”

  He glanced around the restaurant. “I’m sure there’s a place we can speak more privately. An owner’s table, perhaps?”

  You’re accustomed to having accommodations made for you, aren’t you?

  “I don’t keep one.” She straightened her shoulders. “We’re a bit more egalitarian here in the Midwest. I could seat you at the bar, if you’d like.”

  A flash of irritation crossed his face. She was impressed with how rapidly he could erase it and shift his tone to kindness.

  “I’m not here to eat, Sydney. I’m here to speak with you. We didn’t have much time to chat last night. Ted seems to always take the lion’s share of my attention whenever he’s about.”

  “What do we have to discuss, Father Moran?”

  “Please. Call me Ian.”

  “All right. What do we have to discuss, Ian?”

  He gave a soft chuckle. “You make it sound like an interrogation, my dear. I assure you it’s nothing more than wanting to know more about the people in the Fitzgeralds’ life.” He leaned in and spoke with a mock-conspiratorial tone. “To tell the truth, it’s Elaina who’s sent me.”

  A mixture of embarrassment and curiosity washed over her at the mention of Leslie’s mother’s name. She felt childish at the reminder of her own foolish fantasy that perhaps Elaina, with her mysterious solo appearances at Hush Money and her kindly curiosity about Sydney’s life, might be her long-lost birth mother.

  She could almost hear Clay’s voice pointing out yet another example of how she’s always looking for something more than what she has.

  “I have an office,” she offered.

  Ian’s smile broadened. “I’d love to see it.”

  She led him past the elegant tables of Hush Money’s dining room, into the short hall near the kitchen, then opened the door to her office. She offered him a chair before assuming her own seat behind her desk.

  “I’m impressed.” Ian crossed one long leg over the other before straightening the crease in his trousers. “Full on a Wednesday night. I assume chicken is the specialty this evening.”

  She ignored the condescension in his voice. “I forget you’re a Midwest native. You remember the traditions.”

  “Chicken on Wednesdays, fish fry on Fridays, prime rib on Saturdays,” he said promptly.

  “Hush Money doesn’t adhere to those old ways. Tonight’s special is pork belly with shaved fennel.”

  He raised an eyebrow and nodded his approval.

  “What fears do you have about my relationship with Leslie?” Sydney challenged.

  Ian crossed his hands over his knee. “You’re direct. I like that. I’ve been told I have little time for meaningless pleasantries myself.”

  “Then perhaps you should ask me whatever it is you came to learn.”

  He was silent for a few moments. Sydney wondered if he was choosing his words or prioritizing his questions.

  “As you know, the Fitzgeralds and I go way back.”

  “Leslie told me. So did Barney. He said all the girls at school had crushes on you.”

  “I don’t know about that.” The smile that fluttered on his lips suggested the opposite.

  “And then there’s the business connections.”

  Ian’s smile disappeared. “Leslie’s discussed that with you?”

  “She acknowledges the role you played in helping her father build the company she now runs.”

  “Ted had hoped to pass Prairie Construction along to Barney.”

  “So I’ve learned. Tell me, are you disappointed that job went to Leslie?”

  His smile returned. “Are you thinking I’m one of those dinosaurs? One who thinks there are certain jobs women shouldn’t be allowed to have?”

  “Can’t blame me in that, can you?” She tapped a finger to the soft spot of her throat. “You may not be wearing your collar tonight, but I know who you work for.”

  “The church has made great strides in allowing women to serve in more and more roles.”

  “Allowed. Hardly the language of equality, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m not here to discuss church politics, Sydney. Tell me about you.”

  She looked at him for several moments. His eyes were genuinely striking. Wide-set and as deep blue as the farthest stretch of ocean. His jaw was squared and as solid as if carved from marble. He could have easily chosen a career as a model or movie star.

  Perhaps being a priest is the same, she thought. Costumed and performing before a rapt audience. Held in high regard for nothing more than the position you hold. Smiling kindly at the eager fans who want to get closer to you.

  “Leslie and Barney have brought me up to date as to where your career took you after you left Madison,” she said. “Chief U.S. Officer for the Vatican Bank. That’s some kind of hotshot banker.”

  “I serve where I can.”

  “The Catholic Church has survived for two thousand years, Ian. They haven’t done that by not choosing their leaders carefully. I’m sure you’re quite good at what you do.”

  He nodded his acceptance of her compliment.

  “Which means you already know everything about me. Well, perhaps not everything. But enough to know I pose no threat to your precious Fitzgeralds.”

  “Again, I appreciate your directness. I’ll honor it by being as candid as I can. You own two restaurants. Opened them on the same day, as I understand.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “One of them is a cop bar. The Ten-Ten, I believe.”

  You know full well what it’s called. You’ve done your homework on me.

  “Your father was a police officer.” He paused. “Your adoptive father, Joe Rich
ardson. From what I hear, he was a hell of a cop.”

  “Then you can understand why I might want a place for people just like him to feel welcome.”

  “Restaurants are risky investments. Small profit margins. Short life spans.”

  “Shall I sign something promising never to ask a Fitzgerald for an investment?”

  Ian’s smile was warmer this time. “That’s not a concern, Sydney. I understand you have sufficient funds to support not only yourself but whatever employment whim in which you may choose to indulge.”

  An angry curiosity flared within her.

  “How do you know about my finances?”

  He turned his palms to the sky. “I’m a hotshot banker. What I’m more interested in is who you are. Beyond what financial statements or holdings might tell me. I want to know what kind of person you’ve turned out to be.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Ted and Elaina live an hour away. They worry about their children. They tell me both Leslie and Barney talk about you in the most glowing terms.”

  “I barely know Barney.”

  “Well, you’ve made quite an impression. And, sharing just these few minutes with you, I can see why.”

  “Again, I’m no threat to the Fitzgeralds.”

  “No one ever said you were, my dear.” He paused. “I adore chocolate. Do you?”

  “Would you like me to have our pastry chef bring you a dessert?”

  “Would you share it with me?”

  Sydney bristled. “As you’ve said, I have two businesses to run. And I consider them much more than a whim. So, now that you can take back to Elaina that I pose no danger to her adored children, unless you have any other questions, I’m going to get back to work.” She stood, and was grateful he took the cue and did likewise.

  “I’ve offended you,” he said. “Trust me, that was not my intent.” His voice took a vulnerable turn. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at this kind of thing.”

  “What kind of thing is that?”

  “Getting to know people. People who want nothing from me.”

  “Why would you want to know me? You’re not out to save my soul, are you, Father?”

  He studied her in silence. He raised his hand as if wanting to touch her cheek but withdrew it before his skin touched hers.

  “You truly are lovely,” he said softly. “I can see why Leslie and Barney are drawn to you.”

  Her defenses switched to a higher alert level. She stepped to her office door and opened it.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  Chapter 37

  “Where’s Rick?” Sydney set the box of pastries on the square wooden table separating Rick’s kitchen from his living room.

  “Down at the station.” Horst left the sofa and crossed to the table. “Left about twenty minutes ago. These Greenbush?”

  “They are. Feel the bottom of the box. Still warm.”

  Horst lifted the lid and greedily breathed in the aroma of fresh baked goods. “Ah, Kitz! You’re a lifesaver. A guy can take only so much pizza and beer.”

  She gave him a quick assessment. He was wearing the same plaid shirt and khaki pants he wore when he and Rick came by Hush Money the day before. “Have you been here all night?”

  Horst took a bite of a cinnamon twist. “We’ve got a lot of stuff to look through.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “At my place.”

  “Are you worried about people dropping by?”

  “I’ve been suspended, Kitz. Under investigation for stealing a load of cash. That brings a stench. A couple of people have called, but I doubt anyone’s going to come by in person.”

  Jocko lumbered over, his very black nose twitching as he approached the table. Sydney reached into the pocket of her windbreaker and pulled out a beef stick.

  “I wouldn’t forget you, buddy.” She accepted a grateful paw swipe and handed the dog his treat. “What about Jillian?” she asked Horst.

  “She’s turning into a mother hen. Calling. Wanting to know what we’re thinking, what’s the plan.”

  “She’s your partner. She cares about you.”

  “I know. I know. But the last thing I want is her getting nicked by whatever buzz saw is coming toward me. She’s mad as hell, but I told her the best place for her is back at the squad. Doing what she’s told. Keeping quiet about what Rick and I are up to.”

  “And me!”

  Horst shook his head. “I appreciate that, Kitz. But I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Jillian. Somebody’s aiming at me. I’m going to find out who it is, but until I do, it’s best for all concerned that innocent parties steer clear.”

  Sydney pulled out a chair. “Sit down, Horst.” When he did, she pulled her chair as close to his as possible.

  “Listen to me.” She dialed her tone to the same one she used when dealing with an errant employee. “There’s no living man I respect more than you. You know that.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “You’re into something. And with what you told me yesterday”—she fought against the choke in her throat—“about the warehouse where my dad was killed and Susalynne McFeeney, I’ve got the same feeling I believe you have. Whatever’s coming for you is tied into something old.”

  Horst held her gaze, still saying nothing.

  “Maybe it’s karma,” she persisted. “Maybe it’s justice. Maybe it’s just that old saying that the truth always comes out. But I think the murder of this Billy guy—”

  “Billy Tremble.”

  “Billy Tremble,” she echoed. “I think his murder put you on the road to something you’re not supposed to know.” She paused. “Something I’m not supposed to know. And until we find out what that is, I’m in this. As much as you. As much as Rick. No holding back. No protecting me. No hiding things from me. Joe Richardson was your partner. But he was my dad. If it turns out Billy Tremble’s death had no connection at all to Dad’s killer, I’ll accept that. But I’m tired of unanswered questions. For the first time since Dad was killed, something has come up. It may be a long shot, but I’m going to take it. Just like you are.”

  Horst’s eyes telegraphed his unspoken pride in her.

  Sydney leaned forward and held her forehead to his for several seconds. Then she pushed her chair back and took a cream-filled donut out of the box.

  “So…what did you and Rick find out in your data mining?”

  Horst reached for his notebook.

  * * *

  —

  An hour later the front door opened. Jocko scrambled to greet his master.

  “Hey, ho!” Horst called out. “Sydney brought Greenbush and I made a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Rick came over to the table, Jocko following him every step.

  “What had you at the station?” Sydney asked.

  Rick glanced over to Horst.

  “She’s in. All the way. I’m okay with that. If you know what’s good for you, you will be, too. I been telling her the results of our all-nighter.”

  Rick crossed to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Then she knows that we’re not much further along than we were yesterday.”

  “Maybe,” Horst replied. “But at least we’re organized.”

  “Answer my question,” Sydney said. “Did you get called in?”

  “Yep. My review’s done. Me shooting Vistole has been ruled justified. I’m cleared to go back to work. At least as far as the department’s concerned.”

  “You’ll wait until your physicians give the all clear,” Sydney said.

  Rick took a long sip of coffee. “I’m going back today.”

  “You will not!” Sydney persisted. “It’s been less than two weeks since you were shot.”

  “Two weeks tomorrow,” Rick reminded. “Relax. I
feel fine. And it’s desk duty until my docs clear anything more. I told the sergeant I’m good for half days.”

  Horst nodded. “Keep you open for what we got going on here.”

  “Exactly,” Rick said. “I’ll do my time at the station, accessing whatever we might need and keeping my ears open on both the Tremble investigation and what’s going on with the charges against you.”

  “My own little mole in the department,” Horst joked. “A fly on the wall.”

  “I wish I could find the humor in this,” Rick said. “We got a dirty cop. At least one. Maybe more. I can help the most by being inside.”

  Sydney understood the logic, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea.

  “Aren’t you worried you might get targeted the same way Horst is?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Jillian Kohler is Horst’s partner, not me. As far as anyone knows, I know nothing about the Tremble case. As relates to the missing money, hell, I was the guy who got shot bringing it in in the first place.”

  “And Vistole’s dead,” Horst added. “Attention will get shifted to who killed him. Since Rick’s riding a chair, he won’t be assigned to the case.”

  “Which means,” Rick said, “as far as the station’s concerned, there’s no need for anyone to be thinking I’m looking into anything.”

  Sydney pushed her coffee mug aside. “I think maybe I have something.” She told them about the impromptu visit she had the night before. “Moran said he wanted to get to know me. I think he wanted to know what kind of a threat I might pose to the Fitzgeralds.”

  “Did he use that phrase?” Rick was scowling.

  “No, but I did. Told him they had nothing to worry about from me.” She paused. “He mentioned my dad.”

  Horst leaned forward. “Like, what? He knew him or something?”

  “More like he knew of him. Knew his name. Knew he was a cop. Knew he was my adoptive father.”

  “This guy’s run a check on you,” Rick offered.

  “At first I thought he knew what he did about me from talking to Leslie. But then he mentioned my finances.”

  “You in trouble that way?” Rick asked.