Bad Girl Read online

  “C’mon,” Sydney coaxed. “Let’s see what you brought.”

  They were halfway through arranging pies, cookies, and a coconut cake on various serving platters when her front doorbell rang. Sydney crossed the living room, clucking to her mother that she’d brought too much food as she opened the door.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” Sabrina and Gail, two hostesses from Hush Money, dripped snow as they called out their greetings. Behind them stood Pablo, this time with a trolley.

  Sydney waved them all inside. “I assume you come bearing gifts.”

  “Bounty from Roland Delmardo,” Sabrina sang out. “Whoa! Syd! Look at this place. It’s like you’re floating in the middle of heaven.”

  “It looks like a magazine layout,” Gail added. “If this is what working in a restaurant gets you, sign me up for life!”

  A flush of embarrassment washed over Sydney as the two young women made their way around the space, oohing over this and aahing over that. She knew she shouldn’t be ashamed of having the money to live as comfortably as she did.

  But it’s not really my money, is it? All I did was get myself born to a couple of rich people who’d rather pay to have me out of their lives than make the effort to raise me.

  “So what did the chef send over?” Sydney asked.

  “I have no idea,” Gail said. “But it smells like heaven.”

  Pablo started unloading insulated boxes onto the already crowded counter.

  “He included a list of all he prepared,” Sabrina added. “It must be in one of the boxes. He was in a hurry when we went by to pick this up. I don’t know what his plans are for the day, but I got the impression they’re pretty big.”

  “Everything’s big to Roland,” Nancy commented. “The other day he got a paper cut and you’d have thought he’d sliced off his thumb. I’ve never heard such wailing.”

  Sydney started taking lids off cartons. “Looks like some kind of potato masterpiece here. This one’s got, what? Green beans and…is that kale? Whatever it is, it looks delicious. Can I get you girls something? Tea? Maybe some cocoa? We have enough cookies, that’s for sure.”

  The girls thanked her, but begged off.

  “I’ve got to get to my mom’s,” Gail told Sydney. “We’re driving up to Westfield. Dinner’s at my aunt’s. There’s like thirty of us when you include all the cousins.”

  Sydney wondered what it must be like to be from such a large brood. It had always been just her, her mom, and her dad. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Guaranteed!” Gail assured her.

  “How about you, Sabrina?” Sydney asked.

  “David and I are laying low.” Sabrina referred to her boyfriend. “I told my folks I had to work. It’s wrong to lie, but if you had to spend a Thanksgiving in Whitefish Bay with my mother, who insists each and every second be orchestrated with all the family traditions, you’d do a lot worse than lie to get out of it. Besides, David doesn’t even own a suit…and my mother would fall over dead if he dared to show up at her table in anything less than full formal attire. So we’ll camp out at his place. He’s making a pot of spaghetti. We’ll watch football and a couple of movies. Maybe go out and build a snowman once the wind dies down.”

  “That sounds delightful. Can I send any food with you guys? I have enough to feed two armies.”

  Both girls thanked her again, assuring her they’d have their fill by the end of the day. They re-wrapped their scarves, pulled their mittens back on while wishing Nancy and Sydney a happy holiday, and headed to the door with promises to see one another at Hush Money the next day.

  “Look at this!” Sydney spread her arms to include the mountain of food. “What are we going to do with all this?”

  “Organize!” Nancy slipped off her shrug of many colors and marched into the kitchen. “How about you get some music up in here. Something fun for this snowy day.”

  Mother and daughter puttered together, unboxing turkey and ham and side dishes. Sydney had chosen a CD of American standards, and the two women sang together when a favorite song filtered through ceiling-mounted speakers. Both stood frozen when Frank Sinatra started singing “Time After Time.”

  “The first song you and Daddy ever danced to.”

  Nancy nodded. “I love that you remember that.”

  “It was at the department’s Christmas party. Your neighbor was dating a cop, and she begged you to join her.”

  “You were listening all those times Dad and I told that old story.”

  Sydney leaned against the dining room wall and watched her mother lose herself in the music. Nancy was transformed from a sixty-four-year-old widow carrying twenty extra pounds around her midsection into a twenty-year-old wrapped for the first time in the arms of a man who’d be the only one to hold her from that dance forward.

  A knock on the door pulled them both from their reverie. Sydney went to answer while Nancy slipped back into her shrug and patted her gunmetal hair back into place.

  “Kitz!” Horst Welke pulled Sydney into a hug with one hand while hoisting two bottles of wine in the other. “Happy Thanksgiving to my two favorite girls.” He nodded over his shoulder. “I got a couple stragglers right behind me.”

  “Gobble gobble!” Dr. Veronica Pernod, Sydney’s best friend since they’d shared a kindergarten class, was next through the door. “Hot damn, this place smells terrific. A haven from the storm. I’d ask if you’ve taken a look outside, but with your view it’s like you’re living in it.” She slipped off her boots and pulled bedroom slippers out of her purse before handing her coat to Horst and heading across the room to give Nancy a hug.

  “I guess I’m bringing up the rear.” Clay Hawthorne was the last through the door. He leaned in and kissed Sydney’s cheek. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

  “You two kids watch it now,” Horst admonished jokingly. “There’s other folks in the room.”

  Clay gave her a wink when she released him.

  “For the feast.” Clay held up two bottles of wine and another of brandy. “Where do you want these?”

  Sydney took them while Horst took Clay’s coat. “I’ll search, but we’re running out of room. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this food.”

  “Well then.” Horst rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps we had best get started.”

  * * *

  —

  Roland had sent over an assortment of appetizers. Clay handled bartending duties and kept everyone’s glasses full while the five of them noshed on broiled shrimp, crab puffs, and mushrooms stuffed with sausage and fennel. Ronnie told the story of nearly missing the dinner. A patient of hers had been in labor for twenty hours and still the baby seemed in no hurry to make his entrance into the world.

  “I finally told the dad it looked like he was going to miss all the football games. I think he’d forgotten today was Thanksgiving. Next thing I know, he’s up by his wife’s face, calling out push, push, push, like he’s the leader of one of those racing sculls. Ten minutes later a healthy baby boy pops into view, so here I am.”

  Compliments flowed when it was time to take a seat at the dining table.

  “This is my contribution,” Sydney told her guests. “Decorating I can do. Cooking…not so much.”

  Her four guests joined in an enthusiastic affirmation that she’d made the right choice in staying out of the kitchen.

  They took their time with their meal. Horst told funny cop stories. Nancy added to the lightness by offering the latest Hush Money shenanigans. Ronnie asked Clay how things were at his place.

  “How’s full every night sound?” Sydney offered.

  “The blues are popular, that’s for sure,” Clay said. “Everybody can relate to feeling lost. Alone. It’s that driving two-four beat and the words of woe that bring folks in night after night. Happiness? That comes and goes
. But the blues, man, that’s forever.”

  Over a seemingly never-ending array of desserts, table talk changed to what each person was grateful for. Nancy went first.

  “For health, family, and friends, of course.” She reached out, grabbing Ronnie’s hand in her right and Sydney’s in her left. “I almost lost these two girls this year.” Her voice cracked. “Bullets and beatings. I don’t know how I would have survived without you. I’m grateful you’re both here. Healthy. Whole.” She kissed each of their hands before releasing them.

  “Well, I’m glad I didn’t die, too,” Ronnie said with a laugh. “It is my profound hope that I’ve seen my last visit to the ICU as a patient.”

  “I guess I’m next,” Horst said when Ronnie looked toward him. “Not a day goes by I don’t miss Joe. He was my partner, my teacher, my brother. I wouldn’t make it through if I didn’t have you, Nancy. Or you, Kitz. It’s everything.” Horst bowed his head and cleared his throat. “Now somebody else say something before I blow my macho image.”

  Clay looked around the table before his eyes rested on Sydney. “Life’s been good. But this year’s brought me the promise of something more. I’m grateful for the opportunity to explore whatever it is Ms. Sydney and I have going on.”

  Sydney felt the odd surge of romantic joy and crushing fear she often did when she allowed herself to contemplate a future with Clay.

  Don’t be such an idiot. You spend your whole life fighting the legacy of abandonment your birth parents gifted you with. Now here’s a wonderful man ready to jump into forever with you and you act like he’s trying to infect you with Ebola. What’s wrong with you?

  “And that leaves our hostess,” Ronnie said.

  Sydney looked around at the smiling faces at her table. Then outside. The wind had settled, but the snow still fell, straight and gentle. “This,” she whispered. “I’m grateful for all of this.”

  * * *

  —

  She finally scooted her mother out the door a little past eight o’clock. Sydney had sent each of her guests home with a box of leftovers sure to keep them stocked for the weekend, yet still her refrigerator was filled.

  “You’re taking this food,” she said to Clay. “All of it.”

  “First rule of bachelors: take whatever real food is sent your way.” He was standing by the living room window. The sky was dark. Lights illuminated the buildings below. The snow had stopped, leaving the entire city looking like chocolate nougat floating under a cloud of whipped cream.

  “I love winter,” he said.

  “Me, too.” She wiped her hands clean and walked over to him. “We Midwesterners are supposed to complain bitterly about the ice and dark.”

  “That’s just to keep outsiders far away.” He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was filled with an energy that would belie a belly full of turkey. “Let’s go for a ride. Right now. Before the snow has a chance to get dirty. While the streets are empty.”

  How could he know it’s one of my favorite times to drive?

  “You’re on. But we’re taking my car. Roads like these demand a standard shift. Feel free to drive. I’ll put myself completely in your hands.”

  He pulled her close and stared into her eyes. “I like the sound of that.” Then he kissed her. Long and slow and deep.

  * * *

  —

  A half hour later they pulled into the driveway of his home on Madison’s near west side.

  “I can’t believe how many houses already have their Christmas lights up,” she remarked as she got out of her Mustang.

  “And they’ll keep them up until St. Patrick’s Day.” Clay opened the trunk and grabbed two bags of leftovers. “Damning the darkness of a winter’s night, I suppose.”

  Sydney grabbed the last bag of goodies and followed him into his cozy living room.

  “I’ll just pile these up in the kitchen,” she said.

  “The fridge is pretty bare. You won’t have any trouble.”

  She heard him walk away, toward the bedroom. Moments later, she heard music. The opening strains of Nat King Cole’s “A Christmas Song.”

  “I always like to kick off the season with this one,” Clay said as he came back into the kitchen.

  “Is that before or after you turn on your holiday lights?”

  “I never was one for yard decorations. There’ll be a tree, though. I’m hoping you’ll help me decorate.”

  “I’ll bring the eggnog.”

  He took her hand and led her to the sofa. “I got you something.”

  “Clay! It’s Thanksgiving. One of the things I love about this holiday is there’s no pressure for gift-giving.”

  He ran two fingers through her ebony hair. “Think of it as a kickoff to Christmas.” He reached behind a pillow and pulled out a velvet jeweler’s box. It was long and narrow. The kind made for bracelets.

  “Like I said, it’s a little something. But it means the world to me.”

  Sydney took the velvet box, held her breath, then opened it. She laughed when she saw the yellow toothbrush inside.

  “Soft bristles, too.” He slid off the couch and bent down on one knee. “Sydney Amelia Richardson, will you do me the great honor of practicing good oral hygiene each and every time you sleep over?”

  She fanned her hand over her chest, feigned a case of vapors, and gave her best attempt at a Southern accent. “Why, Mr. Hawthorne, this comes as quite the surprise. Are you sure our relationship is ready for a step of such magnitude?”

  He stood, pulling her up with him. He led her down the hall, through the master bedroom, and into the adjoining bath, where his blue toothbrush hung in lonely solitude.

  Sydney removed her gift from the jewelry case and dropped it into an open slot.

  “They look good together,” she said.

  “Yes, they do.” He drew her into an embrace. A gentle kiss turned more ardent. His hand slid down her back as she leaned into him.

  A noise from the front door froze them.

  Sydney stepped back, at once paralyzed and energized by fear. Memories of darkened rooms, a madman stalking her, a gun pointed in her direction, came to her. Her eyes were wide and her hands were clinched around Clay’s arm.

  “Easy,” he said softly. “It’s probably just a stray cat. Maybe the wind.”

  The sound of the front door being thrown open eliminated those possibilities. A small yelp drifted from Sydney’s throat.

  “Stay here.” Clay’s voice was a whisper, but his eyes were demanding. “You have your phone?”

  She nodded.

  “If you hear me yell go, dial 911. Don’t hesitate. Can you do that?”

  She nodded again and reluctantly released him.

  Clay stepped back into the master bedroom. Though the room was dark, there was enough light from the bathroom that she saw him pause by the door to pick up a wooden baseball bat.

  The three seconds before she heard his voice again felt like three years.

  “Oh, my God!” Clay called out.

  She heard another voice. A man’s. A heartbeat later she heard laughter. She dropped her cellphone back into her pocket and stepped sheepishly toward the living room. There was Clay, standing at the open front door, wrapped in an embrace with a man an inch or two taller than his own six feet. The stranger was thinner by probably twenty pounds, but had the same thick black hair. The same pale skin. Sydney drew in a sharp breath. The man’s face was nearly identical to Clay’s. Similar enough to make Sydney believe she was looking at Clay hugging a younger version of himself.

  The visitor saw her standing there and stepped away from Clay. “Who’s this?” the young man asked.

  Clay’s grin was wide enough to suggest he’d just received the only gift he wanted this new holiday season. He waved her over, still keeping one arm around th
e newcomer’s shoulder.

  “Sydney! Come here! Meet the joy of my life.” He turned to his doppelganger. “This is Steel. My son.”

  Chapter 3

  “So? What did you do?” Nancy smoothed the heavy white damask on table eighteen.

  “I made myself scarce.” Sydney leaned against the half wall separating Hush Money’s dining room and bar. “Let them have their time.”

  “You mean you ran away. Drove away, I hope. Sydney, the roads were miserable last night. I don’t know what to think of you and Clay out cavorting in the snow.”

  “We were fine, Mom. And we weren’t cavorting.”

  “Hah!” Nancy looked over to a cluster of servers standing near the kitchen door. “Doors open in five minutes,” she called out to them. “Anybody has anything personal to do, now’s the time to get it done.” She waited until they scattered before turning back to her daughter. “What were you afraid was going to happen? Some sort of ancient bonding ceremony that would tie you to the two of them forever? Honestly, girl. Where you get your fear of commitment is beyond me. Your dad and I were together—solid and happy—from the day we met until the day he died. Doesn’t role-modeling mean anything to kids these days?”

  “I’m thirty-five years old, Mother. Hardly a kid.”

  The first people to lay eyes on me bundled me up as quickly as they could. Shipped me off. I got lucky you and Dad adopted me. Who’s to say that kind of luck strikes twice?

  “You good here?” she asked. When Nancy assured her she was, Sydney told her she was heading to the Ten-Ten. “I’ll see if Roscoe needs anything. Dinners are getting crazy over there these days. It’s Roland’s burger, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t think this conversation is over, Miss Sydney.”

  She kissed her mother and passed through the kitchen, ignoring Chef Roland Delmardo’s shrieking demands. She wondered, as she often did, why the kitchen staff stayed with him. The chef’s demeaning treatment of the servers, prep cooks, and sous chefs reminded her of every horror story she’d ever heard of military boot camps. Whenever Sydney expressed her concerns to him, Roland reminded her how lucky they were to work for him.