Private Lies Page 24

  Chapter 45

  Rick pulled his SUV into the driveway at 6:33.

  Horst looked toward the small yellow house. “Four-one-eight Stevens. This is the place.”

  “We’re a couple minutes late.”

  Horst opened the car door. “This lady’s been sitting for eighteen years thinking the cops have given up on finding who killed her daughter. From the sound of her voice when I called to see if we could swing by, I don’t think she’s gonna mind a couple extra minutes.”

  They followed a short, recently trimmed grass walkway to the front porch. Rick gave the house’s exterior a quick perusal. Tidy. Clean. Purple and pink flowers blooming in pots on a small concrete porch.

  A tall, thin woman wearing jeans and a green T-shirt opened the wooden front door before they knocked.

  “Are you the detectives?” she asked from behind a screen door.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Horst pulled out his shield. “I’m Horst Welke. We spoke earlier this afternoon. This is Rick Sheffield. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us. Saturday night and all.”

  The woman opened the screen door and stood back as the two men entered directly into a living room. Rick estimated it to be about the size of his own apartment’s main space. Like the home’s exterior, this room was well kept. Pale blue walls. White trim. Clean windows. One overstuffed brown chair, which Rick assumed was a recliner, sat opposite a modest flat-screen television. A two-seater couch, brown like the chair but with a striped pattern, was centered against one wall.

  “Please.” The woman gestured to the couch. “Sit. If the love seat’s too tight we can move into the kitchen.”

  “This is fine, ma’am.” Horst crossed to the small sofa and sat. Rick opted to remain standing.

  “I’m Bridget, by the way.” She held out her hand to them both. When Rick shook it, he was reminded of the delicate bones of a small bird. “Can I get you something? I have some iced tea.”

  “No, ma’am,” Horst answered. “We don’t want to bother.”

  Bridget McFeeney sat in the brown chair. Her smile was faint but genuine. Her gray hair was so thin Rick could see her scalp. He knew from the reports that the woman would now be forty-seven years old.

  Losing a child will age you, he thought. If it doesn’t drive you mad. His eyes focused on a bamboo-and-glass shelving unit next to the television. Floor to ceiling. Each shelf filled with photos, trinkets, and drawings. Two framed certificates backed one shelf. One for perfect attendance during fifth grade, the other for second place in a citywide spelling bee. He didn’t need to read the name written on the awards. A funeral card was tucked into the frame of a photo of a young girl, dressed in white and wearing a veil.

  “Do you have any news?” Bridget asked them. Rick thought the shakiness in her voice indicated she was unsure of what she hoped the answer would be.

  “We don’t let murder get away,” Horst replied. “Detective Sheffield and I are taking a fresh look at Susalynne’s case.”

  Bridget drew in a quick breath. She brought her hand to her lips. Her fingers trembled. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was choked. “You said her name. I haven’t heard it spoken out loud in years. Nobody likes to talk about murdered children.”

  “I understand, ma’am,” Horst started slowly. “Could you tell us about your daughter?”

  Bridget was hesitant at first, but in less than a minute her words tumbled out with greater speed and force. She reminded Rick of a starving dog suddenly presented with a feast. She explained how Susalynne’s father had left her before Susalynne was born. “We were both just teenagers, you see. He thought it would be too hard.” A small smile came to her. “It probably was. But he missed so very much.” She went on to describe her daughter as shy. Quiet. “Sometimes, even when she was a baby, I’d get so busy with housework or something that I’d forget it had been more than an hour since I played with her. But there she’d be. In her bouncy swing or playpen. Just looking around. Sometimes I’d get it in my mind that she could see things other people couldn’t. Know what I mean?”

  “The shrink down at the department would call that an easy temperament,” Rick offered.

  Bridget nodded, pleased. “Yes. That’s a good description for Susalynne. She was easy. Even when I had to work overtime, she never whined. Never complained.”

  “What is it you do for a living?” Horst asked.

  “I work data entry for the state. Department of Transportation. But when Susalynne was growing up, I was just a file clerk. I took all the overtime hours I could get. Even cleaned houses on the side for a few years.” She turned weary brown eyes to Rick. “It was tough, you know?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” But you did it, Rick thought. I’d like to know what the boy who impregnated you was doing while you were juggling two jobs and a child.

  “You wanted the best for your daughter,” Horst added.

  “Hey, I got myself into that pickle. Wasn’t anything she did.” Bridget’s eyes shined as she talked about Susalynne’s love of music. How it started with a toy piano she’d picked up at a garage sale for fifty cents when her daughter was only two years old. A year later, Bridget had Susalynne enrolled in piano lessons.

  “That teacher didn’t know about taking on a three-year-old.” Pride lit up Bridget’s face. “She showed him, though. Never missed a lesson. I’d pick her up from day care and off we’d go to the piano store. That little thing would sit at whatever grand piano caught her eye and she’d practice. Every day!”

  “The owners were okay with that?”

  “They loved it! Said they got more kids to sign up for lessons every time they saw that little tyke playing away. Sold more pianos, too. I’d dust the offices and polish the pianos while Susalynne had her lessons. Swapped out my services for their time. You’ve got to get creative when you’ve got more kid than money.”

  She went on to describe Susalynne as a student who gave as much attention to her studies as she did her piano once she was in school.

  “Blessed Sacrament,” Horst said. “If you don’t mind my saying, it would take a lot of dusting and sweeping to pay that kind of tuition.”

  “You don’t have to tell me! Every year that girl got two uniforms. And they were resale at that. Wear one, wash one.” Bridget’s eyes grew misty. “Not one complaint from her. Not even when she got old enough to see that the other girls weren’t inviting her to parties at their big houses or swim time at Shorewood Hills Pool.” She paused. Rick wondered if she was wishing ill on whatever preteens might have shunned her little girl. “Scholarship students never seem to make it into the popular circles.”

  “Did she have friends?” Horst asked.

  “In the beginning. You know, first grade…through to fourth maybe. She’d come home and tell me who she sat with at lunch. Who she played with on the swing set.” Bridget’s lips tightened. “But no one ever accepted Susalynne’s offer to come spend the night at our house. And she wasn’t invited to any slumber parties, either. I knew it was the parents. Not wanting their precious ones spending too much time with a fatherless child and a mother who worked all the time. By the time fifth grade came around, it wasn’t the parents anymore. It was the girls themselves.” Bridget hung her head for a moment. When she lifted it, there was a brightness Rick wasn’t sure was all forced. “Thank God for Father Moran.”

  Horst leaned forward. Rick took a step toward him. Both focused their full attention on Bridget.

  “Tell us more about that,” Rick suggested.

  Chapter 46

  “Well, look at that.” Nancy Richardson nudged her daughter’s attention away from the list of wine pairings Anita Saxon had given her for the next day’s specials. “I’ve seen people use walking sticks before. Probably too vain to use a cane. But that? Looks more like all he needs is a pope’s miter to go with that staff.”

  Sydney looked up to see Te
d Fitzgerald at the hostess stand, his wife and son a step behind him. She thought about Leslie’s description of the man’s long and enmeshed relationship with Ian Moran and wondered if her mother might be onto something.

  Is that why you carry that big stick? To subtly hold rank over a man who’s become the guardian of the riches of the Vatican?

  “That’s Leslie’s family,” she said. “Her father, mother, and brother.”

  Nancy gave the tall man with air-blown white hair and Savile Row suit another long look. “Leslie Arbeit? Fun, smart, laughing Leslie?”

  “The very one.”

  “Came from that?”

  Sydney gave her mother a sidelong glance. “Books and covers, Mother. What is it you always taught me about judging?”

  “Books and covers are different from radar, kiddo. And that guy’s tripping my pomposity meter like no one has in a long time.”

  Sydney nodded before crossing to meet the new arrivals.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald.” She turned to the man behind them. “Barney. I didn’t know you’d be joining us this evening.”

  “Blame it all on me.” Barney stepped toward her. Sydney wasn’t fast enough to avoid his kiss on her cheek. “You’ll see a reservation for four under the name Wheeland. He’s the head of anesthesiology. He’s recruiting and wanted to bring his latest prospect to the best joint in town. Asked me to join them as an outside-of-the-department set of eyes. The whole thing fell apart when, just this morning, Dr. Sought-After called to announce she’d accepted a position at Dana-Farber. Wheeland called me, crying over his spilt milk, to tell me the dinner was off. I insisted on keeping the reservation.” He turned toward his parents. “I grabbed Mama and Papa bear, and here we are.” He spun back to her. “That leaves one seat vacant. Will you join us?”

  Sydney looked at the reservation list. Sure enough, there was a Wheeland. She smiled toward the hostess. “I’ll seat them, Sabrina.” Then she turned to the family of three. “If you’ll follow me.”

  Barney and Elaina came with her. Both were already seated before Sydney noticed Ted Fitzgerald was still at the hostess stand. She looked to him, lifting her arm to encourage his advance.

  “Does he need assistance?” she asked Barney.

  “Oh, good lord, no. Man’s healthy as an ox. What he needs is an audience.”

  And he got it. Every eye in the place was riveted on the majestic, well-tailored man marching his stick across Hush Money. Sydney wondered if it was her own spite that had her seating him with his back to the room. When all three were settled, she asked if she could send over a bottle of champagne.

  “On me, of course.”

  “That would be lovely, dear.” Elaina Fitzgerald looked particularly genteel this night. Her dress featured a bodice of cut lace that accented the patrician slope of her neck. Sydney imagined that a woman of her wealth had her choice of gems to complement the pale blue of her garment, but Elaina wore no necklace at all. Simple pearl studs graced her ears.

  “So long as it’s on our bill.” Her husband made his announcement without offering Sydney as much as a glance.

  Barney reached a hand to her wrist. He gave her a this-isn’t-worth-the-argument look and smiled.

  Sydney glanced across the room toward where Anita Saxon stood. Instantly, the sommelier came to her.

  “A bottle of champagne for the table, please,” Sydney requested. “They’ve not ordered, so perhaps you could recommend something that prepares them for anything.”

  “Ace of Spades.” Ted Fitzgerald folded his hands on the table and looked into middle space.

  Sydney gave Barney a confused look.

  “Armand de Brignac Brut,” Anita said without batting an eye.

  The sommelier’s awareness of the wine’s nickname earned her an appreciative nod from the patriarch. Ted looked up at her. “Where are you from?”

  “Kenya is my home, sir.” Anita’s accent always made Sydney think she should be backed by a full orchestra.

  “Sounds like it.” He paused. “Looks like it, too.”

  “Dad!” Barney hissed.

  “What?” Fitzgerald looked again at the tall woman with ebony skin and jaw-dropping beauty. “You do know you’re black, right?”

  “I have heard rumors, sir.” Anita was too well mannered to offer any questions about what Fitzgerald might know about himself. She turned to Sydney. “Will there be three glasses or four?”

  “Four,” Elaina answered serenely. “Please, Sydney. Join us for at least a glass of champagne, will you?” She patted the arm of the empty chair next to hers. “Come sit here.”

  Sydney nodded to Anita who left to see about the champagne and four glasses. Then she sat next to Elaina in a chair that put her directly across from Ted Fitzgerald. An awkward silence hung over the table.

  “It was a lovely party, Sydney.” Elaina was the first to speak. “Thank you again for your kindness. I know it was a special favor to Leslie that you brought Hush Money to us.”

  “I’m sure the girl was well compensated, Elaina.” Fitzgerald focused on his hand as he smoothed the damask tablecloth.

  “I was happy to do it, Mrs. Fitzgerald. And now that I know who you are, perhaps we can arrange for you not to dine alone those times you come in.”

  “I’d like that, dear. Truly, I would.”

  “You know, I always thought of you as a bit of a mystery woman.”

  “That’s my mother, all right,” Barney offered. “Filled with suburban intrigue.”

  Elaina gave her son a good-natured shake of her head. “I’ve been here a few times,” she explained. “When I’m in town to see you or Leslie. Check on how my peonies are doing.”

  “Fox Point isn’t that far,” Fitzgerald said. “There’s no need for you to be eating alone in Madison.”

  “But I enjoy it.” Elaina reached out to touch Sydney’s arm. “And I came to enjoy you stopping by the table to check on me.”

  “But you never told me who you were.”

  Elaina paused. “If the Fitzgerald name was familiar to you, you would have treated me differently. If the name meant nothing, then there was no need to offer it.”

  Sydney recalled the way Leslie and Barney were different around their parents. She imagined Elaina was right. People reacted to the name and the power behind it rather than meeting her as a person.

  “You can’t imagine the fantasies I built around the enigmatic woman who dropped by for no known reason. Always dining alone, yet always with a kind and patient word for me.”

  Elaina’s chuckle was soft and conspiratorial. “Perhaps I came to enjoy that, too.”

  Anita appeared with four crystal flutes. A steward accompanied her, carrying a wine bucket and a bottle. He handed the bottle to Anita. She, in turn, displayed it for Fitzgerald’s inspection. She announced the champagne’s year and when he nodded his approval, she handed the bottle back to the steward, who opened it with as much effort as someone sliding soft butter over a slice of fresh bread. He poured four glasses.

  “Enjoy,” Anita said as she nestled the bottle into the wine bucket. “I hope your evening is a pleasant one.”

  Barney raised his glass. “What shall we drink to?”

  Again, it was Elaina who broke the awkward silence that met his question.

  “How about to family?” she suggested. “I’m here with my son and my husband.” She turned to Sydney. “And with my daughter’s friend. What is it the sports players call it? Pinch-hit?”

  “Bravo, Mommy.” Barney smiled. “Well said.”

  Elaina raised her glass. “With Sydney pinch-hitting for Leslie tonight, let us all drink to family.”

  Three of them clinked glasses. Ted Fitzgerald took his sip without any salutation.

  Having made a commitment to stay for one drink, Sydney probably drank her champagne
a bit more rapidly than might be considered socially acceptable. Elaina did her best to keep the conversation flowing, and Barney entertained them with a tale of two residents, each pulling a thirty-hour shift, getting called to the floor at the same time from their small sleeping quarters.

  “Who knows why, whether it was they had just woken up or were so dead on their feet they couldn’t see straight, but it seems they each grabbed the other’s ID lanyard.” Barney pressed a napkin to his mouth to stifle his laughter. “So, Dr. A goes to one floor, and keeps getting called Dr. B. Dr. B. goes to another floor, and he’s wondering why everyone is calling him Dr. A. To top it off, both of them are so exhausted they don’t even realize they’re performing interventions they haven’t been trained in!”

  “That could have been tragic,” Sydney observed.

  Barney waved away her concerns. “Relax, Syd. Humans are tough. You gotta try really hard to kill ’em.”

  “Barney!” his mother admonished.

  “Anyway. No harm was done. A couple cups of coffee later they were each clearheaded enough to see what was going on. It all got straightened out.”

  “Thirty-hour shifts,” Elaina sighed. “I’m glad those days are behind you, Barney.”

  Sydney took that as her cue. “Alas, some of us still must work long hours.” She rose. “Thank you all for coming. Please tell Leslie I’m sorry she didn’t make it. I’ll make it a point to swing by when you’re having dessert.”

  As she walked away, back to the small hallway leading to Hush Money’s kitchen, a realization came to her.

  Despite sitting directly across from her for nearly thirty minutes, Ted Fitzgerald hadn’t looked at her once.

  Chapter 47

  “Sorry I’m late.” Horst closed Rick’s front door and joined him and Sydney at the kitchen table. “Jillian came to my house.”

  “You want some coffee?” Rick got up to pour him a cup when Horst said he did.

  “She’s worried about you,” Sydney said. “Probably feels helpless about what she can do to clear your name.”