Sidecar Page 3

  Syd opened her mouth to protest when Maddie cut her off.

  “I gotta run, sweetie. This waiting room looks like Walmart on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I love you.”

  She hung up.

  Syd stood there fuming, holding the phone against her ear. Before she could talk herself out of it, she hung up, then punched in the number for Freemantle’s Market.

  “Hello, Edna? It’s Syd Murphy. Do you happen to know if Roma Jean is available tonight? I need a sitter for Henry . . .”

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I’m freezing my ass off.”

  Syd glared at him. “Will you quit complaining? There was no way I was going to sit out here in the dark by myself.”

  David pulled his fur-trimmed car coat tighter across his neck. “Can’t we at least turn the damn heat on?”

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I told you. I don’t wanna steam up the windows.”

  “Right. You’re afraid that any damn polar bears that wander by in search of food might mistake our frozen corpses for ringed seals?”

  “You know . . . you’d stay warmer if you’d shut up.”

  “How long are we gonna sit out here?”

  “Until she comes out.”

  He sighed. “And then what?”

  “We’ve been over this already.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . we follow her.”

  David drummed his gloved fingers on the center console of Syd’s Volvo. This was shaping up to be a bona fide nightmare. And he was caught right in the middle of it.

  When Syd called him and said she was on her way over to pick him up, he grilled her about why. What she said made his hair stand on end. He shot a quick text message off to Maddie.

  The eagle has landed. Goldks headed to big house to catch Mama Bear with fingers in porridge bowl.

  In exactly ninety seconds, Maddie called him back.

  “Would you mind translating that message into English, please?”

  He sighed. “Syd is on her way to stake out the damn hospital. She wants to find out what you’re really up to, and she’s dragging my ass along with her.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. So you’d better come up with an alibi fast.”

  “David, that’s your damn job!”

  “Hey. You can’t pin this one on me, Cinderella. I’m an innocent bystander. And one, I might add, who now deserves hazardous duty pay.”

  “Shit.”

  “Tell me about it. Look. You need to figure something out. Fast. She’ll be here in about five minutes, and I have to change.”

  “Change?”

  “Duh?” He sighed. “I can’t go on a stakeout in February wearing poly-blend. I need flannel.” He paused. “What kind of lesbian are you, anyway?”

  “Oh, good god.” She hung up.

  That was two grueling hours ago, and David was certain that his caps were going to crack from how much his teeth were chattering.

  He thought he’d try again to talk Syd down off her ledge of suspicion.

  “Look,” he began. “This is really a fool’s errand. I know Maddie. Believeme. She’s incapable of cheating.”

  Syd brought her eyes to bear on him like the laser beam sight of a shotgun. “Cheating? Who said anything about her cheating?”

  Fuck. “Forget I said that. Bad, bad choice of words.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”

  He threw up his hands. “Nothing. I know nothing.”

  “Right, Sergeant Schultz.” She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. “Give it up. Now.”

  “Syd.” He slapped at her hands. “Do you mind? Careful with the ermine.” He brushed down the fur collar of his jacket. “I told you. I don’t know anything.”

  “Then why are you so anxious to get me to give this up?”

  “Because my lips are turning a hideous shade of puce. It’s freezing out here.”

  She sighed and sat back against her seat. “All right. I’ll start the car and turn on the heat . . . briefly. Just long enough to take the chill off. But in exchange, you fess up and tell me what the hell she’s up to. And don’t lie to me and say you don’t know anything, or I might just slip up and tell your mother about some of the more eclectic interlibrary loan items I’ve had to procure for you from the state prison collection.”

  He could feel the blood drain from his face. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  She leaned toward him. “Oh, I promise you, I would.”

  “That’s blackmail. Isn’t that against your creed?”

  “Librarians don’t have a creed.”

  “Oh, nice. Great time to tell me that.”

  She lifted her hand and placed it on the ignition. “So. Whattaya say? A little tit for tat?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Not the most effective phrase to use with a gay man.”

  “You get my drift.”

  He sighed. “All right already. I’m so fucking cold I’d agree to do a pole dance in a pair of your father’s hip waders to get you turn on the damn heat.”

  She shook her head and started the car. They sat there in blissful silence for a few minutes as the passenger compartment warmed up, and the windows fogged over.

  David stretched his cramped legs out and sighed contentedly as warmth flooded over his body. Down the hill, across the parking lot from where they sat, the big glass door that led into the ER lobby opened. He stared as two figures emerged and headed straight toward them. Panic raced over his frame.

  “Oh, Jesus H. Christ!”

  “What now?” Syd looked at him.

  “Tom Greene at ten o’clock. Headed straight for us.”

  “What?”

  David frantically pointed out the windshield.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Do? How the hell do I know? Think of something.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. This whole ridiculous stakeout was your insane idea.” David was nearly hysterical. “Oh, shit, he sees us. I know he does. That old letch will never let us live this one down. How will we ever explain—”

  Syd grabbed David and hauled him across the console so he was half lying on top of her. She pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

  Shocked and addled, David fought against her. His wild arm gestures only succeeded in knocking the car’s gearshift lever into drive. Their wrestling match on the front seats continued while the car rolled out of its parking space, and quickly gained momentum as it rolled downhill and straight into the path of an inbound ambulance. The front airbags deployed and separated them with astonishing force.

  Then Syd’s car alarm went off.

  Medical personnel flooded out of the ER and into the parking lot. Steam rolled out from beneath the crushed hood of Syd’s car. People were running and shouting. Orderlies ran toward them with gurneys. The front end of Syd’s car was now wedged beneath the bumper of a Wythe County EMT wagon.

  Dazed, Syd and David broke their clinch and looked at each other.

  “Fuck,” they said in unison.

  The parking lot was like a production number from a Busby Berkeley musical. People were crawling all over the place. In the five minutes since the accident, it seemed that police cars from nine departments had shown up and blocked them in.

  “How many fucking donut shops are there in this damn county?” David complained.

  Syd felt like time had stopped, and they had been sitting inside the car for at least a decade. She had a sick feeling that life, as she knew it, would never be the same.

  A gentle tapping against the driver’s side window finally got her attention. Slowly, inevitably, she turned toward the fateful sound to see Maddie standing outside the car and peering in at them with crossed arms and an unreadable expression.

  Syd slowly rolled down her window. “Um. Hi.”

  Maddie cleared her throat, and just stood there
saying nothing. In this case, Maddie saying nothing, managed to speak volumes. Syd was amazed at how much she looked like her mother right then.

  Not a good sign at all.

  “I suppose you’re wondering what we’re doing here?” Syd asked, meekly.

  “No,” Maddie finally said. “I think that part is pretty obvious. Why you’re here, however, is likely to remain one of life’s great unsolved mysteries.”

  Syd just stared back at her in abject silence.

  Maddie sighed. “I think there are some gentlemen here who are eager to talk with you.” She turned her head to indicate two Sheriff’s deputies who stood near the hospital entrance, tapping their pens against open notepads and staring at the carnage.

  Maddie then took a step back and opened Syd’s car door. “Lucy, perhaps you and Ethel would care to join us inside, so we can discuss this little sitcom?”

  Syd looked at her partner in crime, who was busy trying to brush white airbag dust off his fur collar. He raised his head and met her hopeless gaze.

  “Don’t look at me, Mrs. Ricardo. I’m just the sidekick. You’re the one with the ‘splaining to do.”

  It was after ten that night when Maddie paid Roma Jean and thanked her for spending the evening with Henry. To her credit, Roma Jean managed to thank Maddie, take the cash, and stumble out of the house without tripping over anything.

  Progress, indeed.

  Syd’s Volvo had been towed to the Firestone garage in Jericho, and she had ridden home with Maddie in the Jeep. Silently.

  They had dropped an equally silent David off at the inn on their way back to the farm. When Maddie smiled and wished him a good night’s sleep, he shot her the bird and muttered, “Paybacks, Cinderella. Paybacks.”

  Syd watched him trot up the steps to the inn and leave a trail of white dust in his wake.

  “What did he mean by that?”

  Maddie looked at her. “Oh. So you’re talking to me now?”

  “No.”

  Maddie chuckled. “My mistake.”

  Syd didn’t respond.

  Now Syd was upstairs showering. Maddie could hear the water running as she walked to Henry’s room to tuck him back in.

  Henry had a tendency to kick his blankets off, and then wake up cold during the night. Maddie entered his room and smiled. Pete was sound asleep on the foot of his bed. Since Henry came to stay with them, Pete had more or less taken up residence in Henry’s room. The two were inseparable.

  Maddie adjusted his covers. Henry rolled over and opened his eyes. He gave her a sleepy smile.

  “Hi, Maddie.”

  “Hi, Sport.” She sat down on the edge of his bed. “Did you have fun tonight with Roma Jean?”

  He nodded. “We ate pizza and watched American Idol.”

  Maddie smiled. “Did you do your homework?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I did it with Syd before Roma Jean came.”

  Maddie smiled. “Good.” She ran a hand over his tousled hair. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much lately. I want you to know that I miss you and Syd when I’m not here.”

  “We miss you, too.” He yawned. “Gramma C. called.”

  He meant Celine.

  “She did?”

  He nodded. “She said she would call back.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “She said she was coming for Easter.” He seemed excited at first, then he frowned. “She said she had a new piano book for me.”

  Maddie tried not to laugh. “You go back to sleep now, sport. We’ll talk about it at breakfast, okay?”

  “Okay, Maddie.” He rolled over and pushed his head down into his pillow. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, buddy.” She kissed his head.

  She scrubbed Pete’s ears, then left his room to head for the master suite at the opposite end of the hall.

  The water had stopped running, so Syd must have finished with her shower.

  Maddie paused at the doorway to the room, deliberating about what to do.

  “Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to get in here and join me?”

  Syd’s voice came from around the corner. Apparently, she was still in the bathroom.

  At least she was talking now. That had to be a good sign.

  Maddie walked into the bedroom and rounded the corner into the bathroom. It was illuminated by candlelight, and Syd reclined in the big garden tub, wearing nothing but a sultry smile.

  “Um,” Maddie began. “Did I miss a few plot points?”

  Syd lazily trailed her hand through the sudsy water. “I can’t think of any points you’ve ever missed.”

  Maddie sat down on the edge of the tub. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, but I confess to being a little—”

  “Confused?” Syd suggested.

  “Yeah. That about covers it.”

  “Well, how about you shuck off your clothes and climb in here? I’m sure I can clear everything up for you in record time.”

  Maddie pinched herself. “Nope. I’m still awake.” She looked at Syd in amazement. “An hour ago, you wanted to kill me.”

  Syd ran a hand along Maddie’s arm. “No. An hour ago, I wanted to kill myself for being so stupid. And for giving in to a ridiculous, irrational, and paranoid delusion.”

  Maddie narrowed her eyes. “Is this horrifying characterization of your mental state supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No.” Syd sat up and took hold of Maddie’s head and tugged her forward until their lips were nearly touching. “This is.” She ran the tip of her tongue across Maddie’s lips, then kissed her, and slowly untied the drawstring on the pants of Maddie’s blue scrubs.

  When they finally drew apart, Maddie’s head was spinning, but things were definitely getting clearer. A lot clearer.

  “I’m sorry for being such an idiot,” Syd whispered.

  Maddie was too busy pulling off the rest of her clothes and climbing into the tub to hear any more of her apology.

  Maddie settled into the tub beside Syd, who slid over to straddle her lap. “Think you can ever forgive me?”

  “Well, I—” Maddie wrapped one arm around her and latched onto the side the tub with her free hand, just so they could stay above water.

  Syd’s lips now were busy expressing the nonverbal portion of her apology, and Maddie was learning how easily breathing could become a foreign concept.

  “I uh . . .”

  Coherent thought appeared to have left the building, too.

  “If I did forgive you, I guess that would make me—”

  “All wet?” Syd asked, innocently—although what she was doing beneath the surface of the water was anything but innocent.

  Oh my god.

  Forming complete sentences was now a lost art. Another minute passed.

  “Yes . . . yes,” Maddie finally managed. “All wet.”

  Syd smiled against her mouth. “That makes two of us.”

  The hell with it.

  Maddie let go of the tub, and they both slid deeper into the water.

  February 14th. D-Day

  It wasn’t going well.

  Not at all.

  And Syd’s birthday dinner was tonight.

  Maddie was flying solo because, way back in December, Michael had picked up a catering gig for a wedding reception in Jefferson, and he couldn’t get out of it. He promised her that he’d be back in plenty of time to oversee most of what they had on tap for the evening, but Maddie was charged with doing the initial prep work and getting a jump-start on the dessert course: a pumpkin custard tart with red-wine caramel sauce. Her job was to premix the dough mixture so it could refrigerate—it apparently required two hours to do whatever-in-the-hell-it-was-that-dough-had-to-do in the refrigerator—and make the custard filling. All this, so they could be ready to assemble the actual tarts when Michael returned.

  There was just one problem. She got held up at the clinic when Lizzy called to say she’d be late getting back from Blacksburg, whe
re she’d celebrated an early Valentine’s Day with Syd’s brother, Tom. That meant Maddie had been unable to be at the inn by noon, as she’d planned. So she found herself in a time crunch, and didn’t have the requisite two hours to wait for the dough to properly . . . do whatever.

  Her clothes for the evening—and her overnight bag—were already there. All Syd knew was that they were meeting at the inn for a Valentine’s Day/birthday dinner. She had no idea that Maddie was cooking, or that they would also be spending the night there, alone, in the very biggest and best guest suite. And this time, there’d be no red, Dr. Denton footie pajamas in the equation.

  There’d be no pajamas at all, if she played her cards right.

  Lizzy was keeping Henry overnight at her place. Syd didn’t know that part yet, either.

  Maddie told Syd that she had late appointments at the clinic, and that she’d have to meet her at the inn. She made a grand ceremony out of carrying a garment bag containing a change of clothes with her when she left home that morning, and she told Syd that she’d change at the clinic. Syd didn’t seem to question this. And if she was harboring any nascent suspicions, she was still enough enmeshed in atonement mode from the whole demolition derby stunt at the hospital that she bravely kept them to herself.

  Now Maddie was running about five hours behind schedule, and she needed to make some hard choices.

  Well, she reasoned, when something doesn’t fit, you make adjustments. Right? Cooking, after all, was a science. Just like medicine . . . or small appliance repair. It shouldn’t be rocket science to puzzle this one out. Really. So she glanced at the clock and thought about how to make this work.

  First, the dessert.

  Why not just premix everything together and then toss the whole thing into the freezer? That would expedite the setting up process—cutting the time down by at least half. Maybe even two-thirds?

  Michael would never know the difference, and she’d be right on track for them to finish the tarts, and start the Daube de Boeuf a la Saintongeaise, which Michael said needed to be prepared a day ahead of time and reheated, for best results, but they’d have to make do with half a day.

  Whatever.

  She also thought she could get a jump-start on the French Vinaigrette with Hard-Boiled Egg Dressing for the grilled, bacon-wrapped asparagus appetizer—a concession, and an apologetic offering for the recent, regrettable incident with Pete.