The Dying Room (4 page)

Crescent Road, Mountain Brook, 8:15 p.m.

“He was tortured,” Senator Robert Baron said somberly. He gazed at those gathered and wondered if any one of them understood the implications of what those words actually meant.

This was no game... no mere threat or scare tactic. This was real and the intent was undeniably clear. This was the first time the four of them had been in a room together outside a social event in six years.

Six
. There had been six of them when this began. Six brilliant young men determined to make their marks in this world. Too bad they hadn’t considered the long-term consequences a bit more closely. At the time all that had mattered was achieving the greatness they each desired.

If only they had known then what they knew now.

“You called this meeting,” Joseph Pratt fired back, “to tell us what we’ll see on the news by this time tomorrow?” He sipped his scotch. “Considering how many defendants he sent to death row, it’s a miracle this didn’t happen years ago.”

Robert wasn’t surprised by Joe’s indifference. The former mayor had always been the last to see what was right in front of his nose unless it suited his purposes.

“You don’t see the relevance between this murder, our old friend’s sudden disappearance, and the release of his loyal assistant?” Surely they recognized what was happening here. Robert certainly did.

Craig Moore set his drink aside and cleared his throat. “Are you saying you believe that old bastard is somehow responsible for this?”

“I am,” Robert confirmed.

“Really, Robert,” Sam Baker shook his head, “the suggestion is absurd. How do we know Wilson Hilliard isn’t dead? And that crippled assistant he had forty years ago is a crippled old man now. How can you believe he’s behind Harmon’s murder?”

“I’ve been briefed on the crime scene,” Robert insisted. “We need to take this threat seriously.”

Isaiah Taylor held up his hands. “What do you suggest we do? It’s not like we can go to the police.” He looked from Robert to the others, his gaze resting briefly on each face. “We all have secrets we’d like to keep. Who of us is willing to open this particular Pandora’s box?”

“What we can do is watch our backs,” Robert offered. “Of course, none of us wants to rehash the past with the public or the police. Be that as it may, we have to be smart. None of us wants to end up dead, either. I believe—”

Joe waved his hands back and forth, cutting Robert off. “Whoever did this,” he argued, “the last thing we need to do is to panic and start spilling our guts. Frankly, I have enough trouble right now without one of you opening this can of worms.”

Craig nodded. “I’m with Joe on this one. I have an election year coming up. I can’t afford any scandals. We need to stop making more out of this than it is. Murders happen. Harmon made himself an easy target.”

“If,” Sam spoke up again, “Harmon’s death had anything to do with... what Robert is suggesting, that doesn’t mean any of us are in danger of the same end.”

Robert held his temper. “How can you make such a conclusion? We were all there.” He looked from one man to the next. “We all reaped the same benefit. We
all
made the same promises, and we all walked away.”

“We’re not the ones who saw that Wilson was committed to that institution,” Sam argued. “We didn’t ensure his assistant was charged with and convicted of embezzlement.”

“No,” Robert agreed, “we didn’t. But we were there when the vote was taken. We all voted to make it happen—whatever the cost. Harmon was just the one with the means to put the necessary steps in motion. His assistant spent years at Bibb Correctional Facility. We are responsible, gentlemen.”

No one argued with him this time.

They all knew he was right. The only question that remained was what in the world would they do now?

Shook Hill Road, Mountain Brook, 9:40 p.m.

Sylvia sat in her car outside her family home for a while. She’d grown up in this massive house. To most who visited the place, it looked more like a museum than a home, but it wasn’t like that at all. She and Nina enjoyed idyllic childhoods. Their parents doted on them and ensured they had everything they needed. Of course, need is relevant. Certainly, she and Nina had more than most, yet their upbringing had been rooted in respect for others, appreciation of all the things they had been blessed with, and their obligation to give back to society.

That picture-perfect childhood had been shattered to some degree by Nina’s mental illness. Though Nina had stabilized sufficiently to finish her undergraduate work as well as law school, life had never really been the same. They’d all gone on, but that distinct wound had never fully healed. How could it? Each time they believed she was going to be fine, there would be a relapse and she’d fall apart again. Each time she fell apart, the family shattered a little more. Eventually, Nina had been lost to them for the most part. Would her recent astounding and ongoing recovery put those missing pieces back together? Sylvia wasn’t sure.

Perhaps the guilt haunting her just now was prompted by watching all those around her move on with their lives while she stood absolutely still. On some level, she suspected that was the reason her mind insisted on questioning every single step she took lately. Like that ridiculous blue eagle tattoo. No matter how she attempted to dismiss it the idea of it continued to chaff like a new pair of shoes.

Images and sounds from the night she’d spent with Buddy tried to invade her thoughts and she banished them quickly. Buddy Corlew was the last person she needed in her life aside from his ability as a private investigator. Jess had mentioned on numerous occasions how good Buddy was at his work. Sylvia trusted he was equally discreet. So far, he hadn’t fallen down in that area. She hoped her revelation didn’t change his trustworthiness. There were no doubt gossip rags that would pay well for a story about the senator’s secret granddaughter.

She sighed, the sound hissing in the silence. How would she explain her decision to her parents? Would she? If Buddy found...
her
, Sylvia would have to make the decision about revealing herself. There were many things to take into consideration first. What if she—her daughter—was very happy in her life just as it was? She might not appreciate this sort of life-changing news. What if her adopted parents hadn’t told her she was adopted? The idea of shattering her life was one Sylvia couldn’t bear to examine.

She shook her head. “Take it one step at a time.”

What if her daughter was dead?

The thought ached through Sylvia. Any time she had allowed herself to think about the baby she gave up for adoption, she’d always imagined her as having grown up in a wonderful, happy home. She’d be a junior or senior in college now. She might even be engaged or married.

What if she hates you for what you did?

This was the other painful question Sylvia had carefully avoided all these years. She had done the right thing at the time. On numerous occasions she had gone over those days and months. Her family had been in turmoil. Sylvia wasn’t sure her parents could have dealt with more unsettling news. She had wanted to finish her education and to build her career. How could she possibly have been a good mother at the time?

“It was the right decision.” Sylvia took a deep breath and opened the car door. She always made the right decisions—almost always anyway, she amended as those erotic images of the night she’d spent with Buddy Corlew flashed one after the other in her head.

“What a mess.” She climbed the steps, suddenly feeling so damned weary. It was late and she’d had a long day. Turning around and going home was immensely appealing, but this was another of those things she had to do. She would keep her visit short. She hadn’t eaten since lunch and wasn’t sure she could summon her appetite. If her mother found out she would immediately start warming up leftovers.

After giving the doorbell a push, she shoved her key into the lock and opened the door. Though her parents insisted this was still home and she could pop in any time, she preferred giving at least a quick warning.

“Sylvia.” Her mom smiled as she padded into the entry hall, her feet bare. “Please don’t tell me you’re just leaving work at this hour.”

Louise Baron had graduated Summa Cum Laude from Vanderbilt University with a degree in Economics and History. Despite that accomplishment, she had never worked a day at anything other than being the senator’s wife and the mother to their two daughters. Sylvia had never understood that about her mother’s generation. Her mother had insisted that she loved her job as wife and mother and had no desire to do anything else.

Apparently, Sylvia had not inherited that gene.

Sylvia waved off her mother’s concerns. “I had a meeting that ran late.” She suddenly wondered what her mother would think of Buddy Corlew. Would she be mortified at his long hair and coarse ways? He certainly wouldn’t be the sort of man with whom the senator expected his daughter to be...
involved
.

Sylvia dismissed the idea. She and Buddy weren’t involved. They’d had one night of hot, crazy sex. Crazy being the operative word since they hadn’t used a condom. She barely stifled a groan. How could she have taken such a risk? The barrage of tests that followed had assured Sylvia that Buddy had indeed been as clean of STDs as he’d claimed. Thank God.

“You work far too hard, dear.”

Sylvia blinked, grateful her mother couldn’t read her mind. “Is Daddy home?”

“He’s watching the news in the family room.” Louise rolled her eyes. “I’d heard enough of that nonsense. I’ve been curled up in the parlor reading.”

They discussed the latest recommendation from her book club as her mother led the way to the family room. Before they reached the door, Sylvia heard her father arguing with the commentator. He’d always been quite vocal about his feelings, even when it was just him and the news. He’d been known to shred a newspaper from time to time.

“Robert, turn that television down,” Louise ordered. “Sylvia is here.”

The senator looked up, smiled, and immediately muted the program. “Is something the matter?” He eased forward, lowering the footrest of his recliner.

Before Sylvia could answer, her mother piped up, “I’ll make some tea.”

Sylvia sat down on the sofa. “I finished Judge Rutledge’s autopsy today.” Suddenly, she felt more mentally drained than she had since exams in medical school.

The senator raised his eyebrows. “Do the police have any leads on his killer?”

Sylvia shook her head. “There were no signs of breaking and entering. For now, they’re assuming he knew his killer.”

“He certainly made more than his share of enemies.”

“That seems to be the general consensus,” Sylvia agreed. “Have you spoken to any of your mutual associates?” Birmingham was one of Alabama’s largest cities, but it was still a relatively small town when it came to the who’s who. Most everyone knew everyone else.

“Over the past few years Rutledge more or less turned his back on those of us who had been his closest associates at one time. I imagine the usual crowd will attend his service out of respect.” With that declaration, he shifted his attention to the news scroll.

Sylvia hadn’t actually expected more than that and still she prodded. “Were the two of you in the Air Force together?”

A frown lined his forehead. “No. Why would you ask?”

She tapped her head, just above her right ear. “He has that same blue eagle tattoo. It’s exactly like yours. I thought maybe you served together.”

He shrugged. “He may have been in the service during the time I was away, I don’t know. Either way, we were both young and reckless at one time. Many soldiers found themselves permanently marked after a night of drinking with comrades.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I spoke with Nina’s doctor today,” he said, his expression brightening. “It was good news all the way around.”

Louise arrived with the tea and homemade tea biscuits. Sylvia was grateful for the warm beverage. She hadn’t realized how cold she felt inside until she cradled the cup. “When is she coming home?”

“May first.” He exchanged a knowing smile with his wife as she got comfortable in her recliner. “We’re very excited. She’ll have a full-time nurse here at the house for as long as the doctor deems necessary. She’ll be seeing her doctor at UAB twice each week, but the therapist in New York will direct her care for the next several months.”

“That is excellent news.”

“We’re so grateful,” her mother said. “We weren’t sure this day would ever come.”

Sylvia had spoken with her sister’s lead therapist. There was some risk that her condition would deteriorate again but the prognosis was outstanding. “When she’s ready, we’ll host a long overdue welcome home party.”

“I’m already planning,” her mother said with a wide smile.

They talked for a while longer. Her mother insisted Sylvia try her new tea biscuit recipe. As she nibbled on the sweet cake, Sylvia’s appetite roused. She ended up having a chicken salad sandwich. Her mother made the very best chicken salad with pecans and grapes. The woman did love to cook. Sylvia much preferred to dine out. She was rarely home during mealtime anyway. On the rare occasion when she was it was far easier to order from her favorite restaurant. Cooking for one was more trouble than it was worth.

By the time Sylvia said her goodnights, she felt back on an even keel. Somehow her daddy always had that effect on her. He steadied her. He had that effect on most people. Staying in an elected office for most of his adult life was proof positive that his constituents saw him as strong and reliable.

In her car, she checked her cell. Three missed calls from Buddy and one voicemail as well as a thank-you text from Jess. Not in the mood to speak to Buddy again, she drove home. He couldn’t have any information already. Before she’d left his house he’d asked questions she wasn’t ready to answer—questions not relevant to the job she’d hired him to do. One way or the other she would get that point across to him. This was a business relationship. They were not friends. They certainly weren’t a couple. What happened that one night was never going to happen again...
ever
.

She drove through the quiet community of Mountain Brook until she reached her own home on Montevallo Road. Rather than park in the garage, Sylvia shut off the car in the driveway and stared at her home for a time. She’d bought this house the year she and Lieutenant Lawrence Grayson married. She’d been thirty-two at the time. It was her first and only marriage so she’d gone all out—a big wedding, a suitable home in the best neighborhood.

How had twelve years elapsed since then?

Honestly, even then she’d only married because everyone expected her to
settle
down. Her parents had liked Larry. What wasn’t to like? He’d been a good man, a decorated cop. But he’d wanted children. Sylvia had not. She hadn’t been able to have another child knowing what she’d done all those years ago. Eventually he’d turned his interests elsewhere, and they’d ended up getting divorced. His new wife had given him the child he desperately wanted. Unfortunately, she’d been murdered last year.

Life really could be ruthless sometimes. As much as she’d hated the
other
woman at first, Sylvia hadn’t been able to hold the divorce against her. It was Sylvia’s fault her marriage had ended. Her relationships since had all been about mutual gratification. A smile tugged at her lips. Detective Chad Cook had made her really feel again for the first time since the divorce, but he’d been young enough to be her son... not much older than the daughter she’d given away.

Chad had almost been killed by one of the followers of a vicious serial killer. Sylvia helped save his life. During his hospital stay she met his mother—a woman two years younger than her. Reality had hit home in that moment and Sylvia realized Chad needed to move on. He was a wonderful young man. He deserved a woman who wanted a future with him—a home and a family—not just hot sex.

“And then you went from bad to worse,” she grumbled as she climbed out of the car. She still blamed the break-up with Chad for her night of pure insanity when she’d gone home with Buddy Corlew.

Sylvia unlocked her front door and quieted the security system. She closed the door and secured it, setting the alarm once more. As she turned from the door, the only sound was the soft tick of the antique grandfather clock her great-grandmother had brought to Birmingham from England. She dropped her keys on the hall table and headed for her bedroom. Halfway there she removed her heels and padded barefoot the rest of the way, her toes curling at the cool feel of the hardwood.

She grabbed the remote and turned on the television. There really wasn’t anything she wanted to watch, but the noise chased away the silence of living alone. After skimming the cable channels, she settled on the local late night news. A deep sigh of relief slipped past her lips as she peeled off her dress. She tossed it in the dry cleaning hamper, and then dispensed with her bra and panties.

The cool hardwood turned to cold tile as she entered the bathroom and a shiver sent goose bumps spilling over her skin. She set the temperature on her spa tub and let it fill while she removed her makeup. The reflection staring back at her from the mirror wasn’t so bad. She didn’t look her age. Careful attention to the needs of her skin and good genes had helped. She worked out every morning, maintaining a lean and toned figure.

From the outside, one would never know she was so empty and...
lonely
. Sylvia closed her eyes and shook her head. Denying the truth was pointless. It was true. She was lonely. She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. She had numerous friends, a fulfilling career, and financial security. Why wasn’t that enough anymore?

Somehow all these weddings and babies had awakened a traitorous need to be the other half of something.
Husband and wife... mother and daughter
.