'Talk about what, the drug raid? It was a routine raid on a small-time operation. It got screwed up and two career criminals fried in their getaway car. It happened nearly a month ago, and no thanks, I don't want to talk about it.'
'And you wouldn't have wanted to talk about it when it happened either,' she pointed out. 'So--don't try to make me feel bad because I was away when it happened.'
'Fair enough,' he grumbled.
She studied the back of his head. 'Is there any connection between this drug bust and that Arthur 'Polly' Pollard person who was shot?'
He sighed, but didn't flinch at all. 'Not that I know of,' he muttered.
'Did they ever find out who shot him?' she pressed.
'I think it was a mob hit. But they haven't nailed down any suspects yet. They probably won't. Polly had more enemies than friends.' Joe yawned. 'Listen, why don't you take a pill if you can't sleep?'
Sydney didn't take a pill, and she didn't sleep much that night. Three days later, she went to Madison, Wisconsin, to cover a Spam-carving contest. Despite the 'wacky' festivities, she was in a somber mood during the two-day trip. She had to fake her frivolity for the contestants and the cameras. All the while she was in Madison, Sydney thought about Polly and this drug raid. She wondered if she could just drop it and choose not to know any more. In order to survive, some husbands and wives turned a blind eye to their spouses' extramarital affairs or crooked--even nefarious--business deals. That was how they stayed married. The trouble was Sydney didn't know if she could be one of those wives.
When Sydney returned home, there was a surprise waiting for her in the family room. Joe put his hands over her eyes, and Eli led her by the hand. And when Joe took his hands away from her eyes, Sydney was watching a scene from
'No, but I figure it's a tax write-off for you,' Joe said. 'We'll work it out.'
The next day, she neglected the editing and scoring of her Spam-carving piece so she could rifle through Joe's desk and check the e-mail in his computer again. There was nothing. She called Visa; the charge for the TV had gone on their joint card. They had barely enough in their checking account to cover it. Joe wasn't the type to spend money he didn't have. So where was the extra money? Where had he hidden his cut from this drug bust--or correction, this
In her earlier searches she would have noticed a bank passbook or checkbook among Joe's things. So she went through his closet and the pockets of his clothes. Sydney checked under the rug and behind the framed photos in his study. Then it dawned on her:
Sydney stormed the place, rifling through his built-in work desk and cabinets. She accidentally yanked one drawer out all the way, spilling a bunch of bolts and screws on the garage floor. But she didn't care. She ransacked the contents of two different toolboxes. In his cabinets, she shoved aside old paint cans to make sure they weren't hiding a bankbook or some incriminating document. 'Where is it, Joe?' she kept whispering. 'What are you hiding from me?' From the shelves he'd installed, Sydney tossed work gloves, coveralls, and paintbrushes aside so she could get a better look at what might be concealed behind them or beneath them. She scoured through boxes of Christmas decorations, finding nothing.
Dirty and sweating, she paused for a moment and gazed up at the top shelf, where he stored a rolled-up paint tarp. Sydney dragged a ladder over to the shelf and climbed up to reach the tarp. It started to unravel. Frustrated, she finally pushed it off the shelf. The big heavy cloth landed in a heap on the garage floor--around the bottom of the ladder. The shelf was empty now--except for a third toolbox. It looked new. 'Oh, no,' Sydney murmured, feeling her stomach turn.
Trembling, she took another step up the ladder and grabbed the handle of the tan metal box. It wasn't as heavy as the other two toolboxes she'd examined. She could tell he didn't have any tools in there. Sydney almost tripped on the tarp as she climbed down from the ladder, hauling the metal box with her. Setting the box on the hood of her car, she unfastened the latches. Her hands were shaking as she opened the lid.
Receipts.
He'd stashed old receipts for paint, power tools, and yard equipment in there. Sydney let out a grateful little laugh. It looked like a whole boxful of receipts--until she picked up a few to examine them even closer. That was when she saw part of a twenty-dollar bill under the pile of loose papers. She dug past those old receipts and saw more twenties. There were stacks of them, banded together. 'Damn it, Joe,' she cried. 'Damn it, damn it to hell...'
She didn't count the money. But Sydney estimated there was at least twenty thousand dollars in that metal box.
As she stacked the money back into the metal receptacle, Sydney couldn't stop crying. She covered the stacks of bills with the old receipts. If Joe had the receipts in any kind of special order to detect if someone had gotten into the box, she didn't care. She would tell him tonight that she knew and that their marriage was over.
She couldn't live with this secret. She couldn't look at Joe the same way ever again. He'd once been her hero, and now he was a lying, corrupt cop who let three people die for a little bit of money. And he'd forever ruined three more peoples' lives: his son's, hers, and his own.
Sydney rolled up the heavy tarp and hoisted it back onto the top shelf, once again concealing the metal box. She moved the ladder back to its original spot. Still sobbing, she swept up the bolts and screws she'd spilt from his work desk drawer. Her face was filthy because she kept wiping away tears and snot with her dirty hands.
She wouldn't blow the whistle on her husband. For now, his secret was her awful secret, too. But she wasn't going to stay with him, either. She couldn't be associated in any way with his crime--and neither could Eli. They needed to put as much distance as they could between themselves and him. These thoughts weren't new to Sydney. For the last few weeks, ever since she'd learned of Arthur Pollard's death, she'd tried to prepare herself for this.
But it still devastated her.
Sydney's head was throbbing by the time she wandered out of the garage. In the kitchen, she took three Tylenol, and then glanced at her wristwatch: 4:25. She had to pick up Eli from basketball practice at school in a half hour.
It was strange, walking into their bedroom and undressing to take a shower. Suddenly, the room seemed different somehow, like it wasn't hers anymore.
Even under the warm, pulsating shower, Sydney still didn't feel clean. She turned off the water and began to dry herself. Wrapping the towel around her, she opened the bathroom door, and a shadow swept in front of her. She gasped. Someone was in the bedroom.
Then she saw it was Joe. 'My, God, you scared me!' she said, a hand over her heart. 'What are you doing here?'
He stood near the foot of their bed in his 'plainclothes': blue blazer, tie, and khaki slacks. 'We need to talk,' he said soberly.
Sydney nodded. 'I know. But I have to get dressed, and pick up Eli at school.'
'Sharon McKenna's picking up Eli, and taking him back to their place for dinner.'
'That's nice,' Sydney murmured. She ducked behind the bathroom door, took her pale blue jacquard silk robe off the hook, and put it on. Then she tossed her towel over the shower curtain rod. 'It's nice that you're talking to Andy again, too,' she said, emerging from the bathroom again. She tied the waist sash of her robe.
'I heard you were asking Sharon at the wedding if she knew about Polly,' he said. 'That was really careless, Syd.'
'I asked you first--several times. I needed an answer.'
'All you did was put a big spotlight on the situation,' Joe said. 'Today, I had to hear from someone that you
