To Walk Among the Stones: Book Excerpt

1991

SYDNEY GREEN GLANCED AROUND the cold lifeless courtroom, then at her watch. With a weary sigh she brushed a long blond lock of hair away from her eyes. The dark surroundings of the courtroom fit her mood. For the events of the day she had dressed carefully, not for her self-esteem but for him. Shifting in her seat, she tugged at the hem of the short skirt of her blue business suit, the stiffness of the material adding to her discomfort.
The months had been long but he'd been with her the whole time, comforting her but not demanding anything that she wasn't ready to give.
The press, her peers, had hounded her for the first month. After all, she was one of them and had been there, hadn't she? It wasn't often that one of their own was at the scene during the crime. Many thought her silence admirable. However, those who sought the almighty dollar saw her silence as a wasted financial opportunity.
George had understood.
For his loyalty, she had promised him her story after the trial. She wouldn't tell the whole truth. And now there was a new secret.
"Still have that fire in you, don't you Syd?"
Sydney smiled as she watched her editor's portly body shuffle through the line of seats. With a loud sigh of relief, George Hartley sat down beside her, lending her reassurance by patting her hand. "Damn, this city is an inferno," he said as he reached for his ever present handkerchief and blotted the sweat from his forehead. George, her champion, sat quietly at her side, his familiar scent reaching her nostrils. Editor of the Minnesota Daily News, he smelled of newsprint, cigars, and cologne. For a moment she closed her eyes, relishing the wave of memories of home. "Don't worry, Syd, you'll be fine," she heard him whisper.
"That's what I'm afraid of," she whispered back, her eyes locking straight ahead at the judge's bench. Around her the courtroom seats were slowly being filled. "What do you think they see me as, George? Am I a hero, a traitor, or a bitch?"
"Does it really matter?" he answered. He'd back Sydney up until the day he died. Yet her silence about what happened worried him. "Anyone worth anything would think that you're a survivor. Nothing to be ashamed of in that, hon. Yep, you're a strong woman and an honest woman. No one can fault you for that."
"No fault, George?" It was the question of the moment. "I bet you that there is at least one person who can fault me for this mess."
"We all pay for our sins, Sydney."


PART ONE

1982

ARNOLD RICE WAS QUITE SATISFIED with himself. In his own mind he was a big man. Even as he sat there alone that morning he had an air of vanity. His self-admiration would not allow him to see his life for what it truly was, one that simply lacked class. Instead, he saw the faded purple stool that he sat on as a throne. His bar was to him his own self-made heaven, and his life was the epitome of a self-made man.
Short in stature, Arnold Rice worked hard to keep up the appearance of refinement and wealth. His long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail and was topped with his trademark, a black cap. His thin, pockmarked face was shortened somewhat by a goatee. But it was his teeth that first caught a person's eye. They were framed by thin lips that looked misplaced on his long face. However, his gold tooth was an eye-catcher. Shiny and bright, it served as the focal point of character. He had it placed there a number of years ago after a fight had knocked out his front tooth. He felt the gold gave him an intimidating look. But it was comical to most people.
On this night, Rice sat counting the cash from the evening's activities. The Hardy Har Bar had a profitable night and Rice believed that his dreams of greatness and wealth were coming true. He dreamed of power much like another man would dream of love. He craved it. He wanted to control the lives of other people, to be able to crush anyone who got in his way. In this arena, his world called the Hardy Har, he did just that. Smugly, he at there on his bar stool, puffing away on his expensive cigar. Today was his twenty-eighth birthday. He would celebrate later. Business came first, then pleasure. He would party with one or two of the girls he owned. Yes, it would be a hot night tonight.


Part Two

1990

No man in her life. The words came back to haunt her later that evening. Looking out the peephole of her front door, she felt a faint flush of hope and a large dash of apprehension. Mark Brown stood outside her door.
Quickly, she looked down at her clothes and frowned. The simple dress she wore was covered with a food-spattered apron. The laundry hadn't been done in weeks. Dinner for one simmered in the microwave.
Mark's hand was raised to knock again as she opened the door. "Sydney, I apologize for not calling, but truly, I was in the neighborhood."
"...and you thought you'd stop by," she added.
"If you want me to go..."
He did have incredible sexy eyes. "No, come on in, I'd enjoy your company."
"Nice place," he said as he stepped through the door. "It's a lot like mine."
"Oh?" she said, shutting the front door. "Small and cramped?"
"Small, yes, but functional."
"I see."
She was lovely, he thought. The night at the hotel she'd been elegant, feminine. Tonight, she was even more so. He moved toward the couch she pointed to. "You're in a good area of the city."
"I don't remember giving you my address or phone number." She was smiling at him.
"Well, you didn't. You see, I have a source."
"Joe?" She asked.
"No," he answered. "I'm a cop, remember." Mark sat on the couch. He watched as she walked back into the kitchen and took off her apron. "You like cows?"
"Huh?" she answered, reaching into the refrigerator for a couple of beers.
"Your apron," he pointed at the apron now lying across a chair. "Cows. My sister likes cows."
Walking back into the living room, she handed him a beer. She laughed, sitting down next to him. "Not really. The cow theme started as practical joke. Denise saw a cow cookie jar in my kitchen a number of years ago. I got it at a yard sale. Somehow she thought I liked the cow motif. So now, every gift-giving occasion, I get something with a cow on it." She noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed.
The conversation lulled.
"I enjoyed our dance at the Ambassador Hotel." He knew he sounded like a lovesick schoolboy and laughed at himself.
"Me too," she answered, enjoying the sound of his laugher.
"I guess I'm out of practice, that's all," he said.
"Out of practice in what?"
"In courting a beautiful woman," he answered. "Dance with me, Syd." It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, and he was half sorry he asked. Until she stood up.
Reaching out, she touched his hand. Wordlessly, he pulled her in close, resting his hand on the small of her back. His other hand released hers, slowly moving up, finally resting behind her shoulder.
They needed no music.
She felt the heat of his hand thought the thin cotton of her dress. Slowly, she ran her hands lightly along his biceps, then down, brushing against the contours of his chest. She smiled as she heard him suck in his breath.
The thought of John flashed through her mind. It was a memory she could not shake. As Mark's hand left her shoulder and tilted her head up toward his, she realized she was at a crossroads.
"Mark," she breathed his name as his lips slowly closed the lonely distance between them. The kiss was light at first, lips tasting, feeling, enjoying the initial discovery. Mark deepened the kiss, enticed by her warm response.
Her hands left his chest and retraced their way up to his shoulders. She kissed him back with a previously unknown hunger. His scent filled her senses, leaving her wanting more.
As quickly as he began the kiss, he ended it by pulling away from her. "I'm sorry, Sydney, I was out of line. I didn't come over for this."
"Oh, I see," she answered, trying to hide the embarrassment in her voice. "Then why did you come here?"
"I couldn't stay away."
The words were a caress, yet she stepped back from him.
"Have dinner with me tomorrow night," he said. "We'll move slowly. This needs to be right."
Crossing her arms over the chest, she did her best not to shake. His kiss had ignited a fire in her. "There is..."
"Someone else?"
"Sort of."
"Harper?" he asked.
"It's complicated."
He stood his ground. The truth would hurt, but he needed to know. "Why?"
"John and I are..."
"Lovers?" He watched as an expression of pain crossed her face.
"Old friends."
Mark moved toward the door. "Sydney, though I've only known you a short time, I care for you."
She stepped forward to say something.
"I won't compete with Harper. Be careful, Sydney. I'm not sure you know all about your old friend. You know where to find me if you need me."
With those words, Mark Brown was gone.

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