A Few Drops of Bitters

by G. A. McKevett

  Savannah glanced at Granny, who had just taken a chair at the table, and saw that her grandmother was also watching the boy closely, one eyebrow slightly quirked.

  Dirk, on the other hand, had just crawled out of bed. Without a sufficient infusion of caffeine-laden coffee, his detective skills were dull at best. He was barely conscious.

  But, since they now had a child in the home and Granny was visiting, he had at least deigned to upgrade his usual breakfast table attire from his boxers to pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

  Never let it be said he doesn’t give a hoot about his looks, Savannah thought when she saw him run his fingers once through his hair.

  Normally, he would have given her at least a moderately lusty good morning hug and kiss when he came downstairs, but after Brody gagging quite loudly upon seeing anything even remotely resembling “gross, mushy junk,” they were limiting their displays of affection to their bedroom.

  Gone were the days of impromptu romantic encounters on the sofa, beneath the kitchen table, or on the staircase.

  Aww, the price of “parenthood.”

  But, as Savannah took over for Granny, flipping the eggs, one by one, onto the platter with the bacon, she glanced Dirk’s way and saw that he was watching her with a somewhat wistful look in his eyes.

  No, things hadn’t been quite the same in the romance department since they had become foster parents, but she knew the desire was still ever-present, and she had always found that to be one of the most satisfying benefits of having a love life.

  Knowing you were wanted.

  As though reading her thoughts, he gave her a wink and an ever-so-slight air kiss, which she returned.

  She nodded toward the bowl in front of him. “You best chow down that bowl of cereal before it gets soggy and these eggs get cold,” she said, setting the platter between him and Granny.

  “Yeah, I had a few bites of it already,” he said, grimacing down at the bowl. “I’m not crazy about this new stuff you got.”

  “It’s organic, high-protein granola,” Savannah said. “Tammy swears it’s better for you than that puffy, sugary stuff you like.”

  “Yeah, well, shows you what she knows, health nut that she is.” He grimaced. “This stuff tastes like sh—” He looked at Granny, then Brody. “Garbage. Tastes worse than garbage, in fact.”

  “You sound like an expert. You been eatin’ a lotta garbage lately?” Brody asked, suppressing a giggle.

  “No, he has not,” Granny interjected. “Mostly he eats my granddaughter’s good down-home cookin’, and that’s some of the best food to be had on God’s green earth.”

  “That’s for sure!” Brody said. “But she didn’t cook this here new cereal, and Dirk don’t like it one itty-bitty bit.” Brody reached over and poked one of the pieces floating in the milk. “What does it taste like, really?” he asked with what looked to Savannah like a mock serious expression on his face.

  “Like a combination of dirty socks and a stale tuna sandwich.”

  “Ah, come on now . . . it cain’t be all that bad.” Granny reached over and slid the bowl to her side of the table. “Lemme have a bite.”

  “No!”

  Everyone jumped and turned to look at Brody, who had practically hurled himself across the table to grab the bowl away from Granny. He pulled it against his chest and wrapped his arms around it.

  “What the heck, young man?” Dirk said. “You don’t snatch food outta anybody’s hand, let alone from hers! Around here, we show respect to our elders!”

  Savannah would have joined her husband in his admonition, but she could see he was doing fine on his own . . . besides, a light bulb had flipped on in her brain.

  “I’m sorry, Granny,” Brody said, looking rattled and more than a little remorseful. “It’s just that, well, he said it didn’t taste good, and I didn’t want you to put something icky in your mouth, ’cause, you know, you’re our most elderest elder.”

  Savannah walked over to Brody, put her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed, a tad harder than usual. With the other hand, she reached around him and took the bowl from him.

  She studied the assorted bits and pieces floating in the milk, poking a few with her fingertip.

  “Hm-m,” she said. “Some of these pieces are green.” She held the bowl up to her nose and took a sniff. “Smells sorta strange, too. Even for Tammy’s oddball, healthy stuff.”

  “Lemme go flush it down the toilet,” Brody offered, far too eagerly. “I mean, if it’s bad, we don’t want anybody else eatin’ it.”

  Savannah picked up one of the green bits, looked it over, then put it to her nose and sniffed it. “Well, well. I think we’re gonna need to have a talk with that Tammy about her recommending this cereal to us. These green pieces do smell like gym socks and a week-old tuna sandwich, and I suspect there’s a good reason why that’s true.”

  “Maybe it’s past its expiration date,” Brody said, grabbing the box and making a big show of looking for the stamp. “You gotta watch out for that. Especially with cereal. Ain’t nothin’ worse for you than expired cereal!”

  Savannah walked over to the cabinet and took out a different box. “I hope the cats enjoy their new, healthy, organic food that their aunt Tammy recommended I get, too.”

  Brody looked alarmed as she headed for the cat dishes in the corner. “No!” he said. “I wouldn’t give them that! It might not be good for them! Dr. Carolyn says you gotta be careful what you give your pets. They can’t eat everything we do.”

  Savannah pointed to the writing on the box. “It doesn’t expire for several months yet, and it’s all wholesome ingredients that cats enjoy.”

  “Like tuna?” Granny asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  Savannah read the fine print on the end of the box. “Hey, exactly like tuna. It’s the number one ingredient, in fact.”

  A second later, the room seemed to explode.

  Dirk jumped up so fast that he overturned his chair. Brody dove under the table, crawled to the other side, where he scrambled to his feet, and ran for the back door with Dirk in pursuit.

  “Boy, when I get my hands on you,” he roared, “you are gonna wish that you—”

  Brody escaped through the door half a second before Dirk reached him.

  But the cop who had come up empty-handed during his surveillance the night before seemed determined not to lose his quarry, even if it meant apprehending the culprit in his own backyard, in full view of any nosy neighbors, while still wearing his pajamas.

  Colonel Beauregard raced after them, slipping and sliding on Savannah’s freshly waxed floor, his ears and jowls flapping, filling the house with his full-throated baying.

  Savannah and Granny casually walked to the utility room window and watched as man, boy, and dog met in the middle of the yard—thankfully nowhere near Savannah’s peonies or geraniums—in a writhing, howling, laughing heap of testosterone-fueled manliness.

  “I ain’t ever eatin’ nothin’ in your house again that didn’t just come outta a sealed can or jar,” Granny said.

  “You don’t need to worry,” Savannah told her. “Brody would never let you or the kitties eat something they weren’t supposed to.”

  “Just Dirk,” Granny said, watching her grandson-in-law apply a knuckle-noogie to Brody’s head as the child squealed with laughter.

  The Colonel grabbed Dirk’s fist in his big, wet mouth and fake growled until the rubbing stopped.

  “Getting one up on another fella, it’s a guy thing. So is taking revenge on the guy who gotcha,” Savannah said.

  Granny laughed. “Apparently so. Let’s leave them to it, while you and me go tie into them eggs and biscuits before they get cold.”

  As they headed back toward the kitchen, Granny added, “You’ve got plenty of peach preserves, right?”

  “Of course. Apple butter, too.”

  “That’s a girl thing.”

  “It sure is!”

  Chapter 3

  “Are you absolutely, positi
vely sure that we were invited to this party, Brody?” Savannah asked the boy for the third time since he had come home from the veterinary clinic, after so proudly announcing their impromptu plans for the evening.

  “Dr. Carolyn said she wants us to come to a party at her house tonight!” he had proclaimed as Savannah was driving him home from his backbreaking labor of playing fetch with the clinic’s mascot, an ancient golden retriever named Maggie Malone. “It’s a birthday party! It’ll be so much fun. I can’t wait!”

  Savannah had voiced her concerns that maybe she should call the good doctor and confirm the invitation only to be told, “Why? Don’t you trust me? I wouldn’t lie about a thing like a birthday party!”

  After half an hour of questioning the youngster, Savannah had gleaned precious few facts to connect the dots. Apparently, the birthday “boy” was Dr. Carolyn’s husband, Stephen, and no, they weren’t expected to bring a present, since it was such short notice, and no, they didn’t need to dress up. Dr. Carolyn didn’t care about such things. Brody insisted she had said so while offering the invitation.

  As a result, Dirk, Savannah, and Brody were riding along in Dirk’s vintage Buick Skylark, heading north on the Pacific Coast Highway. It was a lovely drive with gently sloping, California-beige hills to their right, pristine beaches to their left, and the mighty ocean in all its grandeur filling the western horizon. The sun hung low in the turquoise sky, setting the clouds ablaze with shades of golden and coral.

  As pleasant as the trip had been so far, they were hoping to arrive soon at the small community of Joya del Mar, jewel of the sea. While officially part of San Carmelita, an expanse of undeveloped beach separated it from the rest of the town.

  Few people even knew about Joya del Mar, and that was how the residents wanted it.

  The exclusive enclave seldom, if ever, experienced any sort of crime, so neither Savannah nor Dirk had answered any calls there. Before tonight, they had never socialized within its boundaries before. So this was a new and interesting experience for them both.

  It was fun to see how the “other” social set lived and to enjoy that privileged, alien world firsthand. Even for just one night.

  Dirk claimed to know its exact location, but since he often boasted of knowledge he possessed in only limited amounts, Savannah was holding her phone in her hand, its GPS activated.

  According to the ever-repositioning arrow, they were drawing close.

  “It’s right up there,” Brody said, leaning forward as far as his seat belt would allow and pointing to an unremarkable road ahead on their right. It had cracked paving and no sign at all to inform drivers of its significance.

  The female voice on Savannah’s phone agreed with Brody by instructing Dirk to, “Turn right in five hundred feet.”

  “Ain’t much of a road,” Dirk said, stating the obvious, as he pulled into the right lane and slowed to make the turn. “I’ve seen dirt-bike trails paved better than that.”

  “It might not be much of a road,” Brody protested, “but it’s a supercool place! You guys are in for a treat!”

  “You sound pretty sure there, buddy,” Dirk said as he guided the Buick around a sharp right U-turn that led them into a short tunnel and under the highway. “Have you been here before?”

  “Oh, yeah! Lotsa times!” Brody paused, reconsidered, and added, “Well, twice.”

  “What did you like about it?” Savannah asked.

  Brody snickered. “You’ll see.”

  They emerged from the tunnel and continued on toward the neighborhood, which appeared to be only one block deep and three or four blocks long.

  But the houses were magnificent.

  Mansions all, sitting side by side, they had glorious views of the ocean, including the beautiful Channel Islands, floating on a bed of sea mist in the distance.

  Unlike the beachfront properties in San Carmelita, these estates were built on large lots with plenty of room between them and even had fully landscaped yards, instead of the standard, tiny patches of sand that separated the town’s beachfront properties.

  “Wow!” Savannah said, taking it all in. “Dr. Carolyn is so laid-back, so casual and unassuming there in her clinic. I never expected her to live in a place like this.”

  “Apparently, giving shots to dogs and spaying cats pays better than you’d think,” Dirk added. “Doesn’t she drive a beat-up old Jeep with three wheels in the junkyard and the other one on an oil slick?”

  “Hey, her husband’s rich,” Brody declared most indignantly. “He’s some kinda fancy-schmancy doctor that flies all around the world fixin’ famous, rich people’s brains or somethin’, and I like her Jeep. I don’t have to worry ’bout spillin’ somethin’ in it like I do you guys’ cars. I can sit in hers with my shorts all wet and sandy after I been swimmin’ and eat ice cream, and she don’t get all miffed about it.”

  “Hey, I’ll show ya miffed,” Dirk replied over his shoulder. “I could be sittin’ at home watching a heavyweight championship fight right now. But you wanted to come, so don’t go puttin’ down my ride, ’kay?”

  Brody grinned. “Like don’t pretend I just dropped my gum on the floor and stepped on it?”

  “Don’t even think about it!” Dirk glowered at Brody from his rearview mirror.

  The boy giggled, obviously less than terrified. “Yeah, all right. That’s what I figured.”

  “The cat food cereal was the one and only trick you get to pull today,” Savannah told him over her shoulder. “I don’t have the strength to pull Dirk off you twice in a twenty-four-hour period, so—”

  “You have arrived at your destination on the left,” the GPS announced.

  “Holy sh—cow!” Dirk exclaimed. “You weren’t kidding, dude. This is some place.”

  Savannah stared, awestruck, at the massive glass, cement, and steel residence. Half walls of stone and lush bower plants and bougainvillea climbing them softened the otherwise severe, straight lines, giving the sophisticated and contemporary home a warm, inviting charm.

  A waterfall spilled from a stone wall in front of the house and flowed through a man-made creek bed and beneath a redwood bridge that led to the front door.

  The water was lit with blue and green lights, as were the palmettos, hibiscus, and oleander that bordered the edges of the yard.

  Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Savannah saw more people than she had ever thought could fit into a private residence at one time. She felt her tummy do a somersault when she realized the other guests were dressed in elegant evening attire.

  “So much for not having to fancy up because Dr. Carolyn doesn’t care about such things,” Savannah whispered to herself as she quickly glanced down at her simple cotton sundress, then Dirk’s slacks and short-sleeve dress shirt, not to mention Brody’s favorite jeans and bright red, superhero T-shirt.

  “Clean and neat is all that matters, sugar,” Savannah heard. It was Granny’s voice whispering to her spirit. How many times had Gran told her that when they were underdressed for an occasion?

  Too many times.

  A wardrobe with a wide variety of choices was not a luxury that could be afforded in a family with nine children, subsisting on a grandmother’s meager pension.

  In spite of the intervening years and Granny’s loving advice, Savannah still felt a certain uneasiness deep inside when she found herself inappropriately attired. Especially in what appeared to be a potentially “stuffy” atmosphere.

  But for the moment, another problem needed to be addressed. She noticed it at the same moment that Dirk said, “Where the heck am I supposed to park? This road ain’t that long, and both sides are full.”

  Savannah and Brody looked up and down the short street, trying to help. But other than private driveways, Dirk was right. There wasn’t one place to park any car—especially one the size of his old Skylark.

  Then Savannah saw it. A narrow, but “large enough” space in the veterinarian’s driveway itself, between a stone wall and a gorgeous Lambor
ghini that had been backed in and was facing the street.

  “Hey! There ya go,” she told Dirk. “Slide on in there. You’d fit just fine. I’m surprised nobody took it yet.”

  In an instant, Dirk bristled. “I ain’t squeezing my baby into that little space! You’ll bang the doors on those rocks and the guy with the Lambo might hit it with his door when he gets in.”

  Savannah gave him an eye roll and a tsk-tsk, as she frequently did when she believed he had just spoken some foolishness, several times any given hour.

  “We can do this,” she said with only the slightest touch of condescension in her tone. “Let Brody and me out first, then you pull close to the stone wall, I’ll direct you, and you’ll be far enough from the Lamborghini not to cause any trouble.”

  Dirk thought it over a few seconds, glanced up and down the packed street, and grumbled, “All right. I guess. But if that dude leaves a mark on my car, I’ll . . .”

  “Will you stop?” Savannah said, trying to sound far more patient than she felt in front of Brody.

  Funny, she often thought, how much more you have to watch what you say and do with a pipsqueak around.

  She reached over and patted Dirk’s arm. “As upset as you would be to get a mark on your baby, the man . . . or woman . . . who owns that car isn’t in the habit of throwing the door open with wild abandon without looking first to see what it might hit. That vehicle cost more than our cars, house, and everything in it, including the cats.”

  Dirk continued to grumble like a bulldog with a bumblebee in its mouth, as he waved a hand toward her door.

  Savannah took the gesture as a sign of acquiescence. “Let’s get out,” she told Brody as she grabbed her purse from the floorboard, turned off her phone, and shoved it inside the bag. “Hand me that pecan pie up here and grab the drawing you made.”

  “Do you think he’ll like it?” Brody asked as he and Savannah climbed out of the Buick, their birthday offerings in hand.

  “I do believe he will,” Savannah told the boy, as she looked at the construction paper and crayon work of art—the portrait of a woman with oversized blue eyes and short, orange hair. Of the ninety-six colors in Brody’s giant crayon box, Mango Tango had been his choice to represent the veterinarian’s strawberry blonde pixie cut.