A Few Drops of Bitters

by G. A. McKevett

  “It bears a striking resemblance to Dr. Carolyn,” she told him, “and her husband’s sure to appreciate someone drawing him such a pretty picture of his pretty wife.”

  Something that Savannah couldn’t quite identify crossed Brody’s face. A bit of doubt, misgiving, maybe even anger? She couldn’t be sure. Whatever the emotion behind it might be, it certainly wasn’t positive.

  But before she had time to analyze it, she had to direct Dirk into the spot next to the stone wall—a task that, undoubtedly, would have been more easily accomplished without her purse in one hand and an oversized pecan pie in the other.

  Eventually, they got the job done without any of his prophesied tragedies coming to pass or her dropping the precious pie.

  But just as he had put the car in park and turned off its engine, she saw someone approaching her from behind.

  She turned and saw a tall, burly man with a shaved head walking a large, mixed-breed dog on a short leash of thick, sturdy leather. The animal’s eyes met Savannah’s for a moment, and she got the instant impression he was a no-nonsense fellow who would do whatever was necessary to defend his owner or the owner’s property.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man told her, his own expression as stern as his pet’s.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, glancing down again at the dog, noting Brody’s proximity to it, and making sure she was between the animal and her charge. “You wouldn’t do what?”

  “Park anywhere near that Lamborghini.”

  Savannah had long since tired of the conversational topic involving how close one could or should not park next to an A-list sportscar.

  With considerable effort, she managed to keep her tone casual and friendly when she said, “It’s okay. My husband’s picky about his vehicle, too. We made sure that we stayed well away from—”

  “It won’t matter. The bastard who owns it assaulted my son just for letting our dog here get too close to it. That led to an altercation and a trip to the hospital, and now there’s a lawsuit pending, with my dog’s life in danger. The court may tell me I have to put him down!”

  “Oh, that’s, um, just awful,” Savannah replied, not sure as to what to say. “How unfortunate, to have such bad blood between neighbors.”

  “You’re damned right it’s unfortunate. It’s worse. It’s hell. That guy’s crazy!”

  The fellow’s eyes blazed with rage, and the thought occurred to Savannah that he didn’t appear to be all that far from “crazy” himself. A step or two in either direction and he could wind up in jail or committed to a place where he could “rest” and “rediscover” himself, whether he wanted to or not.

  “He’s nuts!” the guy was continuing to spew. “Especially when it comes to his new toys. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  Savannah glanced around the lovely, exclusive street with its luxury homes and decided she was quite content, living in her quaint, Spanish-style, mini-hacienda. Yes, she was just fine with her nondescript street in the center of San Carmelita with no ocean view at all.

  Joya del Mar didn’t seem quite so joyful anymore.

  Chapter 4

  Savannah cut a quick look at Brody to see if he appeared to be upset by what he had just heard the highly agitated neighbor say.

  The boy didn’t seem to be the least bit fazed by it.

  Very interested, yes. Taking in every word. But not one iota of dismay on his little face.

  Then she reminded herself of the sorts of drama Brody had experienced while living with his biological mother—her many encounters with the police, not to mention her misadventures with her less-than-law-abiding friends and associates.

  Mr. Brody Greyson had seen too much in his six years. Far, far too much. Savannah had hoped to provide a more peaceful environment for him.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you, sir,” she said, using the voice she had used back in the day when she had been a police officer, the one meant to defuse situations and calm upset feelings. “Hopefully, your situation will have a peaceful resolution.”

  For just a second, the man looked over at the front of the house with its massive glass windows and the celebratory crowd inside.

  His expression darkened, and he said with a sinister tone, “Peaceful? No. Peaceful’s not gonna happen. Not with a guy like that one. Some people you can reason with. Him, you can’t.”

  He turned back to Savannah and something in his eyes made Savannah far more wary of him than his well-leashed, no-nonsense, guard dog. “Good luck,” he said, “and don’t even breathe on that car, if you know what’s good for you.”

  As he led the animal down the street, Dirk walked around the Buick and stood between Savannah and Brody. “What was that all about?” he asked, nodding in the fellow’s direction.

  “That guy there don’t like Dr. Carolyn’s husband,” Brody replied. “Not one bit!”

  “Then it was our host that he was talking about?” Savannah felt something trickle through her bloodstream that she recognized as adrenaline.

  She had a bad feeling about tonight, and experience had taught her to listen to those feelings.

  “Yeah, it’s Dr. Erling’s car,” Brody was saying. “He just got it for his birthday. He’s real, real, real proud of it, too!”

  Distracted while he stared, goo-goo-eyed, at the Lamborghini, Dirk said, “Any particular reason why the dude with the dog doesn’t like him?”

  Brody smirked. “Nobody likes Dr. Erling. He’s nothin’ but a great big ol’ pain in the ass.”

  “Brody!” Savannah and Dirk exclaimed in unison.

  “What? He is.” Brody looked genuinely confused. “Even that there guy who lives next to him said so. He called him something even worse than I did. So, what am I supposed to say about Dr. Erling? That he’s be-e-e-u-tiful and his farts smell like roses?”

  Savannah reached over and ran her fingers through his hair, trying to get it to lie down and behave. But other than the fact that his were golden and hers black, their locks were quite similar. Untamable. Every hair possessing a rebellious mind of its own.

  Not unlike its owner.

  “Usually, if you try hard enough, you can think of something good to say about almost anybody,” she told the boy. “If you can’t, then it’s probably best to just say nothing at all and keep your opinion to yourself.”

  “That’s what Granny says,” Brody observed.

  “I know. That’s where I got it, and it’s good advice. But once in a while, if you really think it’s necessary to say something not nice about someone, you can find better words than the one you just used and much better than that man used. I’m sure you remember, darlin’, there are certain words we’ve asked you not to say.”

  Dirk slapped him on the back, then pulled him to his side in a hug and whispered, “Until you’re old enough to shave, drive a car, and vote. Then we’ll revise the list a bit.”

  Having heard him, Savannah added, “Hopefully by then you’ll have developed a vocabulary and be able to express yourself with words that are acceptable in polite company . . . like if you’re having dinner with the president or whoever.”

  “Well, we sure wouldn’t want all them superpolite people in the White House to get their panties in a twist,” Brody grumbled as the three of them started up the walk to the front door. “Couldn’t be havin’ that. They might start a war or somethin’.”

  “What’d you just say?” Dirk asked, his big hand heavy on the kid’s shoulder.

  “I said, heaven knows we don’t wanna see polite people havin’ a kitten over hearin’ the wrong words. There might be thunder and lightning shootin’ down from heaven or a big ol’ California earthquake or—”

  “That’s absolutely right,” Dirk told him. “You catch on fast.”

  Brody glanced Savannah’s way and lowered his voice, whispering to Dirk, “She’s always sayin’ I gotta learn to talk better, ’cause I might have dinner with the president or the pope or whoever someday. Like that’s ever
gonna happen.”

  “I know. She’s always told me that, too, and I’m still waiting for my fancy engraved invitation for afternoon tea in the Rose Garden.”

  “I’ll bet when the president spills his milk all over the White House kitchen floor, he says somethin’ besides, ‘Oh, dearie me!’ ”

  Dirk chuckled. “Yes, in a situation like that, he probably says something downright salty.”

  “I’ll betcha he don’t leave the room just to fart neither, like she says we’re supposed to do. Unless he’s with the queen of some other country and she’s got a thing about only fartin’ in the bathroom, you know he just lets ’er rip wherever he’s at, like any other guy.”

  “Yes, he probably does, son. But he’s the president, so he gets to do a lot of stuff the rest of us don’t. Especially when we’re in the first grade.” He glanced over at Savannah, who was grinning, but pretending she hadn’t heard any of their exchange. “Unless he’s got a persnickety first lady, like I do.”

  She stuck out her tongue at Dirk, he laughed, and Brody smiled, proud of himself, as though he had just pleaded his case before the Supreme Court and won.

  They walked over the arched, redwood bridge with the rocky creek running beneath it. Brody cheered instantly at the sight of the glistening, orange, white, and red koi swimming beneath their feet.

  “See there!” he told them, pointing. “That’s just a little bit of what you’re gonna see here. This is an awesome place. Dr. Carolyn brings a lot of the animals home from her clinic if the owners don’t want them anymore, ’cause they’re sick.”

  “How nice of her. She sounds like Alma,” Savannah said, thinking of her sister who, as a child, had brought home every injured or neglected animal in the county and nursed it back to health.

  Brody nodded and continued. “Dr. Carolyn’s even got a llama with long eyelashes, like Bambi, and a five-foot-long, gnarly python! That’s longer than me! He has ginormous, supersharp teeth!”

  Savannah shuddered. “He sounds lovely. I think I’d like to see the Bambi-lashed llama.”

  “And the python!” Brody repeated, his excitement undimmed.

  “Yeah. I heard you.” She winked at him. “Like I said, I’m eager to lay eyes on the llama. The snake . . . not so much.”

  “Well, I like snakes. I like ’em a lot! Dr. Carolyn says they’re good. ‘They make good pets,’ she says. You don’t have to walk them, and they keep the mice away, and—”

  “We have enough pets already,” Savannah interjected. She saw where this was headed and was determined to cut it off with the sharp shears of logic before things got out of hand. “We don’t have to walk Cleo or Diamante either, and mice are too terrified of them to even set one teeny foot on our property. So, with two cats and daily visits from the Colonel, I’d say we’re covered.”

  Dirk nudged the boy and said, “You take her to see the sissy llama, and you can show me the snake. Deal?”

  The boy brightened and scurried up the front steps ahead of them.

  The sound of soft jazz and the aroma of exotic foods that Savannah didn’t recognize wafted through the open door, graciously beckoning them inside the mansion.

  For the first time since they had arrived, Savannah found she was actually looking forward to the evening.

  Dirk took the pie from her. “Here, I’ll carry that.” He leaned his head down to hers, and whispered, “Looks like a bunch of stuck-up, high-society uppity-mucks in there.”

  “Then we’ll fit right in,” she told him with a wink.

  “Yeah, right. We’re gonna be about as welcome as half a worm in a half-eaten dill pickle.”

  Chapter 5

  As Savannah, Dirk, and Brody entered the door, an elegant couple drifted by them. The lady’s black silk gown shimmered as it flowed over what was clearly a fashionably perfect body. Her partner wore a suit that Savannah instantly recognized as the work of a high-end designer.

  Dirk noticed, too. He nudged her with his elbow and whispered, “Ryan’s got an outfit like that.”

  “I know.” Savannah looked around the room and thought that their friends Ryan and John could have blended into this crowd seamlessly with their sophisticated manners and exquisite wardrobes.

  “You should’ve borrowed Ryan’s suit,” she told him, “and I should’ve worn my prom dress.”

  “Or I should’ve stayed home to watch my fight, and you could’ve baked me and the squirt some chocolate-chip cookies.”

  Savannah looked around the room, trying to locate their hostess and see what Brody was up to. But she couldn’t see either of them. Brody had dissolved into the crowd, and Dr. Carolyn was a diminutive woman, not easy to find among wall-to-wall tall men and women in high, high heels.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Dirk asked. “I hate parties that don’t have at least a horseshoe pit or dartboard or pool table.”

  “I’ll take you downstairs and show you the snake!” Brody exclaimed, rushing back to them. “I put the picture I made of Dr. Carolyn on the piano, so I’m ready to have fun now.”

  Savannah could tell Dirk was eager to escape the crowded room, too, and she would have placed money on there being a less-dense population near the python’s habitat.

  “Go ahead,” she told them. “You check out the slithery critter with the massive fangs, and I’ll find Carolyn and let her know we’re here.”

  Dirk looked so grateful, and Brody so pleased that she knew she’d made the right call by releasing them from their social drudgery.

  “Gimme that pie back,” she told Dirk. “I’m afraid to leave you two alone with it.”

  He quickly handed it to her and in three seconds they had disappeared, leaving her adrift in the sea of gloriously attired total strangers.

  Savannah moved away from the door and ventured into the throng.

  Considering the crowd of tightly packed people, it wasn’t easy to see the room itself, let alone its décor. But she did notice the ultra-high teak ceiling, crossed with thick, dark beams. The wall to her left was stone, like the water feature in front of the home.

  From the little she could see, she loved the Erlings’ house. For all of its steel and concrete, it also had enough wood, stone, and greenery to impart the feel of nature and home.

  But when she turned to her right, she saw something that ruined her cozy moment.

  About fifteen feet away, stood a tall, handsome, blond man, elegantly dressed like the other guests crowded around them. He was drinking rather greedily from a glass containing what Savannah assumed was whiskey, judging from its rich, amber color.

  He was staring at her over the rim of the lowball, and the look on his face was anything but warm and friendly.

  In fact, the undisguised hostility in his eyes sent a chill through her and stirred other feelings that she seldom experienced, now that she was no longer a beat cop, patrolling rough and dangerous streets.

  Back then, when someone had looked at her with that degree of intense anger, she switched into a high-alert mode and reminded herself that her Beretta was handy if absolutely necessary.

  With her thoughts racing, she would also mentally rehearse the various ways to handle whatever circumstance developed.

  Though no longer carrying a badge, she was as ready this evening as she had been on any other night in any dark alley.

  As always when she left the house, her weapon was with her. Once a cop, always a cop. Tonight it was in her purse, as sundresses did nothing to conceal a shoulder holster.

  A female servant in a black uniform glided by him, took his empty glass, and handed him one with at least two fingers of liquor inside. He took it from her and slugged back the contents, never taking his eyes off Savannah.

  Their stare-down was intense and, to Savannah, seemed like hours, though it was probably less than twenty seconds long.

  She gave him her best poker face, one that was neither hostile nor submissive.

  Neutral. That was what she was going for as her eyes told him, “I
see you. I don’t know what the heck your problem is, but you should reconsider your position.”

  He didn’t seem to reconsider anything. Or blink. Or show any sign at all of backing down and putting an end to his unspoken challenge. She had no doubt that his intention was to convey some sort of threat.

  She was surprised and more than a bit confused by the experience. What on earth could she have done to cause a total stranger to show so much animosity toward her?

  Certainly, she had always been gifted with a talent for ticking people off. But it usually took a bit longer than twenty seconds, and at least a word or two exchanged for her to find herself on their bad side.

  She didn’t need a conversation with this fellow to know he was quite upset with her. Angry enough for her to hug her purse tightly and get ready to swing it if he approached her.

  While she would never discharge her weapon in a crowded room at a man who appeared unarmed, she would certainly not be adverse to smacking him upside the head with it, should the situation warrant such.

  The Beretta wasn’t exactly a brick bat or the Reid women’s cast-iron skillet, but it wasn’t light either.

  When he refused to break their little staring contest, she decided, for the sake of Dr. Carolyn and Brody, to do whatever was necessary to defuse this strange situation.

  So, she blinked and looked away.

  For several moments, she scanned the rest of the crowd with exaggerated interest, still looking for Carolyn Erling. The first thing she intended to do when she found her hostess was hand her the pecan pie, which seemed to be getting heavier by the moment, then ask her, gently, subtly, of course, “Who’s that tall, blond, rude-as-all-get-out dude, and what in tarnation is his problem?”

  When she decided it was time, she gave a quick glance back in the direction of the man with the attitude, only to find him gone. Completely gone. Not a sign of him where he had been standing, nowhere near there, or in the entire room.