A Few Drops of Bitters

by G. A. McKevett

  He would have been fairly easy to spot, because of his height and hair color, so she assumed he had left.

  She felt a sense of relief on one hand but couldn’t help wondering where he had gone and what the whole thing had been about.

  Ya never know, girl, she told herself. It’s best to just let it go. Maybe you bear an uncanny resemblance to an ex-wife or perhaps his fifth-grade English teacher who smacked him with a ruler when he couldn’t rattle off his parts of speech.

  Dismissing him from her thoughts, she moved slowly through the crowd, continuing to look for Carolyn. She spotted several people she recognized. An up-and-coming actress whom she had recently seen interviewed on a television morning show concerning her soon-to-be-released movie. A fellow who was a Los Angeles news anchor for a major network station. The mayor of San Carmelita and his latest wife. A celebrity chef, whose book Savannah had bought only to try his recipes and find them nothing to write home about.

  But there was no one there she knew or could hang out with and converse. Not one friendly, familiar face.

  She found herself wishing Dirk and Brody would wrap up their snake visit and rejoin her.

  Though Savannah could be sociable when the situation required, she didn’t enjoy “breaking the ice” with total strangers. Especially ones who were dressed as if they were attending the Academy Awards, when she appeared to be dolled up for a Sunday afternoon picnic in the park.

  Having convinced herself that Carolyn was not in the living room, dining area, or the poolside patio, Savannah decided to try the kitchen. Even during the most lavish, catered parties, hostesses often found themselves trapped there from time to time, supervising, lending a hand if necessary and putting out fires—hopefully, figuratively.

  Carolyn would probably be no different.

  Savannah wanted to unload the pie, but even more importantly, she desperately wanted to check out the kitchen. She never missed an opportunity to see a beautiful kitchen when she had the chance. She could only dream of such luxuries as having an island bigger than her own dining table with its extra leaf, a stove with six burners and a griddle, an under-counter wine cooler, and best of all . . . enough cabinets that she wouldn’t have to store her Thanksgiving turkey roasting pan in her oven.

  She followed her nose to find the source of the amazing, savory aromas that she couldn’t quite identify. But it was her ears that led her to the kitchen, the voices, loud and businesslike, giving and taking directions, the clang of utensils and usual kitchen racket. It was all music to Savannah’s soul.

  She enjoyed good food—making it, eating it, savoring every luscious bite.

  Sweetest of all, she enjoyed preparing and serving it to those she loved best in the world.

  Gifts from her kitchen were gifts from her heart.

  So, when she stepped from the patio through the open French doors into the enormous, gourmet kitchen, she took in every sight, every sound, and every scent.

  Half a dozen workers were scurrying about, miraculously not colliding with one another, transporting platters laden with hors d’oeuvres that were miniature works of art.

  As a couple of trays flew past her, Savannah caught sight of some tidbits that looked like nachos, only topped with caviar, sitting next to what had to be lobster sliders.

  Just wait till I tell Ryan and John about those! she thought.

  Her friends, who owned a wonderful restaurant of their own in the picturesque, downtown, historic quarter of San Carmelita, appreciated good food almost as much as she did.

  She set the pie on a counter near the coffee station, then stayed close to the wall and out of everyone’s way as she skirted the room, looking for Carolyn. She smelled something glorious and identified the dish as some beef tidbits that had been barbecued. Next to the bowl containing their sauce was a bottle of VSOP cognac.

  Ah, she thought. That’s what I was smelling. I’ll have to tell Ryan and John about that, too.

  Realizing she was in the way and should be moving on, she decided to leave the room and look for Carolyn elsewhere.

  But, intending to make her way back to the living room, where she hoped to find Dirk and Brody, she chose the wrong door and instead entered a hallway that appeared to lead toward some bedrooms.

  That was when she heard the argument. Just inside one of the open doors to her right.

  A man and a woman were conversing in tense, angry tones. Especially the male.

  “I can’t believe you invited her here, to our home!” he was saying. “I fired her because I never wanted to see her stupid face again, and here she is at my birthday party! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “She just dropped by to pick up her check, Stephen. For heaven’s sake, have a heart.”

  “She doesn’t show her face around here! Ever again! And what’s with that ragamuffin kid you dragged in off the streets? If you want him hanging around your clinic, that’s up to you. But don’t you ever again invite him here to our home. With our friends, our business associates, and him nothing but a—”

  “I didn’t invite him. He sorta invited himself, and I couldn’t say no. He’s a very sweet little boy, Stephen, as you’d discover if you’d take the time to get to know him.”

  “I don’t want to know him, let alone his parents. Did you see them? What the hell, Carolyn? Where do you find these people? It’s bad enough that you bring stray, dirty, diseased animals home with you, but—”

  “Excuse me,” Savannah heard herself saying. She also heard her own pulse pounding in her ears and felt her face burning as she moved closer to the door. Three steps and she could see the couple inside the room.

  They could see her, too.

  Carolyn Erling gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

  Stephen Erling, the tall, blond man who had been glaring at her earlier in the living room, did not gasp. Unlike his wife, who looked as if she wanted to simply disappear and be anywhere else on Earth than there, he seemed just peachy. Miffed, to be sure. But not at all ashamed or apologetic as he casually lifted a champagne glass and, in one hearty chug-a-lug, emptied its contents.

  When he’d finished, Savannah was quite sure she saw him smirk.

  She reminded herself of all that Dr. Carolyn meant to Brody. He treasured her and his visits to her clinic. He loved the chance to help animals—this child who had enjoyed so few good things in his short life.

  Considering the possible outcome and the resulting ramifications, Savannah decided not to knock Dr. Stephen Erling, world-renowned brain surgeon to the rich and famous, into Kingdom Come with a blow to the side of his head with her Beretta-weighted purse, as was her initial inclination.

  “Oh, Savannah,” Carolyn said, rushing to her side and grabbing her arm. “I’m so, so sorry you overheard that. Please forgive us.”

  “Us?” Savannah asked. “I have no problem with you, Carolyn.” She turned to Stephen Erling. “You, however . . .”

  She paused to draw a deep breath. “My husband and I, we’re a bit rough around the edges. I’ll be the first to admit. But we do have the good manners to not remain where we aren’t wanted. So, we’ll be leaving. Now. But before we go, I want you to know that Brody—”

  She choked and had to pause a moment to regain her control. “Brody is golden. Pure and precious. He’s had a rough time, yes, a very hard life. Unimaginable. Far, far worse than yours, I suspect. Yet, he’s a good boy. A truly wonderful little human being. He hasn’t let his misfortune ruin him.”

  She looked Erling up and down. Such a handsome man with his inherent good looks, wearing exquisite clothing, standing in his immaculate house filled with the best of belongings the world had to offer.

  Obviously, he was extraordinarily successful, abundantly blessed. But . . . ?

  “I wonder, sir,” she said, “what it was that ruined you.”

  Before he could reply, she turned her back on Dr. Stephen Erling and walked away. Briskly. Without looking back.

  The last thing she wanted was
for a man like that to see her cry.

  Chapter 6

  Savannah hurried through the crowd, aware that several of the guests were staring at her as she passed by them. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her inappropriate attire or the tears in her eyes.

  She hoped it was the former. Playing the role of “Outcast” was bad enough. That of “Victim” was intolerable.

  As she straightened her back, lifted her chin, and continued across the room toward the door with as much dignity as she could muster, she heard a voice deep in her soul—one that sounded a lot like Granny’s—say, “It’s not yourself you’re crying for. Those tears are for your boy. Righteous indignation is a good thing. Especially when it’s on behalf of the innocent. It’s the evidence of a mother’s love.”

  A mother’s love? Am I really a mother? she asked herself, for the first time in her life, as she exited the house and walked down the steps toward the wooden bridge.

  A mother?

  Me?

  The question hit her so hard that the force of it caused her to stop in midstride, unable to move until it was settled in her mind and heart.

  Since when is Savannah Reid someone’s mother? came the next question. Big sister? Yes. Wife? Yes. Cop? Not anymore. Good friend? I hope so. Temporarily a foster parent . . . But a mom?

  Last year, her doctor had spoken the word that had put an end to the dream of ever having a child of her own. “Menopause.”

  But at that moment, standing on the redwood bridge and looking at the beautiful, colorful koi swimming past, Savannah thought of little Brody.

  In spite of the lack of affection and nurturing he had been shown in his young life, the child loved and wanted to protect and care for every animal he saw.

  Even though he had been neglected and abused to the point that his tiny, vulnerable body would forever bear the scars of that mistreatment, Brody seemed to have decided that, if human beings treated him even halfway decently, he would choose to love them, too.

  That’s why Erling’s words had hurt Savannah so deeply.

  When she had heard Stephen Erling harshly denigrate Brody, dismissing him with such coldness, someone new had risen inside Savannah. Someone she had never met before and had never believed she would.

  Momma Savannah.

  Had she and that nasty man been alone when he had uttered those words, she was pretty sure she would have been unable to resist slapping him stupid. Not a task that would have taken long. She might have even slugged him.

  At the very least, she would have attacked him with far more words, uttered at the top of her voice. Words much more devastating than the ones he had used.

  But she had walked away for Carolyn’s sake, and even more for Brody’s.

  These days, she found that she chose so many of her words and actions based upon what was best for the little one in her care. The child she would happily defend under any and all circumstances.

  Hers to defend.

  Yes. Hers.

  You’re darned right I’m a mother! she assured herself. If I didn’t know it before, I sure as shootin’ know it now.

  Liking the way that sounded in her head, the way it felt in her heart, she added, In fact I’m a dadgum momma grizzly, so don’t go messin’ with me and mine!

  Her resolution in place, she walked over toward the Lamborghini.

  For a few seconds, she stared at the beautiful sports car, knowing in her heart it was “his.” An evil thought formed in her mind, the picture of her taking her keys from her purse and leaving an ugly scratch down the front, driver’s side fender. But she quickly discarded the idea.

  Even momma grizzly bears had to maintain some degree of decorum and pretense of civility, even when sorely offended.

  So, she left her keys in her purse and took out her phone instead.

  She needed to let the boys know that their snake-watching adventure was over, and it was time to go home.

  Since she didn’t want to tell them why, especially Brody, she decided to complain of a headache.

  As she felt her pulse pounding in her temples and the associated pain, she assured herself it wouldn’t be a lie.

  Later, once she and Dirk were home and alone in their bedroom, she would fill him in on the dirty details.

  She was a little concerned about telling him here and now. She knew that these days he was feeling as fatherly as she was motherly. But unlike her, Dirk wasn’t as well-known for his patience and forbearance of his fellow man.

  Something told her Dirk probably would have clobbered ol’ Stephen, then and there, and possibly lost his badge in the process.

  When she turned on her phone, it gave a little beep that told her she had received a message while it had been off. To her surprise, there were messages. Several. All from Dirk.

  The first read, “Where r u?”

  The second was, “Done with snake. Can’t find u.”

  The third made her heart sink. “Capt. called. Gotta go. Brody with llama. Pick u up later.”

  “No, no, no!” she whispered, noticing for the first time that the Buick was gone.

  We’re stuck here? she thought. After telling Carolyn and old Stephen Stink Face we’re leaving, we can’t? Oh, man. This bites the big one, big-time!

  Her mind raced, trying to find a solution. One simply could not flounce out of a place with great indignation and then come crawling back a few minutes later.

  She could call her brother, Waycross, and his wife, Tammy. Ordinarily, they wouldn’t mind at all. But their toddler had been teething and not sleeping well lately. So, neither had they. When Savannah had chatted with Tammy earlier on the phone, she’d mentioned they were planning on an early dinner and possibly a nap afterward.

  Her sister, Alma, had said she’d be shopping for gifts for her bridesmaids. Savannah wouldn’t dream of interrupting that important, festive activity by pleading to be rescued from a socially awkward situation.

  Had they been closer to the center of town, Savannah would have asked her grandmother. But the drive was a bit longer than Granny was accustomed to. Savannah couldn’t ask her grandmother to make it. Especially since sunset was imminent, and Granny didn’t see as well in the dark as she once had.

  So, other than take a cab or car service—which, even if they could get one that would be willing to make the trip, the cost would play havoc with her household budget—they were out of luck.

  She decided that, as much as she loathed the idea, they’d just have to wait for Dirk’s return.

  “Wonder how large that llama’s barn is and if he’d mind a couple of temporary roommates?” she muttered.

  She texted Dirk a reply: “Do whatcha gotta. Come bk soon as u can. We’ll b with llama.”

  No sooner had she sent it, than she saw someone coming out the front door. In that split second, she braced herself for another round with Erling. Was he going to deny her even the privilege of standing in his lah-dee-dah driveway, next to his whooptey-do car?

  To her relief, it wasn’t Erling, but a pretty, young woman with long, red hair and equally red eyes that told Savannah she had just been crying or was having a nasty allergy attack.

  As the redhead hurried down the driveway, toward the street, she didn’t appear to notice Savannah standing there. When she finally did, she jumped and said, “Oh. Hello.” But she kept walking, as though reluctant to enter into a conversation.

  Savannah wanted to respect her privacy, having just been in a crying mood herself, but she had to find out.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “but could you tell me where the llama is kept?”

  The redhead just stared at Savannah, as though she had spoken to her in a foreign language. Then she seemed to snap out of it and become aware and present. “Oh. Yeah. The llama. His pen’s around there.”

  She pointed to the right of the house, but all Savannah could see was a high stone wall with no gate or door of any kind.

  “On the other side of the wall,” the woman clarified. “You go thro
ugh the house to the patio, turn right, and down the path. You’ll see the bright red barn. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you,” Savannah said, feeling a choking sensation in her throat upon hearing the words go through the house.

  That was just what she needed right now. To walk through that crowd and maybe even have the good luck of running into His Majesty King Stephen of the Peckerwood Forest once again.

  “I can’t get there any other way?” she asked the woman’s back as she hurried on her way toward the street.

  “Nope,” she replied over her shoulder. “Not unless you can climb or pole vault over that wall.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  No reply.

  “Maybe he insulted her kid, too,” Savannah muttered as she saw the woman practically run to a small, blue SUV, dive inside, and drive away.

  Savannah stood, staring at the house, wishing she had acquiesced and given Brody the cell phone he claimed he so desperately needed in order to “. . . be like all the other kids in my class.”

  After doing a bit of quick research at a PTA meeting, Savannah had discovered that “all the other kids” consisted of two prissy little girls, who had wanted phones so they could glue hot pink “diamonds” all over them, and one boy whose parents wanted to be able to GPS track him at all times, after he had set the neighborhood woods on fire.

  But now she regretted her decision. If she’d given Brody what he wanted for his “Starting a New School Present,” instead of a T-rex backpack and matching lunchbox, she could have just texted him now, rather than run the gauntlet of curious stares once again.

  Oh, well, she thought with a toss of her head. If gawking at me and my picnic dress is the highest form of entertainment they can find, it must be one dull party.

  As far as Stephen Erling was concerned, she decided that if he was still consuming alcohol at the rate she had witnessed before, he might be flat on his face on the floor somewhere, staring at his fine, hand-painted tiles.

  One could always hope.

  Chapter 7

  Savanna took a deep breath to calm her nerves and strengthen her resolve; then she headed back toward the house and, once again, crossed the redwood bridge. The koi didn’t seem quite so festive and classy now, and she was well “over” the house and its babbling brook and fancy-dandy stone walls and floor-to-ceiling windows.