A Few Drops of Bitters

by G. A. McKevett

  “Don’t you worry about anything at all,” she told him. “If it’s okay with you, we can just hang out here with Fantasia until Dirk gets back. My head doesn’t hurt if I’m not inside with all the noise.”

  Okay, she thought. It was only a little white lie.

  Surely lies didn’t count if they were uttered to spare an innocent boy’s feelings.

  She never, never wanted Brody to know what had been said about him and his new family behind his back. Life had given the young child too much already that caused him shame. In whatever time Savannah had with him, she wanted to make sure his self-esteem was being built up, not torn down.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind waitin’ ’til—”

  A woman’s scream came from the house. Then another.

  Suddenly, men were shouting and the sound of the crowd, which only moments before had been laughing and casual conversation, now seemed agitated, even panicked.

  Savannah heard a voice that sounded to her like Carolyn Erling’s, shout, “Stephen! Stephen!”

  For a moment, Savannah hesitated, weighing her next movement. The last thing she wanted to do was go anywhere she was unwelcome. But she had heard urgent cries like that before.

  They usually meant something was not only wrong, but terribly wrong.

  She didn’t know if it was a situation where her presence would be helpful, but she knew she couldn’t simply wait out here in the yard and act like all was normal.

  She also had to protect the boy in her custody, while not exposing him to anything unsuitable for his age.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he asked her, his eyes big as the shouting inside the house grew louder still.

  “I don’t know, but I think I’d better find out,” Savannah said.

  Brody nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Somebody might need arrestin’ or CPR or somethin’ like that, and you know how to do that stuff!”

  “Okay. Here’s what I want you to do. See that chair over there by the barn, the one kinda hidden behind the apple tree?”

  He looked moderately disappointed. “You want me to sit there for the rest of my life, right?”

  “Pretty much.” She gave him a wink. “Don’t fret. No matter how bad it is, I’ll come back for you before you’re, say, thirty. Deal?”

  He sighed and started to meander, none too quickly, toward the chair. “At least I’ve got apples, so I won’t starve. If I have to pee, I’ll make sure nobody sees me watering the tree.”

  “What a fine lad! So well-mannered. You make me proud, son.”

  He just rolled his eyes and plopped down in the chair. “At least come back in a little while and tell me what’s going on. I might not die of starvation, but I might keel over dead from curiosity.”

  For a moment, Savannah thought how similar Brody was to the child she had been. Hungry for adventure of any kind. Eager to please but aching to be a part of everything around them.

  “Just as soon as I see what’s going on and the minute it’s under control, I’ll pop right out here and tell you all about it.”

  “Promise?”

  “Double-dog promise with sugar frosting on it.”

  Without another word, Savannah turned and ran back toward the house, because the cries of distress and alarm coming from inside the mansion were getting louder.

  Whatever the situation was, she had no doubt that it was getting worse by the moment.

  Chapter 9

  When Savannah stepped through the French doors and into the living room, what she saw was utter chaos. The formerly sedate crowd appeared to be rushing around in circles, helpless hands aflutter. The guests were, as Granny would say, “all in a dither.”

  It had been a long time since Savannah had encountered such a large gathering of people suffering so much collective distress.

  Looking all around the room, she couldn’t for the life of her discern the cause of the commotion.

  As upset as they appeared to be and as much activity as there was in a crowded space, no one seemed to be punching, slapping, or even pinching anybody else.

  None of the light fixtures were swinging, so no earthquake.

  She’d heard no shots or explosions.

  Maybe a medical situation? she wondered.

  Savannah recalled seeing an extremely pregnant lady among the guests earlier and briefly fancied the mother-to-be’s water might have broken.

  But Savannah’s instincts told her this was too much hubbub even for the imminent birth of a child.

  One of the young servers she had seen offering drinks earlier pushed her way through the crowd and headed toward the doors that Savannah had just entered.

  Savannah’s curiosity got the best of her bad manners. She grabbed the woman by the arm and said, “What in tarnation’s going on in here?”

  Breathless and quite agitated, she could barely answer when she told Savannah, “Dr. Erling. Down.”

  Savannah’s first thought was that something terrible had happened to Carolyn. “Where?” she asked.

  The woman pointed toward the opposite end of the room, where only minutes before, Carolyn had given her husband’s birthday toast with him standing next to her.

  Before Savannah could ask again, the server twisted her arm out of Savannah’s grasp, and a second later she disappeared through the double doors into the pool area.

  Savannah looked over the crowd again and saw that whatever disturbing event had occurred, their attention appeared to be directed toward that fireplace area.

  With little grace or courtesy, Savannah pushed her way through the guests until she made it to the opposite wall. Slicing one’s way through a crowd was a skill she had honed during the years she had been a police officer. It was second nature to her, as was the well-practiced litany, “It’s okay. Easy now. Easy. Everybody stay calm.”

  Sensing her alpha attitude, the highly agitated partygoers moved aside to let her through. They even seemed to settle down a bit, as though having someone take charge was a welcome development.

  When Savannah finally reached the fireplace, she saw the source of everyone’s distress. Though the sight was actually a relief to her, rather than a cause of great alarm.

  It was Dr. Stephen Erling who was “down” on the floor and apparently unconscious. Not his wife, as Savannah had feared.

  However, Carolyn Erling wasn’t doing so well either. She was kneeling beside her husband, shaking him and shouting, “Stephen! Stephen! Open your eyes! Look at me! Oh, God! Honey, please!”

  Savannah dropped to her knees next to Carolyn, then glanced around at the curious and alarmed visitors pressing in on all sides. She waved her arms at them and said, “Back! Move back and give him some air!”

  The crowd parted and retreated a few feet.

  “Is he dead?” someone shouted.

  “No! He can’t be! He’s not dead, is he?” an equally insensitive guest replied at top volume.

  Carolyn put her hands over her eyes and began to sob uncontrollably, rocking back and forth.

  Savannah wrapped her arm around her shoulders and gave the woman a squeeze. Then she turned again to the crowd. “Has anybody called nine-one-one?” she asked.

  They all looked at each other as though she had just uttered the most novel idea ever heard.

  “Do it!” she shouted. “Now! Tell them we have a male in his forties—”

  “Actually, he turned fifty today,” said the woman with the long silver hair who had commented earlier during the toast. As before, she had a sarcastic tone to her voice when she spoke.

  Her inappropriate remark, nasty tone, and her ugly smirk caused Savannah to wonder if she was one of the most insensitive gals on the planet or if Stephen Erling had actually done something odious enough to warrant such a comment under terribly trying circumstances.

  Certainly, Savannah was no fan of the man herself, but since he appeared to be dying or dead, this wasn’t the time to be catty about the guy’s age.

  Savannah leaned down to press
her fingers to his jugular, but Carolyn shook her head and said, “No pulse. I checked.”

  “Respiration?” Savannah asked, anticipating the answer.

  Carolyn’s reply was another head shake.

  Savannah turned back to the crowd that seemed to be calming down quite quickly. She heard smatterings of comments circulating that contained the words, “Stephen” and “Carolyn.”

  But no one was doing anything.

  Nothing at all.

  “Why are you all just standing there with your teeth in your mouths?” Savannah yelled. “Call nine-one-one and say we have a male, fifty, down, unresponsive. Cardiac and respiratory arrest. Tell them to answer code three.”

  “I’ve got it,” she heard a lady in a silk dress, dripping with diamonds, say with remarkable composure as she casually reached into her beaded purse and withdrew her phone.

  Savannah could overhear her making the call and speaking as calmly as if she was ordering a takeout dinner from her favorite restaurant.

  Savannah was slightly confused at the change in the crowd, that had gone from hysterical to somewhat complacent in moments.

  Could it be that they, too, had thought it was Carolyn who was in trouble? Savannah wondered.

  “Is there a doctor in the house?” she shouted. “A doctor?”

  When no one came forward, she said, “This’s a doctor’s birthday party, and there’s not one lousy doctor here?”

  Eventually, she heard a man from the back of the room say, “I don’t know about any lousy doctors here, but I’m a pretty good psychiatrist.”

  “Then get over here and make yourself useful!” Savannah said as she rose and made room for him next to the frightfully still body on the floor.

  Chapter 10

  While the self-declared “pretty good” psychiatrist shuffled through the crowd to join Savannah, Carolyn said tearfully, “I can do it. The CPR.”

  She started to move over his chest, getting into position. But Savannah placed her hand on her shoulder and said, “I know you’re a doctor, Carolyn, and probably know how, but this is your husband. You shouldn’t—”

  “Come sit over here with me,” said a soft, sweet voice that Savannah knew very well.

  She turned and saw Brody standing just behind Carolyn. He looked down at his friend, and after only the briefest glance at the body on the floor, took her hand in his.

  “Come on, Dr. Carolyn,” he told her, tugging at her. “That other doctor guy’s gonna help him and so’s Savannah. If anybody can bring him around, they can. You should wait over here with me.”

  Carolyn looked from the child to Savannah, who gave her a quick nod of approval.

  When Carolyn didn’t move quickly enough to suit her, Savannah gave her a nudge. “Please, darlin’, let me get up there by his head, so I can start mouth-to-mouth.”

  Reluctantly, Carolyn stood and on unsteady legs, stumbled a few steps away and collapsed onto a love seat with Brody by her side, his comforting arms around her.

  The psychiatrist knelt on the other side of the patient and checked again for a pulse, both at Erling’s wrist and jugular.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Then let’s get ’er going,” Savannah told him. “You first on the compressions.”

  The woman on the phone spoke up. “They said there’s a wreck on the PCH. They can’t get through for at least twenty minutes.”

  Savannah turned to her CPR partner. “Sounds like we’re in it for the long haul. When you need a break, speak up, and I’ll spell you.”

  As the doctor peeled off his tuxedo jacket and tore off his tie, he looked down at Erling and shook his head. “That’s a ‘No thanks,’ on the mouth-to-mouth. You take care of that end, and I’ll do the rest.”

  Within seconds, they had settled into a rhythm of his vigorous compressions and her rescue breathing.

  As a stinking blast of sour whiskey breath blew back in Savannah’s face, she understood why the psychiatrist had insisted on being in charge of the chest area, exhausting as that was.

  It was going to be a long haul, indeed.

  If she were honest, she would have to admit that she wasn’t thrilled to be in this position, engaged in such an intimate fight to save the life of a man she loathed.

  But she saw his wife watching, her eyes so full of sadness, as though she already knew it was a losing battle.

  Savannah decided that she could at least give Carolyn Erling the peace of knowing that everything that could be done for her husband was being done.

  Better yet, Savannah saw Brody’s big eyes, taking in every detail of the scene unfolding in front of him. Although she would have to talk to him later about not obeying and staying where she had left him, she had to admit, he was taking it very well. He had demonstrated far more maturity than most of the adults around him by the way he had taken charge of Carolyn and was offering her comfort.

  Then there was the look of pride on his face. Profound satisfaction that his foster mom was trying with all her might to save a life. The life a man that neither she nor anyone else liked.

  Savannah leaned down, positioned her mouth over Stephen Erling’s and, again and again, blew her own breath into the man as hard as she could, willing it to reach the deepest parts of his body . . . parts that she was pretty sure were already dead or dying.

  She fought down her own nausea as the air she had given him belched out of his body in foul-smelling clouds.

  You get extra points for this, girl, she told herself. Yes, when you get to heaven, Savannah girl, your crown should be a diamond tiara!

  * * *

  About one hundred years later, or so it seemed to Savannah, the EMTs arrived at the Erling home and told the crowd what everyone had pretty much figured out by then.

  Dr. Stephen Erling was dead.

  Savannah sat on a leather ottoman next to the chair that someone had vacated for Carolyn, holding the young widow’s left hand as she heard the pronouncement. Kneeling next to Carolyn, Brody was squeezing her other hand. He wore a terribly serious look on his face for one so young.

  Savannah deeply regretted her decision to attend this party. She knew the child would remember this for the rest of his life and feel the pain of it.

  She or Dirk would need to have a long talk with him about it later. Maybe more than one conversation. As sad and troubling as it was, an event like this was an excellent opportunity to plant early, healthy ideas in a young, developing mind about death, one of the most upsetting but inevitable events life had to offer.

  But for the moment, the person who needed her most seemed to be Carolyn Erling.

  Savannah patted the trembling, cold hand that lay limp in hers and said, “I’m sorry, Carolyn. So sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” she replied. “You tried your best, and for so long. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget how hard you tried to save him.”

  With the amount of adrenaline in Savannah’s bloodstream beginning to finally decline a bit, she realized for the first time since the ordeal had begun how exhausted she was. Her clothing and hair were wet with perspiration, and she was shaking from the exertion and stress of the ordeal.

  The psychiatrist, who had been doing the chest compressions, was far worse. He had refused to let her switch positions to give him a much-needed break from his exhausting task. Now he was lying on the floor near Stephen Erling, gasping for breath. His face was darkly flushed and far more sweat-soaked than Savannah’s.

  She wasn’t surprised that one of the EMTs was checking his vitals, as well. The last thing anyone needed was a second man coding. One death per party was far more than enough.

  Looking down at Stephen, lying ashen and still on his silk, hand-knotted rug, she couldn’t help noticing how young, virile, and handsome he was. Fifty years old was far too young to die . . . and so unexpectedly.

  Or was it?

  Knowing that she shouldn’t, but unable to help herself, Savannah turned to Carolyn and quietly aske
d, “Had he been sick?”

  Carolyn shook her head vigorously, “Not at all. Stephen is the healthiest . . . was the healthiest person I ever knew. I swear, he never even caught a cold.”

  “Took good care of himself then?” Savannah pressed.

  “He was vain about his appearance, so he worked out quite a bit. He ran on the beach and lifted weights every morning.” Carolyn glanced quickly at Brody, leaned closer to Savannah, and whispered, “He had a few bad habits. In the past.”

  “Bad enough to cause”—she nodded toward the body—“that?”

  Carolyn hesitated then shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”

  Quietly, they watched as the EMTs placed a cover over Erling and began to collect their equipment.

  They had rushed into the house, ready to save a life if possible, but now they were taking their time, displaying no sense of urgency at all.

  Nothing more could be done for the man on the silk rug.

  Savannah’s mind was spinning with possibilities. Healthy fifty-year-olds didn’t tend to just fall to the floor and die in the middle of their birthday parties.

  Considering the quantity of alcohol Savannah had seen him consume, she thought it might have been alcohol poisoning. But something about the expert manner he had knocked back his whiskey and champagne told her that he was no novice drinker and would probably have a high tolerance level.

  She thought of the trays of hors d’oeuvres being passed around the room at the time and asked Carolyn, “Could he have choked on some food?”

  “No. I don’t think he’d eaten anything. He never did at parties.”

  “Then what happened? Did you see him go down?”

  “I don’t know what happened. I was standing right beside him, and he was talking, acting normal. Then, all of a sudden, he told me he was feeling really sleepy, that he had to sit down. He took one step toward the sofa and a second later, he hit the floor.”

  Savannah looked around the area where Erling was lying. She hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary before. But she had been concentrating on him, on saving his life, not looking for clues to his death.