He gave her an affectionate grin. “Sure. I know you didn’t mean it on purpose. But you owe me an extra cookie or piece of pie or somethin’ for it. Deal?”
She nodded and pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Deal.”
Dirk handed Brody a glass of tea, then sat on the far end of the sofa with his own.
Savannah noticed he didn’t kick his sneakers off and shove them under the coffee table, as he usually did as soon as he arrived home. He had also left his usual seat, the end of the sofa nearest Savannah’s comfy chair, available for Carolyn.
But although he was using his “company manners,” Savannah couldn’t help noticing that the disgruntled look on his face was a bit more intense than his trademark Dirk scowl.
Although Savannah and Brody were treating Dr. Carolyn Erling with all the gracious attention offered to any other guest in their home—even more, since she had, only hours ago, lost her husband—Dirk was being civil to her, but not exactly warm and inviting.
Yes, Savannah decided, I definitely want to have a word with him alone, as soon as possible, and find out what’s up with him.
She drank down her tea as quickly as she could without giving herself a brain freeze, then said to Dirk, “I’m going to go look for that pizza coupon I clipped yesterday. Okay? Then we can phone our order in before it gets much later,” she said with what she hoped was just the right amount of nonchalance.
“Yay!” Brody plopped down on the sofa next to Carolyn and slipped his arm through hers. “I want one with everything! All right?”
“Of course,” Savannah said as she rose from her chair and walked toward the kitchen.”
“But no anchovies!” he added. “I’d rather eat a mouthful of salty beach sand with dead, rotten fish in it than one of them things!”
“You sound a little undecided about that,” she told him. “If you change your mind, just let me know, and I’ll tell them to put extra on for you.”
Savannah grinned at the boy, but as she walked past Dirk, she shot him a knowing look, which he intercepted and acknowledged with a slight nod.
She passed through the dining area and into the kitchen. There she fiddled with the miscellaneous items of her official junk drawer, making what she supposed was a convincing amount of “searching” racket.
Finally, after a reasonable amount of time, she called, “Dirk, could you come help me find that pizza coupon?”
“Sure,” he replied, far more enthusiastically than he would have normally. Once Dirk was settled on the sofa for the evening, he seldom rose again except to shower and go to bed.
“Excuse me,” she heard him tell the others. “Brody, find out what Dr. Carolyn likes on her pizza and if she wants a salad or whatever.”
A moment later, he appeared in the kitchen and joined Savannah beside the drawer.
“I thought I saw it in here yesterday,” he said, loudly jiggling some items inside. A hammer, a wrench, a flashlight, and some miscellaneous screws.
Leaning his head down to hers, he whispered, “What’s up?”
“What’s up with you?” she replied softly. “Are you sorry you asked her to come home with us?”
He thought it over, shrugged. “I guess so, a bit. I’m pretty sure her ol’ man didn’t croak from natural causes.”
“Me, too.”
“But until I hear for sure it was murder, I can’t really take her to the station and grill her. Wouldn’t be right to put the squeeze on an innocent gal who just became a widow.”
“You were hoping to interrogate, I mean, talk to her tonight? Here?”
“Sure I was. Now I’m thinkin’ it’s gonna be awkward . . . because of the boy. Her bein’ his good buddy and all.”
“You don’t want him to see you being a cop with somebody he loves.”
Dirk winced and frowned. “I haven’t forgotten how it went down the last time I tried to arrest someone in front of him. Somebody he cared about. Even if it was his worthless mother.”
“The child does have a protective streak a mile wide,” she said. “Not to mention a mean right hook.”
“Please, don’t remind me. Clocked by a six-year-old. I’m still livin’ that down at the station house.”
She stood on tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and said, “Took that black eye weeks to fade away, as I recall.”
“I’d just as soon not recall the gory details, if that’s all right with you.”
Savannah thought for a moment, then said, “Would you be just as satisfied if I was the one who did it?”
“If it was you who got to squeeze her, you mean?” he asked. “Where’d be the fun in letting you do it?”
Shaking her head, Savannah said, “No. I have no intention of ‘squeezing’ a woman who just watched her husband die in front of her.”
“Then what good are you?”
She resisted the urge to take some utensil from the junk drawer and give him a brisk lesson about “Being Respectful to One’s Wife at All Times . . . Especially If She Happens to be a Reid Female.”
But a lecture she had recently given Brody about using one’s words, rather than impromptu weaponry, came to mind.
“I prefer to think of it,” she said, “as gaining her trust while plying her with alcohol. Then, when she thinks of me as a dear sister-of-the-heart, ask some leading questions that’ll get her to spill her guts. If she’s innocent, no big deal. We’ve had a nice bonding experience. But on the other hand, if she’s guilty as sin, she might actually say something that can later be used against her in a court of law.”
He thought it over for only a second, then said, “That’s supposed to be better? Sounds underhanded and sneaky to me. Worse than just plain ol’, honest, run-of-the-mill squeezin’.”
She did a quick replay of the words that had just tumbled out of her mouth.
He was right.
She hated it when he was right.
But fortunately, it wasn’t something that happened often.
“How about this?” she whispered. “While you do the bedtime chess routine with Brody, I take her out back in the garden, give her a good, strong, hot toddy and see if she wants to share whatever’s on her mind? Of course, all the while I’ll be offering genuine concern and support, not to mention a soft place to fall in her time of grief and loss. Is that better?”
“Yeah, well, I guess.” His shoulders sagged. He released a deep, weary sigh of resignation. “I suppose it doesn’t matter who does it, as long as the mission is accomplished.”
She kissed him again, then reached into the drawer and pulled out the coupon that had been there, front and center, all the time.
“Let’s have our pizza. Without anchovies, heaven forbid,” she said. “Then leave the rest to me.”
Chapter 12
“Do they play a game of chess every night?” Carolyn asked as Savannah led her from the kitchen and out the rear door.
Savannah glanced back at her “boys,” who were sitting at the kitchen table, their heads bent in intense concentration over the black-and-white checkered board and its classic figures.
As always, Brody was wearing a cocky grin, while Dirk glowered.
The stakes were high. At least for Dirk, who was a novice player himself and hated to lose to a “six-year-old pipsqueak, who likes to rub it in when he wins,” as Dirk put it one night after a particularly dismal defeat.
“Yes. They play a game every evening at bedtime,” Savannah told Carolyn. “For someone who calls rooks, ‘castles,’ and knights, ‘horsies,’ he’s surprisingly good.”
“Well, he is only six,” Carolyn replied.
“I was talking about Dirk. Brody knows the proper nomenclature.”
Savannah handed Carolyn one of the mugs she was carrying. They were filled with steaming hot toddies.
The aroma of the lemon and orange slices, cloves, and a cinnamon stick mingled with the strong whiskey scent, a promise that a great deal of tasty comfort would soon be forthcoming.
Savannah led
her guest down the back stairs and across the lawn toward the wisteria-draped arbor. Beneath it were several comfortable chaise lounges, Savannah’s second favorite seating in the world.
A million years ago, before she had become a mother, as well as a working woman, she had spent many blissful hours in those chairs, reading romance novels, nibbling chocolates, or just communing with her own thoughts.
Now, nibbling, communing, and sometimes even thinking, were luxuries she could scarcely afford. But she wouldn’t have it any other way.
She motioned for Carolyn to make herself comfortable in one chair, and she settled onto the one beside it.
Carolyn looked around, taking in the delicate wisteria blossoms overhead, lit by a few twinkling, accent lights and the silver moonlight. She breathed in the fragrance of the nearby flower garden, its evening perfumes enhanced by the dewfall.
“This is lovely,” she said.
Savannah smiled, recalling her visit to Carolyn’s seaside mansion only hours before. Though it felt like years.
“You have a pretty nice yard yourself,” she told her guest. “Especially the view. Nothing tops the Pacific Ocean for beauty and grandeur.”
Carolyn looked down at the mug in her hands and said, “It will never be the same after today. Nothing will ever be the same.”
Savannah tried to think of something encouraging, uplifting, something hopeful. But she knew all too well that during life’s worst moments, the power of mere words wasn’t enough to take away a mourner’s pain. Sometimes, well-meaning platitudes made it even worse.
“No,” Savannah said softly. “You’re right. Nothing will be the same as before. I’m so sorry.”
Carolyn wiped her eyes, then lifted her chin and sat up straighter. ““How did Brody learn to play chess?” she asked, apparently wanting to change the subject.
“He enjoys hanging out with some friends of ours, Ryan and John,” Savannah told her. “They’re interesting fellows. Former FBI agents who now own a fancy-schmancy restaurant downtown called ReJuvene.”
“Oh, I’ve eaten there before. With Stephen,” Carolyn added, her voice breaking as she spoke his name. It took a moment for her to recover her composure. When she did, she said, “The place is beautiful, most elegant, and the food is divine.”
“I agree. Ryan and John are so kind to our family. Brody loves going in there, and they enjoy having him. They make him gourmet hot dogs with truffle French fries, hamburgers, and pizza. Once in a while, he even gets a cooking lesson from the chef, Francia. Between the lunch and dinner crowds, John or Ryan play chess with him, teach him new moves to use on Dirk.”
“Poor Dirk.”
“Exactly. I told Dirk to ask Ryan and John for some lessons when he drops by to get a free beer from time to time. But the male ego being what it is, it ain’t happenin’.”
Carolyn chuckled, but there was little merriment in the sound.
Savannah took a sip from her mug and savored the heat of the drink that warmed her mouth, delivered the whiskey burn to her throat, then carried the sensation down into her stomach. From there, she could feel something akin to warm, liquid relaxation trickle through her belly and into her limbs.
It had been a hard day, and it wasn’t over yet.
She watched from the corner of her eye as Carolyn did the same and waited for the beverage to take effect.
After a few sips, she appeared to relax a bit, sinking a little lower in the chair, closing her eyes for a moment, then sighing.
“I’m so sorry, Carolyn,” Savannah said. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”
Carolyn was quiet for a while, as though considering her response carefully. Finally, she said, “Honestly, I’m not even sure myself how I’m feeling. Terribly sad, of course, but . . .”
When she didn’t continue, Savannah said softly, “But . . . ?”
“Would it sound terrible to say, also a bit relieved?”
Savannah carefully wiped any trace of surprise off her face to have heard such an admission. She thought how excited Dirk would have been if he were within earshot.
When Savannah didn’t reply right away, Carolyn repeated her question. “Does it sound terrible? Am I a horrible wife to even think such a thing, let alone speak it out loud?”
Savannah searched her mind for a response that would be both kind and honest. Finally, she said, “If it’s the truth, then it doesn’t matter how it sounds. Truth is truth.”
“I can tell you and Dirk have a happy marriage,” Carolyn continued, her hands wrapped tightly around the mug, as though welcoming its comforting warmth. “That must be really nice.”
Savannah gave a slight nod. “It is . . . most of the time. Everybody has a bad day once in a while.”
“Our marriage wasn’t a happy one.” Carolyn turned to face Savannah and there were tears in her eyes when she said, “I used to think we were happy. But eventually, I figured out that I wasn’t a wife to him. I was nothing more than a means to an end.”
“How so?”
“When we first met, it seemed like love at first sight. He told me he adored me and, stupid me, I believed him.”
“Did you love him?”
“Of course I did. How could I not? He was gorgeous, ambitious, brilliant. Everyone told me how lucky I was to have caught him. ‘A rising star.’ That’s what everybody called him.”
“You’re quite successful yourself, Dr. Carolyn.”
“I consider myself successful. I fulfilled my lifelong dream. Being a neighborhood vet was all I ever wanted to be. It’s what I love doing.”
Savannah nodded solemnly. “I must say, I agree with your definition of success. Following your passion, doing what you believe is your life’s work, it doesn’t get better than that.”
“Stephen would have disagreed with you. He saw things very differently. He didn’t believe in such silliness as callings or passions or fulfilling one’s destiny.”
“What did he believe in?”
“Stuff. The biggest, best, fanciest, fastest, whatever would impress others and set you above them.”
Savannah thought of the sportscar and the mansion on the water. They were impressive, indeed. But they hadn’t caused her to think any higher of Stephen Erling. Not one notch.
“Stuff is just . . . stuff,” Savannah said. “Toys, expensive or otherwise, they’re just objects that have to be dusted, maintained, fixed, stored, repaired, and eventually discarded. You get too much of it, and you can start feeling like it owns you, rather than the other way around.
“I tried to tell Stephen that, to convince him that sometimes less truly is more, but you can’t change people’s minds. Especially those who are quite sure they’re right 99.99 percent of the time.”
“And that .01 percent was the time when they thought they were wrong, but they were mistaken?”
“Exactly.”
Savannah took a sip of her toddy. “You were telling me about when you and he first got together.”
“Ah, yes. When Stephen and I met, I had a good practice that was well established. I lived simply, so I was in very good shape financially. I realize now that he was more interested in my finances than my feminine charms. He owed a lot for those Ivy League medical degrees he’d accumulated. I had a sizable savings and had made some good investments.”
Savannah heard the bitterness and pain behind her words and thought, once again, how interested Dirk would be if he were eavesdropping.
Having an unhappy marriage wasn’t necessarily a motive for murder. Thankfully, or much of the population would have to sleep with one eye open. But she had a feeling that, if she could keep Carolyn Erling talking, she might uncover even more elements that, combined, could form a solid motive.
“When did you start doubting your husband’s sincerity?” Savannah asked.
“Even before the wedding. We had a row. He showed his true, controlling, nasty side, and I knew it was a mistake,” she replied. “But I married him anyway. After all, I had the
ring, the gown, the invitations had been sent out. Stupid, huh?”
“There’s nothing stupid about wanting to trust the ones we love, to give them the benefit of the doubt.”
“I’d say that depends on how often and how long you keep doing that, in spite of evidence that they don’t deserve your trust.”
“True.”
“I found out on our honeymoon that he’d been having an affair with my maid of honor, my best friend. There’s no getting around it. When it came to that guy, I was an absolute fool.”
“I’m so sorry. But you’re not alone in your foolishness. When it comes to love and marriage, we tend to follow our hearts rather than our brains. We’re only human.”
Carolyn’s face softened, and she said softly, “He was so beautiful. I’d look at him and just melt into a big puddle of love and lust. I guess if a person really wants to believe something badly enough, they’ll find a way.”
“Yes, I do believe we human beings are particularly skilled at that.”
Carolyn took a long drink from the mug and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked angry.
Savannah had never seen that particular expression on her friend’s face before, and she was surprised at how it changed the woman’s appearance.
The gentle, loving vet was gone. This woman . . . she was someone Savannah wouldn’t want to tangle with on one of her worst days.
“I put up with a lot of that man,” Carolyn said, her tone as bitter as her countenance. “Let’s just say I shoveled a lot of dog crap for those highly specialized medical degrees of his. While I was in my clinic, expressing dogs’ impacted anal glands, checking for ear mites on rabbits, and lancing abscesses on quarrelsome tomcats, he was living a life of fame and fortune, jetting around the world, performing surgeries on celebrities of all sorts. I was so proud of him. But he was ashamed of me. His wife, who wasn’t even a doctor to human beings.”
“Really? He looked down on you for that?”
Carolyn nodded.
Savannah found it hard to believe. “I’ve always been in awe of veterinarians,” she told her. “Regular doctors only have to know about the human body. You guys treat everything from a pet python to a parrot, to a hamster.”
A Few Drops of Bitters Page 8