A Few Drops of Bitters

by G. A. McKevett

  “No. She wasn’t working here then. I opened myself.”

  “What did you think when you found the back door pried open?” Dirk wanted to know.

  “I figured it was a break-in, and I assumed they were after our drug supply. There’s not much else in a veterinary clinic that a criminal would want.”

  “You came in here and found the cabinet there open?” Dirk asked.

  “Yes. Just as I feared.”

  “What did they take?”

  Carolyn looked confused. “Do you mean, which drugs?”

  “Yes, and how much of each one. You must’ve had some Schedule I drugs in there.”

  “I do have some Schedule I drugs on the premises.”

  “You’re supposed to keep tabs on those. So, you do know how much you had before the break-in and how much you had afterward. Don’t you?”

  “Yes. Of course I do, Detective. Forgive me. I’m just not thinking really straight right now.”

  Dirk softened instantly and said, “No, of course you aren’t. But if you could let me know what was stolen, it might be important.”

  She turned to a laptop computer she had open on the desk. “I can print out a list for you. I have it here, because we had to reorder.”

  It took her a moment to find the information she was looking for and print it. Then she handed the sheet to Dirk.

  He held it so that Savannah could see it, too. She read aloud, “Diazepam, morphine, oxycodone, fentanyl. Lots of those. But one bottle of pentobarbital.”

  “Wow!” Dirk said. “Those are some pretty potent potions there. Your burglars must have been pretty happy.”

  “I’m sure they were once they got home and sampled the wares,” Carolyn replied dryly. “Hope they enjoyed them. That stuff had to all be replaced, and it doesn’t come cheap.”

  “Can I see a copy of the police report?” Dirk asked.

  “The, um, police . . . ?” Carolyn dropped the pen and clenched her first.

  “Yes, the police report,” Dirk repeated. “Expensive drugs like those, having to replace the door lock and the one on this cabinet. That would add up to a tidy sum. You must’ve reported it to us and to your insurance company for reimbursement. Right?”

  “I . . . I—”

  “Yes?”

  “I intended to. But I haven’t had a chance. With the burglary and planning Stephen’s birthday and some difficult cases lately, I just haven’t gotten to it. I will.”

  “If you’d called us, we might have been able to lift some prints off the door or the lock or that cabinet there before everybody touched them,” Dirk told her. “I’d think you’d want to know who broke into your clinic, Doctor. If they were caught, they wouldn’t steal from you again or anybody else.”

  “I’ll do it! I swear. I’ve just had so much going on.”

  Carolyn started to cry again, and Savannah reached into her purse for another tissue.

  Savannah couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman. Although Savannah harbored some suspicions that Carolyn might have caused her husband’s untimely departure, she also chose to trust that her friend was innocent until proven guilty.

  She wished Dirk would bring the interview to a close. But she could tell, as he scanned the words on the printed list one more time, that he had something more on his mind.

  “Did they take all of your pentobarbital? Was this one bottle all you had?” he asked.

  “We had four. One was taken, leaving us three. I guess they were more interested in the other stuff. They took all we had of those.”

  “How big a bottle was it?” he asked.

  Carolyn walked over to the medical cabinet, opened the combination lock, and reached inside.

  A moment later, she walked over to Dirk and placed in his hand a small, clear glass bottle, containing a pink liquid. On it was a bright yellow label with the words For Euthanasia in bold, black lettering.

  “That’s one of the bottles they left behind.” As she settled back into her desk chair, she added, “It’s a lucky thing they didn’t take it all. As I told you, we had to put down that Great Dane friend of ours that morning, and he was enormous. In spite of his bad condition, he didn’t go down easily. I needed to use a lot more on him than I’d expected.”

  She paused a moment, drew a deep breath, and said, “That was a pretty crummy day, all the way around, now that I think of it. But obviously, nothing like yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry, Carolyn,” Savannah said. “You will get through this and out the other side, you know. You really will. Somehow. Someday.”

  “Of course I will,” Carolyn replied with a tired smile. She shrugged. “After all, it’s not like I have a choice.”

  Chapter 21

  “I told you she did it,” Dirk insisted as he drove them from the clinic’s parking lot and headed down Calida Avenue toward the 101 Freeway entrance ramp.

  “Yes, you did tell me that,” she replied, feeling her cheeks blush and her ears begin to ring, as they often did when she was feeling highly provoked. Usually at Dirk. “You’ve told me several times, in fact. But since you’re a human being and therefore not infallible, you might have been wrong the umpteen times you told me before, and you might be wrong right now.”

  “Nope. I’m sure.”

  “Or you might just be full of hooey. That’s the other possibility.”

  “Nope. I feel it in my bones.”

  “That’s probably arthritis. Is it in your tailbone? Arthritis is sometimes caused by overuse, and you use that bone a lot. Sitting at your desk in the office, in the car all day on stakeouts, watching baseball, football, basketball, not to mention boxing all weekend and—”

  “Whoa!” He cut her a sharp sideways look as he pulled onto the entrance ramp and headed south, back to the central part of town. “You’re hittin’ some low blows there, lady. I’ll be singin’ soprano for a month.”

  Savannah opened her mouth to release yet another zinger, when she realized he was right and shut it.

  He wasn’t correct, in her less-than-humble opinion, about Dr. Carolyn’s guilt. But he had a point about her being snippier lately than her usual feisty self.

  She had no reason to complain about his couch time. She wasn’t exactly famous for logging hours of intentional exercise herself. In fact, she was about the polar opposite of Tammy, whose dedication to fitness was legendary.

  Savannah’s claim to fame was her maraschino cherry and pecan Christmas fudge.

  Dirk mowed the lawn ninety percent of the time and hauled the garbage to the curb twice a week. In a pinch, he would even clean the gutters and help her weed her garden and prune the roses. So, she figured she really shouldn’t complain about him being glued to the sofa, watching his favorite teams, a few hours every weekend.

  However, she knew she shouldn’t have chocolate-dipped, peanut butter cheesecake for breakfast either, but just knowing something wasn’t a good idea had never kept her from doing it if she wanted to badly enough.

  Dirk reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I’m a little worried about you, Van,” he said.

  “Well, don’t be. I’m all right.” She didn’t squeeze back.

  “I don’t think you are. You don’t seem as peaceful and relaxed as you used to be.”

  “I am so! I’m so peaceful I feel like going to bed right after dinner, and I’m so relaxed I can hardly put one foot in front of the other when I come downstairs in the morning to get my coffee.”

  “Both of those sound more to me like exhaustion and burnout than they do peaceful and relaxed.”

  “I can be mellow and worn to a frazzle at the same time. They aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. Are they? No! They aren’t. I can be all of those things.”

  “Yes, you can, my dear. Far be it from me to say you can’t.” Then he added under his breath, “Mellow, frazzled, peaceful, and argumentative as hell. That’s my girl.”

  “Smart aleck,” she whispered back.

  “I heard that.”

 
She swallowed the comment that sprang to her lips, something about how, if he’d heard her, he must have cleaned his ears recently. Another sarcastic zinger, tossed in his direction, probably wouldn’t really help her case: proving how mature, self-possessed, and all-fired tranquil she was.

  He reached over and gently tousled her hair. “I think maybe we’re both a bit on edge because of this parent-teacher thing,” he said. “I’d bet dollars to donuts we’ll both feel better once it’s over with and we know what the problem is.”

  “Better . . . or a whole lot worse, depending.”

  “Let’s hope for better.”

  As they continued down the freeway in silence, it occurred to her that, in their little exchange, Dirk had just been the optimistic one. In all the years they had been together, she couldn’t recall that ever happening.

  She had always played the Pollyanna to his Mr. Grumpy. This turnaround was disturbing. Mostly, because, if Dirk was the most upbeat person in the car at that moment, she was in desperate need of some mental health guidance.

  Or at the very least, a chocolate bar.

  Her phone began to jingle with Alma’s new, wedding march ringtone. She answered as quickly as possible as she vowed to change it as soon as possible.

  That has to be the most irritating song ever written in the history of the world, she thought as she punched the wrong button and hung up on her sister before even speaking to her.

  “Dadgum it!” she said, as she redialed. “I hate it when that happens!”

  “Mellow, peaceful, calm and relaxed . . .” Dirk mumbled.

  “Aw, shut up. No! Not you, Alma. I was talking to Dirk.”

  “You sound really annoyed,” was Alma’s response, spoken with a softer, sweeter version of Savannah’s own Southern drawl.

  “Nope. I am not,” Savannah shot back. “Not one bit. I’m as relaxed as a Jell-O salad, left out in the sunshine at a Fourth of July picnic.”

  She heard Alma chuckle, and the sound went straight to her heart. Of Savannah’s eight siblings, she had always favored Waycross and little Alma. A diminutive version of Savannah, Alma had the Reid women’s black curls, sapphire eyes, and peaches-and-cream complexion.

  Unlike the other Reid women, she had maintained a slender figure. She had curves, but not nearly as voluptuous as Savannah’s.

  So far, Alma had spent most of her life in the various shadows cast by her sisters, all of whom seemed to be smarter, sexier, stronger, more talented, and just plain luckier than she had been.

  But once in a while, the Wheel of Fortune took a turn for the better and good people were unexpectedly blessed.

  That had happened when Ethan Malloy and Alma Reid had attended one of Savannah’s parties and danced, whirling across her backyard lawn in a scene that looked like it was straight from one of his movies.

  Hero Ethan Malloy had caught the girl again, and this time she really was a princess. Beautiful, yes, but simple, kind, wise, and loving. Just the kind of woman he’d been looking for. And little Alma from the tiny town of McGill, Georgia, was going to become Mrs. Alma Malloy in only a couple of weeks.

  But today, in typical bride fashion, she sounded a bit discombobulated as she said, “I don’t mean to be bugging you, sis. I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. But the shoe place called, and they said you still haven’t—”

  “Oh, darn! I knew I was forgetting something. I was going over there this afternoon and then . . .” She hesitated, weighing the decision to tell anyone in the family about this unexpected school meeting or not. In the end, she chose not to, at least, not until she had more details. “Then,” she continued, “some stuff came up, and I didn’t get over there. I will though. Tomorrow for sure. I promise.”

  “It’s okay, really,” Alma replied. “I just thought I’d remind you, so I can scratch it off my list.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I shouldn’t be on your list at all. I’m your maid of honor. I should be making that list of yours shorter, not longer.”

  “Don’t give it another thought. Let’s just relax and enjoy ourselves tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  Half a second later, Savannah wished she had only thought the word and not spoken it out loud. There was no way to back out of this one. She had forgotten something. Probably something very important. If she could only remember what the heck it was.

  “The tasting tonight at ReJuvene,” Alma told her. “Ryan and John are cooking the wedding dinner choices for us, so that we can—”

  “Of course! Of course! The tasting! Oh, my goodness! I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. Haven’t eaten all day so that I’ll be rip-roaring hungry! It’s going to be so much fun!”

  You’re overdoing it, ol’ girl, she told herself. The jig’s up. You forgot, and she knows it.

  “I’m really sorry, sweetie,” she said, fighting back tears. “You know this wedding is so important to me, too. You and Ethan mean the world to me.”

  “Of course I know that, and I would never, ever forget it. Please don’t give it a second thought. Pick up your shoes sometime in the next few days, and we’ll see you at the restaurant tonight. Love you!”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

  Savannah could hardly get the phone turned off before the sobs burst from deep inside her, and in seconds she was blubbering worse than when she watched the Olympic athletes stand on the tri-level podium to receive their medals and see their countries’ flags raised.

  “I forgot the shoes!” she wailed. “I totally forgot to go get the dadgum shoes! The store called Alma and ratted me out!”

  “Which shoes? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The yellow shoes! The ones that were dyed to match our bridesmaid gowns.”

  “But you’re the maid of honor.”

  “I still have to have shoes that match my dress.” She gulped, choked on her own saliva, and sobbed anew. “Now my sister thinks I don’t love her. That I don’t care that she’s getting married to the handsomest man in the world.”

  Dirk pulled into the school’s parking lot but drove around to the side of the building where it was more private.

  Then he stopped the car, turned off the key, and gathered his weeping wife into his arms. “Honey,” he said, kissing the top of her hair, “this is sorta the point I was trying to make earlier.”

  “Wha-wha-what point?”

  He placed his hand under her chin and coaxed her to look up at him. When she finally did, he said, “Van, think about it. You’re sitting in a car, sobbing your face off over yellow shoes.”

  “Maid-of-honor shoes. Dyed special and real expensive shoes.”

  “Shoes. Your long dress will probably cover them. Knowing you, you’ll probably kick them off as soon as the church business is over and run around barefoot the rest of the night.”

  She gave him a little push and tried not to smile. “You don’t understand about such things. You’re a . . . guy.”

  “Guilty as charged. But the fact is, you are taking this whole thing way too seriously.”

  “But it’s my sister’s wedding! My favorite sister!”

  “I don’t mean you’re taking the wedding too seriously.”

  “Then what?”

  “Life, darlin’. You are taking life way too seriously. Sometimes you’ve just gotta let it happen.”

  “Let what happen?”

  “Whatever. Whatever happens. Let it go. You can’t control everything you know. You’re gonna make yourself sick tryin’.”

  “I don’t know if I can, just let go like you said.”

  “I don’t know if you can either. But you really, really need to try. ’Cause if you don’t, I think you’re gonna blow a gasket.”

  Chapter 22

  As Savannah and Dirk hurried down the hallway toward Brody’s classroom, she wiped away her remaining tears and noticed a smear of her “waterproof” mascara on her fingertips.

  “Do I look like I’ve been crying?” she asked him with a sn
iff.

  He turned, looked her over for a moment, as though seriously considering her question. Then he said, “You look fine, darlin’. Don’t sweat it.”

  She groaned. “Reckon that’s a ‘Yes,’ if I ever heard one.”

  “If she asks, tell her you’ve got allergies.”

  “You want me to lie to Brody’s teacher?”

  He shrugged. “If she’s rude enough to ask you why your eyes are red and swollen, she’s rude enough to be lied to.”

  “What sort of Code of Ethics rule is that?”

  “One I wouldn’t share with Granny.”

  “I agree. She has strong opinions on lying and isn’t shy about sharing them.”

  “Even if you don’t want to hear them.”

  “Especially if you don’t want to hear them. She figures you’d be the one most in need of instruction.”

  “She’s cool, your grandma.”

  “Isn’t she? I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

  He gave her an affectionate smile and said, “Don’t look now, kiddo, but you done did . . . grow up, that is. You’re just like her.”

  She was still grinning from his compliment, when they reached the door of room number nine. She gave a soft knock, looked through the small window, and saw Ms. Pomeroy sitting at her desk.

  The teacher looked up from her work and gave them a wave of her hand, inviting them inside.

  Savannah was relieved to see that, other than the teacher, there was no one else in the room. She had a feeling that the discussion they were about to have might be better kept “all in the family.”

  “Good afternoon,” Ms. Pomeroy said, as she stood, walked around her desk, and offered her hand to first Savannah and then Dirk. “I appreciate you coming in like this on such short notice. I—oh, my!”

  She leaned toward Savannah, peering at her closely. “Have you been crying?” she asked. “Are you upset that you had to come see me?”

  “Of course not,” Savannah snapped. “Allergies.”

  She gave Dirk a quick sideways glance and saw him smirk. Oh, well, she thought. He did have a good point about that “deserving to be lied to” business.

  Ms. Pomeroy seemed to buy the fib. She bustled about, dragging a couple of chairs closer to the desk. “Have a seat. It’s so nice to see both of you. With parents being so busy these days, I do well to get one to come in, let alone two.”