A Few Drops of Bitters

by G. A. McKevett

  “No, I don’t suppose they did. I doubt they shared the fact that, until eight days ago, Shane Keller was president of the H.O.A. there in Joya del Mar. He was given his walking papers after he threatened another member of the board with great physical harm. Something about stomping a mud hole in his, um, backside, then knocking him into next Monday.”

  Everyone at the table turned to look at Savannah.

  “What?” she said. “Y’all figure, ’cause he said that, Keller’s a good ol’ boy from Georgia? I didn’t get that impression the other day when we talked. No drawl a’tall.”

  “Shane Keller struck me as a guy with a crap attitude that gets him in trouble at least seven or eight times a week,” Dirk said, “and he’s taught his bad manners to his kid. But I don’t hold it against them that they hated their neighbor. They did mention that during that ruckus with the dog, Erling hit Dylan. Hard. They showed me a picture of the bruise on his cheekbone.”

  “Did Erling happen to backhand him?” Savannah asked.

  Dirk nodded. “That’s probably where Erling got that bruise on the back of his hand that Dr. Liu showed us.”

  “I didn’t think that looked like a defense wound.” Savannah mulled it over then shook her head. “I can’t see Shane Keller going to a lot of trouble to get his hands on a deadly drug and then sneak it into Erling’s birthday champagne toast. His son either. Seems like if they were going to kill him, they’d just use a tire iron or sic Webster on him or drown him out there some night in the ocean when nobody was watching. Poison just sounds too complicated for knuckleheads like those two.”

  “I thought the same thing when I left their house,” Dirk agreed. “I think we can cross them off our list, or at least, move them down toward the bottom.”

  “Okay, let’s divvy up the chores.” Savannah turned to Tammy. “Tamitha, you did some good work, finding out that stuff about Melissa and Jerry. Anything else you can dig up would be helpful.”

  To Dirk, she said, “If either of those two are in town and we can find them, would you like me to go with you to question them?”

  “Sure,” he replied. “Twin Oaks is a bit of a drive, and I wouldn’t mind some company. After we drop the kid off at school tomorrow morning?”

  “That works for me.” Turning to Ryan and John, she said, “We don’t have any homework for you two yet. Which is a good thing, considering all you’re doing with Alma and Ethan. You’ve got your hands full already.”

  “With lovely things, rather than murder,” John replied. “But don’t hesitate to ask us. You must know by now, we enjoy uncovering a villain as much as anyone here.”

  Chapter 28

  At nine o’clock the next morning, Savannah and Dirk were standing at the door of Melissa and Jerald Becker’s Mediterranean home in the rural community of Twin Oaks.

  A few miles inland from San Carmelita, Twin Oaks provided the luxuries of beautiful desert vistas, as well as open hills and arroyos that were perfect for hiking or horseback riding.

  The town’s upscale homes sat on large acreage parcels and were bordered by rough-cut, post-and-rail fences.

  The quaint shopping area’s Rodeo Drive and Fifth Avenue-level stores reminded all passing through town that those living in Twin Oaks were hardly your average country folk.

  “I don’t think nurses make enough money to afford a house like this,” Savannah said as they waited for someone to answer Dirk’s resounding knock. “Not even surgical nurses who work for world-famous neurosurgeons. Jerry must be a pretty successful lawyer.”

  “Did Tammy find out what kinda lawyer?”

  “Yeah. Divorce.”

  Dirk grumbled something under his breath, expressing his less-than-stellar opinion of attorneys, then he knocked again, considerably harder than before.

  Immediately, the door flew open, startling them both. They jumped back to avoid something large that was coming at them, fast and hard.

  Savannah even saw Dirk reach inside his jacket and touch his shoulder holster where he kept his Smith & Wesson revolver.

  Instead of the lady of the house or a member of the staff, they saw that the door had been thrown open by several burly workmen who were in the process of moving an extremely large, and no-doubt heavy, armoire. They grunted and swore, as they wrestled the enormous piece of furniture, trying to get it through the door.

  Unfortunately for them, the armoire was rectangular, and the doorway arched.

  “Like trying to get a round peg through a square hole,” Savannah said as she watched them attempt what appeared to be impossible.

  Dirk stepped forward. “Can I give you a hand with that?” he asked.

  One gave him a curt nod, and he joined the battle.

  From where Savannah stood, she knew they wouldn’t make it. Not with a dozen Dirks. She wanted to tell them so and save them a lot of sweat and even blood; one of the guy’s knuckles had sprung a leak after his hand was trapped between the corner of the piece and the door hardware.

  “Hold on! What the hell are you guys doing there!” yelled an extremely loud and excited female voice from farther inside the house. “Wait a damn minute! You’re going to break that piece or destroy my door! Stop that!”

  They set the armoire down and turned toward the tiny woman with a platinum blond bob. She was practically flying down the stairs, her hands fluttering like she was trying to take flight.

  Savannah wriggled past the armoire and into the room. She wanted a much better view of this new development.

  “You idiots!” the blonde screamed as she ran toward them.

  More specifically, toward Dirk.

  “Don’t you know anything at all about moving furniture?” she shouted at him, practically shaking with rage.

  Dirk gave her one of his best Elvis half smirks and said calmly, “No, actually, I don’t know much about furniture because I’m a—”

  “That much is obvious!” She gave each of the sweaty men a nasty look, one after another, including the guy whose hand was bleeding. “You are supposed to take this piece apart before you move it! It divides into five sections, unless you’re too stupid to figure out how.”

  The men glanced at the armoire, at each other, then at Dirk.

  He threw up his hands and shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I just offered to help with the ‘muscle’ part. If you need somebody to think, count me out.”

  He turned to the woman, pulled his badge from his pocket, and flipped it open so she could read it. “I’m Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter with the San Carmelita Police Department. Are you Melissa Becker?”

  She nodded. Reluctantly. “Ye-e-s, why?”

  “I can see you’re busy here,” he said, looking around the room that was filled with half-packed boxes and miscellaneous mess, “but I need to speak to you for a few minutes.”

  “What about?” she snapped.

  “Murder,” he replied just as curtly.

  Savannah watched the woman’s red face lose its rosy tone in seconds, blanching to a sickly pallor usually seen on those who were suffering the worst moments of a stomach flu.

  When she didn’t respond, Dirk added, “Is there someplace we could talk? Someplace a bit more private?”

  That seemed to jar the woman out of her trance. She shook her head, as though coming awake, and said, “Yes. Okay. Follow me.” To the workers she said, “If you can’t figure out how to take that apart and move it properly, just leave it where you found it and tell Jerry I said, ‘Too bad. You don’t get to take everything, divorce attorney or not.’”

  As she led Dirk and Savannah out of the entryway, into a great room and on through some large glass doors into a tropical garden, Melissa made no eye contact with them at all. Nor did she say anything. At least, not aloud. But she was mumbling to herself in tones that sounded argumentative.

  To Savannah, she appeared to be practicing the responses she would soon have to give.

  Although Savannah was thirsty and would have appreciated some sort of offe
r of refreshment, she didn’t expect any displays of hospitality from Melissa Becker.

  Obviously, the woman was in the midst of moving and splitting up her household with her soon-to-be ex-husband.

  No one was their “gracious hostess/best self” at a time like that.

  But Melissa was even less hospitable than Savannah expected. Neither she nor Dirk were even invited to have a seat.

  “Okay. What?” Melissa asked as she came to a stop beside a giant bird-of-paradise plant and stood with her arms crossed over the front of her gauze tunic with its embroidered pastel flowers.

  A pretty top and pretty lady, Savannah thought, noticing that, just as Dr. Liu had described, Nurse Melissa had big eyes and a Betty Boop mouth. Too bad she’s such a Miss Cranky Pants.

  Dirk crossed his own arms and said, “I’m investigating a homicide—”

  “So you said, and . . . ?”

  “You knew the victim.”

  “Stephen Erling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unfortunately, I knew him, and I also worked for him.”

  “Yes, I know.” Dirk gave her a dark look. “In fact, Mrs. Becker, we know quite a bit about your relationship with Dr. Erling. You two were very close, both in the operating room and, well, elsewhere, too.”

  For the first time, Melissa seemed to notice Savannah.

  She wasn’t pleased.

  “Who is she? Is she the one who told you that crap? It’s not true. Not at all.”

  “This is Savannah Reid. She’s assisting me today, and the people who told us all about you and Erling are extremely reliable. I believe every word they said.”

  “Who? Who told you that?”

  “You don’t know their names,” Savannah told her. “But they’re professional people who have no reason to lie or speak badly of you. They just told us what they saw.”

  “Which is what?”

  Savannah could swear she could hear Melissa’s voice shaking. But her stance was just as belligerent and her tone just as nasty.

  “They saw it all,” Mrs. Becker,” Dirk said in his exasperated voice. “So, let’s drop the innocent maiden routine here and get down to brass tacks. I couldn’t care less what you and Erling were up to. That was between the two of you and maybe your mates. None of my business. But somebody murdered him, and that is my business.”

  She didn’t reply, other than to glare at him.

  He continued. “We know that you accompanied Dr. Erling to a number of parties, gatherings where everyone there knew that he was married to Dr. Carolyn Erling.”

  “She was busy and couldn’t go with him. I attended strictly in a business capacity.”

  “Was it business when you accompanied him, his steady partner no less, to private sex clubs?”

  Melissa gasped, and for a moment, Savannah thought she might faint and got ready to catch her, if necessary, before she hit the ground.

  “Yeah, we know about that stuff,” Dirk replied, sounding pretty pleased with himself.

  Savannah spoke up. “Seriously. We don’t give a hoot what you and Erling did in those clubs. We’re just trying to solve a murder.”

  “If I did that sort of thing,” Dirk said, “my wife could kill me. But hey, if you, Erling, his wife, and your husband were all fine with it . . .”

  Her silence confirmed everything Savannah suspected. She decided to press on. “But maybe your husband wasn’t very happy about it. We hear he got mad as hell about the way Erling was acting toward you at a certain, high-society fundraiser.”

  “Was that the night Jerry figured out what was between you?” Dirk asked.

  Melissa gave a small nod, and her large eyes grew misty.

  “Is that why he’s got those guys moving stuff out of here?” Savannah suggested.

  “Yes.” Melissa took a couple of faltering steps toward a chaise and collapsed onto it. Every trace of her former bravado gone. “That was the night he found out, and that was the beginning of the end.”

  Savannah pulled a chair close to the chaise and sat down. “I’m sorry,” she told Melissa as she handed her a tissue. “I’ve heard that Stephen Erling was a hard guy to say no to. With him being your boss—”

  “That made it impossible. Stephen wasn’t all that charming. But he did have a way of getting what he wanted. He was relentless.”

  “Tell me about it,” Savannah said. “We want to hear your side.”

  “There isn’t all that much to it.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Only a few weeks after he hired me, Stephen made it clear he wanted to be with me. You know, intimately.”

  Savannah gave her a knowing, sympathetic nod. “Gotcha. Go on.”

  “At first it was kinda flattering, him being so good-looking, superrich, powerful, and all that. But he was no fun at all to be with. In any way, in any situation.”

  “I can imagine that.”

  “But when I tried to break it off, at least the, um, sexual part, he let me know in no uncertain terms that he’d make up some excuse and fire me.”

  “You should’ve sued him before he died.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that to Jerry. He’s been through enough because of me and that guy already.”

  “Did your husband make you quit your job?” Dirk asked.

  She seemed surprised that he had guessed, then said, “Yes. He told me, if I wanted to stay married to him, I’d never be in the same room with Stephen again. He said I was such a good nurse that I’d find another position right away. But of course, I didn’t. I had to use Stephen as a reference, and he told them he’d fired me for being drunk on the job. He blamed me for the lawsuit that’s being brought against him right now.”

  She paused, then added, “Well, it was in the works. Now that he’s dead, I don’t know if Mr. Willis will continue with the case. But if Stephen had lived, he probably would have lost his practice over it.”

  “Who’s Mr. Willis?” Dirk asked, taking out his notebook and pencil.

  “Mr. James Willis. He lives in Santa Barbara.”

  “Why was Mr. Willis suing Erling?” Savannah asked.

  “Because Stephen made a bad error while performing a craniotomy on Grace Willis. His wife. The surgery wasn’t a complicated one. At least, not as brain surgeries go. A small brain tumor, within easy reach, benign. But Stephen had a few drinks before, and I believe they affected his dexterity and his judgment. Poor Grace was far worse after the surgery than before.”

  “I can understand why Mr. Willis was seeking some sort of compensation,” Savannah said.

  “I guess Willis was pretty mad at your former boss,” Dirk said. “If he’d done that to my wife, I’d be wanting to take him apart at the seams.”

  “Oh, Mr. Willis made plenty of threats like that, too. In fact, Stephen got a restraining order against him.”

  “Really?” Savannah perked up. “The judge must have thought Willis was a genuine threat to Erling, to have given him an R.O.”

  “Yes. I do believe Mr. Willis would have hurt Stephen if he could have.” She thought for a moment then locked eyes with Savannah. “You don’t think Mr. Willis might have been the one who murdered Stephen, do you?”

  Dirk was scribbling, but he answered, “Don’t know yet. Right now, I’m just finding out where everybody was the night the doctor died.” He looked up from his writing and watched her closely as he asked, “Where were you and Jerry?”

  “We had dinner with friends at The Oyster Shell, then we went to their house for the evening. Played card games. Listened to their golden oldies music collection.”

  “What are their names?” Dirk asked.

  “Maggie and Ralph Johnson. They live two doors down, if you want to ask them.”

  When Dirk had finished writing, he said, “Okay, so you were with the Johnsons on Wednesday. How about two Wednesdays before that, the evening of the fifth?”

  Melissa didn’t take long to answer. “We went to dinner and then to a movie.”

  Her response was so fast that Sav
annah wondered if it was because she was telling the simple truth, and had a great mental calendar, or because she had her reply all prepared.

  “Which movie?” Dirk asked.

  “The Lady in the Fog.”

  Again, Savannah thought the response a bit too quick. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell. She said, “Was it any good?”

  “What?”

  “The movie. I thought I might go see it. Should I?”

  Melissa shrugged. “It was so-so. I wasn’t feeling well that night, and I went to sleep during it. Ask my husband. He stayed awake for it all.”

  “We will,” Dirk said. “Which theater?”

  “The multiplex next to the mall.”

  “Which showing?”

  Melissa thought for a moment. “We went to dinner around seven o’clock, so it was probably the nine o’clock viewing.”

  “Would you happen to have your ticket stubs? Did you keep them?”

  “They might be in my purse. Would you like me to look?”

  “Yes,” Dirk told her. He glanced at Savannah and added, “Please.”

  Melissa rose from her chair, and they followed her back into the house.

  Once inside, Melissa saw two movers carrying an enormous mirror. A third worker bopped around a corner and nearly fell right into the center of the glass, missing by an inch at best.

  “That’s it! Get out of my house!” she screamed. “Now! You’re all fired.”

  “But, but,” one of them stammered, “you aren’t the one paying us. He is.”

  “Ou-u-u-ut!”

  They laid the mirror on the floor and ran for the door.

  Not for the first time, Savannah wondered at the power of diminutive people. Maybe because of their size, they learned early to use their voices and the force of their personality to get what they wanted and needed from a world that might, otherwise, ignore them.

  She decided to take a lesson from Lissa aka Melissa Becker.

  The now surprisingly calm lady of the house walked over to a coat closet, opened the door, and reached inside.

  A moment later, she had opened her Louis Vuitton bag and pulled out a couple of movie theater admission tickets.

  “Good thing I hadn’t cleaned out my purse yet, huh?” she said as she proudly handed them over to Dirk.