Savannah could see over his shoulder that they were, indeed, for that multiplex theater near the mall, The Lady in the Fog, at nine P.M., on the night the drugs were stolen from Carolyn’s clinic.
Both Melissa and Jerald Becker had solid alibis for both nights.
Just peachy, she thought. Reckon we’re back to “Carolyn must’ve done it.”
She looked over at Dirk and could see the frustration in his eyes.
She knew he was thinking the exact same thing.
Chapter 29
After leaving the Beckers’ home and driving back to San Carmelita, Savannah and Dirk stopped at their favorite fish restaurant which also happened to be situated on one of their favorite places—San Carmelita’s pier.
Over baskets of fish and chips, disturbed only occasionally by the odd seagull bombing their table and snatching their french fries, they discussed their conversation with Melissa.
“They may have the perfect alibis for both nights in question,” Dirk said, “but she’s hiding something. I can tell.”
“With her complicated lifestyle, I suspect she’s been hiding a lot for a long time. Maybe she’ll have to practice ‘open and honest’ awhile before she gets the knack of it.”
“No.” He shook his head as he dragged several fries through an enormous puddle of ketchup and popped them into his mouth. “She had her alibi answers right there, on the tip of her tongue, and she wasted no time pulling those tickets out and flashing them under my nose. I could swear she was humming, ‘Nanny, nanny, boo, boo’ under her breath when she did it, too.”
“Yes,” Savannah agreed. “I sensed a bit of a ‘Gotcha’ attitude in play, too.”
“She or he or both of them could’ve gone over there and bought the tickets. Nothing says they stayed for the show. She couldn’t even tell you if the movie was good or not.”
“That occurred to me, too.”
They both looked at each other, swatted away a gull, and said, “Security video.”
“I’ll take you back home, then go to the theater and check out their footage if they still have it,” he told her.
“I’ll ask Tammy to get a good photo of Jerry Becker and text it to you first—something better than his DMV shot—so you’ll know who you’re looking for.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He downed the last of his root beer float and reached over to nab some of her fries. “I’m hopin’ I can get hold of that James Willis guy and have him come down to the station for a chat. I need to see for myself what sorta dude he is, and whether he’s got an alibi all ready for me like that Lissa gal.”
“Good idea. At least one judge thought he was a threat, so it’s worth looking into.”
He reached for another fry, a big, long, perfectly cooked one, that she’d been saving for her last. She grabbed it before he could and shoved it into her mouth. “Once you drop me off,” she said, “I’m going to drive over to see Carolyn and give her an update.”
“Another interrogation disguised as an update?”
She shrugged. “That makes me feel like the world’s shadiest and least client-loyal P.I. in the world, but yes. She’s probably at the clinic.”
“Actually, she’s probably home.”
“Home? In Joya del Mar?”
“Yeah, CSU was done, so I cleared her to go back. I called her first thing this morning, before you got up.”
“I have to stop sleeping in. I miss too much.”
“Sleep all you need to, darlin’,” he told her with a concerned look on his face. “You’re burning your firecracker at both ends, and you’re likely to either explode or fizzle out before your time.”
“I thought it was a candle that gets burned at both ends.”
“Some gals are candles. Most, I’d say. But I got lucky. I’ve got myself a firecracker!”
* * *
When Savannah pulled her Mustang into the driveway of Carolyn’s seaside home, the first thing she noticed was that the Lamborghini was gone.
Probably in the garage, she thought.
She wouldn’t help wondering if, at that moment, Carolyn was loading Stephen Erling’s knickers into plastic donation bags.
Savannah wouldn’t blame her. If he’d been her husband, Savannah would have been quite happy to haul everything he owned and anything that reminded her of him to the curb on garbage day.
Maybe even his cremains, if there wasn’t some sort of ordinance against it.
As she got out of the Mustang, she glanced around, half expecting to see Dylan or Shane walking Webster. She was glad not to. Just the brief talk she’d had with Shane the other day had been enough. Maybe, with any luck, she could avoid him for the rest of her life.
Long ago, Savannah had learned the wisdom of limiting those she allowed to breathe the same oxygen as her. Meanness was contagious. So was negativity and anxiety. Why expose yourself if you could possibly avoid it? She’d discovered that, with practice, it became easier and easier to avoid those folks, and life became far more pleasant and peaceful for having done so.
As she walked over the bridge and looked down at the koi, Savannah wished for a moment she had Brody with her. Funny, how seeing things through a little boy’s eyes made one’s world so much brighter. Even down to the color of the fins on an exotic fish.
As she walked up to the door, Savannah couldn’t resist a glance through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It made her feel a bit like a Peeping Tom, but not enough for her to resist the urge.
She was surprised to see Carolyn standing in the middle of the room, vacuuming the floor with an oversized upright cleaner. Her pixie hair was pulled back from her face with a blue kerchief, and she was wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans.
Savannah thought she looked more like the weekly cleaning lady than the mistress of a fine house.
Patiently, Savannah waited at the front door until she heard the vacuum stop, then she knocked.
I probably should’ve called first, she thought when Carolyn didn’t answer right away. But she quickly dismissed the notion. She’d discovered, years ago, that if you wanted truthful answers from someone, it was best not to give them a heads-up that you were coming. Less rehearsal time that way.
After what seemed like a long time, Savannah heard footsteps and Carolyn opened the door. She had a large, dark smudge of what looked like the CSU’s latent fingerprint dust on her cheek. But she was smiling and seemed more relaxed than Savannah could recall ever seeing her.
“Savannah!” she said, as though greeting a lifelong friend, whom she hadn’t seen in ages. “Come on in!”
She threw the door wide and ushered Savannah inside.
Looking around at the disarray and the dark dust all around the fireplace, its mantel, hearth, and nearby furniture, Savannah’s heart sank.
“Oh, Carolyn, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hate it when they leave the families with messes like this.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“Well, I would! I’d feel like jerking some knots in some tails if I walked in and found this in my home.”
Savannah reached down and picked up a dusting cloth from an end table. “At least I can do some dusting while we talk.”
“No, Savannah. Thank you, but—”
“I don’t mind a bit and if both of us jump on it, we’ll get ’er done in no time.”
Carolyn reached over and gently pulled the cloth from Savannah’s hand. “To be honest, I’m enjoying the cleaning. It feels . . . symbolic . . . somehow.”
Savannah nodded, understanding. “I noticed the Lamborghini wasn’t out front.”
“Back to the dealership,” Carolyn said, “where it belongs. We never needed a vehicle like that. It cost more than my first house!”
“Yeah, that’s always been one of my personal mottos: Never buy a car that’s the price of a house.”
Of course, not being a famous neurosurgeon, movie star, or rock singer, Savannah had never been tempted to violate her conscience in such a way. It was easy to
convince yourself that you were above all that.
Materialism.
It was easy to avoid, easy to resist.
Unless, of course, you knew all the cool stuff that money could buy out there in the world.
“I need to take a breather,” Carolyn said, whipping the bandana off her head and running her fingers through her hair. “How about we go out back and have a beer?”
“Make mine a soda or tea, and you’ve got a deal.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Savannah and Carolyn were sitting in big, comfortable, Adirondack chairs down on the beach in front of the house. Savannah had a sweetened green tea in hand. One that Tammy might actually approve, she thought, since it’s organic and honeyed rather than sugared.
Carolyn had nearly drained her beer before they even started talking. She seemed so relaxed, so peaceful, that Savannah had to admit it: the young widow appeared happy to be so.
“My husband and I went to Twin Oaks today,” Savannah said, throwing it out with a light tone and watching closely to see how Carolyn would react.
She didn’t. Not at all. She just took another swig of beer, closed her eyes, held it in her mouth, and savored it for a long while before swallowing it.
“I spoke to Melissa Becker,” Savannah added.
“Okay, and . . . ?”
“She and her husband are splitting up. He’s leaving her.”
Carolyn leaned down, pulled a footrest over, and propped her legs on it. “Not surprising,” she said. “Stephen ruined a lot of marriages besides his own. Some guys play golf to relax. He seduced other men’s women, then made sure the guys found out about it. Gave him a real thrill, being one up on them that way.”
“Sounds pretty awful.”
“He was.”
“Also sounds dangerous.”
“He got a lot of threats. Sometimes he’d come home from wherever and tell me to pack a bag, we were leaving for the Bahamas, or Paris . . . or Marrakesh, if he was really in trouble. At first, I thought he was impetuous, spontaneous, and romantic. Then we’d come back, he’d get some ugly phone calls at night or a subpoena server would show up at the door. Once in a while, there’d be a guy banging at the doors and windows, screaming obscenities. Stephen would tell me not to answer it and not to call the cops. He’d make me just stay in the bedroom until the man left.”
“What a way to live.”
“He loved it. He thrived on conflict and drama.”
“Ugh. No thank you. Had enough of both to last me a lifetime.”
“Me, too.”
Savannah looked out across the sparkling Pacific and watched what looked like sheets of fine lace, sprinkled with diamond dust, glittering atop the waves.
“I think you’re going to have some peace in your life now, Carolyn. Maybe you can find happiness just being here in this beautiful home, your home, with your animals. Maybe it will be enough for a while—home and the clinic, the animals who need you. Not a lot of pesky human beings muddying up the crystal-clear waters of your spirit.”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely?” she said with a sigh. “To have nothing to worry about but caring for myself and my patients. Ah-h. I could get used to that.”
“I hope you will. Very soon.”
Savannah thought of Dirk and wondered if he’d had any luck looking at the theater’s security videos or if he’d been able to talk to James Willis.
“I suppose,” she said, “that you’re familiar with a fellow by the name of James Willis.”
“I am now,” Carolyn replied, looking annoyed. “I hadn’t been home even five minutes when a process server knocked on the door. Stupid me, I answered and took the papers he held out. Apparently, this Mr. Willis is suing Stephen’s estate—which, I guess, is now me—for damages. Something having to do with a surgery on his wife that went wrong.”
“Then you don’t know Mr. Willis personally?”
“Never laid eyes on the man. Though I do feel bad if there’s any merit to his case.”
“You think there might be?”
“Absolutely. Stephen was good, but he wasn’t as good as he claimed to be. He thought if he said something enough times, that made it true. It was shocking to see how many people believed him.”
“A forceful personality can bumfuzzle folks quicker than ducks can snap up June bugs. But back to Mr. Willis. You hadn’t met him or heard about him until today, until you got that subpoena?”
“No. That was our introduction. Hopefully, by the time he’s done suing me, I’ll still have a home.”
“The surgery was on his wife, Grace,” Savannah said gently. “Apparently, Stephen operated on a small, benign, accessible tumor, and she hasn’t been the same since mentally. Word is, Stephen may have been drinking when he performed the surgery.”
Carolyn closed her eyes and shook her head. When she finally opened them, she said, “If Mr. Willis lost his wife because her mind was destroyed by a routine surgery, then me losing this place is nothing compared to that poor man’s situation.”
Chapter 30
Savannah and Dirk stood on either side of the backyard grill, each attempting to fulfill their chosen “dinner duties.”
The picnic table bore the fruits of Savannah’s labors: a potato salad, a platter of thickly sliced, vine-ripened, beefsteak tomatoes drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette, and fresh onion rolls.
On the grill—and smoking so badly that Savannah half expected the fire brigade to appear at any moment—was Dirk’s tri-tip. The enormous cut of meat had been marinating all night in its bath of teriyaki sauce, red wine, and Worcestershire sauce, and it had smelled divine even before Dirk put it on the fire.
Savannah glanced at her watch. Alma and Ethan could arrive at any minute, and after everyone’s busy day, they were bound to be hungry.
She decided to throw the foil-wrapped corn on the cob into the coals. They and the tri-tip should be finished about the same time.
“When’s that meat gonna be done?” Brody asked as he streaked by, wearing his swim trunks. He was on his way to the sprinkler that was spraying the flower garden.
“It’ll be finished in about thirty minutes,” she told him, “but we’re waiting for company, so—”
“Yeah! Freddy’s coming! Yee haw!”
“Watch out for my peonies!” she shouted as he plunged into the spray, cutting a wild Irish jig, like a tiny leprechaun who had just discovered a pot of gold.
“I will,” he said. “You don’t need to tell me about the dadgum peonies no more! I got it!”
“Don’t get fresh there, buddy,” Dirk called out to him. Then he turned to her and said, “He’s got it. You don’t need to nag him about it anymore. I guarantee you that he’ll remember not to step on peonies for the rest of his life.”
She looked at Dirk, then at the kid whose flying feet were coming perilously close to her prize blossoms. But not touching. “I’m not sure if I like this new ratio of testosterone to estrogen in this household. Before it was just me and the kitties. Girls all. Now we’ve got male hormones running amuck all through the place. I feel like us gals are slipping a bit.”
“Bwahaha. Before you know it, we’ll be scratching our butts and belching to our heart’s delight.”
“I could start polishing my nails when you’re home, right under your overly sensitive nose, while you’re trying to enjoy a game.”
“Passive aggression.”
“Better than active aggression.”
“Yours? Yes.” He shuddered. “I’ve seen you actively aggressive. Not a pretty sight.”
“Like when we were undercover as old street people and had to take down those bank robbers?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t have thought anybody could do that much harm with a lightweight, aluminum walker.”
Having situated the corn the way she wanted it, Savannah handed Dirk a beer, then sat down at the picnic table and began to drink a glass of iced tea.
“Tell me about the quality, personal time you spen
t with Willis,” she said. “Anything good?”
“Nothing to get excited about. At all. While the Erling birthday party was going on, Willis was at a fundraiser, given by some friends of his. They were trying to help him with his wife’s medical bills. One of which was Erling’s bill for thirty thousand dollars. Willis didn’t mind telling me how bitter he is to owe the guy anything other than maybe a bullet. He told me in no uncertain terms that he would enjoy turning Stephen Erling into the mentally diminished person his wife is now.”
“That’s pretty bitter. But if Grace was someone I loved, I’d probably feel the same. An accident is one thing. That can happen to anyone, even a doctor. But drunk on the job? No, that’s a choice. Willis has every right to his anger.”
“I agree. I don’t blame him for how he feels. But if he acted on those feelings, that’s another matter altogether.”
“But he was at a fundraiser? That’s a pretty solid alibi. There’d be a ton of witnesses. Probably photos and videos, too.”
“He could’ve hired somebody to do it. He looks like a guy with a few shekels put away.”
“Any kind of record?”
“None. A clean life. At least on paper.”
Savannah thought back on her conversation with Carolyn regarding Willis. “He’s suing Carolyn,” she said. “The funny thing is that she doesn’t seem to care. As long as she has some sort of roof over her head and her clinic, I think she’d be happy.”
He sat down across the table from her and took a long drink of his beer. “Didja get anything else outta her?”
“Yes. I asked her about that gal Patrice.”
“The redhead you saw at the party?”
“Yes. The one who used to work for Carolyn there in the clinic, then didn’t, but does again.”
“You got some weird vibes offa her, right?”
“I did. So I ‘squeezed’ Carolyn about her, as you would say.”
“What came out?”
They both winced as a spray of water came their way, thanks to Brody rearranging a nearby sprinkler.
“Hey, noodle head!” Savannah yelled. “Knock it off! You’re gonna get my food wet and put out the barbecue fire.”
A Few Drops of Bitters Page 21