He stopped, took a deep breath, and then continued, “I couldn’t, you know, perform. The girl felt bad and told me that if I came back the next day she’d give me a freebie. I told her I’d think about it. I gave her a big tip, because I felt sort of sorry for her. She seemed like a good kid in a bad place.”
“She is a good kid,” Savannah said. “A sixteen-year-old kid. And we took her out of that bad place.”
“Oh, wow. Then I’m glad I didn’t do anything with her. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”
Savannah watched him closely, and her intuition told her that at least that much was true. Plus, on the way to the bus station in Vegas, Charlene had told them as much about his lack of performance power.
“That part of your story jibes with what the girl told us,” she told him. “But the rest of it, about the next day ... that doesn’t fly.”
“I don’t know why she and that Russian guy would claim that I bribed them to say I was there the second day. I did not. Like I said, I gave her a generous tip. Maybe she misunderstood and miscommunicated it to him. I don’t know.”
Savannah knew they had hit a wall with this guy. And when she looked over at Dirk, she could see all over his face that he knew it, too.
All this time and effort, and this suspect was a dead end like all the others.
“Ethan,” she said, “if you didn’t kill your wife or have it done, do you have any notion who did?”
He thought for a while before answering. And when he did, he looked her straight in the eye with as much sincerity as the most innocent person she had ever known.
“I really don’t,” he said. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I know Madeline has enemies. Her former lover and his wife. Her business partner. Some people whose parties and weddings she ruined. Honestly, the woman had way more enemies than friends. Everyone in my life told me for years to leave her, that she was no good.”
“Is that why you left her?” Savannah asked.
“No. I don’t care what other people think. Believe it or not, but I loved Maddy. We had some really good times in the beginning. And with our beautiful little Elizabeth.”
He broke down in tears, bowed his head, and covered his face with his hands.
Savannah looked around the room, spotted a nearby tissue box, and offered him a handful.
“Thank you,” he said as he wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “The bottom line is: I finally wised up and realized that she didn’t love me. She never had. Maddy had something broken inside her. She wasn’t capable of love. And now”—his voice cracked again—“and now my little daughter has to grow up without a mother. It breaks my heart.”
As Savannah and Dirk left the room and walked down the narrow, dark hallway with its bloodred carpet, Dirk asked her, “Do you believe him?”
“About loving his daughter? About Madeline’s shortcomings and other enemies? Yes.”
“Me, too. But about the brothel ... no way. He was lying like a rug about that.”
“Absolutely. I could practically see the smoke curling up off the back of his pants when he was talking about that.”
“But why do you suppose he’d set up an alibi and then not use it?”
“I don’t know. And frankly, right now, I’m too hungry to give a hoot. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. Let’s go eat.”
Savannah and Dirk collected Tammy and Waycross and showed the youngsters the “real” Las Vegas in all of its glorious, gaudy, way-over-the-top grandeur. The majestic, golden hotels reaching into the black, desert sky. The strange architectural wonders—gigantic roller coasters, replicas of the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, even a great pyramid, and a Roman palace. It was all simply too much to take in.
Even Savannah, who tried hard not to be impressed, had to admit that the lights were truly beautiful. Sparkling, glowing, flowing, shooting, exploding everywhere. She couldn’t help but be completely dazzled.
And to everyone’s delight, they had no problem at all finding wonderful food to satisfy everyone’s eclectic tastes, from Tammy’s organic vegetables to Waycross’s rib-sticking steak.
They were a tired group when they finally returned to their hotel rooms.
Savannah wasted no time hitting the sheets. But the excited, effervescent Tammy wasn’t about to let her get off that easily.
“I had more fun today than I’ve had all the rest of my life put together!” she exclaimed as she practically danced out of the bathroom, having taken her shower and slipped into her pajamas. “It was wonderful! I got to do some real, live detecting and ... oh, that was so exciting! My heart was pounding when we followed our subject around, and surveilled his every movement!”
“I’m happy for you, darlin’.” Savannah yawned. “You can tell me all about it in the morning.”
Tammy ran over to the other bed and dove into it, headfirst. “Waycross is so funny!” she said, flouncing around like a hen making her nest. “And he’s so polite and sweet! I could tell he was worried that something bad might happen to me, and he was making sure I was safe every minute. Is that because he’s a Southerner? Are all men down South super gallant like him or is he special that way?”
“Southern men are awesome. Waycross is awesome. Good night, honey bunny.”
“And when we were driving around the city tonight, looking at all the stuff—can you believe that water fountain at the Bellagio or that volcano at The Mirage—he was holding my hand there in the backseat. Is that okay with you, if your brother and I like each other, because I like him a lot, and I’m pretty sure he likes me, too. You know him better than I do, Savannah. Do you think he likes me?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re okay with that? Like, if the two of us became a couple, you’d think that was a good thing? And you’d sort of support us if we were building some sort of relationship? You’d like that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wow.” Tammy laid down on her back, flung her arms and legs out, a smile as wide as the Bellagio fountain on her face. She was the perfect picture of a spirit that was open to life, to love, to hope. “This is just so wonderful. Don’t you think so, Savannah?”
“Um.”
“I sure appreciate us having this little talk. Our heart-to-heart conversations mean the world to me. You’re like a big sister to me, and I love you so much.”
“Zzzzz... .”
Savannah woke from another nightmare, her heart pounding, her nightgown wet with cold sweat.
But as she lay there, fighting her way back to reality, orienting and reminding herself that all was well, she realized ... this dream was different.
As always, he had stood over her, pointing his gun down at her, telling her that he hated her and was going to kill her.
But this time, his face looked like that of the Russian in the bordello. And this time, she had a gun, too. She pointed at him and fired.
The face disappeared into the darkness behind him.
And somewhere in the blackness of the night, she heard the sound of sorrow and utter despair. A young woman crying.
Savannah searched until she found her. The girl was wearing nothing but a ragged flannel shirt, huddling there in the dark, sobbing.
“Come on, Tammy,” she said, lifting her and supporting her as she walked her into the light. “I’ve got you, and you’re going to be fine now, darlin’. Just fine.”
Remembering the details of the dream made Savannah feel better. Much, much better, in fact.
She lay in the strange, hard, hotel bed, thinking about how Charlene had looked when Dirk had pressed money into her hand and they had put her on a bus bound for San Francisco. She thought about the brother who was going to be so happy to see his little sister again. He might have even thought he’d lost her forever.
Restoration and healing. Such rare and precious commodities in the cold, cruel world.
And as she drifted off to sleep, Savannah had to agree with Tammy. It had been a good day.
Chapter 24
Savannah couldn’t remember when her table had been so full. So many loved ones around it. So much good food weighing it down. So much sharing.
So much bickering.
“Marietta, how many of those biscuits have you had already, girl?”
“I’ve been counting and she’s on her fourth one there.”
“Mari’s always been a pig when it comes to bread of any kind.”
“So true. So true. Any biscuit in her vicinity’s not long for this world.”
“That’s why her butt’s so big, and white and doughy looking. It’s all bread.”
“My bu-bu-tt’s not b-i-i-ig.”
It was hard to talk with a mouthful of biscuit.
Granny rapped her spoon on the table and spoke soft, gentle words of reconciliation. “Y’all shut your yaps and eat before I smack you all with a fourteen-inch cast iron skillet.”
For several seconds, silence reigned. And it was pure bliss. Until Marietta swallowed her mouthful of biscuit.
“I don’t think y’all are ever gonna figure out this murder case you got goin’ on here. So, I reckon you’re not gonna be gettin’ married neither. Which means we all dragged our merry as—”
Gran cleared her throat. “Watch it, young lady.”
“Our merry bee-hinds all the way across this country to see a lot of nothing.”
“Marietta,” Savannah said, fixing her sister with a baleful eye, “if you don’t have anything kind and uplifting to say at my dinner table, you can take another biscuit and”—she glanced over at Gran and the children—“and shove it into your mouth. In fact, I’ll do it for you.”
As Alma passed Marietta the biscuit basket, she said, “I thought that trip to Las Vegas was going to solve the case. You do believe it’s the husband who did it, right?”
“We honestly don’t know,” Dirk replied, looking far less content and joyful than he usually did, after putting away one of Savannah’s fried-chicken dinners—his favorite.
“The guy seemed like a decent fella,” Savannah added. “And it’s for sure he didn’t actually do the murder himself.”
At the other end of the table, a quiet Tammy sat next to Waycross, her steamed brown rice and veggie plate nearly emptied. She gave Waycross a sweet smile and said, “Waycross and I have talked about it, and we think he hired it done. Why else would he go out of his way to set up an alibi? It’s the mark of someone who hires an assassin to pay for the hit and then make sure you’re out of town when it goes down.”
“Yeah, but setting up two alibis?” Savannah said. “That makes you look more guilty than innocent.”
Waycross took one of the last drumsticks off the chicken platter. “He’s a little touched in the head, if you ask me. Preoccupied by death and dying.”
In unison, everyone at the table turned to look at Jesup. Today she was wearing a black and red death-metal tee-shirt and red makeup “tears” dripping from the corners of her eyes.
She shrugged. “Being real about the inevitability of death helps us to celebrate life. It’s a healthy thing.”
“This guy’s an undertaker,” Tammy said. “And he collects stuff like antique undertakers’ tools. That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”
“Cool.” Jesup’s eyes glowed. “There’s a store down by the beach, The White Rose, that sells stuff like that. It’s awesome. I went in there while you guys were all looking for dumb shells on the beach.”
“My shells aren’t dumb,” Jillian protested. “I found a pretty pink one.”
“Your shells are lovely, sweet pea,” Granny told her, patting her on the head. “And the rest of you watch the subject matter of this here conversation. Let’s keep our children children for as long as we can.”
“Point taken, Gran,” Savannah said. “The rest of us will use ... um ... alternative terminology when discussing the particulars of this situation.”
“Huh?” Jillian asked, looking adequately confused.
“Mission accomplished. Follow in suit.” Savannah looked over at Jesup, who was trying to get the biscuit basket away from Marietta. “This store you’re talking about, does it carry, shall we say, items that could be classified as ‘macabre’?”
“It’s packed with stuff like that.”
“Do they sell seashells and kites?” Jillian asked. “I like stores that sell fun beach stuff like that. Oh, and stuff with glitter and sparkles.”
“Me, too,” Gran said. “Gobble up them peas now.”
Jesup thought for a moment. “I guess you’d classify them as ‘cemetery chic.’”
“Hmm,” Dirk said, “those are two words I never thought I’d hear in the same sentence.”
“How much you wanna bet he’s shopped there?” Tammy said.
Waycross nodded. “You know he has.”
“I don’t know what that’s got to do with this miserable, rotten case,” Dirk grumbled.
Jesup took a long drink of her iced tea, and with a self-important little smirk, said, “Aren’t you missing a ... uh”—she looked down at the children—“a utensil employed as an instrument of ... say ... annihilation?”
Dirk stared at her, blank-faced. “What?”
Savannah leaned over and whispered, “A murder weapon. Code, for the younguns.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, we don’t know what it was,” he said. “Just a general description. Eight inches or more in length. Narrow, sharp on the end.”
“There are lots of undertaker tools like that,” Jesup said with all authority. “Things that they stab into the bod—”
“Jesup Loretta Reid, eat some peas!” Granny said, shoving the bowl in her direction.
“But I don’t like peas.”
“Eat ’em or wear ’em.”
“Okay.”
Savannah, Dirk, Tammy, and Waycross—the newest honorary member of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency—filed into The White Rose, trying, for all the world, to look like four people who weren’t just your ordinary schmucks, but cool, hip folks interested in the darker side of life.
The clerk behind the counter, whose face was decorated with the same type of bizarre makeup that Jesup liked to use, gave them a quick once-over and went back to reading his vintage edition of Fangoria.
Savannah glanced around the shop and decided that she wasn’t likely to become one of their steady customers. The photo books of dead children, the artwork of serial killers reverently displayed on the walls, and the decorative statuary of demons raping women was unsettling to her spirit, to say the least.
She decided it was a good thing that Granny didn’t know that Jesup was into this sort of thing. Otherwise, she’d be scheduling an exorcism for her at the next Wednesday-night prayer meeting.
Finally, the guy behind the counter lowered his magazine and said, “You need help or just looking?”
Savannah left a display of freeze-dried tarantulas and bats and walked over to him. “I don’t think y’all have anything I’d want to buy,” she told him. “But we do have a couple of questions for you.”
“No, the skulls aren’t real,” he said with a condescending tone that made Savannah want to feed him one of his tarantulas. “But if you’re into real ones, we have connections.”
“I’m sure you do,” Dirk said as he walked over to him. “But we’re more interested in one of your customers.”
“We don’t reveal information about our customers. Confidentiality is an important part of shopping here.”
“I’m sure it is,” Dirk replied. “Who’d want to admit they buy this crap?”
“Excuse me,” Tammy called from the other side of the store. “Savannah, Dirk, could you come here for a minute?”
Savannah was a bit surprised. Tammy knew better than to interrupt an interview, so she must have something worth saying.
“Be right there,” Dirk called back. To the clerk, he said, “We’ll continue this conversation in a minute.”
They walked to the rear of the store, where Tammy and Waycross were standing beside a full-wall display, which a sign identified as “The Mortuary.” The items for sale included: casket plaques, decorative coffin buckles and keys, gravesite urns, and fancy bottles containing embalming fluids.
“Whatcha got?” Dirk asked them.
Tammy pointed to an old leather case, much the same size and structure as that which would hold some sort of band instrument, like a saxophone or clarinet. It had a lining of dark blue velvet and, lying in deep indentations in the fabric were miscellaneous, ominous-looking antique tools. A glass funnel with a heavy metal stand nestled next to giant scissors, some forceps, and something that looked like a large, curved needle.
Waycross reached down and ran his finger along an empty indentation. The outline of the instrument that had once occupied that place was very clearly defined. It was something with a handle and a long, very thin spike with a point on the end. “Looks about ten inches long to me,” he said. “Your coroner lady said something eight or more.”
Bells went off in Savannah’s head that sounded like Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture.”
She turned to the front of the store and shouted, “Hey, we found something we’re interested in back here.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dirk said. “Big time.”
When the clerk had finally meandered his way to the back, Dirk pointed out the case with its missing instrument. “What was there?” he asked.
The guy looked at the empty slot in the lining and said, “A trocar.”
“What the heck’s a trocar?” Savannah wanted to know.
“It’s a long, sharp instrument that undertakers use to drain blood and bodily fluids out of corpses,” was the reply.
“And what happened to this one?”
“It got sold. I wouldn’t have broken up the kit, but the gal that works for me took it onto herself to sell it without asking me.”
“Who bought it?” Dirk asked.
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