Bitter Sweets

by G. A. McKevett

  “I’ve seen quite a few stiffs in my day. . . . sir. The body exhibited total rigidity, cloudy corneas, and fixed lividity. No insect infestation to speak of, but she was indoors. . . . windows and doors closed. My best guess would be that she had died around midnight. Am I close?”

  “Dr. Liu says one,” Dirk said quietly.

  “What was your relationship with Earl Mallock?” Hillquist said. He looked bored, but Savannah noticed his hand had tightened around the gold pen.

  “The man was my client. That’s it, that’s all. And he wasn’t a very good one at that, since he lied to me and paid me only half of what he owed me.”

  “And what if we can prove that he was far more to you than simply your client?”

  Savannah laced her fingers together and could feel her pulse pounding out to their tips. “Since it isn’t true, it would require a lot of fabrication on your part. But, I suppose if you really wanted to, you could. It all depends on how far you’ll go to settle old scores.”

  She heard Dirk’s slight intake of breath and watched as a flicker of hate lit the chiefs dull eyes.

  “I’d watch what you say, Miss Reid,” he said carefully. “We’re just about to charge you with accessory to murder.”

  “I don’t think so, or I would have brought an attorney with me.”

  “We’ve checked your financial standing. Since you’ve left the department, you can’t afford an attorney.”

  That was much closer to the truth than Savannah cared to admit, even to herself. She was in the rotten, middle-class bracket of individuals who couldn’t afford the services of professionals: doctors, lawyers, plumbers, or automobile mechanics, but weren’t sufficiently poverty-stricken to warrant public assistance.

  Her blood sugar level dipped to an all-time low. She stood and tucked her purse under her arm. “Are you going to charge me or not?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Hillquist replied.

  “Well, you better make up your mind. I’ve got a Black Forest cake in my refrigerator and an eighty-three-year-old grandmother in my house.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere, Ms. Reid,” Hillquist said. He had stopped doodling and was giving her his full attention. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  “Yes, you are,” said a deep voice from the door. “This has gone far enough.”

  Savannah turned and was astonished to see that her new advocate was the venerable Colonel Neilson himself.

  “I called your home to apologize for my behavior earlier this evening, Ms. Reid,” he explained. “A pleasant houseguest of yours said you had been arrested for my daughter’s murder. Is that true?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know yet.” She glanced at Hillquist, Bloss, and her watch. “You’ll have to tune in later. Film at eleven.”

  The colonel turned his intense, blue-eyed scrutiny on Hillquist. “I know you’re trying to help, Norman,” he said. “For old time’s sake and all that. But you and I both know this woman didn’t kill Lisa. Earl did it. And the four of you are sitting here in this office, playing mental chess, while he gets away. There has to be a better way.”

  He gave Savannah a kind, sad half smile that gave her spirits a better boost than an intravenous drip of Black Forest chocolate. “I was . . . . shall we say, ‘in my cups’ when I visited you earlier, Savannah, but I recall something you said about us being on the same team, about us needing to work together.”

  Savannah held out her hand to him, and he shook it. For once, neither Hillquist nor Bloss seemed to have anything to say.

  “I’d like that very much, sir,” she told him.

  “Do you need a ride home?” His hand, arthritic though it was, felt warm and strong wrapped around hers.

  She thought of Granny Reid and the attention she had paid him earlier in the evening. Gran, at least, would be quite pleased to see him again.

  But she could feel Dirk standing beside her, tense and waiting for her reply. Good ol’ Dirk. . . . still a faithful partner.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” She batted her eyelashes and deepened her dimples. “But my grandmother taught me that a lady always leaves with the gentleman who brought her.”

  She gave the chief and her ex-captain her best “Kiss My Ass” look, took Dirk’s arm and said, “Let’s go, Beauregard. You can walk me home in the moonlight by way of the river. . . . but only if you promise not to take liberties.”

  Savannah’s bravado failed her the moment she stepped across her threshold and into the sanctity of her own home. For the past twenty-four hours, she had been running on raw nerves, and she had reached her limit.

  Most of the lights in the house were off. Only one lamp glowed, turned down low, in the living room. She was relieved—and a wee disappointed—that Granny hadn’t met her at the door. Good, she had taken Savannah’s advice and gone to bed. After all, an octogenarian needed her beauty rest.

  However, her arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed. Cleopatra and Diamante came running to her and twined their sleek black bodies around her ankles. Their pale green eyes and rhinestone collars glimmered in the lamplight.

  “Hi, girls,” she said, feeling a tenderness for the two animals well up inside her. Dropping her purse onto the foyer table, she scooped one up in each arm and gave them kisses. Their bellies were pudgy; Granny had always boasted the reputation of overfeeding every living creature within her domain.

  As she passed through the living room, she was surprised to see that Gran hadn’t gone to bed after all. She was curled against the end of the sofa, her reading glasses nearly sliding off the tip of her nose, her open Bible across her lap, and her eyes closed. She was snoring softly.

  Savannah thought of all the times she had come home late from dates and found her grandmother in exactly this position. Gran had always been a better mom than Savannah’s own mother, the most positive maternal influence in her upbringing.

  “Gran. . . .” After setting the cats on the floor, she placed one hand on the older woman’s shoulder and shook her gently. “Granny, it’s Savannah. I’m home now, and you should go along to bed.”

  “Huh? Oh, it’s you, sugar.” She stirred and pulled out the antique, locket-watch she wore around her neck. Flipping it open, she squinted down at its mother-of-pearl face. “High time you got back, too.”

  Savannah chuckled. “Well, it’s not like I was out kicking up my heels, you know. I wasn’t exactly making out with Tommy Stafford up at Lovers’ Peak.”

  Closing her Bible, Gran set it aside and rose from the sofa. “How did it go? Did you give ’em hell?”

  “I’d like to think I held my own. That’s about as good as it got.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Arms around each other’s waists, they walked toward the kitchen.

  “Are you hungry?” Gran asked. “Can I make you some fried liver and onions, or I could bake you some corn bread, if you’ve got some buttermilk to go with it.”

  Savannah felt her stomach roil at the mention of food. “Thank you, but I’ve waited so long to eat, and I’m so tired that I feel sort of nauseous. I think I’ll just hold out until breakfast.”

  “Then why don’t you go on up to bed, and I’ll bring you a nice cup of peppermint tea in a few minutes.”

  “Are you sure? You’re my guest; I feel like I should be serving you.”

  “Aw, I’m not a guest. I’m family. Hightail it outta here and get yourself into bed before you fall apart at the seams.”

  After pressing a kiss to her grandmother’s forehead and making one more feeble complaint, Savannah allowed herself to be shooed upstairs.

  When she walked into her bedroom and flipped on the light, she found another lovely surprise. Gran had folded the comforter down, then pulled the blanket and sheet back in a neat triangle. Across her pillow, her grandmother had laid one of her prettiest nightgowns, a slip of peach silk, embellished with lace and seed pearls.

  “Oh, Gran,” she whispered as she stripped out of her street clothes and pulled the gow
n over her head. As she allowed the satiny waves to trickle down her body, she smelled the slight fragrance of roses. Gran had even remembered to spray the gown with cologne.

  She had only been in bed a few minutes when her grandmother arrived, bearing a china teacup filled with aromatic mint tea.

  Taking the delicate porcelain from her, Savannah breathed in the scented steam and instantly felt better.

  “I was just lying here thinking about you,” Savannah said as Gran sat on the bed beside her. “About my thirteenth birthday. Do you remember what we did?”

  “Of course I do. But then, I don’t have any problem remembering things that happened forty years ago, just yesterday.”

  “Gran, it wasn’t forty years ago, for heaven’s sake.”

  Her grandmother laughed and tweaked her nose. “Of course not. It was only yesterday, right?”

  “It seems like it.” Savannah closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the sheets, savoring the memory. “You told me that, because I was turning thirteen, I was a young lady.”

  “That’s right. And we went shopping together, because I told you that a lady must always have two things—”

  “Beautiful lingerie and her own special perfume.”

  “It’s true. You never know when you’re going to be in a car wreck. . . . or something much nicer. . . . and you’ll need to be looking your best, all the way down to your skin.”

  To emphasize her point, Gran demurely lifted the hem of her caftan and revealed the exquisite bit of lace that edged her slip. “Besides, even if no one else ever sees what a person is wearing beneath her clothes, a lady knows, and it has a lot to do with how she feels about herself as a woman.”

  “Thank you, Gran. . . . for the tea, for coming to see me. . . . for teaching me about the good things in life.”

  “You were a delightful and eager student, Savannah. I learned a lot from you in the process.” Gran’s eyes searched hers. “How are you, really, child? How is your life here in California?”

  Savannah thought for a moment, deciding whether to give a pat answer or an honest one. With Granny Reid, there was only one choice. No matter what she said, her grandmother could always sense the truth.

  “Most of the time, I love my life. I have good friends, a comfortable home, work that is fulfilling and worthwhile. But. . . .”

  “There’s always a ‘but.’ That’s the bitter and sweet of it.”

  “It’s just that right now, things are tough. I’ve had cases that disturbed me, angered me, frustrated me. But this one has to be the worst so far.”

  “Even worse than when you lost your job?”

  “Yes, much worse. There’s much more at stake here. A woman’s life has been lost. And a beautiful little girl—”

  Savannah couldn’t hold it in any longer. The emotions turned to hot liquid and spilled down her face. Her grandmother handed her a box of tissues from the nightstand.

  “I’m sorry,” Savannah said between sniffles. “I don’t want to ruin your visit by crying on your shoulder like this. It’s just that so much has happened, and. . . .”

  She hiccuped and sobbed harder. Gran climbed into bed beside her and gathered her in her arms as though she were still ten years old.

  “And you know how I am just before my period,” Savannah continued, unable to stop the torrent. “Sometimes I cry over the darnedest things. . . . the national anthem. . . . an inspiring margarine commercial on TV. I mean, that crown appears on the kid’s head and I . . . . I just lose it.”

  “There, there. . . .” Granny Reid stroked her granddaughter’s hair and kissed her forehead. “This time I think it’s a lot more than a margarine commercial.”

  “Of course it is. Oh, Gran, you should have seen what that son of a bitch did to her. And now he has Christy, and I have to find him. I have to undo what I’ve done.”

  “Shhh-hhh, sweetheart. My dear, brave girl. You will find him. You’ll do everything you need to do to set things right. Because that’s the kind of person you’ve always been.”

  Savannah could feel the words sinking into her heart like a healing balm. She snuggled closer into her grandmother’s arms, allowing herself the rare and wonderful luxury of absorbing the other woman’s strength.

  “But the day is over and done,” Gran continued. “And you can’t do a single thing tonight, except sleep, and gather strength for tomorrow.”

  Gran wiped the tears from Savannah’s cheeks with her fingertips, and Savannah wondered at how soft human skin was, at both the beginning and the end of life.

  Granny Reid began to sing quietly. Her voice wasn’t as strong as it had once been, and it quivered with an old lady’s vibrato. But to Savannah, her grandmother’s singing was, and always would be, a gift of love.

  Savannah could feel herself drifting off into a sweet sleep. “Gran. . . .” she whispered, “why did you really come to California? Did you know I needed you?”

  “Shush. Of course not. I told you, I want to go to Disneyland.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I heard that yesterday was pretty awful for you, Savannah. I’d like to make it up to you with a champagne breakfast.”

  Ryan Stone’s deep bass voice was like velvet caressing her skin first thing in the morning. She wasn’t even out of bed yet. All the better to lie here in her silk nightgown and imagine, just for a moment, that the big, gorgeous hunk was lying beside her, not just on the other end of the telephone.

  “I’d love to, Ryan, believe me. I’m half-starved. But I have work to do.” She glanced at the clock and groaned. Eight-thirty.

  “You don’t have to feel lazy; this will be work. I’ve uncovered some very interesting facts for you. I can fill you in over strawberry cheese blintzes. How about it?”

  “My grandmother is visiting me and. . . .”

  “I know. How do you think I found out about your terrible day?”

  Savannah sighed. “If I want something broadcast, I don’t need to telegraph or telephone. Tell-a-Gran is much more efficient. When did she bore you with all the gory details?”

  “When I called last night. But she didn’t bore me at all. She kept me entertained for half an hour. What a colorful turn of phrase. . . . reminds me of a certain, charming relative of hers. Why don’t you bring her along for breakfast, and I’ll invite Gibson.”

  Warning bells went off in Savannah’s brain. “Ahhh. . . . I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not? She and Gibson will get along famously.”

  “Exactly. John Gibson is a very attractive older man, and Granny can be a bit of a vixen. She might even hit on him.”

  “It’s just as well. Then Gibson will understand the torment I’ve had to endure for his sake, resisting the allure of a beautiful, deliciously available Reid female.”

  Savannah dared to hope. . . . but only for a couple of accelerated heartbeats. Then she came back to earth with a thud. “Why. . . . Mr. Ryan Stone, I do believe you’re toyin’ with my affections.”

  “But you know that I love you, Savannah, and I do want to buy you breakfast. Fredrico’s. Half an hour.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  Savannah hung up the phone, sprang out of bed, and ran to her bedroom door.

  “Rise and shine, Gran!” she called down the hallway. “We’ve got a double date for breakfast. . . . kinda sorta.”

  Polished teak furnishings, classy maritime decor, a magnificent view of the harbor, and the best cheese blintzes in town. Ah. . . . Fredrico’s was one of Savannah’s favorite bits of real estate on earth.

  As Ryan had predicted, John Gibson and Gran appeared to be extremely impressed with one another. Toasting with mimosa and nibbling each other’s San Francisco Benedict and crêpes Suzette, they seemed a likely twosome. Except that Gran was probably twenty-five years his senior and, of course, John Gibson was already committed, life and heart, to Ryan.

  And who wouldn’t be? Savannah thought as she tried to ignore his thick dark hair, his green eyes w
ith their long black lashes, and the strong jaw that would have been a perfect model for an electric shaver commercial.

  “What is this?” she asked, when he passed her a manila envelope.

  “Good stuff. But I can’t take complete credit. Gibson came up with the information on Earl Mallock’s court-martial.”

  “Court-martial? You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. Take a look.”

  Savannah thumbed through the documents, which had apparently been faxed to Ryan from numerous government agencies during the past twenty-four hours.

  “Earl Mallock was in the army. Dirk and I found evidence of that in his storage locker,” she said, staring down at his service photo. Young, dark hair cut short, looking heavier than when she had last seen him, Mallock was standing in front of an American flag, wearing a staff sergeant’s uniform and a military police armband.

  “That’s a grim grimace,” she remarked.

  “I think it’s standard military issue.”

  Her eyes scanned the first paper. “He served in Vietnam . . . . we knew that, too. He received a medical discharge.”

  “Hospitalized. That was how he and Lisa Neilson met. She was a nurse on staff at the VA Hospital; Earl was a patient.”

  “Physical injuries?”

  “Psychological.”

  Savannah glanced over at Gran, aware that a certain amount of discretion might be in order. But Gibson was keeping her occupied with some yarn about having served as a guard at Buckingham Palace. Or, at least, she assumed it was a yarn. With Gibson, one could never tell. He seemed to have lived at least a dozen lives already this time around.

  Locating the documents concerning the court-martial, Savannah read, “Charged with. . . . using excessive force while performing his duties. . . . assigned to guard duty. . . . prisoners of war . . . . accused of. . . .” Savannah dropped the paper and stared at Ryan.

  He nodded. “That’s right. He bound some of his prisoners’ wrists and ankles with piano wire, then tortured them by twisting it tighter and tighter.”