Bitter Sweets

by G. A. McKevett

  The sixth, she let him have it.

  “They’d better be out here, Stone, ’cause if we’ve gone through all this for nothing, you’re dead meat,” she said, huffing and puffing as the sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes. “I’m going to bop you over the head and leave you out here to rot.”

  “I’m more convinced than ever that we’re on the right track,” Ryan said, dropping to one knee to examine the ground.

  Savannah was grateful for the chance to pause and catch her breath. Turning to look back down the trail they had come, she saw Dirk, trudging along. His face was a deep, sun-scorched red, but the top of his head was even worse. He refused to put sunblock on his bald spot; to do so would be to admit it existed.

  Pulling the canteen—which Ryan had bought for them at Mort’s—from her back, she unscrewed the lid and took a long drink.

  Instantly, she spit it onto the ground. “Yuck! What the hell did you put in my water after I filled it up at that last stream? This tastes like crap.”

  “Actually, it tastes like iodine,” Ryan replied good-naturedly. “Those little tablets that I dropped into your canteen kill the bacteria in the water. Believe me, you don’t want to catch beaver fever. John and I caught it once and it nearly killed us.”

  She gave him a searching look to see if he was serious or making some sort of silly, obscene joke. But his eyes were wide and almost innocent.

  He chuckled. “Seriously, Savannah. . . . just swallow fast and you won’t taste a thing.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “I’ve heard that one before. When do we eat?”

  “Why didn’t you ask sooner? I bought some wonderful, nutritious treats to keep our spirits and energy up.”

  He took off his newly acquired backpack, reached inside, and pulled out a couple of packets. “Here you go. Trail mix. . . . or would you prefer beef jerky?”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey in there? Or maybe a Dove bar?”

  “Sorry. This is it.”

  Trying to appear grateful, she accepted the trail mix. After a couple of bites, she was finally able to discern most of the ingredients: sawdust, Styrofoam, balsa wood and—What was that slightly pungent accent flavor?—oh, yes. . . . mothballs.

  “Is it lunchtime yet?” Dirk asked, catching up to them.

  “Yeah. Here, you can have mine.” She discreetly slipped the bag to Dirk, while Ryan continued on ahead.

  “Thanks.”

  “Wait until you taste it before you thank me.”

  “What is it?”

  “A little treat to keep our spirits up.”

  Dirk downed the bagful in four bites and didn’t seem to mind the lack of flavor. Maybe there was something to this “swallowing fast” thing.

  A few minutes later, they caught up with Ryan. He was standing silently by the side of the path, motionless, staring at the ground.

  “What is it?” Savannah asked, afraid that she knew.

  Slowly, he took a step backward in their direction. Then another, and another.

  Savannah heard it. The telltale rattle.

  “Oh, shit!” she whispered, reaching inside her shirt for her Beretta. “It’s a snake. A rattlesnake. Damn, I hate snakes.”

  Dirk pulled out his Colt and they waited as Ryan crept back toward them.

  “He was sunning himself right there in the middle of the path,” he said when he reached them. “I almost stepped on him.”

  “So, what do we do?” Savannah asked.

  “He was there first,” Ryan replied. “We go around him.”

  “Are there a lot of rattlers out here?” Dirk asked.

  She could tell he was trying to be macho, but his voice sounded a little shaky.

  “This time of year there are zillions of them,” Ryan replied as he forged a circuitous route, leading them on. “But not to worry, they’re all friendly.”

  “Friendly rattlesnakes?” Savannah didn’t believe she had ever heard of a sociable rattler.

  “Yeah. Like that one back there,” Ryan replied. “He was a friendly sort of guy. Didn’t you see him wagging his tail? Just a great big puppy dog.”

  Farther along, they drifted back onto the trail. “Not that I’m nervous or anything,” Dirk said, “but we do have a . . . . um . . . . puppy dog bite kit along, don’t we?”

  Ryan patted the side of his backpack. “Right here.”

  “Remind me never to go hiking with you again,” Savannah said, realizing that, sooner or later, she was going to have to drink some of that stuff in her canteen that tasted like frog pee. “This is not my idea of a good time.”

  “It’ll be worth it,” Ryan said. “They’re up here.”

  Savannah’s heart leapt and suddenly she didn’t feel so tired. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  “How do you know?” Dirk asked. Even he sounded encouraged.

  “Footprints. I thought I saw some farther back. . . . a man’s and a child’s. Now, here they are again, and they’re fresh. This time I’m certain.”

  Savannah and Dirk squatted to examine the faint prints Ryan pointed out to them on the hard-packed earth.

  “Well, hell. . . . what are we waiting for?” Dirk said with a determined sniff. “Let’s get going and hope Tonto’s right.”

  “They aren’t here.” Savannah wanted to cry, but her eyes were already irritated by the dust and her own dripping sweat, and she didn’t want to make them worse.

  “So, we dragged our candy asses all the way out here for nothing,” Dirk added, giving Ryan a look that was half aggravation and half I-told-you-so satisfaction. “Nice goin’, Stone.”

  Ryan had led them to the old, abandoned cattle ranch, the focal point of their search being the decrepit ranch house. His best guess had been that Mallock would have sought shelter for his daughter inside the condemned building. Even in its deteriorating condition, it would have been more serviceable than a tent and wouldn’t have to be carried in.

  But the house was empty. A family of squirrels, some bats, a plethora of spiders, and a gopher snake were the only residents. From the even layer of dust and the curtains of undisturbed cobwebs, it appeared the three were the only human visitors for a long time.

  Ryan was unfazed by his companions’ criticism. Standing on the porch, he leaned against a post and assumed a contemplative pose.

  “Actually, it makes sense, if you think about it,” he said. “If you were Mallock, would you stay right here in the house? If I know about this place, that would mean others do, too. It was an alternative lifestyle commune in the sixties and—”

  “Alternative lifestyles, oh, you mean a hippie joint,” Dirk said, sinking down onto the steps and dropping his canteen onto the dirt.

  “As I was saying,” Ryan continued, ignoring him, “the house itself is too obvious. Besides, I believe the well that once served the residence has dried up. That would mean he would have to carry water from the stream.”

  “The stream? What stream?” Savannah said, her own mental wheels churning.

  “The one that borders the property on the north and west. The one I told you about earlier that seldom dries up, even when the others do.”

  “Where you can catch trout with a rooster tail.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are there other buildings that might be closer to the water source?” she asked.

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Ryan drummed his fingertips on the post. “If I remember correctly, there are a couple of outbuildings, small feed sheds, right beside the stream. The ranchers probably stored hay and grain for the animals there in the winter.”

  “Let’s go check them out,” Savannah said.

  “Yeah, let’s.” Still full of energy, Ryan bounded off the porch.

  Dirk dragged himself to his feet. “Oh, joy. We get to walk again. I can hardly wait.”

  As they approached the third outbuilding—a tiny, tar-papered shack with a corrugated tin roof—Savannah
knew they had scored.

  “Look at that,” she said, pointing to the canvas bag that hung on the end of a rope, draped over an oak limb. “Isn’t that a camper sort of thing to do?”

  “Yes. It’s to keep the animals away from your food stash,” Ryan agreed.

  To their left, an expert campfire had been laid with lots of wood stacked nearby. On some rocks near the stream some clothing had been spread: a large pair of jeans, a towel, and a small Beauty and the Beast tee shirt.

  “At least Christy’s still okay,” Savannah said, greatly relieved.

  “Maybe,” Dirk added, always Mr. Negativity.

  They crouched behind a clump of sage and surveyed the surrounding area. Their hiding spot was the only one around. The brush appeared to have been recently cleared away and, other than the oak, there were no trees nearby.

  “Good choice,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah, he can see us comin’ a mile off,” Dirk added, wiping the sweat off his face with his sleeve.

  “We probably shouldn’t just march up to the door and knock a ‘shave and a haircut,’ huh?” Savannah’s legs were seizing into a cramp from squatting, so she knelt in the dust. It didn’t help much.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Ryan said.

  “Mallock’s probably not even in there,” Dirk suggested. “It’s just some old codger who got sick of civilization and moved up here to get some peace.” Other people thought dark, pessimistic thoughts; but Dirk Coulter was always the first to utter them aloud. “It’s still daylight. Even if Mallock and the kid are here, they could be anywhere, doing anything. Choppin’ wood, skinnin’ a bear.”

  “Do you want to wait until dark?” Ryan asked.

  “Not really.” Savannah thought of how it would be to have to navigate the path they had just taken or spend the night out here in the sticks with nothing but mountain lions, coyotes, and friendly rattlesnakes for company. “I’d just as soon get it over with,” she said. “But there’s no point in all of us exposing ourselves. I’ll sneak up and take a peek in the window. Then I’ll come back here and let you know what’s up.”

  “I really think I should go,” Ryan said. “I know the two of you are exhausted, not being accustomed to hiking so far and—”

  “I’ll go,” Dirk snapped. “I’m the cop around here, even if everybody does keep forgetting that little fact. You two are just along for the ride.”

  “Are you sure?” Savannah asked. “We could all go together.”

  “Yeah, right,” Dirk said irritably. “We’d look like the Three Stooges marching up there, three abreast.” He looked across at Savannah’s generous chest. “Okay, you definitely count for two . . . . four abreast.” He pulled his Colt and checked his ammo. “I’m going. You two are staying. I’ll take a look and then give you the high sign.”

  Cautiously, he left the meager shelter of the scrub and scurried toward the house, keeping low to the ground and out of view of the one small window.

  “What’s the high sign?” Ryan asked. “I’ve always wondered exactly what that was.”

  “I don’t know what it is officially,” Savannah admitted. “But Dirk usually just flips you the bird.”

  They watched closely as Dirk approached the shed, all the time keeping a sharp eye for any other movement in the surrounding area. But only the trees swayed from time to time, the dry oak leaves rustling like a starched Southern petticoat in the breeze.

  Nearby a dove cooed, and they could hear the burbling sound of the stream. It was a natural, peaceful sound that seemed out of context, considering their mission.

  Savannah held her own gun tightly in her sweat-slick palm, waiting for anything as Dirk plastered his back to the shed and slowly made his way around to the window.

  The casement held four panels. Three of the glass panes were filthy and obscure, but the lower left corner one was broken, with only jagged edges. Dirk squatted below it, bobbed up for a quick look, then back down.

  He repeated the move, then again, pausing a bit longer each time.

  Finally, he stood and stared through the window for a long, tense moment. Ryan and Savannah held their breaths. Without turning toward them, Dirk beckoned with one hand, the movement slow and wooden.

  They left their hiding spots and hurried toward the shed.

  Dirk walked away from the window and made his way slowly toward the door. When they reached him, Savannah whispered, “What is it? Is anyone inside?”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed the door open and stepped into the semidarkness.

  “Shit,” he said softly. He moved aside to make room in the tiny shed for the other two to join him.

  By the sound of his tone and the horrible, distinctive odor that filled the structure, Savannah braced herself, knowing that she wasn’t going to like what she was going to see. But she still wasn’t prepared.

  “No,” she said, her mind rebelling at the sight of yet another body sprawled on the floor. It felt like an instant replay of Lisa’s murder scene.

  In the darkness she couldn’t see details, and the corpse was already beginning to distort from the natural process of decomposition. The stench was overpowering, and Savannah tasted her stomach juices rising.

  The victim lay in a fetal position, and at first glance it appeared the wrists and ankles were bound with wire. The person appeared to have died from a gunshot to the head. . . . just like Lisa Mallock.

  This time the room hadn’t been closed; the open window had allowed the flies access. The larvae were busy, doing what they did best.

  Ryan was the last to squeeze into the crowded space. “A body,” he said, identifying the smell even before he saw the corpse.

  “Yeah,” Dirk said. “Another dead one. I guess we were too late again.”

  “Not the little girl?” Ryan stared over Savannah’s shoulder, as all three allowed their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  “No, thank God,” Savannah said. “I think it’s Earl Mallock.”

  “Yeah. . . .” Dirk shook his head in bewilderment. “. . . . go figure.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Savannah sat beneath the shade of the one oak tree and watched despondently as Deputy Coroner Jennifer Liu and her team processed the murder scene. Dirk had called out on his cell phone and delivered the bad news once again. The forensic gang had cheated—as far as Savannah was concerned—and had ridden a helicopter into the area, landing in a fairly smooth field of prairie grasses several hundred feet from the ranch house.

  Back in the olden days, when Savannah had carried a gold detective’s shield on a chain around her neck, she would have been in the thick of things at the scene, helping, asking a hundred questions, supplying answers when she had them.

  But now she was a civilian. . . . and not a particularly popular one at that.

  She and Ryan had just finished an exhaustive search of the surrounding region, looking for any sign of the missing child. But, other than several items of clothing inside the shed and the tee shirt outside, there had been nothing. Savannah didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more worried than before. She supposed she was both.

  “Now I don’t know what to think,” she told Ryan. He offered her a sip of water from his canteen, but she declined. Intending to hitch a ride back on the chopper, she had decided just to wait until she reached civilization and Sparkletts.

  “I know what you mean,” he agreed. “Seems like we’re back to square one.”

  They watched silently for a minute or so as Dr. Jennifer’s two assistants carried the blue-bagged body of Earl Mallock out of the shed on a stretcher. The blue bags were for homicides; their zippers had locks.

  “It sure looks like the same MO as Lisa. The wire around the wrists and ankles, the shot to the head.” She thought she had never felt so tired, so completely wrung dry. “And I was sure Earl had killed her. Somebody out there has been laughing up his sleeve while I’ve been running around like a decapitated chicken, chasing the wrong person.”

 
; “Do you have any ideas who?”

  “Sure, several. And as soon as I get back, I’ll get to work on them. But for right now, I just want to know where that little girl is. My God, I can’t imagine what she must be going through, what shape she must be in. She’s probably witnessed both of her parents being murdered.”

  Savannah shuddered, and Ryan reached over to put his arm around her shoulders. “There’s no way a kid could ever get over something like that,” she said. “Even if she’s alive and physically healthy, that is.”

  “One thing at a time, Savannah. You’ve got enough to handle mentally and emotionally, just with what you know. Don’t let your imagination torture you . . . . if you can help yourself.”

  “Can you?” She searched his green eyes for an honest answer. “Can you control your imagination at a time like this?”

  He sighed and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “No, I can’t. But be a good girl and do as I say, not as I do.”

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll try.”

  Fat chance, she thought, returning his kiss.

  Savannah saw Dirk standing by the door of the shed, giving her and Ryan a jealous, pissy look. She wondered how he could be so petty as to even think of such foolishness under the circumstances.

  Reluctantly, he returned to his job at hand, scribbling notes and diagrams on a yellow legal pad that Dr. Liu had provided.

  The team was carrying bag after bag of evidence from the shed. Apparently, Earl Mallock had stashed a lot of equipment and supplies. One assistant had even shinnied up the oak tree and untied the pack of provisions. Someone had disappeared inside the shed with a fingerprint kit.

  “I wish Dr. Jennifer would hurry up and get this mess over and done with,” she said, tucking her knees up under her chin and leaning on them. “I’ve got to get back to town, back to my car, back to a phone, back to work . . . . like you said, back to square one.”

  “Well, if it helps at all, you won’t be standing there all alone.” Ryan squeezed her hand.

  Her eyes misted, and for a moment harsh reality went out of focus. A pleasant relief. “It helps,” she said. “A lot.”