Bitter Sweets

by G. A. McKevett

  In the middle of her living room floor, Savannah sat with her “suspect board” in her lap, moving the bits of sticky-backed papers from one corner to the other.

  “What do you have there, sugar?” Granny Reid asked as she entered the room and slipped a cup of hot chocolate into Savannah’s hand.

  Savannah looked at the mug and smiled up at her grandmother. “Whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top . . . . just like you used to make it for me when I was a girl.”

  Gran chuckled. “Not exactly. You’re a big girl now. It’s got a good stiff shot of Bailey’s in it, too.”

  Savannah never had to wonder from where she had inherited her hedonistic tendencies. The almost-black hair, the blue eyes, and the sweet tooth had definitely come from her father’s side, because Gran still had hers. Except for the dark hair, which had turned silver some years ago.

  “This . . . .” Savannah pointed to her piece of red poster board with its tiny notes. “. . . . is where I keep all my information, once it becomes too much for my brain. It keeps me from overloading the circuits between my ears.”

  Gran pulled the footstool over beside Savannah and sat down. “How does it work?”

  “Up here at the top I put possible suspects, beneath each name I put the motive, opportunity, and physical evidence—if I have some. Down here at the bottom are individuals who are involved in the case, but, if I don’t have enough information yet to establish a motive, opportunity, or incriminating evidence, I can’t consider them actual suspects.”

  “Ummmm . . . . I see. And over there in the lower right-hand corner?”

  Savannah cleared her. throat and swallowed hard. “That’s where I stick the dead ones.”

  Gran studied the board for a long time. “Well,” she said at last, “you’ve got nobody at the top . . . . that means no suspects. You got a whole bunch of people at the bottom, but that doesn’t help you much, if you don’t know how or why they might have done it. And you got two stuck over there in the dead corner.”

  She shook her head and gave Savannah a sympathetic look. “I hate to say it, sugarplum, but so far . . . . you ain’t doin’ too good.”

  Dirk had told Savannah on the phone that he had already informed Colonel Neilson of his former son-in-law’s death, so she wasn’t sure what to expect when she arrived at Neilson’s home the following morning.

  The two men had history, positive and negative, and she wondered how the colonel had taken the news.

  Badly.

  That was the thought that ran through her mind when she entered his backyard and found him bent over a bed of impatiens, looking even more exhausted and bedraggled than he had the day before.

  “Good morning, Colonel,” she said, glancing around the yard for the ubiquitous black beast. For once, he didn’t seem to be around. “I knocked on the front door, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “I heard you.”

  He refused to look up at her and continued to dig in the flower bed with his hand shovel.

  “Oh. Then I guess you didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Miss Reid. Right now, I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

  “I can certainly understand that. And I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t feel it was important.”

  He stabbed the shovel into the soil, brushed off his hands, and stood. Obviously, the simple act caused him tremendous pain and his face registered the misery.

  Strange, she thought . . . . he was twenty years or so younger than Gran, but far less flexible. Maybe it was—as she had always suspected—not the years but the mileage.

  As many times before, she wondered if physical disabilities mirrored the condition of the soul. Of all the colonel’s personality attributes, she didn’t think that flexibility was likely to be at the top of the list.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked as he led her back toward the house. “I’ve told you everything I can think of.”

  “You haven’t told me who might have a motive to kill your daughter and your son-in-law.”

  “Are you sure the same person killed them both?” He opened the kitchen door and ushered her inside.

  “I haven’t spoken to the coroner yet, but I’ve seen both murder scenes, and it appears so.”

  After taking two glasses from the cupboard, he walked to the refrigerator and poured them each an iced tea. He handed Savannah’s to her, then sat at the kitchen table. “No,” he said. “I can’t think of anyone other than Earl who would kill Lisa. To my knowledge, other than him, she didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

  “Was she seeing any other men after she separated from Earl?”

  “I don’t know. She kept that side of her life private. I didn’t always approve of the men she chose, and I never minded saying so. I think she decided it was easier just not to discuss her dating practices with her father.”

  Savannah took a drink of the tea and found it strong and bitter. “I noticed that she didn’t have much in her home, not many belongings.”

  “Thanks to Earl, she had to travel light. Besides, his lawyer screwed her in the divorce settlement.”

  “I was wondering if, perhaps, she kept some things here. Personal letters, memorabilia. . . .”

  He thought for a moment. “I have a couple of boxes up in the attic that were hers. I’m not sure what’s in them.”

  “Would you mind if I borrowed them, just for a few days? I’ll take good care of them and return everything intact.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose so, as long as I get them back. What do you think you’ll find in them?”

  “I don’t know. Over half of an investigation is looking for something and not knowing what you’re looking for, until you find it.”

  “Sounds frustrating.”

  “Believe me, it can be.”

  The Capri Inn held several fond memories for Savannah, and those recollections stirred accompanying feelings of excitement and sensuality as she walked into the lobby. Long ago—far too long ago, she decided—she had enjoyed several romantic encounters within these mirrored walls.

  The glittering, crystal chandeliers, the lush atrium with its rock waterfall, the plush dark plum carpeting, all made her wonder why she hadn’t taken much time the past few years to indulge herself in some of the more physical pleasures of life. Other than food, that was.

  She wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for business.

  “Brian O’Donnell?” she inquired at the desk.

  The clerk called his room, and she was sent upstairs to the fourth floor.

  “Savannah, how good to see you,” he said, practically pulling her inside the room. “Come on in.”

  Glancing around, she noted how neat and tidy the room was, considering he was a man away from home. Books and magazines were neatly stacked on the bed stand, clothes hung, drawers closed, suitcases stashed in the closet.

  “Any news?” he asked.

  “About Lisa or Christy . . . . no.”

  He waved her into a chair and sat tensely on the edge of the bed near her.

  “Oh.” He appeared genuinely disappointed. “I was hoping that was why you were here.”

  “I’m sorry. But I did think I should keep you apprised of the new developments.”

  His eyes searched hers. “From the look on your face, I’m almost afraid to ask. Is it bad?”

  “I suppose that depends on how you look at it. But, yes, I would say so. We found Earl Mallock.”

  “Really? That’s great! Where is he?”

  “Ah . . . . well . . . . at the moment, he’s in the city morgue. I’m afraid he’s dead, too.”

  “Mallock dead?” She watched his reaction closely; he didn’t seem to be any more surprised or alarmed than when he had been told that Lisa was dead. If anything, he simply appeared confused.

  “Yes, murdered. In the same manner as Lisa.”

  “But, I thought he was the one who killed Lisa. How could—?”

  “We don’t know. But we’
re trying to find out.”

  “Do you think the same person killed them both?”

  “We’ll know more after the autopsy. It looks that way.”

  He sat quietly for a long time, as though absorbing the information. Savannah had to admit it was a lot to swallow; Brian had received more than his share of bad news since arriving in California.

  Standing, he shoved his hands into his slacks pockets and walked over to the window. He stood with his back to her, staring down on the freeway that whizzed by below—an infinite line of red lights going one direction and white going the opposite.

  “It’s such a weird feeling,” he said. “Knowing that someone I just spoke with not that long ago is now dead. And murdered, too. It’s just. . . . weird.”

  “When did you last speak to Mallock?”

  “On the telephone just before I left Orlando. That was when he told me where I could find Lisa. Or, at least, he gave me an address. But as I told you before, it turned out to be fake.”

  He returned to his seat on the bed. “Oh, did I offer you something to drink? I have some juices, some ice, and—”

  “No, thanks. I can’t stay long, I just . . . .”

  The sliding door to the closet was open and something inside caught Savannah’s eye. It was a bag that appeared to be filled with children’s clothes and a stuffed animal. Instantly, she thought of Christy and the abandoned toys in her empty bedroom, her small shirt that had been left to dry on the rocks on the Montoya Ranch.

  Brian saw that she had noticed the bag and colored slightly. “For my kids at home,” he explained. “I miss my boys. I’ve never been away from them this long. I’d better head back home soon, or I’ll go broke, buying out the gift shop downstairs.”

  “I know how you feel. I love children myself.”

  “Do you have any?”

  “No.”

  Suddenly, Savannah wanted to leave the room, leave this man whose presence reminded her of the part she had played in his loss. Besides, his love for his own family reminded her of what she had never had.

  She stood abruptly and headed for the door. “I have to get going,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you what’s been happening so far. As soon as I have other news, I’ll let you know.”

  “Maybe it’ll be good next time,” he said, offering her an encouraging smile as he walked her out the door and into the hallway.

  “One can always hope.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The state of Dirk’s living conditions had ceased to shock Savannah years ago. She had grown accustomed to the ten-by-forty-foot house trailer that sat off the road in a wooded area, called Casitas Maria, about fifteen miles east of San Carmelita. Besides, over time she had come to realize that the place wasn’t really as filthy or disorganized as it appeared on first glance.

  Although a thick layer of dust covered all surfaces and no attempts at decorating had ever been made, the trailer was free of dirty dishes, vermin, and human and animal wastes. In Dirk’s mind, that constituted “basically sanitary.”

  He had pushed his collection of periodicals and videotapes onto the floor, clearing the coffee table, for her visit. She had been deeply flattered.

  Side by side, they sat on the antique gold, threadbare carpet, leaning against the sofa, examining the materials spread out before them.

  “Look what I found,” she said, pointing to some articles of interest she had garnered from the boxes taken from the colonel’s home.

  She grabbed a black high school yearbook with silver lettering that said “Wolverines” and opened it to a page she had marked with the preaddressed envelope from her overdue electric bill. What the heck, this was just the yellow notice, and she knew she wasn’t going to pay it until the red one came. It would have its own envelope.

  “Here is Lisa’s high school graduation picture,” she said, tapping her fingertip on the photo of a softer, sweeter version of the face she had seen over the plate of M&M cookies. Before Earl Mallock. Before the abuse and the heartaches.

  “Looks like a nice kid.”

  “I’m sure she was.” Savannah flipped back to the section reserved for the junior class. “And this is Vanessa Pearce . . . . without the purple hair.”

  Dirk studied the face of the pretty blonde who, even back then, wore too much makeup for her delicate good looks. “Hmmm, that was Earl’s girlfriend.”

  “Was, being the operative term. She and Lisa Neilson went to the same school, one year apart.”

  “Okay . . . . so?”

  “They were more than just schoolmates.” She pulled out some snapshots of the two girls playing in a swimming pool, on the beach, at a school basketball game, at a birthday party where Lisa was blowing out candles on a cake. “Lisa Neilson and Vanessa Pearce were best friends all through high school and for years afterward.”

  “And both of them wound up having the same guy?”

  Savannah nodded. “Even back then. I found some letters . . . . right here . . . . that were written when the women were in their thirties.” She pulled the rainbow-striped stationery from her tote bag and spread the letters on the table. “These are from Vanessa to Lisa. It seems that at one point, Earl was dating them both.”

  “Busy guy.”

  “Extremely busy.” She pushed one particular letter into Dirk’s hand. “He got both women pregnant within a few months of each other. Lisa first, then Vanessa. In that letter, Vanessa is begging Lisa to give him up so that she can have him.”

  “Whoa, now that’s messy.”

  “Positively sca-a-andalous. If such a thing had happened in Georgia, some of the male relatives would have run Mr. Mallock out of town on a rail, wearing a fine ensemble of pitch and turkey feathers.”

  “I wonder what the colonel had to say about it all?” Dirk took a long swig of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  “Well . . . . Earl married Lisa, didn’t he? I’d say the colonel might have had something to say about that.”

  Dirk checked the dates on the letters. “We know what happened to Lisa’s baby; that would have been Christy. But what about Vanessa’s kid?”

  Savannah shrugged. “Don’t know yet. But at least now I have somebody to move to the top of my board.”

  “You mean Vanessa Pearce . . . . that she had a motive?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, if she was going to knock somebody off, it seems like she would have done it ten years ago, when all this was going down.”

  “But what if she didn’t do it back then? What if she finally got Earl—prize that he was—away from Lisa? What if, after she thought she had him all to herself for good, he started to obsess about Lisa again? What if Vanessa found out about it, and it was just one rejection too many?”

  Dirk considered the possibilities for a while and sipped some more beer. “Well, you’ve talked to her. Does she strike you as the type of person who could kill two people?”

  “No.” She sighed. “But I’ve been wrong before.”

  When Savannah dropped by the house later to check in with Tammy, she opened the front door and received quite a shock.

  Granny Reid was standing in the middle of the living room, wearing a bright red, one-piece bathing suit. Part of the shock was that she looked much better in it than Savannah would have expected.

  “I never had one before . . . . not in my whole life,” she told Savannah as she twirled around the room, showing the suit from all its best angles. “I thought it was high time.”

  Savannah began to laugh as she ran to her grandmother and grabbed her around the waist. “Just look at you! You look like Esther Williams!”

  “That’s what I thought when I tried it on at Wal-Mart today. I just had to have it. After all, I can’t go wading in the big Pacific Ocean in one of my caftans or nightgowns.”

  “You’re absolutely right. There’s a wonderful little lagoon over by the marina. I’ll have to take you there as soon as I get a chance.”

  Tammy walked
into the living room, just in time to hear Savannah’s last words.

  “Don’t wait until you ‘get a chance,’ Savannah,” she said quietly, “or you’ll never do it.”

  “Tammy, I can’t. You know what’s going on around here, and—”

  “Yes, I do. And I know that you aren’t the only one working on this case. You have Ryan and John running their buns off for you, Dirk is busting his, and I’m doing everything I possibly can every waking moment.”

  She nodded toward Granny and smiled a sweet, knowing smile that was wise beyond her years. “You can take two hours, Savannah. Even the president could take two hours under these circumstances.”

  Savannah thought of Lisa, of Earl . . . . and, of course, of Christy.

  Then she looked at her grandmother, so eager, a child eighty-three years young, who had never set foot in the Pacific Ocean, who, until today, had never worn a bathing suit.

  “The temperature in that lagoon is really lovely this time of day, Gran,” she said. “But you’ll have to wear a robe or something as a coverup on the way there and back. That red suit is just too-o-o-o risqué for public!”

  “Oh, you’re right! I’ll go get one.” Granny Reid giggled as she hurried up the stairs. In record time she reappeared with her Victoria’s Secret’s terry-lined, satin robe over her arm.

  Savannah barely had time to grab her own gear.

  “I’ve made a very important decision, Savannah,” her grandmother told her as they walked to the car, arm in arm.

  “And what is that, Gran?”

  “I’ve made up my mind that I’m going to do something outrageous every year for the rest of my life. Last year I got my earlobes pierced . . . . both of them. This year it’s the bathing suit and wading in the Pacific Ocean.” She lifted her chin a few notches. “And next year . . . . oh, hell . . . . there’s no tellin’ what I might do!”

  Savannah laughed and made a decision of her own: With every passing year of her own life, to become more like her grandmother.

  Lying on her back on the sun-warmed sand, Savannah allowed herself to enjoy the rare delight of doing absolutely nothing for a moment. The healing heat penetrated the stiff muscles of her shoulders and down her spine, loosening the knots, easing the tension. At least a little.