Bitter Brew

by G. A. McKevett

  “After I see how Gran’s doing with the baby,” she told Jennifer, “I’ll head over to The Fisherman’s Lair to see if I can find out the name of the guy Brianne was meeting there.”

  “That’s a rough place. Watch yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay, you said you have a couple of leads. That’s one. What’s the other?”

  Savannah thought hard but came up blank. “Okay. You got me. There isn’t another one. That’s all I have.”

  “Then you’d better wear your undercover hooker garb when you go fishing at The Lair.”

  Savannah chuckled. “I’m not quite as alluring in my leather miniskirt and fishnet stockings as I was twenty years ago. Cellulite is definitely having its way with me, or at least my thighs, these days.”

  “Don’t worry about a little lump and bump here and there. I assure you, with abundant cleavage like yours, it won’t be your thighs that The Lair’s clientele will be drooling over.”

  * * *

  When Savannah arrived back home, she entered her house and found a most peaceful, soul-satisfying sight. Gran was sitting in Savannah’s chair, her feet on the footstool, bookended by Diamante and Cleopatra.

  The reason they were next to Gran’s feet and not on her lap, as usual, was obvious. Vanna Rose was sound asleep, lying on her tummy in Granny’s arms, her head on her great-grandmother’s shoulder, her tiny hand resting on Gran’s cheek.

  Savannah couldn’t help recalling the bliss she had experienced as a child, snuggling against her well-rounded grandmother. Lying on Granny was like melting into a large, warm, soft pillow. Nothing bad could ever happen to you there in the circle of her loving arms. Surely, there was no sweeter, safer place on earth.

  Granny gave her granddaughter a smile when Savannah walked over to the sofa and sat down.

  “Sorry for takin’ up your chair,” Gran said, speaking low. “I’d get up and give it to ya, but—”

  “No, no. Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t ask you to move a hair on that child’s head or your own either, for that matter. The two of you are the most peaceful sight I’ve seen in ages.”

  “I must admit, I am enjoying every second of this. What a blessing it is, having a little one in the family again. It’s been too long.”

  “It has been,” Savannah said somewhat sadly.

  She couldn’t help thinking of her and Dirk’s unsuccessful attempts at becoming parents. It was the one cloud hanging over an otherwise mostly-sunny marriage. At least, until lately.

  Savannah’s early-onset menopause and its resulting infertility was one of the few regrets that she had, concerning her husband. For all the years she’d known him, the otherwise rough, tough street cop had demonstrated a deep affection for all things that were truly sweet and innocent: dogs, cats, and especially children. She had no doubt that he would have made a wonderful father, and she would have loved to have given him a son or daughter of his own.

  Apparently, some things just weren’t meant to be.

  Maybe if you’d given him a kid or two, you’d mean more to him now, barked her internal tormentor. He’s probably going to dump you. It’s not like he’s got a cute little kid to stick around for and—

  If I ever manage to get my hands around your throat, you nasty, evil woman, she told the voice, you are done for. Kaputz. Toes pointing at the sky and on your way to hell in a handbasket!

  “Who’s going to hell in a handbasket?” Granny asked.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize I was talking out loud.”

  Gran chuckled. “That happens more and more as you get older, so get used to it.”

  “Then I’m going to be in trouble, considering what I’m thinking half the time.”

  “It’s probably no worse than the rest of us. If we could read each other’s thoughts for ten minutes, most of us would never speak to each other again.”

  “Present company excepted,” Savannah said, giving her an affectionate smile.

  “Of course,” Granny replied. “You just might be the one person I’ve never had one cranky thought about in my entire life.”

  “Not even when I threw my muddy shoe at Marietta, and it landed in the middle of that beautiful, big, banana-nut cake you’d just baked for the pastor?”

  “Well . . . okay . . . I’ve never had two cranky thoughts about—”

  “Or that time when I snuck your only pair of earrings, the ones you only wore to church and weddings and funerals, out of your drawer and then dropped one of them down the hole in the outhouse seat?”

  “I reckon that was the height of your career as a juvenile delinquent, so—”

  “Then there was the other time when—”

  “Savannah, girl, you need to learn how to stop when you’re ahead.”

  Savannah laughed. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I’m sure you have. But then, we’ve all got our life lessons that we’re workin’ on.”

  “When do you suppose we get them all learned?”

  “About the time that we look around and realize that we’re starin’ up at the grass, rather than down on it.”

  “Hmm, something to look forward to.”

  Savannah heard a familiar sound in the driveway—the rumbling of Dirk’s cruiser as it pulled next to her Mustang and stopped.

  Cleo flew off the footstool and ran to the front door. No doubt about it; Daddy was home.

  Rather than her usual pleasure at hearing that sound, Savannah experienced an unpleasant mix of sadness, anger, and fear. In all the years she had known him, she had never felt those emotions in his presence. At least, not on account of him or his actions.

  She hated the change.

  When he walked through the door and into the foyer, she wanted to run to him, like Cleopatra, throw herself into his arms, and then—remembering the phone call she had overheard that morning—beat the ever-lovin’ daylights out of him.

  But she fought the urges and just sat there, waiting for him to finish greeting Cleo and walk into the room.

  When he finally did, after what seemed like about twelve hours, he gave her a brief nod before directing his attention to the baby on Granny’s lap, who was stirring from her sleep.

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “Uncle Dirk didn’t mean to wake you up, little fairy princess.”

  The baby quickly stirred, her blue eyes wide open with excitement at seeing him. She turned in Gran’s arms to face him and held out her hands to him.

  A second later, he had scooped her up and was holding her over his head, calling her “Tinkerbell” and asking her if she wanted to go to never-never land.

  Savannah couldn’t help but smile as she watched her husband “fly” the child around the room on a “fairy adventure.” It was a common game they played, where the sofa became a pirate ship, the television a giant crocodile, and the coffee table was transformed into a lagoon inhabited with mermaids.

  Although little Vanna Rose couldn’t yet understand his vivid descriptions of the scenes she soared over, she loved the excitement in his voice and squealed with glee as they barely escaped the snapping jaws of the mighty “croc.”

  When their trip finally ended, Dirk landed himself and the child in his recliner, where they began a serious game of patty-cake, that included her slapping him on the cheeks and ears—much to her delight.

  “So, what’s going on?” he finally asked the adults in the room. “How come we get to babysit the munchkin? Are her folks out on one of their date nights again?”

  “I wish,” Savannah said. “But no such luck. Waycross is sick.”

  Dirk halted their game and gave Savannah a deeply concerned look. “What do you mean, ‘sick’? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Apparently, he’s got the flu,” Granny offered, “and a pretty bad case to boot.”

  “That’s why the baby’s here,” Savannah told him. “We were afraid she might catch it if she stayed there.”

  “What’s he doin’? You know, like what’re his symptoms?” Dirk aske
d.

  “He’s throwing up. A lot. And he’s got the Green Apple Quick Step out the other end, too.” Savannah rolled her eyes. “Shakes, chills, muscle aches, and all that good stuff. Tammy says he’s really miserable. She’s been plying him with herbal concoctions, but he’s just getting worse.”

  Dirk jumped up from his chair and handed the baby back to Granny. He took his phone from his jeans pocket and punched in a few numbers.

  “Yeah, Tammy,” he said when she answered. “I hear your guy’s sorta under the weather. Can I talk to him?”

  As Tammy replied, he gave a quick glance toward Savannah and Granny, turned his back to them, and walked into the kitchen.

  From the other room, they heard him say, “No, don’t get him out of the bathroom if he’s busy. I just wanted to check on him and tell you . . . if he gets any worse, like at all, you should get him to a doctor right away.”

  He paused, listening, then said, “I don’t care if he doesn’t want to go. If you see him doing . . . well, anything that you don’t like the looks of, and he won’t go to the hospital, you give me a call. I’ll come over there and take him in myself.”

  A moment later, Savannah couldn’t miss the urgency in his voice when he added, “I don’t mean to scare you, honey, but there’s a nasty bug going around town at the moment. You can’t mess with it. He could take a turn for the worse real fast. Try to talk him into going to a doctor. I’ll call back in a while and see what’s going on. Okay? All right. Take care, darlin’.”

  Savannah sat, shocked by all she had just heard. Like most men, Dirk had a tendency to whine a bit more than necessary when he caught a common cold. But, in general, he didn’t tend to overreact when it was someone else who was sick.

  Of course, she felt sorry for her little brother and was moderately concerned about his health. After all, influenza could be serious, even deadly, and shouldn’t be taken lightly. Heaven knows, that particular disease had taken millions of lives over the course of human history.

  But while she appreciated Dirk’s touching concern for his brother-in-law, she couldn’t help feeling that he was being a tad overly dramatic in this case.

  Other than his broken leg, which was finally on the mend, Waycross was an extremely healthy guy. She had no doubt he would shake this off in a few days, considering the benefit of Tammy’s loving care and in spite of her green-glop concoctions.

  When he walked back into the living room, Savannah saw that the look of concern on his face was even more pronounced than before he had made the call.

  “Well? What’d Miss Tammy have to report?” Granny asked. “How’s my grandson doin’?”

  “Some worse,” Dirk told her. “She says he’s not acting like hisself . . . whatever that means.”

  “But he won’t go to the doctor?” Savannah asked.

  “Nope. But that’s no surprise.”

  “Why?”

  Dirk looked uneasy, like a felon who was deciding whether or not to confess. “Because he’s him . . . a guy. You know how we are.”

  “Waycross ain’t like that,” Granny said. “I raised him not to be ashamed to admit it when he needs help. Maybe I should hightail it over there and talk some sense into him myself.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Dirk said most emphatically.

  A bit too emphatically, Savannah thought.

  “I’m gonna grab a shower,” he said, “and then I’ll stop by their place on the way to my stakeout.”

  “Thank you, son,” Granny told him with her most gentle, loving voice—the one she usually reserved for her grandchildren and their babies. “I’d sure appreciate you doin’ that. T’would set my heart to rest, knowing that you’re takin’ charge o’ things over there.”

  “Me, too,” Savannah added gratefully.

  Without replying, he walked over to Vanna, softly ruffled her red curls with his fingertips, gave her a sweet, if somewhat worried, smile, then headed out of the living room and up the staircase.

  Savannah watched him, thinking, plotting.

  She knew his routine. He would go into their bedroom, get a clean shirt, underwear, and socks from the dresser drawers. Then he would peel off his jeans, throw them across the foot of the bed, and walk into the bathroom next door for his shower.

  His phone would be in his jeans pocket.

  She could feel her heart racing. In her line of work, she was all too familiar with the art of covert operations. She was quite good at that sort of thing. But she wasn’t used to sneaking around on her husband, and that was probably a good thing, since he was a detective. A darned good one.

  Reluctantly, she would admit that, on one of his better days, he was a fairly even match for her. If she was going through chocolate withdrawal or was in the throes of some sort of menopausal meltdown, he might even be a wee bit better.

  So, if she intended to do this deed, she’d have to be careful about it.

  Also, she wanted to hide the fact from Granny, whom she was pretty sure wouldn’t approve of such an underhanded deed.

  She tried to keep a neutral, innocent, I’m-Not-Up-To-A-Darned-Thing look on her face as she sat there on the sofa, waiting to hear the shower begin upstairs.

  Of course, having raised two sons and nine grandchildren, Granny was all too familiar with that particular expression and fixed her with a suspicious look of her own.

  Finally, Savannah heard the burbling sound of water flowing through the house’s old pipes.

  Okay, she told herself, it’s now or never.

  “Excuse me for a minute,” she said to her grandmother as she headed for the staircase. “I’ve got something I need to take care of. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  But as Savannah headed up the stairs she knew it would take longer than two shakes. First Degree Skullduggery, especially of the domestic variety, took ten. At the very least.

  Chapter 16

  Even though Savannah knew that Dirk would never hear her footsteps above the sound of the shower running, she found herself tiptoeing past the bathroom door on her way to the bedroom.

  One could never be too careful about these things.

  If worse came to worst, and she found something heartbreakingly conclusive on his phone, she didn’t want to compromise her own role as the offended party by getting caught doing something less than angelic.

  Like that would matter one hoot, she told herself as she snuck through the bedroom door and quietly closed it behind her.

  If I find something on that phone that would stand up in court and convict a guy of adultery in the first degree—a capital crime with special circumstances—he’s gonna wish he had a state-administered execution compared to what I’m going to give him.

  “After I pick up the broken pieces of my heart off the floor,” she whispered.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears as she walked over to the bed where, as predicted, his jeans had been tossed across the foot of it.

  For a moment she looked at the worn denim, the threadbare knees, and ragged hems. She thought of all the work he had done in those jeans, bringing them to that tattered state.

  Protecting. Serving.

  His city.

  Her.

  Over the years, through all of their ups and downs, there had never been a moment when she had considered her best friend and then husband-to-be anything less than a truly honorable man.

  Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter was one of the good guys.

  Knowing that fact had been important to her. She had relied upon it. Taken pride in it.

  For years, she had felt safe—physically, mentally, and emotionally—because Dirk Coulter was a good man.

  Good men don’t lie to their wives, said one of the voices inside her head. She wasn’t sure which one it was this time . . . the nasty, accusing gal, or her quiet voice of reason.

  A good man doesn’t have a mistress who puts him in a position he doesn’t appreciate, the voice continued. A good man doesn’t stand in the kitchen, talking to his �
��other woman” on the phone, ensuring her that he’ll tell his wife about her sometime soon.

  And a smart, strong woman with investigative skills doesn’t wait around, wringing her hands and wondering what’s going on, when she’s got good reason to believe her man’s stepping out on her, she told herself.

  If he’s innocent, then let’s find out now and put this whole thing to rest. If he’s guilty, it’s better that you know about it now than that you find out farther down the road, after you’ve developed an ulcer or he’s passed away from a brain hemorrhage, brought on by exposure to a fourteen-inch, cast-iron skillet.

  It’s now or never, Savannah girl. Do it!

  She couldn’t help noticing that her hand was shaking when she slid it carefully into the jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

  In fact, it was shaking so badly that she held the phone over the bed as she turned it on, just in case she dropped it.

  All the while, she kept her ear tuned to the sound of the shower running.

  She had already decided that if, for some reason, he exited the bathroom early and came into the bedroom before she was able to replace the phone, she would claim she had come upstairs for a sweater.

  Lying to your husband, she thought, that’s a new low. I thought that was something we just didn’t do.

  Just like I thought we would always be faithful to each other, the way we promised we would that day on the beach in front of God and everybody we loved.

  A second after she pushed the “On” button, the phone lit up, and she burst into tears when she saw the picture he had chosen for his home screen. It was a photo she had never seen before. One he had obviously taken secretly.

  The picture was of her in her pink Minnie Mouse pajamas, asleep amid the tousled sheets of their bed, her arm draped over Diamante, and Cleo lying on Dirk’s pillow next to her.

  Then and there, Savannah decided to turn the phone off and replace it in his jeans. What man who was fooling around on his wife would have a picture like that on his phone? A photo for the world, and more importantly, his “other woman,” to see anytime his phone rang?