Bitter Brew

by G. A. McKevett

  “Twelve? Twenty? There are that many people with Halstead’s?”

  “No. Halstead’s is rare, even in the rare genetic disease community. Most have Huntington’s, sickle cell anemia, cystic fibrosis, or hemochromatosis.”

  Savannah thought for a moment, picturing the attendees sitting in this room, drinking in the colors, the vibrancy, and possibly Earlene’s tasty Moroccan mint tea. “It must help them to be here.”

  “I hope so. I believe it does. A little anyway.”

  “It must be horrible, living with a death sentence hanging over you the way they do.”

  “It is,” she agreed sadly. “But their courage is motivating. It inspires us all to live each day to the fullest and count even the smallest of blessings.”

  “I’m sure that you and this amazing place strengthen and encourage them.”

  “Many days they help me more than I do them. Everyone in the group does their best to uplift the others. There are so many levels of suffering they endure. From the physical pain to the emotional. Then there are the mental battles as they make difficult decisions, terrible choices.”

  “Such as . . . ?”

  “How to plan for their future, while not knowing what it will bring in the way of challenges. Which life goals they should continue to pursue and which to abandon. Simple things that everyone else takes for granted—completing an education, buying a home, getting married, bringing children into the world, while knowing that they may pass along their conditions to their offspring.”

  “And they might not be there to help their kids deal with the condition they gave them,” Savannah said, as her heart broke for these strangers.

  “That’s right. Then there’s the ultimate choice that at least some of them wrestle with,” Earlene said. “Whether to let nature take its course, or to end it before the worst comes, while they’re still themselves with the mental capabilities to make that decision.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “No one can unless they’ve been through it.”

  “But you encourage them. You must get a lot of satisfaction from your work.”

  “Mostly, I try to inform them. I make sure they have the facts about their diseases. As much as possible, I try to illuminate the dark path in front of them, to let them know what they can expect and when.”

  She closed her eyes, and Savannah could tell she was fighting with her emotions. “That’s why I feel so bad about Brianne. I misinformed them. I told them both that they had time.”

  “It isn’t your fault. You were probably right. They did have time. But someone stole it from them. That’s why I’m investigating these cases. We can’t let whoever did this get away with it.”

  “I agree.” Earlene squared her shoulders. “How can I help you?”

  “Tell me if there was anyone here that disliked either Brianne or Nels. You said they were popular with the group, but did you ever sense any negative feelings or see any conflicts between them and anyone else here?”

  Earlene thought for a moment, then a look of horror came over her face. “Oh, no!” she whispered.

  “Who?” Savannah asked “Who are you thinking of?”

  “It couldn’t be. He’s a jerk, but . . .”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I don’t want to cast suspicion on someone who’s innocent.”

  “If he’s innocent, he has nothing to worry about. Let me know who he is so that, if nothing else, we can rule him out.”

  “Andy. His name is Andrew Ullman.”

  Savannah took out her notebook, asked the doctor how to spell it, then wrote it down. “He had a problem with Brianne and Nels?”

  “Not with Nels. Just Brianne.”

  “What happened?”

  “He liked her. At first, anyway. That was understandable. She was a pretty lady and very kind. She had a soft, gentle way about her that you might not expect from an attorney.”

  Savannah smiled. “ ‘Soft’ and ‘gentle’ aren’t exactly job requirements for that particular occupation.”

  “True. I think Andy misconstrued the kindness she showed him as interest. It took him about ten minutes to fall for her. I could see it happening and knew it wasn’t going to end well.”

  “What did you observe?”

  “Him making goo-goo eyes at her. Her deliberately looking the other way.”

  “Hmm. That’s never a good sign.”

  “No. And he didn’t take the hint. He kept pursuing her. She even told me that he was continually bringing up the topic of suicide and that made her uncomfortable.”

  “I can imagine it did.”

  “I spoke to him and told him that his behavior toward her was inappropriate. He promised to stop.”

  “And did he?”

  “For a couple of weeks. But after the last meeting that she attended, two days before her death, he came on to her, hot and heavy, back there by the refreshments.”

  She pointed to a table in the corner that held a larger tea service, more of the lovely, jewel-toned glasses, and some empty platters.

  “I saw what he was doing, so I walked over there to intervene. But I didn’t have to. She took care of it herself. She told him that she was engaged, was in the middle of planning her wedding. She even showed him her ring. Then she marched out the door. I never saw her again.”

  The sadness on the doctor’s face went straight to Savannah’s heart. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It must be hard, losing a patient.”

  “It is. It’s always difficult. But losing someone as special as Brianne . . . that’s particularly painful. I had a bad feeling, when I heard she’d died. Believe it or not, I even thought of Andy, and I wondered if he had anything to do with her passing. But a couple of days later, I heard on the news it was natural causes, and I was relieved. Now you’re telling me that maybe he . . .”

  She didn’t finish the statement.

  Savannah sat quietly with her for a while, then she asked, “What does Mr. Ullman do for a living?”

  Earlene gave her a look that chilled her. “He’s the owner of a compounding pharmacy.”

  “A compounding pharmacy? Like, one of those places that mixes medicines for customers who—?”

  “Who want something customized to their specific needs? Yes. And he’s the only pharmacist in his store.”

  Savannah felt her pulse rate go up and her face flush. “Dr. Kendall, could you please give me Andrew Ullman’s phone number and address?”

  “I’ll do better than that. Come back here tonight at seven-thirty. We’re having our weekly meeting. I don’t like to do this sort of thing, but under the circumstances, I’ll introduce you with any name you like, and you have Halstead’s and are having a tough time dealing with the fact that your symptoms are getting worse.”

  “Ullman will be here?”

  “He never misses a meeting. I’ll introduce you to him.” She looked Savannah up and down and gave her a sardonic smile. “I hate to say it, but I think you’ll be just his type.”

  Chapter 24

  A few hours later, as Savannah drove along the Pacific Coast Highway on her way back to Santa Barbara and the meeting at Dr. Kendall’s office, she was happy to have her husband along for company.

  Upon reporting for work earlier in the day, Dirk had announced his fake travel plans to his captain and had immediately been assigned the double murder case.

  He sat in the Mustang’s passenger seat, a moderately grumpy look on his face. She wasn’t impressed. It was the scowl he wore any time he wasn’t behind the wheel.

  “One of these days,” he said, “you’re going to have to let me start driving the pony.”

  “Not gonna happen,” she replied.

  “You still don’t trust me. You hold it against me, because I wrecked my Buick.”

  “That accident wasn’t your fault. I know. I was there, remember?”

  “Then why won’t you let me drive your car? I mean, for heaven’s sake, it’s just a car.”

  �
��Just a car? That right there is why I won’t let you drive her. She’s my best friend.”

  “I thought I was your best friend.”

  “I’ve known her longer. Why don’t you buy a new car?”

  “Too expensive. Besides, nothing could ever replace my Skylark. I bought that car the day after I graduated, with money I earned mowing lawns every weekend that I was in high school.”

  “Then you should understand Automobile Sentimentality. It’s a powerful force of nature, surpassing puny Human Affection.”

  “Apparently so.”

  They rode along in silence for a while, appreciating the beauty of the road. To their right stood the line of foothills that hugged the coastline in that region. The farther north they traveled, the larger those hills became. Finally, as they approached the outskirts of Santa Barbara, they grew into mountains, rising blue-gray in the distance, framing the historic, Spanish-style city and preventing it from spreading east.

  To their left, the sparkling Pacific Ocean did the same, limiting the town’s growth, and that was just the way the people of Santa Barbara liked it. Gracious, elegant, and exclusive, the city would have been ruined by urban sprawl long ago, had nature not kept her growth in check.

  When Savannah had first moved to the area, she’d wanted to settle in Santa Barbara, but property expenses and her limited budget had stymied her plans, and San Carmelita was a lovely second choice.

  “Are you mad at me?” Dirk asked her, pulling her out of her reverie.

  She gave him a quick, concerned look. “No. Why would I be?”

  “Because I didn’t tell you about your brother.”

  “Oh. Okay . . . I do wish you’d told me earlier about what was going on with him. After all, he’s my flesh and blood. But he asked you not to. I have to respect that.”

  “Then you aren’t mad at me?”

  “No. I understand. I had the same problem with Dr. Liu. She made me promise not to tell you, and I didn’t want to put you in a bad spot, legally speaking, so I didn’t. But I want you to know, I didn’t feel good about it. It felt like lying.”

  He nodded. “That’s exactly how I felt, not telling you about Waycross. I wished I’d never promised him that I’d keep his secret. Especially from my wife. Me and you, we don’t tell each other lies and stuff like that. We keep things clean between us.”

  “That’s right. And this felt kind of dirty. Like when we were in the bathtub and you asked me if I’d had a nice evening at home. I told you I had. But I’d been hanging out at The Fisherman’s Lair, breathing a Kenny Bates-wannabe’s beer breath. I know it was a little white lie, told for somebody else’s benefit, but I still didn’t like it.”

  “I hear ya. It’s okay. But I’ve been thinking, maybe we should make some sort of pact not to do that anymore.”

  “I was considering that myself,” she replied.

  “If somebody has a secret to tell us, but wants us not to tell anybody, we could promise not to tell anybody, except maybe our spouses. If they’re okay with that, fine. And if they’re not, then maybe they should tell somebody else.”

  “But what would we do, if somebody we really care about came to us with an important secret and asks us not to share it with anyone? Even each other? Sometimes people have problems they need to talk about, and I would hate it if somebody I loved felt they couldn’t share it with me because I wouldn’t be discreet.”

  “That’s what makes it hard, huh? Maybe it depends on the secret and who it is.”

  “And whether it affects either you and me personally.”

  “Eh, this crap’s complicated. I hate complicated crap.”

  Dirk received a text. He read it and said, “This discussion is gonna have to wait. Ryan says that him and John are parked about a block away from the doctor’s office. They want to know where you think they should set up shop?”

  “I scouted the area before I left this morning,” she said. “There’s a restaurant behind Kendall’s mini-mall. A gourmet sushi place. Their parking lot is right next to the mall’s, and it didn’t look crowded. If they park the van there, they should be able to get a signal. It’s not that far away and there’s no building to obstruct.”

  He gave her a long deadpan stare, saying nothing.

  “What?” she asked. “It’s not that complicated.”

  “You expect me to text all that? I told you, I think I’m starting to get some arthritis in my right thumb joint.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Then send smoke signals, or a carrier pigeon, or get a couple of oatmeal boxes and put a string between—”

  “That’s enough outta you, Miss Smart Mouth.”

  “Or you could just phone them, you know, the old-fashioned way.”

  “Good idea.”

  * * *

  Halfway through the meeting of Dr. Kendall’s support group, Savannah was either the most depressed or the most inspired she had ever been in her life. She couldn’t decide which, so she decided it was both.

  To witness such brave people in such dire circumstances was difficult, but it certainly caused her to count the many blessings that her normal life afforded her each and every day.

  In years ahead, she vowed that if she felt discontented with her lot in life, she would remind herself of Jeannie who had cystic fibrosis and a bright smile that lit the room. Or quiet, gentle Maria who was fighting Marfan, the same disease that some historians believed would have taken Abraham Lincoln’s life, had he not been assassinated. Or young Terrance who managed to laugh and tell jokes, knowing that his sickle cell anemia could reach a crisis point at any time, ending his life.

  Remembering them, she would put her own petty problems into perspective. She had no doubt that most of the people in that colorful room, sitting on Earlene Kendall’s bright, silk cushions, were living their lives—as long or short as they might be—to the fullest.

  Then there was Andrew Ullman.

  Savannah wouldn’t have needed for Earlene to pull her aside and discreetly point him out. She’d have guessed within minutes who he was.

  He was nothing like the others.

  As a police officer, Savannah had seen more than her share of ghouls, those who lingered at auto accidents and house fires, absorbing and savoring every bit of human drama they could garner from other people’s tragedies.

  The moment she laid eyes on Andrew Ullman, she knew he was one of those whom she had told so many times, “Move along! Move along! Nothing to see here!”

  However, as she watched his wide-eyed interest, bordering on glee, as the attendees shared their various trials, her instinct told her that his curiosity had crossed the line from distasteful intrusiveness to sick obsession.

  No sooner had the meeting ended than she realized that she was yet another object of his fascination. He wasted no time at all in rushing across the room to her, practically tripping over some of the other guests, who hadn’t yet risen from their seats on the floor.

  “Hi. You’re new,” he said, grabbing her hand and giving it a far too enthusiastic shake. His eyes were a strange shade of amber, the same as his shaggy, overlong hair. “I’m Andrew, a Marfan,” he said. “You’re a Halstead’s. That’s a toughie.”

  “Yes, it is,” she replied, trying to mask her contempt with a sorghum sweet smile. She reminded herself that she wouldn’t get very far with her undercover investigation of the guy if she punched him in the mouth five seconds after meeting him. “As I shared earlier, I’m having a hard time dealing with it. That’s why I came here tonight.”

  He gave a quick glance around the room. “They’re pretty nice here,” he said. “But nothing really helps when you’ve got something like Halstead’s. As genetic disorders go, that’s one of the worst. Ugly end. Yuck.”

  “What do you do when you aren’t here?” she asked. “Motivational speaker? Crisis counselor perhaps?”

  The jab was lost on him. He didn’t look the least bit insulted, only confused.

  “No. I’m a compounding chemist. I
own a pharmacy.”

  “That sounds complicated.”

  “Yeah. Most people can’t do it. You have to be really smart.”

  Is it necessary to be a narcissist, too? Savannah wondered.

  She kept that one to herself, figuring he might get it.

  “You wanna go get some sushi?” he asked. “There’s a good place right across the parking lot in the back.”

  Weighing the logistics—the location of the restaurant and the proximity of her support team—Savannah decided that if she needed assistance, or if he were to say anything incriminating, they would be near enough.

  “I’d love to,” she said. “Let’s go get some sushi.”

  * * *

  “California rolls aren’t real sushi,” Andrew said, staring down at her choice with a look of disdain. “If this place was really gourmet, like they claim, they’d offer Yin Yang Fish.”

  Considering the glow in his strange, gold eyes that made her think of movies she’d seen involving demon possession, she was afraid to ask. But she could tell it meant a lot to him.

  “What’s Yin Yang Fish?”

  He seemed surprised at her ignorance. “It’s an amazing dish served in more . . . shall we say . . . adventurous parts of the world. It means ‘dead alive’ fish. They deep-fry the back half, keeping the front of the fish alive, so that you can eat it while it’s still—”

  “Okay, okay. Stop right there, before I lose what I’ve eaten of my California roll.”

  He grinned, obviously quite pleased with himself. Then he poured a generous amount of saké and bolted it. “Did I gross you out?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she admitted. “I happen to be an animal lover.”

  “Me, too. I’ve got a boa constrictor that I’m crazy about.”

  “Which you probably feed with live mice.”

  “Sure. The snake likes it better.”

  Something told Savannah it was Andrew who enjoyed the experience, probably even more than the hungry snake, who was just interested in having dinner and staying alive.

  “See . . .” he continued, “I don’t get all hung up on the difference between life and death.”