Tom sat there, wearing his dark sunglasses, giving her an annoyingly smug look.
“For heaven’s sake, Tommy. Let him in!” she said. “What are you? Five years old?”
He snickered, reached over, and flipped a switch. A moment later, Dirk was in the back, sitting in “the cage,” staring unhappily through the wire security mesh that separated the front of the car from the rear.
“How’s Mr. Jameson?” Savannah asked.
“He’s fine,” was the non-reply. “Peachy. Considering that he’s dressing his girlfriend for her funeral tomorrow.”
Savannah gulped. “That’s tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Don’t go. You won’t be welcome.”
“Well, yeah, I sorta figured that.”
“Good.” Tom took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. “What do you knot heads want with me?”
It occurred to Savannah that Tom looked exhausted, like a man who was running on fumes and was badly in need of a restful night’s sleep.
She knew the look all too well. It was the appearance of a police officer who was working day and night on a difficult case. Was it possible that her ex-beau was expending far more energy on her behalf than he was willing to admit?
The thought warmed her toward him.
In spite of some ugly chapters, this story might have a happy ending, after all, she told herself.
“Tom, we need you to listen with an open mind when we tell you something, okay?”
“No way. You’re down South, Savannah,” Stafford said. “We figure if a person gets carried away with all that ‘open-minded’ stuff, like you California folks do, our brains might just up and fall outta our heads.”
“Oo-kay. Then at least let us say our piece before you interrupt or tell us we’re full of bull pucky.”
“All right. Shoot.”
She drew a deep breath and let it flow. “We’re pretty sure we know who killed Jeanette.”
“Who?”
“Imogene Barnsworth and her grandson, Rodney Ruskin. I know you said she plays poker every Saturday night. And maybe she does. But this last Saturday night was different. She dressed up fancy, red high heels and everything, and Rodney picked her up in that General Lee Charger of his. Then he didn’t bring her back until just before midnight. And Butch just sold him a new brake light for his General Lee.”
“That’s right,” Dirk said, chiming in from the backseat. “And if you question those two, even a little bit, you’ll see that they’re lying. Both of them. Try to nail ’em down on where they were that night and what happened, and they snap shut tighter than a clam’s ass.”
“A clam’s ass? Really?” Tom gave Savannah a questioning look.
She shrugged. “He’s been in Georgia too long. He’s starting to say ‘ain’t’ a lot, too. We need to get this case solved and hightail it out of here before he starts whistling ‘Dixie’ and putting peanuts in his Coca-Cola.”
“Lord forbid.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you think, Tom?” she asked in her most plaintive, wheedling voice. “Will you just go talk to them? Maybe check her closet and see if she’s got a pair of red high heels with some sort of biological evidence on them. Maybe check the grandson’s biker boots, too, while you’re at it, and the trunk of that Charger.”
Tom took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and put the hat back on again. “I don’t need to interview them or check their closets or cars, Savannah.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know where they were.”
“I remember what you said. ‘Creatures of habit’ and all that. But have you talked to them, just in case this Saturday was different? Did you question the regulars there at the card game?”
“Dadgummit, woman,” he said, losing his patience. “I didn’t need to question the regulars at that card game. I am one of the damned regulars. I was there Saturday night. I went over right after I left the reunion. I was there, looking right at both Imogene, in her red dress and red high heels, and her idiot grandson at the exact time when you say you heard that big splash in the lake.”
“Oh.” It was all Savannah could manage to say with a lump in her throat the size of a fist, and about as comfortable.
“Yeah, ‘oh,’” he shot back. “She was dressed up because it was her birthday, and us boys had gone together and bought her a little cake and a bouquet of flowers. And that worthless grandson of hers hung around so he could get a piece of the cake.”
Savannah heard Dirk mutter, “Damn,” from the cage.
“Yeah,” she replied. “No kidding.”
Tom seemed to soften. To her surprise, he even reached over and briefly laid his hand on her forearm. “Look,” he said, “if you really didn’t kill that gal, and you really wanna help me prove it, forget about Imogene and her grandson and help me figure out if Jeanette murdered old Barnsworth.”
Savannah’s mind started whirring, but she felt like she was a gerbil on a wheel, getting nowhere. “Why?” she asked.
“Because I think the two deaths are tied. And you weren’t even here when Barnsworth went toes up. So . . .”
“Gotcha.”
Savannah’s hopes rose to the level of her ankles. It wasn’t enough to make her shout, “Hallelujah,” but at least she wouldn’t trip over them the next time she tried to walk.
“Thanks, Tom,” she said. “I appreciate the help. A point in the right direction can make all the difference.”
“Okay,” he answered. “But try to not make things worse, all right? People’ve been accusing me of draggin’ my feet and showing you preferential treatment. With elections comin’ up soon, I don’t need that.”
“I understand. We’ll tread lightly.”
“Like a couple of rodeo bulls in a china shop.”
“Ever so delicately. On our little tippy toes.”
He laughed in spite of himself. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Get outta my car.”
Chapter 26
With Savannah’s blessing, Dirk remained at the Burger Igloo while Savannah took a stroll down Main Street to Lisa Riggs’s florist shop.
The name on the sign over the door read MURLE’S FLOWERS. But Murle had been Lisa’s aunt’s name, and the business had been passed down from Aunt Murle to Lisa’s mom, who then left it to Lisa. About ten years ago, when the video rental store next door had closed, Lisa had bought that space, as well, and had expanded her establishment. Now she had one of the nicest florist and gift shops in the county.
Savannah was overwhelmed with the sweet fragrance of flowers the moment she walked through the door, causing the silver bell above it to jingle merrily. The natural aroma of the blooms mixed with the more cloying artificial scents of the candles that were for sale on the left wall, creating an unsettling smell, which Savannah couldn’t describe but didn’t like.
On spotless glass shelves all over the store were frilly, girlie items that a guy like Dirk would have abhorred in his home. So she resisted the urge to buy a particularly sweet pink pillow covered with delicate lace and rhinestones and draped in strands of pearls.
He already slept on pink satin sheets when their regular ones were in the laundry, and you could expect only so much in the way of compromise from a manly man like Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter without meeting some sort of resistance.
Savannah had several moments to herself to look around the store, at the handmade gifts, buckets and baskets of both real and silk arrangements, and home décor items, before Lisa emerged from the rear.
Savannah was glad to see her. The strong scent of the candles was starting to give her a headache.
But Lisa seemed far less happy to see Savannah. Her dark eyes blazed as the color mounted in her heart-shaped face. Her heavily frosted hair was mussed, and her dress rumpled, as though she had been working nonstop for the past twenty-four hours.
“How dare you set foot in my shop?” she told Savannah. “I’m surprised, cold-blooded killer that you are, that you’d have the
gall to even show your face in this town.”
Savannah was surprised . . . at herself for being surprised. She quickly reminded herself about her own theory about how people seldom changed.
Lisa had always been a mean mini-Jeanette. Quick of temper and unpleasant when she didn’t get her way, she and Jeanette had been a natural pairing.
“You get outta here, Savannah Reid,” Lisa said, waving a pair of stem cutters at her. “I’m working my tail off filling orders for Jeanette’s funeral. And besides, I don’t serve murderers!”
Normally, when encountering such hostility, Savannah would have entertained a few fantasies that might have included a swift kick to the booty and the offender flying out the door and landing facedown in a mud puddle.
But in spite of the anger in Lisa’s words, Savannah could see a deep sadness in her eyes. She could tell that the woman had been crying, and she had the look of someone whose heart had been broken.
Instead of shouting back the sharp retorts that came readily to her lips, Savannah said softly, “I didn’t kill your friend, Lisa. And I’m sorry someone did. Are you okay?”
“Okay? No! I’m not okay!” Lisa began to cry, and her dry, ugly sobs racked her body and contorted her face. “I’m back there making a big purple casket spray for the woman who was my very best friend for over thirty years. How the hell can I be okay?”
Savannah took a step toward her, but Lisa raised her hands, as though warding off an attack.
“No!” she shouted. “You get away from me, before I call Tom and tell him you’re here, threatening me!”
“But I’m not. I just came here to ask you a couple of questions. I want to catch the person who really did kill Jeanette. You want that, too. Right, Lisa? Don’t you want to know who really killed your friend? You wouldn’t want her murder to go unsolved, would you?”
Lisa looked at her doubtfully. “I’m pretty sure you did it. The sheriff and Mr. Jameson say you did. But I’ll hear what you’ve got to say.”
Sensing that the sun might have emerged at least temporarily from behind the clouds, Savannah hurried on. “Lisa, you knew Jeanette better than anybody, being her best friend for so long. Please don’t take this as an insult to her, but do you have any idea if she might, just might, have killed her husband? You know, for some very, very good, completely understandable reason.”
“What?”
“I don’t mean that in a bad way. Really, I don’t. I’m just thinking that maybe, because you two were very close, she might have confided in you that he, oh, might have been awful to her, treated her badly. Maybe she was scared to death of him, and it might have just crossed her mind a wee bit to poison him or smother him in his sleep or whatever.”
Lisa’s dark eyes were growing larger by the moment. “You are sick! Sick, Savannah Reid! How dare you even suggest such a thing about a fine woman like Jeanette!”
“I didn’t just make it up, Lisa. I’m suggesting it because I overheard you and Amy Jameson talking about it outside the school the night of the reunion.”
Lisa stood there staring at her for a long time before she finally said, “What?”
“I heard you and Amy talking about how Jeanette killed her husband and got Amy’s dad to go along with it to clear her of suspicion. Now, don’t try to pretend you didn’t say it, because I was standing not ten feet away, and I heard every word.”
Lisa laughed, and the sound of it was creepy, maniacal, like that of a person with a fragile grip on reality. “You’re not only a killer, Savannah Reid, but you’re a liar. I never said any such thing. And neither did Amy. You’re just talking crazy, and I don’t have to listen to it. I told you to get out of here right now, or I’m calling Tommy.”
“Why did she do it, Lisa? Why did Jeanette kill her husband?”
“Get out!”
“Was she afraid he was going to find out how in debt she was from all her extravagant spending?”
“I mean it! Now!”
“Was it so she could get her hands on all his money?”
Lisa reached into the pocket of her work apron, frowned, then marched across the room to a counter with a cash register and a phone on it. “That’s it! I’m not going to listen to these lies about my poor dead friend. I’m calling the law on you.”
“How did she do it, Lisa? Was it poison, or did she just give him an overdose of his own pharmaceutical drugs?”
Savannah felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Normally, she would have ignored it under such stressful circumstances. But she knew Tammy was spending the day trying to hack into the files of the laboratory that had processed the blood and tissue samples from Jacob Barnsworth’s autopsy.
Perhaps this call would provide the answer to the question she had just asked.
She pulled the phone from her pocket and gave it a quick glance as she listened to Lisa calling the sheriff’s office.
Tammy’s text read Lab report normal. No drugs. No poisons. Natural causes like Jameson’s report.
“Yes, she’s right here right now,” Savannah could hear Lisa saying into the phone. “She’s raving like a crazy woman, asking me all these nutty questions. I think she’s fixin’ to do me serious harm. Get out here quick as you can.”
Savannah decided it was time to leave.
The sickly sweet smell of those candles was almost more than she could stand.
When Savannah returned to the Burger Igloo, she found Dirk cramming the last bite of burger into his mouth. He gave her a semi-apologetic grin. “I waited for you.”
“Sure you did. Like one pig waits for another one.”
“Lemme order you a burger. I don’t mind sitting here while you eat it.”
Dirk didn’t mind waiting? What was wrong with this picture? Usually, he wanted to run out the door before she’d even finished eating. If there was anything she hated, it was leaving a restaurant while still chewing.
Of course, she knew why he’d suddenly developed Gandhian patience. It was the first-degree murder charge hanging over her head.
No doubt, if she’d been arrested for littering, he’d be far crankier.
“I’ll take a chocolate malted to go,” she said. “I’m not all that hungry.”
He scrutinized her face closely, like a parent checking out a kid who might be coming down with the bubonic plague. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Actually, I’m very fine.”
“You’ve got something!”
“I might.” She motioned for the waitress. “I’m going to drop you off at Butch’s again,” she said.
His face brightened, but his happiness was soon followed by suspicion. “Why? Have you got something or not?”
“I don’t know for sure. But I have a feeling.”
“Wanna share?”
“Not yet. I need to have a girl-to-girl talk with an old friend. Then we’ll see how much I do or don’t have.”
Chapter 27
Savannah walked up the broken sidewalk to the front door of her favorite building in McGill. Other than Granny Reid’s home, of course.
When she was a child, Savannah had considered this wonderful old Victorian-style home a mansion. Even then it had been ancient and elegant, with classic architectural features, like a lovely round turret, gingerbread trim, stained-glass windows, and a door set with an oval of beveled lead glass that sparkled like the crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer.
Once this grand home had belonged to an eccentric lady named Mildred Hodge. When Mildred had died, having no heirs of her own but being an avid reader, she had donated her home to the town, with instructions that it be turned into a public library.
As a child without a television, a radio, or books of her own for entertainment, Savannah had thought she’d discovered heaven itself when she realized she could walk through that door and borrow all the adventures she could carry in two hands.
A loving, compassionate librarian by the name of Rose had introduced her to Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and the Hardy boys at
an early age. And Savannah had never gotten over the thrill of solving a mystery, even all these years later. She blessed Rose every day for her love of books and her obsession with solving crimes.
The moment she opened the heavy door and stepped onto the foyer’s terra-cotta tiles, Savannah drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with the intoxicating scent of books. And she felt right at home.
To her left was a graceful curving staircase; and beneath the steps, a cozy alcove furnished with an undersized child’s chair, an accent table, and a stained-glass dragonfly reading lamp.
Anytime she’d found a rare hour to herself, Savannah had trotted over to this library, slid into that snug nook, and been transported to other places, times, and situations far more exciting and glamorous than her own.
She had loved books, libraries, and librarians ever since. Like policemen, doctors, nurses, teachers, and firefighters, she considered them heroes, and she couldn’t imagine the world without them.
But as inviting and nostalgic as the house was that afternoon, her mission was far more important than a walk down memory lane. Sweet as that might be. She walked into what had once been the old house’s fine parlor, where the current librarian’s desk was located. She glanced around and found her former friend Amy Jameson filing books in the fiction section.
Amy heard Savannah’s approaching footsteps and turned to greet her visitor with a smile. But when she saw the newcomer was Savannah, her smile quickly faded. She turned back to her cart and suddenly developed an intense interest in the books she had yet to replace.
“Hi, Amy,” Savannah said brightly, as though she hadn’t noticed the non-greeting.
“Oh, hi, Savannah,” Amy replied, giving her the briefest nod.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk there at the reunion,” Savannah continued. “A lot’s happened for both of us, I’m sure, in the past twenty-five years or so.”
“Not that you’d notice,” Amy said with an air of resignation. “Not for me, anyway. After graduation I went off to college. Came back here. Became town librarian after Rose passed away. That’s pretty much it. You’re now up to date on the exciting life story of Amy Jameson.”
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