There was a long pause. “Now?” he asked.
“If you can, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay.” Another lengthy silence. “Can you tell me what it is?”
Tell him, another voice in her head said. You can’t expect the poor guy to worry himself sick all the way home.
In this case, the truth is worse than whatever he would worry about, argued another voice.
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” she told him. “It’s not a life and death emergency. I just . . .” The tears started to fall. A knot rose in her throat, and it was hard for her to speak around it. Or even breathe. “I just need you.”
“I’m on my way.”
He hung up, and she clutched the phone to her chest, feeling his essence, his love and concern.
She knew her husband. She knew he was, as he said, on his way.
Bless his heart, she thought, being Dirk, he’s probably already halfway here.
Chapter 18
When Savannah descended the staircase, she could hear Granny reading. Having practically memorized the book in her youth, Savannah could tell that Gran was near the end of the story.
She walked on into the kitchen, pulled a bag of dry dog food from the pantry, and took it back into the living room with her, arriving just in time to see Brody give Gran a hug around the neck and thank her for the story.
Not for the first time, Savannah marveled at the capacity children had for love. Even those who had dared to trust, only to have that trust violated, found the courage to reach out, again and again. Unlike most adults, who became bitter and withdrawn.
She walked over to Brody and placed the bag of dog food on his lap. “Would you do me a big favor?” she asked him.
He looked down at the sack, grinned, and said teasingly, “You want me to eat a bag of dog food?”
“Yes, absolutely,” she replied. “If it’s a bit dry for you to gag down, there’s ketchup, mustard, and maple syrup in the fridge. Put enough of that stuff on it and it’ll slide down nice and easy-like.”
“Oh, yum.” He giggled. “Or I could go feed the Colonel for you.”
“Yeah, there’s that.”
Granny gave her a questioning look. Usually Gran fed the Colonel, as she was more aware of his dining schedule. The bloodhound had always been inclined to overeat if left to his own devices.
Not unlike the rest of the Reid clan.
But Granny said nothing as Brody jumped up from the couch, tucked the bag under his arm, and headed toward the back door.
“Also, while you’re at it,” Savannah called after him, “would you give him some fresh water? You can fill the big stainless steel bowl there at the water faucet.”
“Okay,” he replied. “I don’t mind earnin’ my keep around here. Next thing, you’ll be askin’ me to chop firewood and plow the back field.”
In spite of his pretended complaint, Savannah noticed that he had a certain swagger to his walk that she hadn’t noticed before. She thought of what Granny had always told her grandkids: “Honest work don’t hurt you. Tacklin’ somethin’ hard and doin’ a good job of it—shows you how strong and smart you are.”
What better work was there for a child than caring for an animal they loved?
“What’s goin’ on, Granddaughter?” Granny asked, reaching for her hand and pulling her down beside her on the sofa.
“I had to get him out of the house for a minute, so I could tell you.”
“That’s what I figured. Let’s hear it.”
Savannah paused, steeled herself, then let it out. “Dirk’s on his way home right now. I called him and asked him to come.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Because we have to take Brody to the hospital.”
“Lord’ve mercy!” Granny’s eyes, usually calm and gentle, searched Savannah’s with obvious alarm and concern. “What on earth for? He seems fine to me.”
“I know. He seemed okay to me, too. But when he was playing in the backyard earlier, the Colonel pulled his britches down, and I saw that he’s been whipped. I don’t mean a get-your-attention, run-of-the-mill spanking either. They’re big, ugly bruises. He was beaten. Looks like a belt.”
Granny closed her eyes and shuddered. “Oh, no. Poor child. I can’t bear it!”
“I know. Me either, and there’s more.”
When Granny opened her eyes, Savannah could see tears in them. “What else?” she asked.
Gran’s tears prompted Savannah’s own. She wiped them away, glanced toward the back door, and said, “That bitch has burned him with cigarettes.”
“No!”
Deep in the recesses of her mind, Savannah realized that she had just used a word that, out of respect and a healthy portion of fear, she had never spoken in her grandmother’s presence. But Gran didn’t seem offended, at least, not by the word.
She was too busy being outraged by the offense against a child who had already found his way into the centers of their hearts.
“Heaven forgive me,” Gran said, shaking her head, “but hearing that makes me want to beat the tar outta that woman myself.”
“I know. Don’t worry. I’m sure Dirk will deal with it.”
For a moment, Granny looked alarmed. Savannah quickly added, “Legally, of course.”
“Of course.” Gran mulled it over for a while, then said, “It’d be more satisfyin’ to yank her bald, but I reckon that’s against the law here in the fine state of California, where you can’t even drink your soda pop with a plastic straw.”
“They’d frown on yanking somebody bald, I’m pretty sure. You want to get away with that, you’d have to move back to Georgia.”
Savannah glanced toward the door again. “I have to ask you something before Brody comes back in.”
“What’s that, darlin’?”
“Last night, when you bathed him, you didn’t see those marks?”
Gran shook her head. “No. ’Course not, or I woulda told you for sure. When I offered to come into the bathroom with him, shampoo his hair and scrub his back for him, he let me know in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want no female scrubbin’ no part of him.”
“Can’t blame him for that, considering it was his own mother who hurt him.”
“That’s for sure. But I thought he was just bein’ modest, and I aimed to respect that. He was old enough to be in a tub alone. I sat down the hall in the guest room with the door open and kept my ears out on stems, just in case he got in trouble.”
“You did fine, Gran. I was just wondering if you’d noticed anything then. I didn’t think you had, but I wanted to make certain.”
“I understand, Savannah girl. You’re doin’ right by him, for sure. But why do you think he needs to go to the emergency room?”
“I don’t think I could get an appointment this late in the day with a pediatrician I’ve never used before. Some of those cigarette burns looked red, like they might be infected. Can’t take a chance with things like that.”
“True. Infection can spread fast, especially in a little fella like that, who’s not been taken care of properly. He don’t look as healthy as he should to me. Like he ain’t thrived or somethin’.”
“I think so, too. All of this has to be documented to bring legal proceedings against his mother, to make sure the boy doesn’t wind up back in her care again.”
“Heaven forbid.”
At that moment, Savannah heard the front door open, then slam closed. She knew, within seconds, her husband would charge into the room.
Some knights arrived not on a white horse but driving an old, restored Buick. Sometimes, their armor was a faded Harley-Davidson T-shirt and a battered bomber jacket.
She was right.
In only a few heartbeats, he was in the room, and she was in his arms. He hugged her tight against his chest. Then he pulled back a bit, looked down into her eyes, and said, “Okay. I’m here. What the hell’s goin’ on?”
* * *
Convincing Brody that a trip to the hosp
ital was both necessary and in his best interests proved more difficult than Savannah had anticipated.
When she first told him, he flatly refused. But, to her surprise and great relief, Dirk took over and, in his own gentle but firm manner, convinced the boy it was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not, but wouldn’t be nearly as bad as he feared.
Dirk also assured him that they would both be with him every step of the way, to make sure he was well treated.
In the end, Dirk sealed the deal with a promise to take him to a Dodgers’ game and buy him a cap and Dodger dog.
Savannah had often thought that bribing a kid was a lazy form of discipline. But after one thirty-minute battle with a child as determined as Brody Greyson, Savannah thought perhaps she should be less judgmental of parents who purchased their children’s cooperation with cash and prizes.
Her new motto, concerning the raising of children, consisted of: “Whatever it takes.”
Considering the fact that it was Dirk who had won him over in the end, she wasn’t surprised when, upon arriving at the hospital, he had chosen Dirk to be his guardian and protector against probing doctors, nurses who insisted that he put on a paper gown, and anything even resembling a needle.
As Savannah waved good-bye to them and watched them disappear down the hallway, hand in hand, she decided she was happy to leave them both in the care of professionals.
The doctors were the ones with the fancy degrees and the paychecks to match. Let them find a way to haggle with the kid, now that Dirk had already played the Visit to Dodger Stadium bargaining chip.
She wished them luck, said a quick prayer, and headed for the one place in the hospital where she actually enjoyed spending time. The Serenity Garden.
When her brother, Waycross, had been in an accident, she had waited in that lovely, peaceful place for news of his condition.
The lush tropical paradise in the middle of the hospital complex had soothed her soul during that difficult time. Settled on a comfortable chair next to the koi pond, she watched the fountain send its glittering drops into the air and the lotus blossoms float on the swirling, crystalline water, along with tiny brass bells that chimed melodiously when they met.
Savannah found the place just as charming as it had been before. Possibly even more so, since the twilight version of the garden twinkled with tiny flickering fairy lights, adding to the magic of the place.
Sitting on the comfortable, cushioned chaise, Savannah realized how exhausted she was. Long ago, she had learned that there was no labor on earth as draining as dealing with human drama. She would have gladly picked cotton in the hot Georgia sun for a week rather than deal with something as upsetting as seeing the aftereffects of child abuse in her own home.
Her rage and sorrow wreaked havoc in her own body, leaving it aching from the stress.
Like Granny, the less evolved part of her brain desperately wanted to lay hands on Brody’s mother and exact a generous measure of revenge on his behalf. Let her find out how it felt to be at the mercy of someone bigger than you, stronger than you, and definitely more outraged.
“She probably had it done to her, too,” Savannah whispered to the enormous black and gold koi nearest her. “She can’t help it. She just doesn’t know any better.”
Yeah, go on, make excuses for her, replied another less conciliatory voice in her head. Of course she knows better. She knows full well what she’s doing to her kid is wrong. Otherwise she wouldn’t threaten him to keep his mouth shut about it. She’s worried about getting busted by the cops for abusing him. But she’s not worried about the pain she’s causing him—and, by the way, if it was done to her, then she, of all people, should know how bad it hurts.
Savannah’s brain kept replaying the vision of those cigarette burns in her head. One particular detail screamed out to her that those wounds had been inflicted with cruel deliberation.
They weren’t random.
They were carefully placed in precise, straight lines, equally spaced.
When Savannah thought of how much effort had been taken to do that, to methodically torture a precious, innocent, no doubt squirming child, her vengeful thoughts turned much darker than simple hair yanking.
She hated it, hated having such blackness in her own soul.
“Savannah, are you okay?” said a deep, kind male voice from the shadowed pathway nearby.
“Yes, love,” said another, decidedly British, fellow in the darkness. “We called your house to speak to you, and your grandmother answered. She told us you were here and why. We came to see if we could help.”
Savannah looked up and felt her heart rising from its black, angry abyss.
“Ryan!” she shouted, jumping up from the chair. “Oh, John!”
She rushed to greet two people she simply adored. Before she knew it, she was in the midst of a tight, loving three-way hug. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said, melting against them. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you guys!”
Chapter 19
Two and a half hours later, everyone, including Ryan and John, was back at Savannah’s house, sitting at her kitchen table, happily making the rest of Granny’s pot of beans disappear.
Although Ryan Stone and John Gibson were restaurateurs, who had traveled the world and enjoyed its best cuisine, they were chowing down on the southern countryfolk staple as though it were the finest French cassoulet.
“Have some more corn bread,” Granny said, passing the basket to John.
The elegant, silver-haired, lushly mustachioed gentleman dug into the bounty with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “I do believe I’ll have another,” he said in the posh, melodic tone that could only be achieved by British aristocracy.
Turning to his partner—in the restaurant business and in life—John said, “This corn bread is divine, so light that it will float out of your hand if you aren’t cautious. Have another piece?”
“I most certainly will,” Ryan replied. “This is the best corn bread I’ve ever had. The bits of onion and peppers really give it a nice kick, Granny. You’ve outdone yourself!”
As tall, dark, and utterly gorgeous Ryan helped himself to another piece, Granny blushed from all the praise the two were heaping on her. But then, Ryan and John caused a lot of females to blush . . . mostly because of the risqué thoughts they entertained about them. Fantasies that were mostly centered around the theme of reordering their sexual preferences.
At the other end of the table, Savannah grinned, watching her grandmother act the coquette as she exchanged flirtatious banter with them.
All seemed to be enjoying it, so there was no harm done.
Except, perhaps, to Dirk. Though he would never have admitted it, he resented the amount of attention the handsome twosome received from females.
“What a waste,” he’d expounded on more than one occasion to Savannah during their private moments. “Gals throwing themselves at ’em, right and left, and them not even inclined to put on a catcher’s mitt and nab one.”
Savannah turned her attention to the little guy sitting next to her. Even Brody, after the tough day he’d had, was mowing through a bowl of beans as quickly as he could.
Ryan and John had attempted to engage him in conversation several times, but the boy seemed far more interested in filling his belly than making new friends.
Amazing, she thought, what serving dinner a couple of hours late does for the appetite. She had always considered “starvation” to be the best spice in her pantry.
When Granny offered the corn bread basket to Brody, she told him, “I’ll be headin’ on home tonight, so’s you can sleep in the guest room in a proper bed, instead of all crunched up on the couch.”
Instantly, Brody’s face crinkled into a frown. “You ain’t going home just so’s I can have the bed, are you?”
Granny looked surprised. “Well, I—”
“Don’t be goin’ home on my account,” he assured her. “I mean, if you need to, go on ahead. But if I had m
y druthers, I’d sleep on the couch and have you here.”
Granny gave him a playful grin. “Don’t go butterin’ me up, boy. It’s the Colonel you’re frettin’ ’bout. I know you and him’s gotten to be fine friends.”
She gave Savannah a helpless shrug and questioning look.
Savannah nodded.
Gran tousled the boy’s hair. “I reckon, I could leave him here a couple days, and you two could—”
“No! It ain’t just the hound dog,” Brody protested. “He’s a bunch o’ fun, but I like you, too. Why don’t you stay? Make yourself at home?”
Ryan and John burst out laughing, and so did Savannah. The boy’s precociousness along with his ever-buoyant spirit were irresistible.
“Granny, if I may weigh in here,” she said, “I think that, unless you’ve got a good reason for going home, like you miss your fine neighbors there at the trailer park . . .”
“The ones cooking meth or the hookers?” Dirk mumbled.
Savannah ignored him and continued, “. . . you should stay here with us as long as you, Brody, and the Colonel want to. With this case going on, we’ll be out and about a lot anyway. It’d be nice if someone was here to keep an eye on the place.”
Both Brody’s and Granny’s faces lit up.
“That sounds like a brilliant plan,” John chimed in. “See what can be accomplished when great minds come together?”
Savannah was quite sure that, if the Colonel had been in the room, instead of snoring in his oversized doggy bed in her utility room, he would have been smiling, too.
* * *
An hour later, Brody was tucked into the upstairs bed, with the promise that Dirk would carry him downstairs and put him on the sofa once their company had all gone home and Granny was ready to retire.
“We don’t want to keep you awake with all our chitter-chatting,” was the explanation given to the boy.
It sounded so much better than, “We’re going to have a meeting of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency at the kitchen table, and we don’t want to discuss the unsavory details of a murder a few yards from a kid on the couch who, instead of sleeping, would be lying awake in horror.”
And the Killer Is . . . Page 16