Bitter Sweets (10 page)
“When will you be back?” Granny asked her as she followed them to the door, her long caftan skirt swishing gracefully. Her steps were slower, but as always, the picture of Southern elegance.
Savannah gave her a hug, inhaling the lovely scent of roses and basking in the momentary comfort of maternal love. She thought of the long night ahead and wished she could just ask Granny to “Go talk to the principal” for her. It would be so lovely to let another person be strong in her stead.
There were definite disadvantages to growing up.
“Not in time to go to Disneyland bright and early tomorrow morning,” she said. “I'm sorry, Gran.”
“Awk, that's all right. Mickey and Donald have been waiting for me all these years; I suppose they can hang on a bit longer.”
CHAPTER TEN
“H
ow much did you tell them?” Savannah asked as she and Dirk walked down the hallway at the rear of the station which led to Hillquist's office.
ow much did you tell them?” Savannah asked as she and Dirk walked down the hallway at the rear of the station which led to Hillquist's office.
“They asked me what happened. I told 'em. No more, no less,” Dirk replied. He was staring down at the gray, industrial-dull tiles as though expecting the floor to open and swallow them whole. Maybe he was hoping.
“You know, you don't have to beat yourself up about this,” Savannah said, lacing her arm companionably through his. “In spite of what my granny said, you aren't really a good-for-nothing, backstabbing, double-crossing tallywhacker. She just has a special way with words.”
Dirk chuckled and his mood seemed to lighten a tad. “Appears to run in the family.”
“Here we are.” She paused before the door to the chiefs office. “Tell me again, just how mad was Bloss?”
“He waited here for you for three hours. How mad do you think he'd be? Whatever possessed you to do a thing like that . . . . as if you weren't in deep enough shit as it was.”
She grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Wish me luck.”
“No way. I'm coming in with you.”
“They won't let you stay.”
Dirk stuck out his lower lip and banged the door open. “They'll let me stay.”
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If pecking order were signified by creature comforts and chair assignments, Savannah didn't have to think long to figure out where she stood. . . . or sat. . . . at the moment.
The chief lounged graciously behind his modern, blond oak desk in an executive, high-backed, leather chair. At his side, Bloss sprawled across an upholstered tweed, cushy affair, while she and Dirk were perched on folding, metal contraptions. Hers was rusty.
“Unless you're her lawyer, leave,” Bloss told Dirk, snuffing out his cigar in the chief's ashtray and pulling another from his shirt pocket.
“I'd like to stay,” Dirk replied as he stared at the scuffed tips of his loafers.
“I'd like to have left five hours ago.” Bloss made a ceremony of consulting his wristwatch. “But we don't always get what we want, thanks to certain individuals.” He gave Savannah a dirty look.
The chief said nothing, but sat with his hands folded gracefully on the desk in front of him. At first glance, he seemed a more highly evolved specimen than the one sitting beside him. But his eyes reminded her of a few dead fish she had seen in the seafood section of her local supermarket.
“Good-bye,” Bloss told Dirk.
“With all due respect, sir. . . .” Dirk slurred the “sir” and his facial expression was anything but respectful. “. . . . I'm staying.”
Bloss looked to Hillquist for reinforcement.
“Let's get on with it,” Hillquist said.
“Yes, please,” Savannah said, sitting back in her miserably uncomfortable chair and trying not to look as nervous as she felt. “I'm tired, I'm in the middle of PMS, I haven't had my dinner yet, and I'm starting to get cranky.”
“None of us have had our dinners yet,” Bloss growled. “After that little stunt you pulled earlier thisâ”
Hillquist held up one hand to silence Bloss then turned to Savannah. “Did you kill Lisa Mallock?”
“No.”
“Did you help someone do it?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Who?”
“I think it was her ex-husband, Earl Mallock.”
“How do you know that?”
Savannah winced as the wound went a notch deeper into her conscience. “I don't
know
it, but I suspect it's true. Mallock lied to me, claiming to be her long-lost brother, and used my agency to find her.”
know
it, but I suspect it's true. Mallock lied to me, claiming to be her long-lost brother, and used my agency to find her.”
Neither Hillquist nor Bloss registered any emotion at all. Hillquist didn't appear to even have any brain waves. Savannah wondered why they were going over this, when it was obvious she wasn't telling them anything they didn't know already.
Hillquist picked up a gold Cross pen from his desk top and began to write on a piece of paper. At first, she thought he was taking notes, but another look told her he was merely doodling.
She couldn't help wondering what he was drawing. Probably a hangman's noose.
Without looking his way, Savannah knew that Dirk was watching her closely. She didn't dare even glance at him for fear of intercepting some sweet, schmaltzy look that would twang her heartstrings. She had to keep her head clear; this definitely wasn't the time to give in to emotions.
“Are you aware that trace evidence has been found that links you to the scene of the murder?” Hillquist continued to doodle, his eyes still as flat as his monotone.
“I'm not surprised,” Savannah replied. “I was there in the cabin the morning following the murder. I stood over the body. I touched it.”
“How do you know that was the morning after?” Bloss had been quiet as long as he could. He had to interject his nickel's worth. “How come you're so sure that she was killed the night before?”
“I've seen quite a few stiffs in my day. . . . sir. The body exhibited total rigidity, cloudy corneas, and fixed lividity. No insect infestation to speak of, but she was indoors. . . . windows and doors closed. My best guess would be that she had died around midnight. Am I close?”
“Dr. Liu says one,” Dirk said quietly.
“What was your relationship with Earl Mallock?” Hillquist said. He looked bored, but Savannah noticed his hand had tightened around the gold pen.
“The man was my client. That's it, that's all. And he wasn't a very good one at that, since he lied to me and paid me only half of what he owed me.”
“And what if we can prove that he was far more to you than simply your client?”
Savannah laced her fingers together and could feel her pulse pounding out to their tips. “Since it isn't true, it would require a lot of fabrication on your part. But, I suppose if you really wanted to, you could. It all depends on how far you'll go to settle old scores.”
She heard Dirk's slight intake of breath and watched as a flicker of hate lit the chiefs dull eyes.
“I'd watch what you say, Miss Reid,” he said carefully. “We're just about to charge you with accessory to murder.”
“I don't think so, or I would have brought an attorney with me.”
“We've checked your financial standing. Since you've left the department, you can't afford an attorney.”
That was much closer to the truth than Savannah cared to admit, even to herself. She was in the rotten, middle-class bracket of individuals who couldn't afford the services of professionals: doctors, lawyers, plumbers, or automobile mechanics, but weren't sufficiently poverty-stricken to warrant public assistance.
Her blood sugar level dipped to an all-time low. She stood and tucked her purse under her arm. “Are you going to charge me or not?”
“I haven't decided yet,” Hillquist replied.
“Well, you better make up your mind. I've got a Black Forest cake in my refrigerator and an eighty-three-year-old grandmother in my house.”
“You aren't going anywhere, Ms. Reid,” Hillquist said. He had stopped doodling and was giving her his full attention. “I'm not finished with you yet.”
“Yes, you are,” said a deep voice from the door. “This has gone far enough.”
Savannah turned and was astonished to see that her new advocate was the venerable Colonel Neilson himself.
“I called your home to apologize for my behavior earlier this evening, Ms. Reid,” he explained. “A pleasant houseguest of yours said you had been arrested for my daughter's murder. Is that true?”
“I'm afraid I don't know yet.” She glanced at Hillquist, Bloss, and her watch. “You'll have to tune in later. Film at eleven.”
The colonel turned his intense, blue-eyed scrutiny on Hillquist. “I know you're trying to help, Norman,” he said. “For old time's sake and all that. But you and I both know this woman didn't kill Lisa. Earl did it. And the four of you are sitting here in this office, playing mental chess, while he gets away. There has to be a better way.”
He gave Savannah a kind, sad half smile that gave her spirits a better boost than an intravenous drip of Black Forest chocolate. “I was . . . . shall we say, âin my cups' when I visited you earlier, Savannah, but I recall something you said about us being on the same team, about us needing to work together.”
Savannah held out her hand to him, and he shook it. For once, neither Hillquist nor Bloss seemed to have anything to say.
“I'd like that very much, sir,” she told him.
“Do you need a ride home?” His hand, arthritic though it was, felt warm and strong wrapped around hers.
She thought of Granny Reid and the attention she had paid him earlier in the evening. Gran, at least, would be quite pleased to see him again.
But she could feel Dirk standing beside her, tense and waiting for her reply. Good ol' Dirk. . . . still a faithful partner.
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” She batted her eyelashes and deepened her dimples. “But my grandmother taught me that a lady always leaves with the gentleman who brought her.”
She gave the chief and her ex-captain her best “Kiss My Ass” look, took Dirk's arm and said, “Let's go, Beauregard. You can walk me home in the moonlight by way of the river. . . . but only if you promise not to take liberties.”
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Savannah's bravado failed her the moment she stepped across her threshold and into the sanctity of her own home. For the past twenty-four hours, she had been running on raw nerves, and she had reached her limit.
Most of the lights in the house were off. Only one lamp glowed, turned down low, in the living room. She was relievedâand a wee disappointedâthat Granny hadn't met her at the door. Good, she had taken Savannah's advice and gone to bed. After all, an octogenarian needed her beauty rest.
However, her arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. Cleopatra and Diamante came running to her and twined their sleek black bodies around her ankles. Their pale green eyes and rhinestone collars glimmered in the lamplight.
“Hi, girls,” she said, feeling a tenderness for the two animals well up inside her. Dropping her purse onto the foyer table, she scooped one up in each arm and gave them kisses. Their bellies were pudgy; Granny had always boasted the reputation of overfeeding every living creature within her domain.
As she passed through the living room, she was surprised to see that Gran hadn't gone to bed after all. She was curled against the end of the sofa, her reading glasses nearly sliding off the tip of her nose, her open Bible across her lap, and her eyes closed. She was snoring softly.
Savannah thought of all the times she had come home late from dates and found her grandmother in exactly this position. Gran had always been a better mom than Savannah's own mother, the most positive maternal influence in her upbringing.
“Gran. . . .” After setting the cats on the floor, she placed one hand on the older woman's shoulder and shook her gently. “Granny, it's Savannah. I'm home now, and you should go along to bed.”
“Huh? Oh, it's you, sugar.” She stirred and pulled out the antique, locket-watch she wore around her neck. Flipping it open, she squinted down at its mother-of-pearl face. “High time you got back, too.”
Savannah chuckled. “Well, it's not like I was out kicking up my heels, you know. I wasn't exactly making out with Tommy Stafford up at Lovers' Peak.”
Closing her Bible, Gran set it aside and rose from the sofa. “How did it go? Did you give 'em hell?”
“I'd like to think I held my own. That's about as good as it got.”
“Fair enough.”
Arms around each other's waists, they walked toward the kitchen.
“Are you hungry?” Gran asked. “Can I make you some fried liver and onions, or I could bake you some corn bread, if you've got some buttermilk to go with it.”
Savannah felt her stomach roil at the mention of food. “Thank you, but I've waited so long to eat, and I'm so tired that I feel sort of nauseous. I think I'll just hold out until breakfast.”
“Then why don't you go on up to bed, and I'll bring you a nice cup of peppermint tea in a few minutes.”
“Are you sure? You're my guest; I feel like I should be serving you.”
“Aw, I'm not a guest. I'm family. Hightail it outta here and get yourself into bed before you fall apart at the seams.”
After pressing a kiss to her grandmother's forehead and making one more feeble complaint, Savannah allowed herself to be shooed upstairs.
When she walked into her bedroom and flipped on the light, she found another lovely surprise. Gran had folded the comforter down, then pulled the blanket and sheet back in a neat triangle. Across her pillow, her grandmother had laid one of her prettiest nightgowns, a slip of peach silk, embellished with lace and seed pearls.
“Oh, Gran,” she whispered as she stripped out of her street clothes and pulled the gown over her head. As she allowed the satiny waves to trickle down her body, she smelled the slight fragrance of roses. Gran had even remembered to spray the gown with cologne.
She had only been in bed a few minutes when her grandmother arrived, bearing a china teacup filled with aromatic mint tea.
Taking the delicate porcelain from her, Savannah breathed in the scented steam and instantly felt better.
“I was just lying here thinking about you,” Savannah said as Gran sat on the bed beside her. “About my thirteenth birthday. Do you remember what we did?”
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