Bitter Sweets (9 page)

Tired and disgusted, Savannah left a few minutes later. She was no closer to finding Earl Mallock or Christy. Her head ached, she was weak with hunger, and her spirits were dragging the pavement.

But she could take satisfaction in imagining the look on J.T.'s and Bobbie's faces when they called the number she had given them and spoke to the no-nonsense, not-so-benevolent despot, Sister Mary Theresa, who ran the local rescue mission. Best case scenario: They might even be dumb enough to ask Sister for a date. . . .

 

The moment Savannah heard Tammy's voice on her car phone, she knew something was wrong.

“Savannah, could you come home, right away? Please!”

Immediately, Savannah did a U-turn on Harrington and headed the car toward home. “Tammy, what is it? Are you crying?”

“A little. It's just that. . . . well. . . . someone is here and. . . .”

Savannah's heart leapt as she imagined the worst. “Mallock?”

“No, the colonel. He's here in the office, and he wants to talk to you, and he says it's all our fault that something's happened to his daughter and—”

“Tammy, listen to me.” She gripped the wheel, fighting her temper. Sure, the man must be worried out of his mind, but that was no excuse for. . . . “You take the colonel into my sitting room and tell him to ‘Sit', then get him a cup of coffee. Stick it in his hand, leave the room, and close the door firmly behind you. Lock it if necessary to keep him in there, but don't put up with any more guff off him. Got that?”

“Yeah. And Savannah. . . . thanks.”

“No sweat, kiddo. I'll be there in four minutes, five tops.”

She put the Camaro's pedal to the metal. Maybe three and a half.

S
avannah stood in the middle of her living room, staring up into the angriest eyes she had seen in ages. “Colonel Neilson,” she said, keeping her voice low and even, “I'm going to assume that you are, at heart, a gentleman, and this momentary lapse in your manners is due to the fact that you are overwrought with grief.”

The moment she had walked through the front door, he had verbally attacked her, calling her names that—as Granny Reid would put it—“No man should say and no lady should hear.”

In the corner of the room stood Tammy, still quietly crying. Apparently, the colonel had not accepted her offer of refreshments or obeyed the command to “sit.”

“You're damned right, I'm overwrought,” he said. “You saw what he did to my baby. That bastard had her trussed up like an animal. And he shot her in the head like a . . . .”

His voice broke and she thought he was going to start sobbing, but he seemed to rally. She could see the war of emotions in his eyes, the grief versus the fury. It was a battle she had seen every day when she had patrolled the streets.

Rage won.

“And you led him straight to her.” Neilson's fists were tight balls at his sides. “For all I know, you helped him do it.”

“Surely, you don't believe that, Colonel.”

She could smell the heavy odor of liquor on his breath as he leaned close to her. For a moment he swayed on his feet and she thought he might go down.

“The police believe it,” he said. “At least, they're considering the possibility.”

“The brass of the San Carmelita Police Department and I have an old vendetta going,” she said, feeling about 107 years old with another birthday pending. “They hate me. I swear, they would be plumb giddy if they could prove I was Jack the Ripper, but that doesn't make it so.”

Again he weaved, unsteady on his feet.

“Colonel, why don't you have a seat before you fall down.”

“I told her—” He jabbed a thumb in Tammy's direction. She cringed as though it had been a loaded pistol. “I don't want to sit down. I'm all right.”

“Tammy,” Savannah said, sensing that the young woman was near the end of her emotional tether, “why don't you run along home. It's been a long day.”

“But. . . . shouldn't I stay. . . . I. . . . ?”

“No. Everything is fine here. You run along.”

With an expression that contained a mixture of misgivings and intense relief, Tammy seized the opportunity, grabbed her purse and jacket, and bolted out the door.

“Colonel,” Savannah said gently, turning back to Neilson, “I know that you aren't all right. In your circumstances no one would be. You're exhausted, you're terribly upset, and I suspect you've had a bit too much to drink. Please sit for a spell and let's talk. Just the two of us.”

She saw the momentary flicker of vulnerability in his eyes and knew he needed understanding and sympathy from someone. She would have been honored to give it, but right now, for reasons she could certainly understand, he considered her the enemy.

“We're on the same side, really, Colonel,” she told him as she gingerly took his arm and led him over to the sofa. “We need to find your granddaughter and bring your daughter's killer to justice. I know that's what you want, too.”

He jerked his arm out of her grasp and refused to sit. “You caused my only daughter to be killed, my little granddaughter to be stolen from me. What kind of fool do you think I am? I'm not going to sit here in your house and drink coffee as if we were best buddies. You're not going to get off that easily, Miss Reid.”

“Colonel, please, I—”

He headed for the door with a purposeful, if unsteady, stride and jerked it open. Outside, the night was dark and a soft rain was beginning to fall. “I've said what I came to say.”

She rushed to him. “Colonel Neilson, don't go yet. Stay for at least one cup of coffee. Really, you're in no condition to drive.”

Again, she grasped his arm, but more firmly than before.

“Get your hands off me, before I forget you're a woman, and knock you on your ass.”

Savannah's face hardened. Grieving father or not, she was getting her can full. “You could try,” she said, lifting her chin a couple of notches, “but I'm not sure you would succeed.”

Slowly, she released his arm, knowing there was no way to hold him if he was determined to leave.

“I really need your input, Colonel, if I'm going to help your granddaughter,” she called as she followed him out of the house. “Later, when you've thought things over, we need to talk. Please, stay in touch.”

Ignoring her, he staggered down her sidewalk toward his car, which was parked at the curb. The rain was falling more heavily by the moment, dripping on her from the bougainvillea that draped the porch. A cold wet trickle slid down the back of her collar, causing her to shiver.

When was this rotten day ever going to end?

Through the wet haze, she saw the outline of a yellow car . . . . a taxi. . . . pulling up behind his Lincoln.

Who was . . . . ?

No one she knew ever took a cab, not in San Carmelita. To her knowledge, the local service only had two cars, one for the senior citizens' retirement home, one for Friday night drunks.

The cabbie rushed out of the car and around to the rear door. He opened it with flourish and offered his hand to his passenger.

Savannah watched, holding her breath as a woman unfolded herself from the taxi. A beautiful head of silver hair that glowed like moonlight beneath the streetlamp. A more-than-ample female figure in a long, flowing caftan, covered with a brilliant floral print. Sparkling, youthful eyes set in an aged, lined face.

The beloved face of her grandmother.

“Gran?” she whispered, her heart hopping up into her throat between her tonsils. “Granny Reid?”

Savannah was only dimly aware that her grandmother's attention was fully on the colonel, who didn't seem to notice anyone or anything as he climbed into his own car and pulled away from the curb.

“Gran?” Savannah called, finding her voice at last. “Gran, is it you? Of course it's you.”

“Savannah?” She squinted, nearsighted as always, but still unwilling to admit that she needed glasses. “Is that you, baby?”

“Oh, Gran!” Savannah sailed across the space that separated them and threw her arms around the person she loved most in the world. Warm, salty tears of joy mixed with the cold rain on her face. “How did you. . . . when did you. . . . ?”

“Just now. Flew all the way from Atlanta, I did, into Los Angeles.” Her Southern accent was as sweet and poignant as the rose perfume she had worn for as long as Savannah could remember.

Gran shoved some cash at the driver, then cast a lingering look at the colonel's car as it disappeared down the street. “Guess I shoulda showed up a few minutes earlier. Then, maybe I could have made the acquaintance of your gentleman caller. He looks more my age than yours.”

“It's probably just as well,” Savannah said under her breath.

The cabbie handed Savannah a suitcase, nodded respectfully, wished Gran a wonderful vacation, and dismissed himself. Savannah had always been fascinated by the amount of adoration a woman in her eighties could receive from members of the opposite sex.

“This is such a wonderful surprise,” Savannah said. “When did you arrive in California?”

“About an hour ago. I flew on a red nose. It was cheaper.”

“A red nose?” Strange visions of reindeer danced through Savannah's head until she had completed a quick, mental translation from Gran-ish to English. “Oh, you mean a red eye.”

“Don't you go correcting your elders, young lady. I know what the hell I flew on.” She stood on tiptoe to plant a bright scarlet, lipstick kiss on each of Savannah's cheeks.

Savannah returned the kisses.

“Now, are you going to invite me in for a nip of something to warm these stiff old bones,” Gran said as the taxi drove away, “or are we going to stand out here in the rain 'til we catch our death o' cold?”

Savannah had to hug her one more time; she couldn't remember when she had been so happy to see someone. She couldn't remember when she had needed anyone so much. Gran had a way of showing up just when Savannah expected her least and needed her most.

With the suitcase in one hand and her other arm wrapped around her grandmother's shoulders, she walked her up the sidewalk toward the house. “I'm tickled to death to see you, Gran,” she said. “Whatever made you decide to come out now?”

“I'm going to die soon, Savannah.”

Savannah felt a seismic tremor run through her soul. She dropped the suitcase, grabbed Gran's shoulders and whirled her around to face her. “Oh, God. . . . Granny! What is it? Is it your heart? Oh, no . . . . it's not ca . . . . canc—” She couldn't bear to say it, couldn't even think it.

“What? Oh, pooh, you're such a silly girl. It's nothing like that.”

“But you just said—”

“That I'm going to die soon. Well, for heaven's sake, Savannah, it's true. Let's face facts; I'm eighty-three years old. I'm bound to kick off before too long, and I figured I'd better do some of those things I've always been intendin' to do, but never got around to.”

Savannah felt her knees go weak with relief. “Then, you aren't sick, or—?”

“Hell no. What an imagination you have. I came out here because I want to go to Disneyland.”

“Disneyland? You want me to take you to Disneyland?”

“No. I'm going to take you. Tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

“Tomorrow?” Reality returned in a nauseous wave. She retrieved the suitcase and searched for the appropriate words, that didn't seem to be anywhere near the tip of her tongue. “Ah. . . . Gran, I've got some things going on here that. . . . well. . . . oh, shoot. . . . just come inside and I'll fix you a hot toddy.”

Looking up, her grandmother blinked at the drops falling onto her face. “I thought they said it never rains out here in California.”

Savannah started to reply, when she saw a familiar, battered old Skylark lumbering down the street in their direction. Dirk was behind the wheel. He pulled up in front of the house and cut the engine.

“Great. . . .” Savannah muttered, “that's all I need now. Unfortunately, Gran, that bit about the perfect climate isn't altogether true,” she added with a sigh. “And sometimes, when it rains, it really pours.”

 

“What do you mean, you're going to arrest my granddaughter for murder?” Gran stood in the middle of Savannah's living room, her hands on her waist, her feet spread in a battle stance, her face looking like a Mississippi River lightning storm. She was glaring at Dirk, who sat on the sofa, squirming miserably beneath her scrutiny.

“I wasn't exactly here to arrest her, ma'am, I just. . . .”

“Gran, please.” Savannah sat on the edge of her easy chair, clutching both cats to her sides for comfort.

“You're that Dirk guy she's written me letters about,” Granny continued. “You used to be her partner, and now you're supposed to be her friend. You know damned well she wouldn't kill an innocent person.”

Gran shrugged and seemed to briefly reconsider. “Oh, well, she did shoot a couple of fellows, way back when,” she conceded, “you know, her being a peace officer and all that, she had to. And she's knocked the snot out of quite a few when they were askin' for it. She knows that fancy black belt stuff and she does have a bit of a temper, but she wouldn't—”

“Really, Gran,” Savannah interrupted. “Please don't ‘help' me.”

“Well, somebody sure needs to. It sounds like you've got yourself in a heap of trouble this time. Worse than usual, even for you.”

“They just want to talk to you for a while, Van. That's all.” Dirk turned pleading eyes to Savannah.

“Talk? Bloss and Hillquist want to grill me like a porterhouse—rare and bloody—and you know it.”

“Who's Bloss? Who's Hillquist?” Gran demanded. “Do you want me to go down there for you, sugar? I could set things straight.”

“No, really!” Savannah spoke so loudly that the cats both ejected themselves from her lap. “You don't need to do that.”

“I don't mind at all.”

Memories flashed across the back screen of Savannah's mind: Gran literally tossing a vacuum salesman and his wares off her back porch, Gran telling Savannah's grade school principal to “Sit on a fence post and spin” because he had kept Savannah for an hour after school, Gran threatening one of Savannah's dates that she would “Jerk a knot in his tail” if he “got out of the way” with her granddaughter.

“Yes, Granny, I'm sure you could settle everything for me,” she said. “But it's your vacation, and I think I should take care of this.”

Dirk brightened.

Savannah knew she had to let him off the hook by going in and facing whatever music Bloss and Hillquist wanted to subject her to, even if it were the last thing on earth she wanted to do.

“Will you feed the cats for me, Gran?”

“Is that all?” She looked genuinely disappointed. Her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement and her eyes alight with mischief.

“Yes, that's all. And don't wait up for me. I have a wonderful Black Forest cake in the refrigerator,” she said wistfully. “Feel free to dig in. The guest room has clean sheets. Make yourself at home.”

She stood and lifted her purse from a nearby table. Dirk hurried to get her raincoat from the hall closet. The perfect gentleman, he held it as she slipped it on. Like most males, his manners were always at their best when he was overwhelmed with guilt.