Cooked Goose (15 page)

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve lied to me,” Bloss returned. “It’s not like you’re above it.”

Dirk cleared his throat loudly. “It happened, sir. I’m sure. He was waiting at your house, slipped into the garage when she came home, and forced her to drive out on Turner Canyon Road. That’s when she smashed the Roadster into a water tank and ran away from him. She called Savannah, and she picked her up at the Mobil station out there.”

“Did you get him?”

“Afraid not. By the time we got there, he was gone.”

The captain sat quietly, absorbing the facts, then he seemed to soften. He turned to Margie. “Did you get hurt? Have you been to the hospital?”

“Savannah took me. I just got some scrapes and bruises. And a couple of stitches on my shoulder where he gouged me with the tip of his knife.”

She pulled the robe aside, showing him her bandage. He gave it a cursory glance. “Good,” he mumbled, “that’s good.”

“Your daughter showed a lot of smarts and courage, Captain,” Savannah said. She walked over to Margie and put her hand on the girl’s uninjured shoulder. “If she hadn’t, it might have turned out a lot differently.”

“I know that.” Suddenly Bloss looked fifty years old going on eighty. He shook his head and sighed. “I know what could have happened. Damn. This sucks. My own kid. That guy’s nuts.”

“I think that was a given,” Savannah said, “even before he came after Margie.”

“Did you get a good look at him?” Bloss asked the girl.

“Not really. He was wearing that Santa stuff.”

“She gave us pretty much the same limited description as the others gave,” Dirk interjected. “The only thing new was this.” He took the drawing from his pocket and unfolded the paper. Spreading it on the table in front of the captain, he said, “The guy was wearing a ring like that, a big one with a star in the middle.”

When Bloss saw the drawing, he looked like he had been hit in the solar plexus. Savannah watched him, fascinated by his reaction. She recalled that he had seemed upset at the hospital when she had told him about the star-shaped bruise on Charlene Yardley.

“Are you sure, Margie?” Bloss asked her. “Are you absolutely certain he was wearing something that looked like this?”

“Sure, I’m sure. What do you think, I just made it up, too? Give me a break.”

Savannah couldn’t resist. “Captain, what do you think about the ring? Does that particular design ring a bell with you?”

He gave her a deadly look that told her more than his curt, “No.” Turning his back to Savannah, he asked Margie, “Do you think he knew who you are—that you’re my kid?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about it either way. But I guess he did. I mean, he knew where I lived. He must have known it was your house, too.” She shrugged. “Or maybe he just picked out anybody, any house.”

Bloss stood abruptly. “Come on. Get your stuff. We’re going home.”

“Home?” Margie looked horrified at the very idea. “I’m not going back to that place. No way!”

“Do what I’m telling you. Get a move on.”

“No! He knows where to find me. He’ll come after me again!”

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll be there, too. He’s not going to get to you without coming through me first.”

What an egotistic jerk
, Savannah thought, mentally lopping off his swelled head with a dull machete.

“I’m not going,” Margie said. “I want to stay here tonight with Savannah. I feel safe here.”

“Are you saying I can’t keep my own kid safe?” Bloss bellowed.

Margie gave him a withering look. “Well, you
didn’t
. I was almost killed tonight, and where was my big protective father?”

“That isn’t fair; I didn’t know. How could I have known he was going to come after you?”

“You could be home once in a while when I get there. Just once in a while, Daddy. They couldn’t even get hold of you when I needed you in the hospital. I didn’t want you there, because I knew you’d blame me for wrecking the car.” She paused, only a second, to catch her breath, then went at him again. “But even if I had wanted you, they couldn’t find you. They left messages for you everywhere, even an APB, and they couldn’t find you. You’re never, ever, around when I need you.”

“You’ve got a lousy attitude, you know that. You’re ungrateful, just like your mother.”

“Excuse me, Captain,” Savannah said in her most controlled, authoritative voice, trying not to convey the fact that she wanted to rip his tongue out and shove it in his left ear. “I hate to interrupt this family discussion, but we’ve all had a tough day, especially Margie. Why don’t you just give it a rest? She’s welcome to sleep here in my guest room, and you two can resume your argument tomorrow morning after she’s had a good night’s sleep. Does that sound like a plan?”

He thought about it for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he turned to his daughter. “Is this really what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “If you don’t want to come home with me, so be it. I’ll send somebody over tomorrow morning to get you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Margie replied.

“You,” Bloss said, pointing a finger at Dirk, “come with me. I want you to take me out to the crash site and fill me in on what you’ve got so far.”

“Good night, Margie, Savannah,” Dirk said graciously as he rose to follow the retreating Bloss. “You girls did good.”

“Thanks.” Savannah gave him an appreciative smile. Dirk could be sweet when he had a mind to be.

“Yeah, thanks,” Margie said, equally grateful for the seldom heard encouraging word.

Once the men had exited the house, Savannah offered Margie a cup of hot chocolate. Not too surprisingly, she accepted.

While Savannah was heating the milk, Margie doodled on the legal pad, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What’s on your mind?” Savannah asked her.

“I was just thinking what a creep my dad is. You hate him, too, huh. I can tell.”

Savannah weighed the wisdom of being honest against diplomacy. She decided to hit somewhere in between. “He’s not my favorite person on the planet. But he did a good thing by having you, so he can’t be all bad.”

“He doesn’t care about me.”

Savannah chose a colorful Alice in Wonderland mug from her Disney collection in the cupboard. “I’m sure he does,” she said as she stirred hot milk into the cocoa mix. “Some fathers just aren’t that good at showing it.”

“Does your dad love you?” Margie asked, watching Savannah squirt a swirl of whipped cream from an aerosol can on top of the cocoa.

Savannah’s mind quickly perused the few memories she had of her father. As a long distance trucker, Macon Reid Sr. had been on the road about 364 days a year. Once in awhile, he’d return home long enough to get Mama pregnant. Then he’d take off again. Savannah and her eight siblings had been raised by Granny Reid.

“Does my dad love me?” Savannah mumbled, deciding whether to give the kid a happy answer or an honest one. “Not so’s you’d notice,” she admitted. “It’s been years since I’ve seen him or heard from him.”

“I don’t like very many men. Some of the boys my age are all right. But the older ones, like my dad—they’re all creeps.”

Savannah shaved some chocolate curls over the top of the whipped cream and sprinkled on a bit of cinnamon. “They’re not all creeps. Dirk’s cool. He farts and burps too much, but basically, he’s all right.”

“Yeah, Dirk’s cool,” Margie reluctantly conceded as Savannah handed her the overloaded mug.

“And I know a few others who are definitely worth the air they breathe,” Savannah said as she poured herself a cup of the Louisiana brew. She sat across the table from Margie. “But just a few. Two, maybe even three.”

“But women are better.”

Laughing, Savannah lifted her mug and Margie returned the toast. “Women are definitely better. Wa-a-ay more better.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

December 13—2:16 a.m.

“Savannah. Pssst. Savannah.”

Savannah fought her way to consciousness from a deep, much needed and deserved sleep. Gran was right, there was no rest for the weary. By the dim moonlight shining through the lace curtains, she could see her favorite flannel pajamas standing in the bedroom door. Margie was wearing them.

“Yes, dear?” she said groggily.

“I had a really bad dream.” Margie sounded and looked like a forlorn five-year-old who was afraid of the thunder. But Savannah reminded herself that this teenager’s recent nightmare had been far more traumatic than the usual lightning storm.

“I’m not surprised,” she said. She sat up in bed and turned on the nightstand lamp. “Do you want to come in here and tell me about it?”

“Not really. I don’t want to talk about it. Or even think about it. I was wondering if....”

“Yes?”

“If you’d think it was just completely weird if I asked you if….”

“If...?” Savannah had a good idea where this was headed.

“If I could sleep in here with you.”

Savannah chuckled. Now, how had she guessed that one

“No,” she said. “I don’t think it’s weird at all. Climb in.” She pulled back the comforter on the other side of the queen-sized bed, fluffed the pillow, and patted the mattress invitingly. “You don’t hog the covers, do you?”

“Sometimes.” Margie laughed and climbed in beside her, looking grateful and infinitely relieved.

“Well, don’t, or I’ll kick you out. And stay on your own side.”

“Okay.”

Savannah turned out the lamp and lay down. She pulled the blankets up around her chin.

Margie did the same, flouncing around like a bantam hen making her nest. When she was finally settled, she sighed and said, “You’re cool, Savannah. I wish you were my mom or my big sister.”

“I can be your big sister if you want,” she said, touched by the girl’s honesty and vulnerability that was rare in an adolescent. “Heck, I’m a big sister to half of Georgia. What’s another sister or two?”

“You’ve got a lot of brothers and sisters?”

“There are nine of us. I’m the oldest.”

“Wow. I’m an only kid. They say that makes you spoiled, but I think it just makes you lonely.”

“I think you’re right.”

Savannah stifled a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Margie asked.

“Lying here with you—it reminds me of a little song my granny used to sing to us at bedtime.”

“Sing it to me.”

“Naw. You don’t know what you’re asking. Believe me, Granny Reid sings a lot better than I do.”

“I don’t care. I want to hear it.”

Savannah took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes:

“Two little chil’uns, lyin’ in bed,

One ’most sick, and the other ’most dead.

Call for the doctor. The doctor said,

“Feed them little chil’uns some short’nin’ bread.”

“Wait a minute.” Margie flopped onto her side, facing Savannah, and propped up on her elbow. “Does ‘chil’uns’ mean children?”

“Of course. Don’t you speak Southern?”

Margie laughed. “I guess not. And what’s short’nin’ bread?”

“Something you wouldn’t want to eat. Here’s the second verse:

“Two little chil’uns, lyin’ in bed.

One turned over, and the other one said, “You peed in my wa-a-rm
 
pla-a-ce.

You peed in my wa-a-rm place.”

Margie socked Savannah on the shoulder. “That’s a stupid song.”

“Maybe so, but those are the house rules: Stay on your side, don’t hog the blanket, and—”

“And don’t pee in your warm place.”

“Or anyplace else for that matter.”

“You got it.”

Savannah gave her an affectionate nudge with her elbow. “Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“You have bugs in your bed?”

“It’s just a quaint, Georgia nighttime blessing. Hush and go to sleep.”

“Okay. Thanks, Savannah.”

“No sweat.”

* * *

9:10 a.m.

“Good morning, ladies. Coulter Limousine Service.” Dirk stood on Savannah’s front porch, wearing a smile that could only have been accomplished by sleeping with a coat hanger in his mouth the evening before.

A night owl, like Savannah, Dirk felt basically the same way about morning people as she did: They should be shot at sunrise, when they were at their obnoxious perkiest.
 

Savannah ushered him into the living room, where she and Margie were sipping coffee, munching donuts, and watching Bugs Bunny cartoons on television. Although Savannah had slipped into jeans and a sweatshirt, Margie was still wearing her borrowed pajamas and robe. They looked like the remnants of a pajama party.

Margie was only mildly pleased to see Dirk. “So, you’re the one my dad pawned me off on,” she muttered. “Lucky you.”

“Actually, he didn’t pawn you off on anybody. I volunteered for the job,” he said, sweeping off an imaginary hat and bowing low. “Driving a couple of beautiful women around the town isn’t such a bad way for a guy to make a buck. Are you about ready to go?”