Cooked Goose (27 page)

“Vi,” she said, shaking her arm. “Vidalia, wake up.”

“Huh? Wh-what?” The dead stirred to life.

“I’m sorry to wake you, sugar, but it seems your husband has driven all the way from Georgia, and he aims to talk to you.”
 

Vidalia came wide awake. “Butch? Where?”

“He’s in my front hall. I sent the kids out to him. But he wants to speak to you. Swears he’ll be calm.”

Vidalia sat up straight and wiped the sleep spittle from the corner of her mouth. “You tell that sonuvabitch that he can go straight to hell. He and me ain’t talkin’.”

Savannah stood there for a long moment, weighing the situation. She glanced at Margie and saw the sympathy in her eyes. Over the years, Savannah had done a lot for her siblings. Probably way too much. They needed to be weaned and there was no time like the present.

“Tell me something,” she said to her younger sister, who had already settled back down for another long winter’s nap.

“What?”

“In all the time the two of you have been together, has Butch ever hit you?”

“Hit me? No, of course not.”

“Not even a little bitty smack on the jaws?”

Vidalia laughed. “Are you crazy? He knows if he ever raised a hand to me, I’d stomp a mud hole in him.”

“Okay, then that stuff about telling him to go to hell—”

“What about it?”

“You tell him yourself. I’m stayin’ out of it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

December 19—10:54 a.m.

“I'm sure there must be a good reason why you would ask me to leave my loving home and spend my morning slumming with you," Savannah told Dirk as he drove her into the valley at the east end of town. It was not, by any means, the high rent district.

“I did it for you,” he said proudly. “I took one look at you last night, after your sister and her old man had their run-in and knew you needed to get out of there.”

He turned the corner and headed into the worst of the worst section. Every wall was covered with graffiti, every yard was littered with broken-down vehicles. Sagging porches supported old sofas and chairs that were bristling with rusty springs.

“Great neighborhood,” Savannah said. “A German Shepherd would be afraid to walk these streets after dark without a Rottweiler on a leash. Why are we here? Is there a new donut shop opening, and they’re giving away samples?”

Dirk shot her an indignant look. “You’re a bitter, cynical woman, Reid. And suspicious. Did I mention suspicious?”

“Wherever we’re going, we’re probably just about there. Now why don’t you tell me what you want me to do?”

“Will you do it?”

“Don’t I always?”

He laughed. “You can’t help yourself, Van. You’re just a sucker for my pretty face.”

“There must be a reason, but I’m sure that ain’t it. What am I doing for you this time?”

Pulling the Buick over to the side of the road near a transmission repair garage, he said, “I’ve got a lead and I think—you bein’ a chick and all—that you’d be better at gettin’ the information outta her than me.”

“It’s a ‘her.’ Ah, that says a lot.”

“What do you mean? Are you sayin’ I’m not good with women?”

Savannah raised one eyebrow and grinned at him. “Do you think you are?”

He shrugged. “Not particularly. But then, I’m not all that good with guys either, so....”

“Does this female lead of yours work at this transmission place?”

“No. She lives up the street.” He pointed to some ramshackle apartments ahead on the corner. “She works at Ricky’s, that new topless joint in Two Trees. She’s a stripper, and from what I hear, DeCianni was seeing her for the past few months.”

“He was seeing more of her than the average customer at Ricky’s gets to see?”

“Apparently so. And I hear the two of them weren’t gettin’ along so good lately. Had a big fight a few days before he got whacked.”

“You want me to just go in straight, as a P.I.?”

He laughed. “Well, of course. I wouldn’t suggest you lie, or anything like that.”

“Right. And if she isn’t home, you wouldn’t want me to break in and check things out.”

“Of course not. But if you get caught or killed, I’ll disavow any knowledge of your actions.”

“Thanks. Drive.”

* * *

The gal who called herself “Moon Shadow” looked just flaky enough that Savannah decided her name might actually be Moon Shadow. What a ridiculous handle for an exotic dancer. She had to get a lot of teasing about that one.

Moon stood in the doorway of her apartment, wearing a tube top and ragged short shorts. Her body might once have been good, but it was long past its prime. The sad thing was, Moon wasn’t much over thirty and her prime shouldn’t have come and gone so quickly.

The cigarette in one hand, the glass of booze in the other, and the track marks on her arm provided clues as to why she had lost her youth early.

“Who are you?” she asked without preamble.

“My name is Savannah Reid.” She held out her hand, but Moon made no move to shake it. So, Savannah stuck it into her pocked and continued,
 
“I’m a private investigator, and I’m looking into the Donald DeCianni homicide. I understand you and he were good friends.”

“Then you understand wrong. I hated his guts, the lousy bastard.”

“Did you kill him?”

Long ago, Savannah had decided that the best way to find out something you wanted to know was just to ask. Of course, the replies were seldom truthful, but she could read the answers she needed in the person’s eyes and their body language.

“No, I didn’t kill him,” Moon said. Her eyes said the same. “But I’m glad he’s dead. Real glad.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No, but I’d like to shake his hand. He did the world, and me, a big favor.”

“Wow, you really
are
mad. Do you want to talk about it?”

Savannah had learned that, often, if a person had no one to talk to, the thought of unburdening themselves to a stranger was a deep comfort. Everyone needed to talk to someone; it was a basic human necessity. Savannah was betting that Moon Shadow was as lonely and as in need of a listener as she looked.

The bet paid off. Moon opened the rusty screen door and said, “Come on in, lady. I’ll give you an earful.”

* * *

And she did. An hour later, Savannah walked out to the sidewalk, called Dirk on her cell phone, and told him to pick her up. She had more down and dirty gossip than she would have garnered if she had spent an entire Sunday afternoon sitting in the swing with Gran on her front porch in Georgia.

Dirk must have been waiting around the corner, because he picked her up in thirty seconds.

“She’s pregnant,” Savannah announced the instant she climbed into the car. “Not as pregnant as Vidalia, but there’s definitely a cinnamon bun in the oven. Ask me who the baker was?”

Dirk was as alert as Savannah’s cats when they heard the whir of an electric can opener. “DeCianni, right?”

“Maybe. She doesn’t know for sure. But she swears it was either him or the other guy she was seeing.”

“Who?”

“Joe.”

“McGivney? No way!”

“Yeah. Seems she was having deep, meaningful, soul-centered relationships with both guys until two months ago when McGivney found out. That was also about the time she realized she was pregnant.”

“She’s about four months along?”

“Just starting to show a little. I guess her days of shaking her junk at Ricky’s are numbered.”

Dirk headed west, out of the valley and toward the ocean. In the distance they could see the white-capped waves glittering in the noon day sun. The temperature would probably reach eighty within the hour. A perfect Southern California day. Not very Christmas-like, but perfect.

“How did she stand with these guys,” Dirk said, “once they found out they weren’t her one and only?”

“They dumped her. She hated them. Pretty straightforward.”

“Do you think she had anything to do with them being killed?”

“I don’t think she did it herself. She mentioned an older brother. You might want to check him out. A guy named Star Shadow.”

“You’re kidding. That Shadow crap is for real? I assumed it was her stage name.”

“Hippie parents.”

“Oh. Figures.”

“And one other possibility. She says that fooling around on their women wasn’t their only vice. They were both in deep to Jorge Maldonado.”

“The bookie out in Oak Creek?”

“I understand Jorge’s special form of debt enforcement is kneecap displacement.”

“Wonder how he feels about stuffing badges in dead cops’ mouths?”

“Maybe you should pay him a visit and see if he strikes you as the creative type.”

“First things first.”

They had arrived at the beach, and he pulled the car into the parking lot beneath the pier. Seagulls swirled overhead. A couple of kids in bright pink and yellow bathing suits were playing on the swing set closer to the pier. An idyllic setting, but Savannah was suspicious.

“Why are we here?” she asked. “Don’t tell me we’re going to be looking for bodies again.”

“Nope.” He reached into the backseat and grabbed a couple of small white bags. “This visit is purely social. I’ve gotta pay you somehow for the good job you did for me just now. So, here ya go.”

He opened the first sack and pulled out a couple of Styrofoam cups filled with coffee, some sugar, creamer and stir sticks. The second bag held half a dozen donuts.

“Coffee and donuts beside the bright, blue sea,” he said proudly. “Now don’t say I don’t take care of my women.”

“Women?” She laughed. “Like you’ve got more than one. I’m it, buddy. I’m all you got.”

“All right. I take care of you.” He handed her a Boston cream filled and took out a big bear claw for himself.

“You do, indeed, big spender,” she said, giving him a smile before she bit into the gooey pastry.

They munched and sipped in silence for a while. Then she said, “These taste like the ones we used to get on midnight patrol out at Miguel’s Quick Stop there in the valley.”

He avoided her eyes, took another big bite and grunted.

“So,” she said, “Miguel still gives you freebies, huh?”

“Just eat.”

* * *

5:02 p.m.

Savannah and Margie stood at the kitchen sink, squeezing lemons for yet another gallon or so of lemonade. At the table, the twins were rolling Play-Doh into snakes and arguing whether theirs were girls or boys. Predictably, Jack had placed a penis on his snake.

To Savannah, it seemed somehow redundant.

From the window where she stood, Savannah could see Vidalia and Butch sitting on lawn chairs beneath the arbor in her backyard. The occasional angry word drifted back to the house. They hadn’t stopped arguing since he had arrived last night.

He had spent the night on her sofa, and Margie had bunked with Savannah again.

Ah, there was nothing quite like the bliss of having family home for the holidays.

“You guys go through a lot of this stuff,” Margie said. “I’ve never squeezed so many lemons in my life.”

“It’s cheaper than soft drinks,” Savannah replied, dumping an obscene amount of sugar into the pitcher. “And with this many mouths to feed, I have to cut corners wherever I can.”

An expression crossed Margie’s face that looked a lot like guilt. “I’m sorry we’ve all barged in on you like this. You’re used to living alone, all peaceful and then here come the troops. You must feel like you’ve been invaded.”

“It’s not that bad. And you don’t have to feel guilty about how much you eat or how much lemonade you drink. You’re the only paying guest in the house.”

“You mean, my dad is paying you to let me stay here?”

“Well, he brought over a batch of groceries.”

“And that’s the last we saw of him.” Her voice trailed away and Savannah could see the glint of tears in her eyes. Damn anyone who brought a child into the world and then forgot they existed.

“I’m glad you’re here, kiddo,” Savannah told her as she shoved the lemon rinds into the garbage disposal and rinsed her hands. “Really glad.”

A few choice phrases floated through the open window from the backyard; it sounded like the fight was heating up.

A second later, Vidalia came storming through the house, muttering something about turning her husband into a gelding, and stomped upstairs. The bedroom door slammed so hard that the dishes in the kitchen cupboard rattled.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on those two?” Savannah said, nodding toward the twins who had graduated to curling their snakes into snails. “I’m going to go have a word with my dear brother-in-law.”

“Sure, no problem. I still like messing with Play-Doh.”

Savannah grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator, poured a glass of icy lemonade from the pitcher, and joined Butch beneath the arbor.