Killer Reunion (11 page)

Just when she thought she was about to burst into tears, start screaming, or begin banging her head against the nearest pine tree, Tom turned and handed the shoe to Jesse.

“We're taking both of those weapons and that high heel into evidence,” he told his deputy. “Now, if y'all will excuse me, I'm gonna phone Herb Jameson and get him up here to pick up this body. And then I'm gonna try to find somebody in this county who gives a damn that Jeanette's dead and inform them of her untimely passing.”

He started to walk away. Then he turned back to Savannah and Dirk and added, “Don't think 'cause I ain't haulin' you two in that you're in the clear. If either one of you dares set foot out of this town, and I have to come after you, God help you.”

“Sounds like he means it,” Dirk said as they watched Sheriff Tom get into his car and drive away.

“He does,” she replied. “Believe me. Every word.”

I
n anticipation of the fact that there would be a crowd the size of an army at Granny's for dinner, and to save her the effort of cooking for everyone on the eve of her birthday, Savannah and Dirk had stopped by the local pizza parlor and had purchased a mountain-high stack of pies.

Now “the gang,” which included every Reid who was in town and not incarcerated, was around the table and lining the counters, gobbling down the goods.

Even Marietta and her two boys were present. Although her offspring had entered the surly, adolescent stage of life, they were still tolerable. And Marietta was less agitated than when she'd huffed and puffed her way out of Gran's house.

Apparently, she'd done some of the soul-searching and attitude adjustment that Granny had required to gain re-admittance. Marietta was fairly adept at readjusting her attitude when free food was within reach.

“I was relieved to hear that the two of y'all were gonna be able to join us tonight,” Butch said as he stuffed his face with a garlic knot. “When I heard the sheriff done nabbed your guns and is holding them as evidence, I figured y'all might be eating supper in the penitentiary tonight.”

Savannah groaned, made a face at Dirk, and said, “So much for keeping any bad news under wraps until after supper time.” She turned to Butch. “How did you know about that? By the time Tom confiscated our weapons, you and that whale of a tow truck were long gone.”

Butch shrugged. “I'm good buddies with Martin's wife's second cousin, Kenny. He told me when he came by the garage and asked me to fix a flat for him. Third time this month he's had a blowout. That boy never has learned the virtue of bitin' the bullet and paying for a set of new tires.”

“Reckon that explains everything,” Savannah said. She looked at Dirk. “He knows Martin's wife's second cousin.”

Dirk nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Who's a menace to society, driving around on bald, patched tires. Glad we cleared that up.”

Vidalia decided to jump into the conversation. “I heard that he confiscated Marietta's shoe, too. Took it into custody, so to speak.”

Savannah cast a quick look at Marietta, hoping she hadn't heard. But of course she had. Marietta never listened to anything important that was told to her. However, if a word of gossip or a whisper of bad news was uttered three counties away, she caught every word.

“My shoe got
arrested
?” she said, spitting meatball pizza bits across the table. “My very best, sexy, strappy, rhinestone-studded sandal is in the hands of the law? Is that what you're telling me, sister of mine?”

Vidalia munched on happily, seemingly unaware of the emotional trauma she had just inflicted. “Yep, that's right. Sheriff Stafford's got it locked up nice and tight in a safe there in his office.” She turned to Savannah. “And before you ask, big sis, I know this because Martin's wife's youngest sister is president of the PTA, and I ran into her at school this afternoon, when I was registering the twins. She told me all about it. And that the principal's foolin' around with the school secretary again. He keeps this up and he's gonna get hisself fired, for sure.”

Dirk shook his head. “Is that all you guys do around here? Gossip?”

“What else is there to do?” Gran said, refilling his glass of iced tea. “Since the UN moved its headquarters outta here and set up shop in New York, and our philharmonic symphony hightailed it off to Boston, it's been a little dull here 'bouts.”

“I'm tellin' ya,” Butch added, “when our Rockettes up and deserted us for Radio City Music Hall, I 'bout bawled my eyes out.”

“Okay, okay.” Dirk held up his hands. “I got it. You're in the midst of a cultural dry spell.”

“My high heel is in Tommy Stafford's safe?” Marietta's lower lip was starting to tremble, and her eyes were filling with tears. “Was it as muddy as the other one? By the way, where
is
the other one? Where did you put it, Savannah? You didn't throw it out, did you?”

Gran reached across the table and shook her finger in Marietta's face. “Marietta, don't you start up with that nonsense again. If you do, I swear I'll send you home without your supper.”

From his place at the counter, Marietta's oldest son turned around and tapped Gran on the shoulder. “Granny, if Momma has to go home without her supper, do we have to go, too?”

His brother piped up. “Yeah, Gran. You wouldn't throw us out along with her, would you? We hardly ever get pizza anymore. All she makes is bologna sandwiches.”

“Of course not, darlin'. If your momma gets throwed out on her ear, y'all can stay. Somebody'll give you a ride home. I promise.”

“I'm gonna go see that Tommy Stafford first thing tomorrow morning,” Marietta was muttering. “If I explain to him that it's not even Savannah's property, maybe he'll give me my shoe back. I always did think he was a little sweet on me, you know, once him and Savannah parted ways.”

Savannah had never been happier to feel a butt buzz in her life. And when the merry little song that represented Tammy Hart began to play on her phone, she thought she was going to burst into tears of happiness.

Instantly, she yanked the phone out of her rear jeans pocket and said, “I'm so sorry, Gran. I know how you feel about cell phones at the supper table, and I absolutely agree. But this is Tammy, and I've been waiting for her to get back to me. It's important.”

Gran gave a dismissive wave with her pepperoni and onion slice. “Go. Do whatcha gotta do, girl. But that Hawaiian pie might be all gone by the time you get back. Who would've thought that ham and pineapple would taste good on a pizza? Goes to show, you're never too old to learn something new.”

“Don't worry, babe,” Dirk said, transferring a slice of it to his plate. “I'll save this piece for you.”

As Savannah left the table and headed for the front of the house, she mumbled, “Sorta like leaving the biggest, hungriest pig to guard the trough.”

When she reached the living room, Savannah plopped herself in the accent chair next to Gran's. Certainly Granny's was the most comfortable chair in the room, but unless her grandmother specifically invited her to sit in it, Savannah didn't feel right doing so.

It was all about respect. As far as Savannah was concerned, Granny deserved all the love and honor that a granddaughter could demonstrate. And Savannah was determined to do so whenever possible.

“Hi, kiddo,” she said, answering the call. “Whatcha doing out there in that mild, moderate, and not steamy hot climate?”

There was a giggle on the other end, and Savannah could just see her sweet friend, in all her golden California beauty, sitting at the rolltop desk in her living room. No doubt, she was working away, performing acts of love and service for the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency.

If Tammy wasn't using her sharply honed technical skills to hack into bank accounts, medical records, and confidential Facebook postings, she would be cleaning out the office garbage can and dusting off the ancient computer monitor. No task was too big or too small in the pursuit of justice. And like Savannah, Tammy derived her greatest pleasure from nabbing bad guys and protecting good ones.

Tammy Hart's first love had always been what she called sleuthing. Although, now that she was crazy about Savannah's brother Waycross and was five months pregnant with their child, her priorities had been reordered, and detective work had slid to number three on her list.

“I got your message,” Tammy said. “Apparently, I can't let you out of my sight for one minute without you getting into trouble.”

Savannah chuckled. “As if having you around has ever kept me out of trouble.”

“Good point. So what's happened down there? You said in your message that the mean girl you hated got killed, the sheriff thinks you had something to do with it, and he confiscated your gun and Dirk's, too. And something about Marietta's muddy shoe?”

“That's about it in a nutshell.”

Savannah lifted her feet and placed them on a nearby ottoman. Suddenly, she was feeling very tired. But that was hardly surprising, considering her past twenty-four hours.

“I need to send you some names of people I'd like for you to run checks on, if you aren't too busy entertaining my brother and having a baby.”

“Your brother's working on something, and he won't let me tell you about it.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

Tammy snickered. “Oh, you have no idea. You'd think he was guarding some national secret. And the baby's fine. It's been fluttering around a lot inside there, like a big butterfly.”

“Enjoy those flutters while you can. Vidalia says in the third trimester it feels like they are doing a
Riverdance
routine on your bladder.”

“That's okay. I'm looking forward to it all.”

For a moment, Savannah considered the differences between her sisters and her best friend. The climate wasn't the only sunny thing that Savannah loved about California.

“Is there anything special that you'd like for me to find on these people when I run my checks?” Tammy asked.

“Just the usual,” Savannah replied. “Financials, criminal backgrounds, juicy personal stuff. If any of them ever tossed somebody they didn't like over a cliff, I'd sure want to know about that.”

“You got it. Send me the names, and I'll get right to it.”

“Don't push yourself. It can wait till morning if you need to take a nap or something.”

Tammy laughed. “You're doing your big sister, mother hen routine on me, Savannah. I ran my usual five miles with your brother this morning, and I was doing my yoga when I got your message.”

“Sorry. There for a moment I forgot who I was talking to. I'll dispense with my mother hen clucking.”

“I doubt that. I don't think you can help it. Force of habit and all that.” She paused. “Wait. Hold on a minute. Waycross just walked in.”

Savannah listened while Tammy spoke to her brother. “It's Savannah. Can I tell her? Can I? I'll swear her to secrecy. Okay, cool!”

In a moment, she was back. “He says I can tell you, but just because we know you're good at keeping secrets.”

“Eee! I know what it is! You found out if the baby's a boy or a girl, and you're going to tell me.”

“Yes, we did find out, but we're not even going to tell you which. You have to wait until it's born, like everybody else.”

“Then what's the national secret?”

“We're flying out there to see you all.”

“When?”

“In six hours. We're taking a red-eye to Atlanta. We wanted to be there with Granny for her birthday, anyway, but now that we know you're wanted for murder—”

“Suspected of, not wanted.”

“Whatever. Waycross just stuck the suitcases in the car. So, when we get there, I'll be able to tell you all the good dirt I dig up on those names you're going to send me.”

Tears filled Savannah's eyes. The stress of the past twenty-four hours spilled in liquid form down her cheeks. “I'm so glad you're coming, honey. You know, if you're sure you're up to it and—”

“Cluck, cluck.”

“Okay, okay. I'm stopping. Just have a safe journey, and be sure to get out of your seat every few hours and walk around, because—”

“You're hopeless.”

“I know. I am. And so, so grateful that you're coming. You have no idea.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Now, I have a weird favor to ask you, and I have to ask you because if I ask my bashful brother, he'll die of embarrassment.”

“Ooooh. Sounds interesting.”

“If you have time before you leave, could you please run over to that big porn shop—”

“The new one on Lester Street, with the two mannequins in the window?”

“I don't know about the mannequins, but yes, it's on Lester.”

“The mannequin on the left's wearing a red feather boa and crotchless, edible panties, and the other one is in black bondage garb and is holding a cat-o'-nine-tails whip with feathers on the ends. I think their sign says they're open twenty-four hours a day.”

“Hmm. I see you've noticed the place.”

“Not really.”

“Uh, well, if you don't mind, go inside and . . .”

 

“I'm sorry about your slice of pizza,” Dirk said as they cuddled beneath Granny's tulip quilt that night. “I don't know what happened to it. Maybe one of Marietta's boys nabbed it when I wasn't looking.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever.”

It was the third time since they'd gone to bed that he'd offered a theory concerning the Case of the Missing Hawaiian Pizza Slice.

She had heard about all she wanted to on the subject, but was trying to be sweet and loving and not to blurt out the words, “You know you ate the damned thing, so just hush up about it.”

It wasn't easy being a good wife.

On the other hand, he had been the perfect husband today, risking his life, his limbs, and even his freedom to stand beside his wife. So it wasn't a good time to get snippy with him over pizza.

Even Hawaiian with extra pineapple.

A woman had to choose her battles.

“Don't worry about it,” she said, laying her hand on his chest and snuggling her head against his shoulder. “I wasn't hungry, anyway.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “After seeing that Jeanette gal all dead and white and wrinkly, her hair and clothes and the weeds and stuff all floating around her there in the water . . . It was like something out of a horror movie. I could hardly eat anything, either.”