Killer Reunion (21 page)

Imogene took several moments to think that over. Then she nodded. “I suppose that's true.”

“Thank you.”

“And if you didn't do it, I'd hate to see you convicted of it.”

“Then help us out here.”

Imogene leaned back in the chair and rearranged the skirt of her robe in a more attractive pose. “I guess, since I'm going to inherit my brother's money, I'm your number one suspect, right?”

“Yes, Miss Barnsworth,” Dirk said. “You are. So, if it wasn't you who did it, help us eliminate you as soon as possible so we can go on to number two.”

“You've got a number two?”

“We'll get one,” Savannah told her. “Tell us where you were Saturday night.”

“The same place I am every Saturday night. With friends.”

“Doing what?” Savannah asked, anticipating the answer.

“Playing games.”

“Playing poker's more like it,” Dirk said. “And winning. A lot, so we've heard.”

Imogene shrugged. “I play with a bunch of nitwit men who constantly tip their hands. Taking their money isn't hard, believe me.”

“How did you get to this Saturday night's game?” Savannah asked.

Instantly, Imogene froze. Any trace of congeniality disappeared from her face. “Why?”

“Why would you mind telling us?” Savannah replied, lifting one eyebrow.

“I've been having a bit of trouble starting my car, and a friend was nice enough to give me a ride. The rest is none of your damned business.”

“That doesn't sound so sinister,” Dirk said. “Why are you afraid to tell us who it was?”

Imogene jumped to her feet, a dark scowl on her face. “Listen, mister. I've been to hell and back several times in my lifetime, and I'm not
afraid
of anybody or anything. But I make it a practice to keep my nose out of other people's business. And I expect them to honor my privacy, as I do theirs.”

“We understand,” Savannah began. “And we—”

“No you don't understand. But if you live long enough, you might. Not telling everybody all your business—that's wisdom that comes with age.” Imogene smoothed the skirt of her robe, then her hair, and turned her back to them. As she walked away, she said, “Don't come by here again. You disturb my peace. And my privacy and my peace are the things I value most. That, too, is wisdom. Pay mind to it.”

The instant she disappeared through the door, Savannah grabbed her phone and texted Tammy.
Get out.

Knowing the way Miss Imogene Barnsworth felt about her privacy being violated, she sure didn't want the gang to get caught inside the lady's closet, their sticky fingers on her red party pumps.

T
he next morning a relatively small group was seated around Granny's kitchen table. At least small by Reid standards.

Savannah, Dirk, Granny, and Alma had polished off a platter of pancakes and sausages, and now they were working on draining the pot of coffee.

“I've gotta tell you,” Granny said, “if I had any cholesterol in my arteries this time yesterday, it's gone now, for sure. My heart was pumping like a locomotive engine when Tammy told us that gal was on her way back to her room. And we didn't have no time to spare, gettin' outta there, neither. Once Waycross pushed me out the window, he barely had time to dive out headfirst hisself and get that winder closed before she waltzed through the door.”

“Sounds exciting,” Savannah told her grandmother, smiling over the rim of her mug.

“It was! I think it does a body good, gettin' scared like that once ever' ten years or so. I reckon it tacked another decade onto the end of my life, for sure.”

“You just let us know,” Dirk said, “the next time you feel like you need a tune-up. We'll do something wild and reckless, like go knock over an armored car or check out some books from the library that we have no intention of returning. I like the idea of you outliving us all.”

Alma lifted her coffee cup. “Hear! Hear! To Gran living to be a hundred and sixty! At least!”

“I don't want you to think that your daring escapade was all in vain,” Savannah told her grandmother. “Now we know that our primary suspect does, indeed, wear high heels. And she has a pair of bright red patent-leather ones right there in her closet. Probably the ones she wore Saturday night.”

“I didn't see no blood on 'em, though,” Granny said, looking somewhat disappointed. “Just a wee bit of mud, which ain't surprising, since it was raining like all git out that night.”

“It's good that they still have a little dirt on them.” Dirk nabbed the one remaining sausage link and put it on his plate. “That means she hasn't cleaned them. So they might have some blood evidence on them. Too small for you to see, but enough for a lab to find.”

Gran shoveled a heaping teaspoon of sugar into her coffee and stirred it thoughtfully. “Something's been troublin' me, though. Kept me awake last night, puzzlin' over it. I have to ask myself, why would a woman intendin' to do murder that very night wear a pair of fancy high heels to the occasion? Seems like if there was ever a time for sensible footwear, that'd be it.”

Dirk nodded and stuck half of the sausage link into his mouth. “It makes as much sense as a guy driving a tricked-out General Lee to and from a crime scene. Seems like he'd at least borrow his best friend's generic old pickup truck.”

“Maybe the high heel was a weapon of opportunity. But not necessarily. There's no accounting for stupid,” Savannah told them. “I once knew a guy who worked at a bowling alley, fumigating the shoes. When he decided he needed some extra cash, he ran next door to the convenience store on his lunch break and robbed it. He put a brown paper bag over his head, but he was still wearing his uniform with the alley's logo on the front. Needless to say, they arrested him ten minutes later.”

Granny chuckled. “Yes, I reckon they did.”

A light knock sounded on the back screen door, and they turned to see Tammy standing there, a bright, sunny grin on her face.

“Come on in, child,” Gran said. “You don't ever have to knock on my door again. You're part of the family now. Just walk right in and set a spell.”

Tammy hurried inside, and Waycross followed, along with Beauregard, Granny's bloodhound, who was sniffing the sausage-scented air.

The dog had no problem locating the remaining half link, which was just about to go into Dirk's mouth. Colonel Beauregard sat on his haunches at Dirk's feet and let out a soul-rending howl.

Laughing, Dirk tossed the tidbit to him. “Boy, you got it rough, don't cha? Eating Granny's leftovers three times a day. We should all be so lucky.”

His treat consumed in one gulp, without chewing, the dog laid his head on Dirk's lap and gazed up at him with pleading eyes.

“Sorry, guy. That was it. I know how you feel,” Dirk told him, stroking the silky ears. “Once the last bite's gone, life's hardly worth living. Until the next meal, anyway.”

Tammy and Waycross sat down at the table, and Savannah jumped to get them something to drink before Gran could do it.

“You don't need to wait on me, sis,” Waycross said when she handed him a steaming coffee mug. “We all know our way around this here kitchen.”

“After what you did for me last night, I should be giving you a back rub
and
a foot massage, both at the same time,” she answered.

“It's not his back or his feet that are hurting,” Tammy said with a giggle. “Let's just say, it's a good thing we already have a family on the way. He did himself some mischief, climbing over that windowsill on the way into Miss Barnsworth's room.”

Waycross's freckled face colored brightly. “And I smacked my noggin good on the way out. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this breaking-and-entering business.”

“Well, I am.” Tammy untwisted the cap from a bottle of mineral water that Savannah had pressed into her hand. “As soon as this baby's here, I'll be back to it.”

“Just wait till she shows you what she's got,” Waycross said, gazing at his fiancée with unadulterated adoration. “She was on that tablet of hers first thing this morning, searching this and posting that. She's a holy terror on that stuff.”

“Of course she is.” Savannah sat back down, her own mug refreshed. “Why do you think I pay her the big bucks?”

“You pay me big bucks?” Tammy asked, digging out her tablet.

Savannah reached over and pushed a strand of golden hair out of her eyes. “Not that big, darlin'. I could never pay you what you're worth.”

“Let's see whatcha got, kid,” Dirk said.

“What I have,” Tammy said as she found the information she was searching for, “is the identity of Imogene's mysterious companion.”

“Get out!” Savannah nearly jumped out of her chair. “Already?”

Tammy beamed. “Yes, indeedy.”

“How did you do that?” Savannah asked.

Waycross answered, “When we were there in Miss Barnsworth's room, Tammy was watching us through the window. And she saw a picture of a guy on the lady's nightstand.”

“I thought he was young and good looking, and I wondered who he was,” Tammy explained. “So I passed my phone to Granny and told her to take a picture of the picture. Late last night, after we went back to our motel, I did a search on the picture itself, an image search, and there he was. Oh, Savannah, just FYI, you were right about the other guests there at the No-Tail Motel being restless. I never heard so much banging around in my life.”

Waycross's coloring turned even ruddier as he stared into his coffee.

“Well? What's the name of the guy in the picture, and who is he?” Dirk asked.

“Rodney Ruskin,” Tammy replied.

“Is he some sort of exotic gigolo?”

“No. He doesn't seem to have any form of income at all,” Tammy said. “Hasn't for a long, long time. He lives in a shack there in Sulfur Springs, in the middle of a cotton patch, right next to the spring that reeks of sulfur. Seems that Charger is all he's got in the world.”

“What's his connection to Miss Barnsworth?” Dirk asked.

“Must be something juicy,” Savannah suggested, “considering how secretive she is about him.”

Tammy looked a bit sad when she said, “Rodney Ruskin is Miss Imogene Barnsworth's grandson.”

“Her grandson?”

“That's right. Her only grandchild. From her one and only child, an illegitimate daughter, who died several years ago.”

“Wow. Didn't see that one coming,” Savannah said, her mind spinning.

“You know what that means,” Dirk added.

“Yes, I do.” Savannah took a deep breath. “He's her heir.”

“Her heir to that big fortune she'll get from her brother,” Gran said. “That's a motive for murder if ever I heard one.”

Savannah felt the phone buzz in her back pocket and heard “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” playing. “It's Butch,” she said. “Sorry. Hold on.”

She answered it and was greeted by her brother-in-law's nasal twang on the other end. “Vi says you wanted to ask me somethin'. Whuzzup?”

“I was going to see if you know anybody here 'bouts with a General Lee Charger. But I just found out the fella's name. It's Rodney Ruskin.”

“Yessiree. Hot Rod. That's what the ladies call 'im. They say he fills out a pair of jeans good or some such nonsense. Funny you should mention him. I seen him just yesterday. Dropped by my garage here, he did.”

“Really? What did he want?”

Savannah felt her world begin to turn in slow motion as she waited and waited for his reply.

“He bought a new brake light for his Lee. Seems his was burned out and . . .”

 

It took Savannah and Dirk the better part of the morning to figure out which cotton patch Rodney Ruskin lived in.

“These cotton fields are sorta pretty, but if you've seen one, you've pretty much seen them all,” Dirk remarked after the first hour.

By the time they found Rodney's humble abode, Dirk was long past thinking there was anything pretty about farmland at all.

He was even ready to wear woolen briefs, if necessary.

And the smell of the area didn't help at all.

Sulfur Springs had been named for a natural hot spring that flowed downward from a crevasse in a rock on the hill above and through the small community. The water smelled like rotten eggs served in hell's dining room and did nothing to improve the ambiance of the little village.

As Savannah and Dirk reached the end of the dusty dirt road and found the rust-eaten house trailer, Savannah saw Mr. Hot Rod himself bending over, with his head stuck under the open hood of a Lincoln limousine. His General Lee, in all her glory, was parked in the shade of the property's one oak tree.

Savannah perused Hot Rod's shapely rear end, so well tucked into a pair of worn jeans that were molded to his every curve. But try as she might, she couldn't determine what all the women were swooning over.

That made her feel very old. Or very married. Or a bit of both.

Since when didn't she notice a tight pair of jeans on a nicely rounded male heinie?

Maybe there was something about having a fine domesticated rear within easy reach and readily available that made the exotic foreign brands less alluring.

Or maybe it was the menopause thing.

Either way, she didn't care if Hot Rod had hot buns, as long as he didn't try anything ugly with them out here in this lonely, isolated place.

She missed the comforting assurance of her Beretta. And she knew Dirk felt naked without his Smith & Wesson. Curse Tommy Stafford for confiscating them like that. If she and her husband got killed because of that boy's foolishness, she would, well, she'd come back and haunt him, or whatever else she was allowed to do from the great beyond to make his life miserable.

“Watch out for this guy,” Dirk said as he brought the car to a stop a few feet from the limo.

“I will. You too.”

They got out of their vehicle and walked over to the limousine. Rodney came out from under the hood and squinted at them, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

“How do?” he said.

“Hi,” Savannah replied. “You're Rodney Ruskin, right?”

“Guilty as charged.” He pulled a greasy rag from his hip pocket and wiped his face. “And who might you be?”

“I'm Savannah. This is my husband, Dirk. We're acquaintances of your grandmother.”

“My grandma?” He looked a bit surprised but quickly recovered. “She don't usually tell people about me. If she's gonna talk about me, she's gotta explain about my mom and why she never got married and all that.”

Savannah gave him a sympathetic smile. “I guess things were different, you know, back then for single mothers. Not like it is now.”

“No, I guess not. If she has to introduce me, she usually calls me her best friend's son or whatever. I don't mind. Whatever makes her happy.” He turned to Dirk and gave him a wink. “You know, us guys have to do whatever it takes to keep our women happy. That goes for grandmas as much as for wives.”

“I'm sure it does,” Dirk replied. Pointing to the limousine, he said, “What's the deal with this? She's an old beauty. Are you fixing her up?”

Rodney's eyes glistened with something bordering on mania. “I sure am! I just got 'er, and she needs some work. But you just wait till I'm done with 'er. She's gonna be the finest machine in Georgia!”

“Yeah?” Savannah feigned great interest. “What are you going to do with her?”

“I've got so many plans, you wouldn't believe it! I'm gonna have the interior done all red, white, and blue.”

“Very patriotic,” Dirk mumbled.

“And I'll have a hot tub installed there in the very back. I hear they can do that. And then I'm gonna have 'er painted with red, white, and blue flames, going from the hood back and trailin' down her sides. And probably some stars and stripes thrown in to boot.”

“Sounds amazing,” Savannah said, wide eyed.

“It'll knock your eyeballs plumb out!”

“I have no doubt it will.”

Dirk cleared his throat. “That'll set you back some major dough there, dude.”