Wicked Craving (19 page)

Roxanne looked doubtful.

Dirk cleared his throat. “I could probably scrounge up fifty bucks for you out of the station's petty cash.”

Roxanne grinned. “Now you're talking.”

“T
his place is just as ugly as it was the last time we were here,” Savannah said as she stared at the purple and turquoise striping on the front of Rick's Disco.

Dirk peered through the confetti of smashed bugs on his windshield and nodded. “You have to admit, I take you to all the best places.”

“Yep. You never cease to broaden my horizons.”

He nudged her with his elbow. “You'd rather be here right now than at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

She chuckled. “That's true. How sick is that?”

“It's not sick. It's refreshing. You're one of a kind, Van.”

“Hey, don't look now,” she said, “but that's our boy. Just in time for his date with the little cutie who changed her mind…only it's us and our ugly mugs instead.”

Dirk watched the red sedan as it turned into Rick's parking lot and pulled into a space close to the building. “You sure it's him?”

The driver got out and started to walk toward the door.

“Yes, I'm sure. That's the car I saw in front of Wellman's and the dude who was watching the house. It's the guy in the license photo. Let's get 'em!”

As they hurried across the parking lot to intercept their suspect before he could reach the door, Savannah felt a surge of adrenaline hit her system, her heart pound, her breath quicken.

“Yes,” she said, more to herself than to Dirk. “Way better than the Eiffel Tower!”

 

In one of the police station's interrogation rooms, known as a “sweat box,” Savannah sat on one side of the table with Dirk, fairly perspiration-free…and Gus Avantis sat on the other side, sweating like a pig at a luau.

She couldn't really blame the guy. If Dirk had been leaning across the table, looking at her that way, she'd be sweating, too.

Dirk might not be the sharpest ball on the billiard table, but he had the art of interrogation down pat.

“Don't tell me everything was hunky-dory between you and your ex-wife,” Dirk was saying. “Ex-wives don't flee the area and hide out and change their names when the divorce was amicable.”

“Okay, okay…so we weren't best buddies afterward. But that doesn't mean I killed her.”

Savannah studied their suspect closely, thinking that, even under the best of circumstances, Gus Avantis wouldn't be considered an attractive man by most women. He was average height, a bit on the heavy side, especially in the jowls and belly. And his face was crisscrossed with a mapwork of purple, broken veins that were thickest on his rather bulbous nose.

And he was nervous and slightly bug-eyed, which didn't enhance his appearance by any means.

He spoke with a high, almost girlish voice, and kept licking his lips. She was sure they were dry.

Most people experienced a shortage of spit when being interrogated by Detective Dirk Coulter.

“You smashed your ex-brother-in-law in the head with a crowbar,” Dirk was practically shouting at his subject. “You hit him again and again and again, until you were damned sure that he was as dead as his sister at the bottom of that cliff. I've got a capital case here against you, dude. You're going to get the needle for this. Premeditated, double homicide.”

Savannah wasn't all that sure that, even if they could get an indictment against Avantis, it would be considered a capital offense. But then, something she
did
know for sure was that cops don't have to tell the truth in an interrogation room. The general public seemed to think they did. She knew better.

“Look, Gus,” she said, getting ready to play her “down-home, sweet Southern belle” to Dirk's cantankerous “bad cop.” “We know that Robert and Maria…or should we say, Bobby and Gina…didn't do the right thing by you. They split town with all that equipment that you had for your ghost-busting business. Not to mention all the cash.”

Bingo. She could tell by the way his already bugged eyes popped open even farther that she had scored with that one.

“And we sure don't blame you for getting pissed about that. Anybody would be. They disappear without a trace. Then the next thing you know, you're watching TV and there's that son-of-a-bitch brother-in-law on the screen, looking all tidy and prosperous. He's running a whole new game and obviously making money hand over fist. That's gonna ruin anybody's day.”

“And you come here to confront him, get your money and your stuff back, and get even.” Dirk was practically spitting as he talked, his eyes red with rage, veins throbbing on his forehead.

And it was all a big act.

Many times, Savannah had watched him pitching a fit, raising high heaven, convincing the subject of an interrogation that he was a rabid pit bull, only to walk out of the room and calmly suggest that they go get a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake.

But, fortunately, Gus Avantis didn't know it was an act, and he was caving fast.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “We weren't good friends and yeah, I was pissed that Gina ran off, Bobby, too, and took my half of everything with them. And when I saw him on television, sure, it burned my ass. But I didn't come here until after I heard that my ex-wife had been killed. I didn't even know where they lived until I saw it on the news.”

“Yeah, right,” Dirk said. “Tell us another one before that one gets cold. You killed your ex and her brother, too.”

“That's not true! I wouldn't hurt Gina. I loved her. When I heard she'd been murdered, I figured he did it. The two of them never did get along all that well. I came out here to find out what happened to her.”

“And to get your Ouija board, and your crystal skull, and your shoe boxes full of cash,” Savannah added.

His eyes gleamed at the mention of the money. For the first time since they'd brought him in, he had half a smile on his face. “They still have it? I figured they'd mowed through it all by now. Cool.”

“It ain't
that
cool,” Dirk said. “It's not like you're getting your mitts on any of it.”

“But it's mine! Mine!” It was Gus's turn to look maniacal. “I came here for two things…to find out what happened to a woman who used to be my wife, and to get my money and stuff back.”

“But not necessarily in that order,” Dirk said. “And you forgot to mention ‘revenge.'”

“No! I didn't kill nobody! I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't lay a hand on them.”

 

The questioning continued for another hour, but Gustav Avantis didn't budge one bit on any element of his story.

As Savannah and Dirk were leaving the station house, walking toward the Buick, Savannah said to Dirk, “You know, if you don't come up with something in the next twenty-four hours, you're going to have to turn him loose.”

“Yeah. I know.” As he opened her car door, he glanced back at the building. “I'm starting to have my doubts that it's him. He swore on his mother's grave.”

Savannah chuckled as she slid into the passenger's seat. “Big deal. A lot of guys swear on their mommies' graves…and their moms aren't even dead.”

 

No sooner had they pulled into the Burger Bonanza's lot than Savannah's phone rang, playing Tammy's cheerful song.

“It's the kiddo,” she said.

“It better not be anything that's gonna interfere with me getting a Super Duper under my belt. Interrogating always makes me hungry.”

“Yeah, a guy can work up an appetite, wringing the sweat outta people.” She answered the phone. “Hey, sweetie face. What's up?”

“I think I know which store they bought the stuff in!” was the effervescent response.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah! We're in luck. The hammer's not a regular hammer. It's a Stout Guy, stock number 35780901B. Most of the stores sell stock number 35780901A, but not number 35780901B. The ‘B' model has a special handle that's slightly curved and…”

Savannah was starting to glaze over. She had noticed that the older she got, the fewer details she could retain in her brain for any period of time. She had also noticed that she had to resist the urge to strangle wordy people far more frequently.

Fortunately for Tammy, she was on the other end of a phone line and not standing in front of her in the flesh…with a squeezable neck.

“So, which store sells this special ‘B' series hammer, Tam?” she asked, trying not to sound homicidal or even impatient.

It wasn't easy.

“The same store that sells that model crowbar and that screwdriver. Although all the stores in the area sell that particular screwdriver because it's a Trusty Tool brand, model number 253-346-102-TTSW…”

“Tamitha, honey, which store sells all those items?”

“Three Brothers Hardware on East Main Street…down by the bowling alley.”

“Thank you, darlin'. And excellent work there!”

“Is everything okay? You sound a bit irked. Is ol' Dirko getting on your nerves again?”

“Yep, that's it. You guessed it. But I'll be fine. Thanks again. Bye-bye for now.”

When she hung up the phone, Dirk gave her a smirk. “One of these days she's gonna prattle on like that a little too long and the top of your head's gonna blow off.”

“It might happen. It truly might.”

“So, what do you want with your cheeseburger? A shake or a soda?”

“Forget both. We have to go see Three Brothers about a fricken hammer with a serial number as long as your crowbar.”

 

“I think my brother, Ted, sold that hammer,” Fred, the hardware man, said. “Or it might have been Jed.”

“Are you guys triplets?” Savannah asked, leaning on the counter. Her calves were still sore from all that tippy-toe standing while spying on Dirk at the gym. And there had been four customers in line when she and Dirk had arrived.

Who would have thought the tiny, privately owned store would have so much business?

“No, we're not triplets. Why do you ask?” he said, wiping his hands on the canvas apron tied around his waist.

“Uh…Fred, Ted, Jed…never mind.” Savannah produced Gus Avantis's photo from her purse for what felt like the umpteenth time in the past few hours. “Have you seen this guy?”

He studied the picture long and hard before answering. “Nope, can't say that I have. But I just got back from a fishing trip this morning, and my brother, Jed, he's been gone fishing, so if this is the guy who you think might have bought that hammer, you'd need to ask Ted, 'cause he's the one who maybe sold it to him.”

“Okay,” Dirk said, looking as frazzled as Savannah was feeling. “Let's talk to Ted.”

“Ted's gone fishing. It's his turn.”

Savannah gripped the edge of the counter. She didn't look down to check, but she was pretty sure her knuckles were white.

“Maybe we could get Ted on his cell phone?” she suggested. “I realize it might be an intrusion on his vacation, but this really is important.”

“We never take our cell phones with us when we're fishing. Phones and fishing don't go together.”

“Fred,” she said, using her softest, sweetest Southern drawl. “My friend and I…we've got one nerve left between us, and it's unravelin' fast and furious. So, please just make this as easy on us as you can…Is there any way that you could look at your records and tell us if—in the past few days—a customer came in here and bought that special hammer?”

“And they might have bought a crowbar and a screwdriver, too,” Dirk added.

Fred yawned…obviously still quite relaxed from his fishing vacation. “I suppose I could check through all the merchant copies of all of our receipts from the past few days. It's gonna take awhile. But you two look like patient folks. You won't mind waiting, huh?”

 

Savannah helped Fred check the receipts, and Dirk sold some nails and a roll of masking tape, and an hour and a half later, their cumulative efforts were rewarded.

“Well, hey there, look at this,” Fred said in the same even, lackluster tone that he would have used to announce the daily arrival of the postman at his mailbox. He held up a bit of paper to show them. “This might be what you two are looking for. We had somebody buy four items: that hammer that you were so interested in, a crowbar, a screwdriver, and a pair of workman's gloves. Does that interest you?”

He waved the receipt under Savannah's nose, and she snatched it out of his hand. “These things were bought yesterday morning at ten forty-eight,” she told Dirk.

He rushed around the counter and over to them, where they sat at a small desk in the corner, the receipts stacked in neat piles on the table before them.

“Yesterday morning. That's perfect,” he said. “How did they pay for the stuff? Cash? Credit card?”

Fred peered at the receipt in Savannah's hand. “Card. See right there? It shows the last four digits on their account—three-one-three-seven. It was a debit card.”

“Listen to me, Fred.” Savannah leaned across the desk and fixed him with her most sincere blue-eyed gaze—the one she used when she most sincerely wanted to weasel something out of somebody. “You have to find out for me whose card that is. You just have to.”

Fred gazed back, spellbound by her blue eyes…not to mention the amount of cleavage she was showing by bending over so far.

Hey
, she thought,
what the heck. It works for Patty the baker
.

“I have to check my records,” he said, still mesmerized by the most intense female attention he had received in his adulthood. “I think I can do that online.”

“Would you do that, Fred? Would you do that for me,
right away
?”

“I'm not as good on a computer as Jed or Ted are, but I'll give it my best shot.”

“Oh…thank you, darlin'. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Fred cast one more quick glance downward, toward the region of her heart, then shot up out of his chair. “I'll get right on it.”