Wicked Craving (7 page)

“That's true.” She shoved the box into his outstretched hand. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

“Fifty dollars! These things cost fifty dollars?”

“No, but I figure I should make a profit on the deal.”

He growled.

She had already opened the door on the right and was sticking her head inside.

“Yoo-hoo,” she called. “Dr. Jen? Anybody home?”

“Yeah, come on in.”

Savannah went inside, followed closely by Dirk.

Dr. Liu looked quite different from the woman on the beach the night before. Her miniskirt and hooker heels were gone. She was dressed in green scrubs and sneakers with paper booties over them. Her pretty face was covered with a mask, and her long hair was tucked into a surgical cap.

On the stainless steel table in front of her lay the earthly remains of Maria Wellman. And, apparently, the doctor had already done her work, because the large “Y” incision that reached from the pubic bone up to the sternum, and then branched up to the front of each shoulder, had already been closed with sutures.

“Wow, you're all done! That's great!” Dirk said, a bit too cheerfully. “Fast service there.”

“Yeah, okay,” the doctor replied, far less enthusiastically.

He shoved the box of chocolates under her nose. “Here you go, Doc. Just a little something to show you how much we appreciate all you do around here.”

She stared at the box for a moment, then held up her hands, covered with bloodied surgical gloves, in his face. “Thanks, but now's not really the time, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, sure. Got it.” Dirk looked around, spotted a clear area on the stainless steel counter nearby and hurried over to it. He placed the box there, setting it down with the gentle care of an explosives specialist handling a live bomb. “There you go…a little treat for after you get the blood and guts off your hands there.”

“Oh, yum.” Dr. Liu looked at Savannah, and even through the protective face shield, Savannah could see a twinkle in her eyes. “Thanks…uh…Dirk,” she said. “Bringing me chocolate is usually something that
Savannah
does.”

Dirk looked a little guilty. “Well, yeah, but she's sorta wearing off on me. I'm picking up on all the Southern hospitality junk.”

“Yes, I'm sure that Southern hospitality had everything to do with me receiving that gift, and I'm very grateful.”

She walked over to a biohazard waste disposal can and opened it with the foot pedal. As she peeled off her gloves and tossed them inside, she said, “Your lady wasn't very healthy. Considering what she was doing to her body, she wasn't going to live a normal life span.”

“She died of natural causes?” Dirk said, sounding both a little disappointed and relieved.

“No, she was murdered.” Dr. Liu removed her surgical greens—top, trousers, and cap—and threw them into a laundry bin. Underneath, she was wearing a spaghetti-strap T-shirt and tiny, snuggly fitted shorts that Savannah wasn't at all sure weren't underwear.

She glanced over at Dirk and found him totally mesmerized by the sight that had just been revealed to him. He stared, slack-jawed, obviously in a fantasy world all his own.

Briefly, Savannah wondered if Dr. Liu realized the effect she had on her audience. She decided that, if she was aware that she was a raging sexpot, the fact wasn't high on the doctor's list of priorities. Anyone as beautiful as she was was probably accustomed to seeing men with drool on the fronts of their shirts on a regular basis.

Liu took off her mask and hung it on a hook on the wall. Then she walked over to a sink, took off her goggles, and began to wash them with plenty of disinfectant soap.

“What do you mean she wasn't healthy?” Savannah asked.

“For one thing, she was a big drinker. The liver showed the sort of damage consistent with chronic alcoholism. And not just your usual hepatocyte injury, either. There was a lot of inflammation, the kind you'd find in a heavy binge drinker.”

Savannah felt a wash of sadness as she thought of her own mother, whose home was a bar stool in McGill's trashiest saloon, with only a picture of Elvis on the wall above her head to keep her company. “Try to drown your sorrows in a beer mug, and they just keep bobbing back to the surface,” she said sadly.

“Every time,” Liu agreed. “And there was substantial damage to her esophagus…also alcohol related. She was well on her way to a massive gastrointestinal hemorrhage. It wouldn't have been pretty.”

“But what about the cause of death?” Dirk asked as he watched, still fascinated by the sight of a coroner washing her hands…and looking like page seven of a Victoria's Secret catalogue.

“Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head. Manner of death—homicide.”

“If she fell off a cliff,” Dirk said, “how can you be sure the blow was delivered by a murderer? Maybe she just smacked her head on a rock on the way down.”

“It was the broken fairy statue, wasn't it?” Savannah said. “The one in the flower bed at the top of the cliff.”

“We're pretty sure it was. I heard from Eileen over at the lab. It tested positive for human blood. Also, the injury on Wellman's head was the same size and shape as the edge of the statue's base. I'm prepared to say it's your murder weapon.”

“I knew it,” Dirk said. “Tinkerbell did it.”

“Hey, I'm a major Tinkerbell fan; watch what you say,” Dr. Liu said as she dried off her hands. “And for your information, that statue isn't a Tink. It's just your garden-variety woodsprite, not to be confused with a true pixie.”

“O-o-okay.” Dirk shot Savannah a sideways glance.

“But even if it was a statue of one of the lower faery folk,” she said, “I'm offended that anyone would use an artistic representation of any fey being as a murder weapon. Talk about inviting bad fortune from the spirit world!”

Dr. Liu walked over to a locker, opened the door, and kicked her sneakers off. She tossed them inside. “And that's not all. Your victim had been in a fight.”

Dirk nodded. “We could tell that, what with all the churned-up dirt there in the flower bed. Did you get some good footprint casts?”

“Only of high heels, and you'll have to ask Eileen to be sure, but we're pretty sure they're all Wellman's.”

She reached for her miniskirt, hanging inside the locker on a hook. “The fight I'm talking about happened before the night she fell. She had fingertip bruises and a couple of slight scratches on her right upper arm. Somebody grabbed her there hard, I'd say. The bruises and scratches weren't perimortem, like all the other ones she got on her way down the cliff. These were maybe a couple of days old. And…I'd say she defended herself pretty well in her squabble. Four of her ten fingernails had been broken.”

“
Had
been?” Savannah asked.

“Yes. She'd had them professionally repaired during a manicure that was fresh—probably done the day she died.”

“And you took scrapings from under her nails?” Dirk asked.

Dr. Liu shot him a dirty look. “Uh, duh, Dirk. I
did
take Autopsy 101 in med school.”

“Just asking.”

“Well, don't.”

“Get snippy with me…” he grumbled, “…I could take back my chocolate.”

“You could try.” She slipped on the miniskirt, which barely reached to the bottom of her short shorts; then she took the stilettos from the top shelf.

“Wow, that's interesting, that business about the fight,” Savannah said. “Dr. Wellman didn't say anything about his wife getting into an altercation a day or two before she died. If she broke her fingernails on her opponent, she had to leave some marks. We'll have to check
him
for scratches.”

Savannah gave Dirk a sideways glance to see if he was as fascinated as she was by all they'd just heard.

But Dr. Liu was bent over—way over—facing away from them, while she fastened the ankle strap on her high heel. And Dirk was far beyond hearing anything.

He had fascinations of his own.

S
avannah decided that any woman who had raised nine children and cooked enough mashed potatoes in her lifetime to fill the Grand Canyon, deserved the best lunch that San Carmelita had to offer. And that was especially true if the woman had waited patiently until 2:30 in the afternoon to get that lunch.

“I'm sorry we kept you waiting so long,” Savannah said as she, Gran, and Dirk filed into the cozy café that had not only the best BLT with avocado in town, but also the finest view.

Situated on the town pier, the Sundowner Café had provided peaceful ocean panoramas for its patrons for years. Not to mention copious snacks for the seagulls who loitered on the tops of dock pilings outside, waiting for gullible, softhearted diners to toss them their leftover french fries.

“You must be starved half to death,” Dirk said, as he graciously seated Granny in the chair with the best view.

“My stomach thinks my throat's cut,” Gran replied, tucking herself and her new lavender floral-print muumuu into the chair. “And you know, we don't eat ‘lunch' back where I'm from. We call this ‘dinner.' And your ‘dinner' is our ‘supper.' So, I don't know if I'm comin' or goin'.”

“You're fixin' to have a nice dinner in the middle of the afternoon,” Savannah told her. “So, just relax, sit a spell, kick your sandals off there under the table—'cause nobody's gonna see your feet anyhow with these long tablecloths—and enjoy yourself.”

A pretty little waitress with sun-bleached hair and a deep tan hurried over to their table, an eager-to-please smile on her face. “May I get you something to drink?” she asked Gran.

“Ice tea,” Gran replied, draping her napkin over her lap, pinkies extended—her best “Sunday dinner company” manners.

“Sweetened or unsweetened?”

“
Unsweetened
?” Gran frowned up at her. “Now what the blazes would be the point in drinkin'
that
?”

“Sweetened it is.”

The waitress took the rest of the order and scurried away.

Gran shook her head, incredulous. “This California really is a foreign country…” she said, “…asking a body if they want sugar in their iced tea. What sorta malarkey is that! Next thing you know, they'll be wantin' to know if you'll drink nonfat milk in your coffee instead of cream, like the good Lord intended.”

Savannah made a mental note to speak to any waitress beforehand who might be serving them breakfast during this visit.

Granny smoothed a wayward lock of silver hair into place, adjusted her right earring, and folded her hands demurely on the table in front of her. The perfect Southern lady.

“So,” she said, “fill me in on this murder case of yours. I wanna know all about it, and don't spare me any of the gory details. I watch those forensic shows on TV, you know. I can handle it.”

Dirk chuckled and gave her a warm smile, his eyes shining with affection. “Granny, I wish I'd had you for a grandma when I was growing up. Mine were both sourpusses. I don't think either one of them cracked a smile in their whole lives.”

“Well, you got me for a granny now. Ain't that enough?”

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “It is enough. I'm a lucky man.”

“Ain't no such thing as luck.
Blessed
is more like it.”

“We're all blessed just to be sitting here together today,” Savannah said as she watched Dirk lift his glass of root beer, take a long drink, and hide a grimace. Dirk had ordered the soft drink because Granny Reid was dining with them. Otherwise, he'd be having a beer.

Savannah was grateful that he honored her grandmother, and was equally glad that they'd be spared Gran's “demon rum” sermon.

Gran made no differentiation between beer, a fine Chardonnay, or rot-gut whiskey. It was all “demon rum” in her book…and led to iniquity.

“You never know what folks have been through,” Gran was telling Dirk. “Life can be hard. Maybe your grandmas had just run dry on smiles by the time you came along. Some people do. That's why you gotta give 'em one of your own.”

 

Later, over ice cream sundaes, Granny weighed in on all she had heard throughout lunch regarding their case. “Sounds to me like it's either the husband or that Somers guy. Why don't you just go tell 'em to peel off their shirts and drop their drawers…see who's got scratches on him and then arrest his sorry rear end?”

“I wish I could legally do that,” Dirk told her. “And I probably will, whether I can or not. But, unfortunately, it's not that easy. I really doubt that either guy'll submit to a strip search without me serving him with a warrant first.”

“And he doesn't have enough on either of them to get a judge to issue one,” Savannah added.

“But Somers threatened the doctor with bodily harm,” Gran said, playing with the cherry on top of her sundae. “Ain't that a crime around here?”

“It's not something I could put him away for, if that's what you mean,” Dirk replied.

Granny shrugged. “Don't matter. The husband probably did it. There's just evil run amuck in this world, what with so many men layin' hands on their women in anger. It's a sad thing, I tell you. Time was when women were treated with love and respect by their menfolk.”

Savannah held her tongue, deciding not to mention that domestic violence had to be one of the oldest crimes known to the human race.

But, remembering how kind and loving her grandfather had been to Granny, Savannah could certainly see how Gran felt the way she did.

A buzzing sound came from inside Dirk's jacket. He took out his cell phone and answered it.

“Coulter. Yeah. Oh, yeah?”

Seeing him perk up, instantly alert, Savannah felt her own adrenaline level rise a bit. A break maybe?

“When did they call this in?” He listened, nodding. “Where are they now?”

He grabbed his notepad and scribbled down an address on Palm Street that Savannah recognized. It was a large office complex on the other side of town, a prestigious professional building where the town's best doctors and a few attorneys practiced.

“Okay,” Dirk said. “Call them back for me, and tell them I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Tell them ‘do not leave.' I want to talk to them for sure. Yeah, thanks.”

He hung up.

Savannah couldn't help being excited. Dirk hardly ever told anybody “Thanks.”

“What's up?” she asked him.

“A road crew, the street maintenance guys, are working there behind that big, fancy office building on the corner of Palm and Lester,” he told her. “They're filling potholes or whatever…have been for a couple of days now. Anyway, they saw the story on the news last night—Maria Wellman's picture and what happened to her. And they remembered seeing her fighting in the parking lot with somebody four or five days ago. And not just arguing, either. It was a real, honest-to-goodness, hands-on tussle.”

“Who was she fighting with?” Savannah asked. “Terry Somers? Her old man?”

“I don't know. That dumb new receptionist we've got at the station house didn't think to ask them. Hopefully, I can get out there to question them before they have a change of heart and decide it's not a good idea to speak to the police.”

He caught the waitress's attention and motioned for the check.

“Lunch is on you?” Savannah asked, trying not to sound too surprised in front of Gran.

“Of course. How often does a guy get to take
two
beautiful women out to lunch? I'm happy to do it.”

“That's one of the things I like about you, boy,” Gran said, beaming at him across the table. “You're just so generous.”

Savannah nearly choked on her drink. “Yeap, that's our Dirk,” she said with a big grin. “He just gives and gives till it hurts.”

She saw the slight grimace that crossed his face when he opened the folder and read the total on the check—the grimace he tried so hard to hide.

Leaning over the table, she patted him on the arm. “Now see there,” she said. “Hurts somethin' awful, don't it?”

 

As Savannah walked along the pier, her arm around her grandmother's waist, seagulls circling overhead, the waves crashing onto the giant pilings below, she took a momentary mental break and counted her blessings.

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere in the world right now,” she said, “but right here with you, Gran.”

Granny nodded, her silver hair glistening in the bright sunlight. Her blue eyes were full of life and joy as she gazed out at the ocean, the islands floating above the distant haze, the water churning itself into row after row of lacy foam.

“Who would have thought it, Savannah girl,” she said. “All those years ago, you and me, struggling just to keep those kids' bellies full, clothes on their backs, and a roof over our heads…one that didn't leak ever' blamed time it rained…Who would have thought we'd be here, walking in the sunshine on a dock in California?”

“I thought it,” Savannah said softly. “I dreamed it.”

“And you worked hard and made your dream come true. Here you are, doing what you always wanted—chasin' down bad guys—and in the place you dreamed about. I'm proud of you, sugar.”

“And I'm proud you finally got all nine of us out of the house and on our own.”

“'Twasn't easy. And what with rents so high these days, they keep trying to sneak back in.”

“The electric fence and pack of pit bulls don't keep them out?”

Granny chuckled. “No, but they slow 'em down a mite.”

They had reached the end of the pier, where a number of fishermen were working at catching a free dinner—cutting bait, tending their lines, and occasionally adding a catch to their coolers.

One father was showing his preschool-aged son how to put a worm on a hook, and Granny gave them both a sweet smile.

“When are you and Dirk gonna tie the knot and have a couple of those?” she asked Savannah.

“Tie the…what?” Savannah suddenly lost the ability to think or speak.

Granny laughed as she leaned her elbows on the rail and took in a deep breath of the moist ocean air. “You heard me. You two've been beatin' around the bush way too long. You might as well take the leap.”

“Please, I'd rather take a leap off here,” Savannah said, pointing to the cold, swirling water below that was crashing against the barnacle-encrusted supports.

“Yeah, right.”

Granny gave her “the look”—the look that said she knew you had taken the last drink out of the refrigerator water jug and hadn't refilled it.

“We could never get married,” Savannah said. “It wouldn't work. We'd fight all the time and drive each other crazy.”

“Unlike now.”

“We'd have to see each other every single day.”

“Instead of…say…six days a week, the way you do?”

“Even the good Lord took the seventh day off. I'd have to get a break from him once in a while, or I'd murder him.” She nudged Gran with her elbow. “And there aren't any cotton fields around here like there are back home.”

Gran looked surprised. “You remember that?”

“You disappearing off into the cotton fields after you and Pa had a row? Sure I do.”

Shaking her head and laughing, Gran said, “There were times when I danged near stomped that cotton flat. That man could make me madder than a wet hen, but I loved him dearly. And I miss him every single day of my life.”

They stared out into the infinite blue, both taking a moment to remember a man they had adored and respected, honoring him with a rare, Reid-woman silence.

“You know,” Gran finally said, her voice heavy with emotion, “you can't judge a union by the amount of disagreements that goes on in it. The happiest married people on earth fight from time to time. You show me a couple who never gets into it, I'll show you one where somebody's a doormat.”

Savannah smiled. “And neither you nor Pa could be called doormats.”

“Neither are you or that Dirk of yours. You're both strong, opinionated people, so the sparks are gonna fly from time to time. Ain't nothing wrong with that, as long as the fightin's fair.”

“Yeah, we fight fair. Nobody bleeds. Not past what a tourniquet can control.”

“Then you might as well be married. At least then, you could really enjoy yourselves when you make up.”

“Does that mean I'd have to do his laundry?”

“You could, or make him do it hisself, like he's been doing all these years. But even if you did, he'd be low maintenance. You wouldn't have to iron that Harley T-shirt of his. And you might get your lawn mowed and your oil changed once in awhile.”

“I wouldn't let him touch my Mustang. I've seen how he abuses that poor Buick of his.”

“Then there's the nicest part…” Gran continued, “…hearing a deep, sexy voice in the dark telling you that even though you had an awful day, tomorrow's bound to be better.”

Savannah could feel a buzzing inside her purse. “Ah,” she said, “saved by the bell.”

She saw her own name on the caller ID. “It's Tammy,” she told Granny. “I guess she got those errands done and is back at the office. I'm not sure why. There's not much to do there.”

“I think she likes hanging out at your house because she loves you.”

“I think you're right.” Into the phone she said, “Hi, babycakes. What's shakin'?”

“Ryan and John are here,” Tammy told her, sounding very pleased about it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they came by to pick up their ramekins.”

“Their what?”

“Those little dishes you borrowed to serve chocolate pudding in when you had that backyard barbecue.”

“Ah, right…ramekins. Tell them I'm so sorry. I should have returned those before now.”