Killer Honeymoon

by GA McKevett

  Chapter 18

  “Okay, so that wasn’t a shining moment in the history of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency,” Savannah said. It wasn’t easy to speak while holding a small plastic bag filled with ice cubes against her swollen lip.

  Her two honest-to-goodness ice packs had gone to John and Dirk. They needed them worse than she, Ryan, or Waycross did.

  Dirk kept moving his from his eye, which was getting blacker by the minute, to his swelling jaw, to the knuckles of his right hand.

  Poor John was sitting on his pack, the very picture of abject suffering and humiliation. The other men in the room kept shooting him looks of sympathy.

  Watching them, Savannah felt a certain male-bonding thing going on. She suspected that even though she and the other women felt bad for him, you actually had to own a set of the equipment to grasp the full gravity of his situation.

  Ryan also had a simple bag of ice, which he was applying to his knee. He’d stumbled and fallen while hightailing it back to the van.

  Waycross was smearing antibiotic cream on his skinned shin as Tammy sat on the floor, looking up at him with a woeful expression filled with affection and deep concern.

  Gran was lounging in Savannah’s easy chair, quietly reading her Bible and ignoring them all.

  “Not a ‘shining moment’? Is that what you said?” Dirk barked. “That was the absolute pits! We were the frickin’ three stooges out there!”

  “Five,” Ryan said. “Five stooges, and we couldn’t even put a dent in that guy.”

  John nodded. “Something tells me that he isn’t sitting on an ice pack, frosting his naughty bits tonight.”

  Waycross snickered. “Makes me shudder just thinkin’ where we’d be if Gran hadn’t showed up in the nick o’ time with that stun gun.”

  “That’s easy,” Gran chimed in. “You’d still be tryin’ to hog-tie that ugly yahoo. Lord o’ mercy, I’ve seen Brahman bulls easier to corral than that ’un.”

  “That’s for sure,” Dirk agreed.

  “And him with them devil horn things tattooed on his head.” Gran shook her head. “A boy raised in Dixie oughta know better than that. Nearly makes me ashamed to be Southern. If I’d had a good, long hickory switch with me, he’d be in need of an ice pack, I’ll tell ya.”

  “That’s true,” Savannah said. “Gran and a green saplin’ switch can turn most any evildoer around.”

  Granny giggled. “Make ’im dance a jig anyway.”

  “I saw the stun gun there in the van,” Tammy said, “but I didn’t know how to use it.”

  “A gun’s a gun,” Gran said. “You take off the safety, if it’s got one. You aim and pull the trigger. But I guess anybody who never had to hunt down their supper might not know that.”

  “Um, no.” Tammy looked down at her hands, which were folded demurely in her lap. “I feel bad,” she said. “I always check people’s social network pages. I don’t know why I didn’t with him. If I had, I’d have seen that picture of his wife and baby, and him standing there, next to them, wearing green surgical scrubs. He’d posted every fifteen minutes or so while she was in labor. It was obvious he was right there with her every minute. I’m really sorry, guys.”

  “Oh, come on, kiddo,” Dirk said. “Even a whiz kid like you can’t nail everything all the time.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” she said.

  Savannah saw Waycross reach over as though he was going to lay his hand on Tammy’s shoulder. Then he withdrew it—a sad look on his face.

  Savannah couldn’t help wondering what was up with him and that situation.

  “Anyway,” Dirk said, wriggling one of his front teeth, “if it’s all the same to you-all, I’d just as soon never speak of this indignity again.”

  Everyone nodded solemnly.

  “What indignity is that?” Marietta asked as she sashayed down the stairs in skintight, tiger-striped leggings and a sparkling black blouse cut down to the equator.

  “Never you mind,” Savannah said.

  Marietta strolled into the living room, teetering on heels suitable for pole dancing. She glanced around, taking in the various injuries. “Land sakes! Y’all look like you tangled with the business end of a momma bear.”

  “A papa bear’s more like it. You should probably keep your observations to yourself, Miss Mari,” Savannah said. “This ain’t the time, and we are so not in the mood.”

  “I ain’t got time anyway. I got a date to go on.”

  It occurred to Savannah to ask Marietta if she had ever met the fellow she was about to go out with. But since she wanted to sleep tonight and not dream about serial killers who murdered dingbat floozies wearing tiger-striped pants, she decided not to inquire.

  As soon as Marietta left the room, she had to ask, “Gran, I’m surprised you didn’t say anything about the way she was dressed. You’re slippin’.”

  Gran casually licked her finger and turned another page of her Bible. “Nope. I ain’t slipped. I just gave up on that sister of yours. The day I caught ’er wearing her brassiere on the outside, over her shirt. Yessiree, Bob. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  A while later, Savannah went into the kitchen to make a pot of hot coffee. Since they’d used up all the ice cubes, iced tea was out of the question. She found Waycross standing at the sink, washing a mug, but she could tell by the faraway look in his eyes that he was thinking about anything but what he was doing.

  She walked up and laid her hand on his back. “Hey, Big Red, whatcha up to?”

  “ ’Bout six-three” was his standard reply.

  Waycross was proud of his height, and Savannah didn’t blame him. Poor kids from McGill, Georgia, had a tough time finding things to be proud of.

  “I was proud of you today,” she said, “jumping in headfirst to help like that.”

  He gave her a little smile. “Looked like somebody needed to.”

  “Pretty sorry sight, huh?”

  “One I’ll never forget.”

  “If you live to be a hundred and one?”

  “Somethin’ like that.”

  She reached across the counter and got the coffee canister. “It’s probably none of my business, but . . .”

  He chuckled. “That’s what you always say when you’re about to ask me somethin’ that’s none of your business.”

  “Do you mind my nosiness?”

  “No. If I don’t wanna tell you, I don’t.”

  “Fair enough.” Savannah stuck a coffee filter into the machine’s basket. “I’m a wee bit curious about how things are going between you and Tammy.”

  “Wee bit curious?” He laughed. “Since when is my big sister a ‘wee bit’ anything, let alone curious? More like you’re burnin’ up with curiosity.”

  “Well, put me outta my misery, boy. Spill it.”

  He turned his back to her and slowly placed the mug into the cupboard. “Spill what?”

  “You like her.”

  “So?”

  “She likes you, too. A lot. I can tell.”

  “That’s ’cause she don’t know me.”

  Savannah caught her breath. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Waycross Reid, what the heck are you talking about? You’re one of the finest people in this world.”

  When he turned to face her, she wondered if those were tears she saw in his eyes. “She doesn’t know what she’d be getting with me,” he said.

  She reached over, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it. “Well, I know, sure as shootin’ what she’d be getting, and that’s the best any girl could hope for.”

  “But look at her. She’s so beautiful, like a princess or something. And look at me.”

  “I am looking at you. You’re a hunk and a half.”

  “Aw, you’re just saying that ’cause you’re my sister.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not true. I have good taste in men, and, babycakes, you’re a catch!”

  “No, don’t tell me t
hat.” He walked away from her and over to the refrigerator, where he stood, looking down at his shoes. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

  She set the filter and coffee on the counter and walked over to him. With her hands on his shoulders, she forced him to turn around and face her.

  “So you tell me. Who are you?”

  Yes, those were definitely tears in his eyes, she realized. She couldn’t recall the last time she had seen him cry. Maybe when he had been six years old.

  “I’m—I’m Macon Reid Sr.’s son. I’m Shirley Reid’s son. You know who they are. He never saw a truck stop hooker he didn’t want. She never saw a bottle of beer she didn’t want.”

  Savannah opened her mouth to argue with him; then she closed it. How could you argue with the truth?

  “That’s who I’m made of, Savannah,” he said. “I’m half of him and half of her.”

  She reached up and put her hands on either side of his face. “Oh, sweetie, that kinda thing doesn’t matter one little bit.”

  “I didn’t think so either, till I met her. I just wish to God I could give her somebody better than me.”

  “Stop it, Waycross.” She gave him a little shake. “You may be Macon and Shirley’s son, but you’ve got Grandpa’s and Granny’s blood running through your veins, too. That’s something to be mighty proud of. Don’t you forget it.”

  He reached up and pulled her hands down from his cheeks. He kissed one, then the other, then released them. “Thank you, sis,” he said.

  Then he walked away, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen with a heavy, aching heart.

  Heavy, because she, too, felt the weight of the dark legacy their troubled parents had left to all nine of their children. And aching because she knew her brother had heard her words with his ears, but she could tell by the sadness in his eyes, the truth she had spoken to him hadn’t made it all the way down to his heart.

  When Savannah got into bed and cuddled up next to Dirk, she groaned. Touching him hurt. Touching the sheets hurt. The kitties snuggling up against her hurt.

  “You all right, Van?” he asked, sliding his arm around her.

  “Oww! Yes. Just feeling the aftereffects.”

  “Tell me about it. I ache in places I didn’t think I had places.” He hugged her closer, but extra gently. “While all that fighting was going down, I was worried about you. A tussle like that was the last thing you needed—what with you still healing and all.”

  It had been over six months since she had been shot, and the doctors had pronounced her “healed.” But she realized that for her husband, she would always be fragile merchandise. While that warmed her heart, it made her feel fragile—which, in her mind, was a kissing cousin to being weak.

  She wasn’t about to think of herself that way, and she’d be damned before she’d let anyone else think that either.

  Especially her husband.

  “I’m not a china doll, darlin’,” she said as gently as she could. “I got through the worst already. If that didn’t break me, ain’t nothin’ gonna.”

  He was quiet for a long time. She could only hear him breathing in the darkness and wished she could see his face.

  Then, to her relief, she heard him chuckle.

  “You certainly didn’t look like no china doll hangin’ on that monster’s neck. You were squeezin’ the daylights outta him, and he was turning as purple as Marietta’s underwear.”

  “He was?” She couldn’t help being pleased to hear it. “It felt like he didn’t know I was even there.”

  “Oh, he knew. I’d like to think he’s got a few sore spots himself tonight.”

  “Whether he does or not, at least a few of those blows you landed on his face had to leave some marks. I figure the bruises will be just about right, all spread out and supercolorful, come time for him to go to trial.”

  They both laughed and pulled the sheet up around their necks.

  “Boy, this is some killer honeymoon we’re havin’ here, huh, babe?” he said. “We went through hell and back just to get married, and now all this. It’s like we’re cursed or doomed or something.”

  “Naw, we’re just getting all the bad stuff out of the way so we can live happily ever after like all the people in the fairy tales. Could be worse. Nobody’s eaten any poisoned apples or had to fight any dragons or whatever . . . except Xenos, that is.”

  “Tell you what,” Dirk said. “Once this is all over and the case is solved, and we’re back home here for good, let’s plan another honeymoon. Maybe Hawaii or Vegas or something like that.”

  “Once this is over and we’re back home, we have to get you moved in, boy. Call me old-fashioned, but I always figured my husband would live in the same house with me.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair; then he gently massaged her temple. “What are we gonna do with my sofa?” he asked.

  “You mean the old school bus seat?”

  “And my entertainment center?”

  “Those plastic milk crates full of VHS tapes?”

  “Not to mention my decorations.”

  “No, let’s don’t mention them. I guess you mean that rusty tin Harley-Davidson sign on your door?”

  “Hey, I must have a million dollars’ worth of Harley stuff. That junk’s worth a fortune!”

  Savannah felt Cleopatra wriggling her way up between them, and Diamante wrapping herself around her ankles.

  “Let’s just go to sleep,” she told him. “I can only slay one monster per day, and Xenos maxed me out. We can tackle that problem another time.”

  Apparently, Dirk felt the same way, because he never answered her. He’d already begun to snore.

  Chapter 19

  Savannah, Dirk, Ryan, John, and Gran found a corner on the ferry where they could all sit together and chat in relative privacy. They gave Dirk the seat closest to the railing, just in case.

  “I feel funny leaving Tammy and Waycross back there at home with nobody to chaperone them, ’cept Marietta,” Granny said as she sat, her arms crossed over her chest, her silver hair blowing in the sea breeze as they sped over the water toward the island. “You can tell they’ve got a shine for each other, and it’s invitin’ the devil’s mischief, leavin’ them alone together like that.”

  “They won’t have time to get in trouble,” Savannah told her. “I had a talk with both of them first thing this morning, and I can guarantee you they’ll be too busy to be making mischief . . . the devil’s or anybody else’s, for that matter.”

  “What are they doing?” Dirk wanted to know.

  “Using their talents for good,” she replied slyly. “Beyond that, my lips are sealed.”

  Savannah looked around the little group, all of whom were holding cups of steaming coffee, except for Gran, who had opted for hot chocolate.

  Dirk’s black eye was quite dramatic, both in color and in swelling. Ryan was sitting with his leg up on the seat across from him. And poor John had opted to stand for the entirety of the trip.

  The aftermath of battle.

  “So, what’s next on our agenda?” Ryan asked, massaging his hurt knee. “After all we’ve been through with this case, I’m determined we’re going to close it. Nobody’s causing this much misery to me and the ones I love and not paying for it.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” John said, grimacing as he shifted from one leg to the other. “I’ve never believed in capital punishment before, but once this killer’s caught, I’m going to see to it he’s hanged, drawn, and quartered.”

  “What? No stretching on the rack first?” Savannah asked.

  “That too.” He thought for a moment, then added, “And his head mounted on a pike at the city’s gates.”

  Savannah laughed. “Kick a compassionate liberal right where he lives and watch how quickly his politics change.”

  “No man’s liberal or compassionate when it comes to that region of his body,” Ryan said. “Now, seriously, how are we going to get this killer?”

  Dirk rubbed his sore j
aw. “The bottom line is we have no idea who he is. So far, all we’ve got for our troubles is an ever-lengthening list of people who it ain’t.”

  “Or she,” Savannah interjected. “Always remember, there are evil, nasty women in this world, too.”

  Granny gave a wicked little cackle. “That’s for sure. And some of us know how to use a gun.”

  Having parted ways with Ryan, John, and Granny, who were returning to their vacation compound, Savannah and Dirk drove back to the lighthouse. Their plan was to walk on the beach, maybe go to the harbor and grab some lunch, rest their brains for a moment, and then, refreshed, attack the case.

  But they had no sooner unlocked the door and stepped inside the lightkeeper’s cottage than Savannah’s phone rang.

  “Hello, sweet Tamitha,” she said as she tossed her purse onto the kitchen table. “Long time, no see.” She glanced at her watch. “At least three hours.”

  “I know” was the sheepish response. “I try to leave you alone, but . . .”

  “What’s up?”

  “I thought you’d like to know that I hacked into Amelia Northrop’s checking-account records.”

  Savannah shook her head and looked over at Dirk, who was getting a glass of water, but listening intently. “I don’t know how you do that.”

  “It’s surprisingly easy. Look at somebody’s social network pages, find out the names of their kids or pets. If their password isn’t one of those, it’s probably their birthday . . . or one of their kids’ birthdays, or their pets’. Then, one by one, you start checking the banks.”

  “It scares me how smart you are, and how dumb other people can be. So, did you find anything interesting?”

  “Nothing unusual. She had her bills on AutoPay, same stuff every month. Some travel expenses for work. The only big-ticket item she’d had recently was a check for six thousand four hundred and fifty-two dollars to an Opal Parson.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “An interior decorator, there on the island.”

  “Oh.” Savannah could practically hear her own bubble of expectation pop. “That’s hardly sinister.”