Peaches And Screams (A Savannah Reid Mystery)

by McKevett, G. A.

  She pushed Vidalia, Cordele, and Jesup aside. “Let me by,” she told them. “I’ve got somethin’ to say about this ordeal. And I want ya’ll to perk up your ears, ’cause I ain’t sayin’ it twice.”

  Walking over to the couch, she took Marietta by the shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “First of all, you suck in that cryin’, Marietta Reid, and conduct yourself like the lady that I know you are. Sit up straight, fine and proud, chin up.”

  Marietta gave it a half effort. Alma pushed a handful of tissues at her, and she blew her nose loudly.

  “That’s right,” Gran said. “You’ve suffered a heavy loss. Your heart is broken, and your pride wounded. But others have suffered a lot worse with grace and dignity, and you will, too.”

  “But . . . but . . .” She hiccuped violently. “But Lester . . . dumped me!”

  “And if you want to continue to think of it that way, then you can just wallow in your misery for the rest of your years and turn into a mean, resentful woman who’s old before her time.”

  “Well, how else can I think about it?” Marietta buried her face in the tissues as new sobs erupted. “That’s what happened, plain and simple.”

  “No, what happened . . . plain and simple . . .” Gran said, snatching Marietta’s hands away from her face, “. . . is that the man came to his senses and decided to remain in his marriage. He decided to be a husband to the wife he already had and to be a father to his children.”

  “But I lo-o-ove him!”

  “So, next time, choose someone to love who ain’t married. You know I think the world of you, Mari, but you created this mess yourself. How many times have I told you girls not to set your cap for no married man? That’s just an invitation to heartache. And that’s why you’re sitting here now, your heart achin’.”

  Marietta’s lower lip trembled as she looked up at her grandmother. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

  “I’m saying the same thing I’ve always said to you, Marietta Reid—you reap what you sow in this life. And this time, you’ve got a bitter harvest. You made a mistake. Accept the consequences like a woman and learn from it. But, whatever you do, stop that caterwaulin’, cause it’s getting on my nerves, and it’s unworthy of a Reid.”

  As Marietta gathered the remnants of her tattered pride around her, Savannah slipped around the perimeter of the room to the recliner, where Waycross sat, staring at the ceiling, a half grin on his face.

  “Can I borrow your truck again?” she whispered to him.

  “Only if you take me to the garage first. I gotta get some air.”

  “I hear ya. I’ll drive and you can hang your head out the window like Beauregard, ears and jowls flapping in the wind.”

  Savannah had asked herself the question: Who in town knows Bonnie Patterson best . . . other than Alvin Barnes, who ain’t talkin’?

  Having answered that question the best she could, she was heading out to the Patterson estate. Elsie had lived with Bonnie for the past few years. And with a sense of curiosity as sharp as Elsie’s, she had to know something.

  Housekeepers always knew more than they let on. While sweeping behind the refrigerator and cleaning out lingerie drawers, they uncovered more than a few dust bunnies.

  And with a little friendly encouragement, Savannah had found them willing to share the dirt.

  When she arrived at the mansion, Savannah rang the front doorbell and knocked hard at the back door. But no one answered.

  Considering she had already broken into one house that day, she was pleased to find the back door unlocked and the lockpick unnecessary.

  “Mrs. Dingle?” she called as she walked through the kitchen of the silent house. “Elsie, are you here?”

  Curiosity led her to the library. She opened the door halfway and looked inside.

  Other than some extra residue from Tom lifting fingerprints from the desk, nothing was different.

  Apparently, Elsie was still boycotting the library, and considering the creepy vibes that remained, Savannah didn’t blame her. She shut the door firmly behind her, as though that would somehow keep any evil spirits contained, and walked on through the dining room, the parlor, and the remaining downstairs rooms.

  “Elsie? You up there?” she yelled at the bottom of the graceful, curving staircase.

  She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved when nobody answered. No one to interview, but a full house at her disposal.... Could be worse.

  But at the top of the stairs, she saw that one of the bedroom doors was open, and she could hear someone rummaging inside.

  Instinctively, she reached inside her purse. Her palm curled around the handle of the Beretta. Amazing, she thought, how safe a 9mm with a full clip could make you feel, when you knew how to use it.

  “Hello?” she said as she carefully poked her head into the room. “Anybody here?”

  “Savannah?”

  Elsie’s shining face appeared from behind some billowing chiffon curtains. Savannah caught a whiff of vinegar and realized she was cleaning windows.

  “Yes, it’s me,” Savannah said. “I’m sorry. I rang the bell and knocked, but . . .”

  “Oh, my hearing isn’t as good as it used to be,” Elsie said, hurrying to greet her. “I’m glad you came on in.”

  Savannah looked around the room at the delicate pink and yellow, daisy-spangled curtains and matching wallpaper. The canopied bed was draped in delicate laces and covered with embroidered, ruffled pillows.

  “What a gorgeous room!” Savannah said, walking over to a dresser where an antique silver comb-and-brush set was laid out on the polished rose marble top. “It’s fit for a princess.”

  She lifted the lid of a carved wooden box and the delicate, tinkling sound of the music box filled the air. A tiny ballerina spun on one toe to the lilting notes of the old-fashioned waltz.

  “She was a princess, my little Katherine,” Elsie said, suddenly looking sad and a decade older.

  “The judge’s daughter?” Savannah said.

  “Yes. He divorced her mother and sent her away, but he kept Katherine here with him. I wound up raising her. She was like my very own. I miss her so much.”

  “Yes, I heard that you lost her. I’m so sorry.”

  Elsie walked over to the dresser and sat down, as though her legs were suddenly too weak to hold her. She reached out and lovingly touched the silver hairbrush with one finger. “The Lord took her so quick; none of us had time to get ready, you know.”

  Savannah closed the top of the music box and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Tom said she died of a ‘woman thing.’ Being a man, he didn’t know what it was.”

  Elsie sniffed. “They called it a ‘topical pregnancy.’ A little baby growing in the wrong place.”

  A topical pregnancy? A baby in the wrong place? Savannah ran the term through her mental medical banks and came up with the interpretation. An ectopic pregnancy.

  “Yes,” Elsie continued, “something burst inside her and she just bled to death there on her kitchen floor. By the time little Caitlin got home from school, it was already too late. She was gone.”

  “Caitlin is her and Mack’s daughter?”

  Elsie smiled and nodded. “She’s the spittin’ image of her mama, that little darlin’. She’s such a joy to have around.”

  “Did she come to see you often?”

  “Not as much as the judge and me wanted. His honor would call every weekend and say, ‘Don’t you have something to do with yourself, Mack? Don’t you need a baby-sitter? Bring that young’un over here right now and let her spend some time with her grandfather and Elsie.”

  “That must have been nice.”

  “It was. And the judge was happy, because he and Mack, they had a long talk about her staying here more. A lot more. His honor told Mack that he worked too hard and wasn’t home enough. That she was being neglected and needed constant supervision. And Mr. Mack agreed to let her come and stay here.”

  Savannah thought of Mack Goodwi
n, forceful, proud. “And Mack was going to allow that?”

  Elsie chuckled. “Well, he didn’t have much choice. The judge was used to getting his way on stuff, you know.”

  “I see.”

  “Yeah, his honor told me to get this room all fixed up for Caitlin, that she’d be movin’ over here pretty soon. She’d be changing schools and everything.”

  “Really. Hm-m-m.” Savannah’s brain whirred, processing this new information. “But now?”

  “Oh, she’s still coming. She and Mr. Mack will be moving in as soon as the will’s read and the estate’s settled.”

  “The will?”

  “Yes, the judge left everything he had to that little girl. She was the apple of his eye, I tell you, just like his daughter was. He’d have done anything for her.”

  “Judge Patterson left everything to his granddaughter, huh? Are you sure about that, Elsie?”

  “Well, there’s a bit of a problem, since he died before the divorce became final.”

  “You mean, Bonnie might fight Mack for the estate?”

  “She might, but then, she’d have to show up, wouldn’t she? And I hear tell that she’s on the lam. Nobody’s seen hide nor bleached hair of her since yesterday afternoon.”

  Suddenly, Savannah remembered why she had come to the mansion in the first place. “I know. I’m helping look for her. I was wondering if maybe you’d have an idea where she might be. I mean, you were her housekeeper for a long time, and you probably knew her as well as anyone, better than most.”

  “Nope. I don’t have a clue. Bonnie doesn’t really have anyplace to go. The judge and Alvin, they’re the only ones she had in the world. And now they’re both gone. It’s sad.”

  “Yes, ain’t it though.”

  Elsie stood and carefully rearranged the silver combs and brush. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you much, finding Bonnie, that is.”

  Savannah rose from the bed and looked around the room once more. The room that had once belonged to a privileged young Southern belle. The room that had been intended for her little daughter.

  And if Mack Goodwin had his way, it might still be hers.

  “Oh, you helped me, Elsie. You may have helped me a lot.”

  As Savannah trudged up the steps to her grandmother’s doorway, she hoped that, this once, no major drama would be unfolding inside these walls. She desperately needed a sanctuary. Some down time. A hot bath and a few hours of rest, maybe a cup of decaffeinated coffee laced with a big slug of Bailey’s Irish Cream and . . .

  Oh, yes, she reminded herself. This is Gran’s house. No drinking spirits and no cussing. Not even when you spilled a gallon of milk all over the kitchen floor.

  Beauregard lay stretched across the porch, his front paws crossed over his nose. He was snoring soundly. Gran had always said that those with a pure heart and a clean conscience slept the sleep of the blessed.

  Judging from the volume of his log-sawing, the colonel had no burdens of guilt to disturb his sleep. She noticed with satisfaction that the kitty scratches on his face and ears were healing nicely.

  When she opened the screen door, Cleopatra and Diamante came running to greet her, their tails curled over their backs like big black question marks. They rubbed against her ankles and purred, telling her in basic cat language that they hadn’t eaten in days and it was pretty much her fault.

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “You could have told Gran. She would have thrown you a fried catfish or something.”

  Savannah walked through her sisters’ bedroom, then her grandmother’s, to the kitchen, where Jesup, Alma, Cordele, and Gran sat around the table, sharing a banana nut cake.

  “You’re just in time,” Gran said. “Pull up a chair and have a slice. It’s still warm from the oven.”

  “I think I’m too tired to eat,” Savannah said, lumbering over to the cats’ dishes. She lifted the bag of cat food off the top of the refrigerator and bent to fill them.

  “I already fed those two panthers of yours,” Gran said. “They ate a big ol’ bowlful of that stuff an hour ago.”

  “And I fed them earlier . . . around four,” Alma added. “They looked hungry.”

  Savannah looked down at the cats, who were practically prancing on their tiptoes with anticipation. “Forget it, you gluttonous little liars. Now that I think of it, your stomachs are both pooching out somethin’ fierce. Shame on you.”

  She returned the cat food to the top of the refrigerator, then walked back to the table. “And speaking of gluttons, I think I will have a slice of that cake. It smells heavenly.”

  “Okay,” Gran said, reaching for a plate and the cake, “but before you get too comfortable . . . you should know that you got a couple of phone calls.”

  “Oh? From whom?”

  “From whom?” Cordele said, twitching her nostrils distastefully. “My, aren’t we hoity-toity now that we live up North.”

  “For your information, she lives out West,” Alma retorted. “And just because a body talks right doesn’t make them hoity-toity.”

  “Hush,” Gran said. “Ain’t nobody high and mighty in this household. Just regular folks tryin’ to make it through. Kind words make the path easier, girls—for the person who says them as much as for the person who hears them. Don’t be forgettin’ that.” She gave Cordele a pointed look.

  “So, how did you get Marietta settled down?” Savannah asked. “Or did you have to check her into a mental-health clinic?”

  “Gran talked her off the bridge . . . so to speak,” Jesup said. “I thought I was depressed, but . . .”

  “She’ll be all right,” Gran added. “Mari’s always been a strong-minded girl. She’ll pull it together somehow.”

  “Any progress on Macon?” Alma said, sliding a tall, cold glass of milk in front of Savannah.

  “Maybe. Hard to tell yet. Have y’all heard anything?”

  “Just that he’s sick of sitting there in that cell,” Alma said. “I took some of his comic books over there this afternoon and gave them to Tom. He said he’d let him have them. Said he’d have to check them first for files or machine guns.”

  Savannah laughed. “That sounds like Tom.”

  “I think he’s still sweet on you. He asked about you, and I could tell by the way he said your name.”

  “You’ve been reading too many romance novels,” Cordele said, “and watching too many soap operas. You think everybody’s in love with somebody. It’s disgusting how much you think about that stuff.”

  “Well, I think it’s a little weird that you don’t think about it, so there, Miss Prissy Pants,” Alma replied.

  “Anyway,” Gran interjected, “as I was telling Savannah: Dirk called, wanted to tell you that he chased down Deputy Stafford and found out that Alvin didn’t have water in his lungs, so Herb Jameson figures he was dead before he hit the pool.”

  Savannah nodded, self-satisfied. “That’s what we thought. Anything else?”

  “Not from Dirk. But that gorgeous fella, Ryan Stone, called from California. He said that Tammy told him and his friend John all about Macon’s problems, and he wanted to know if there was anything they could do to help out. I told him you’d call him back.”

  Savannah felt a new surge of energy, no matter how faint, shoot through her bloodstream. It was hope.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said, thoughtfully chewing.

  “What is?” Gran wanted to know.

  “Calling Ryan and John. Those guys aren’t just gorgeous . . . they’re fantastic snoops, thorough and discreet. And right now, that’s exactly what I need.”

  “Savannah, love, how are you? We’ve been so terribly worried about you, dear girl.”

  Even the sound of John Gibson’s deliciously smooth British accent was enough to calm her jangled nerves. Although they were nearly three thousand miles apart, he still radiated strength along with concern and compassion.

  She settled back in Gran’s recliner, clutching the phone as though it were his hand. “Oh, Joh
n . . .” It was all she could do not to start sobbing. “Things are a little rough around here.”

  “So we heard. How perfectly dreadful for you, darling. Tell me how we can help.”

  “Bless you, John. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t ask, but . . . since you offered . . .”

  Chapter 21

  “Mack Goodwin, county prosecutor, is a cold-blooded killer. Two first-degree homicides, no less.” Dirk shook his head as he turned his rental car down Main Street and headed for the sheriff’s station. “That’s going to be a tough sale, Van. You’d do better hawking ice cubes to Alaskans.”

  Beside him, Savannah fidgeted in her seat. She didn’t need to hear her doubts spoken aloud by somebody who was supposed to be an ally. She, too, had to admit that by the light of a bright Sunday morning, the idea seemed far less plausible than when she was lying in bed in the moonlight, mulling it over.

  “I guess it is going to be rough, if even you don’t buy it,” she said.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t buy it. I said, I don’t think Tom’s gonna buy it. Personally, I think it’s absolutely, positively . . . well, a possibility.”

  “Gee, a ringing endorsement if ever I heard one.”

  He pulled the car into a spot directly in front of the station, as the street was practically empty. Most of McGill was attending church services, and the few who weren’t were home in bed, sleeping off Saturday night’s booze.

  “Well, I’m sorry, Van,” he said, cutting the key, “but some things don’t track.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like if Mack was going to knock off the judge so that his little girl could get her inheritance, why would he do it a few days before the judge and Bonnie’s divorce was final? It would make more sense to sit tight a little longer, so that Bonnie couldn’t contest it.”

  Savannah sighed. “Okay, I thought of that . . . about two o’clock this morning.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . nothing. I don’t know. Maybe there was some reason why he couldn’t wait. Or maybe he arrived at the mansion right after Macon and Kenny Jr. ran off and saw the perfect opportunity to kill the judge and blame it on them.”