But Savannah wasn’t searching for the judge’s ghost. She was looking for the reasons behind his murder.
As she walked on down the hallway and into the dining room, she thought of the deaths that had occurred in this room, a temporary surgical ward for wounded Confederate soldiers. There, on that very table, amputations had been carried out, some without anesthetics, and boys had died before they had become men.
They can have their mansion, Savannah thought. They can keep their antique silver and their gilt-framed mirrors.
She would be glad to be back at Gran’s humble house again, snuggled safe beneath the handmade quilt.
But for now, she had work to do.
She hadn’t expected to find anything on the ground floor of the house. And, likewise, nothing seemed out of order on the second. One by one, she checked the bedrooms and the baths. Other than some dampness in one of the tubs, everything appeared undisturbed.
She had memorized the map, which was now tucked into her pants pocket. And she knew where the servants’ staircases were—the one that led from the ground floor to the second story, and the other one that went from the sewing room at the far end of the hall up to the attic.
“Nobody ever uses those stairs no more,” Elsie had told her an hour earlier when they had talked to her. “And nobody’s been in that dusty old attic for years. I told the judge, he couldn’t get me to go up there for love nor money. There’s rats up there, ones the size of cats. And you know I can’t bear rats!”
Savannah wasn’t fond of cat-sized rodents, either, but that was where she was headed. The unused attic.
What better place to find a restless spirit . . . or a fugitive wife, who had her own reasons for not wanting to be found?
And Savannah was more interested in those reasons than she was in the woman herself.
The stairs were dusty, Savannah decided as she crept up them, shining her light only one step above her. And someone was, indeed, stirring in the attic.
Someone too big and too heavy to be a rat, even an oversized one.
Someone walking on two feet.
And if that someone was a ghost, he was a particularly fastidious one, because he was using something that sounded suspiciously like a hairdryer.
Savannah smiled. “I got you, Miss Bonnie Prissy Pants,” she whispered as she hurried up the steps. “I got you cold.”
She managed to get to the top of the stairs before the dryer stopped. Thank goodness Bonnie Patterson had a lot of hair.
Slowly, her hand on her pistol’s grip, Savannah opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit, cavernous attic.
A jumble of household artifacts were scattered around the room and hung from the open-beamed ceiling. Chests, shelves of books, cardboard boxes, tables and chairs, an ancient sewing machine, a child’s sled and rocking horse all collected the dust of years gone by.
At the far end of the room, Bonnie Patterson stood before a cracked mirror that was propped against the wall and dried her hair. She had plugged the appliance into an electrical socket that dangled from the ceiling.
The dim light was coming from a small Tiffany-style lamp suspended over a makeshift cot. On an old dressing table, Bonnie had set out her makeup, along with some potato chips and sodas, pilfered from the kitchen downstairs.
In spite of the mythical rats, Bonnie had made herself a snug little nest up here.
She was still drying her hair when Savannah approached her and tapped her on the shoulder.
She screamed and jumped away.
“Oh, my God! You scared me to death!” She turned off the hair dryer and dropped it to the floor. “When did you . . . ? How did you . . . ?”
“Just now. And it wasn’t all that hard after Elsie told me she’d heard ghosts running around the house after dark. You should have been quiet.”
Bonnie plopped down on the cot, looking disgusted and exhausted. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, and her feet were bare. Her mascara and liner were smeared under her eyes, and she looked as though she hadn’t eaten a meal in several days.
Since Friday night, Savannah figured.
“When you touched me just now,” she said with a shudder, “I thought you were . . .”
Savannah sat on a crate across from her. “The cops? Or Mack?”
She shrugged. “Take your pick. It’s trouble, either way. I’m telling you, I’m screwed.”
“Why don’t you tell me?” Savannah pasted on her most sympathetic face, the one that sometimes worked, even with hardened criminals. “Maybe I can help.”
“I need some help. I’ve been hiding out up here, trying to figure out what to do. But I’m dead,” she said, tucking her bare feet under her. “No matter what I do, I’m dead meat. He killed Alvin, and as soon as he finds me, he’ll kill me, too.”
“Mack?”
Bonnie hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, Mack.”
“What did Alvin do, ask for more money?”
A flicker of surprise passed over Bonnie’s face; then she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I told him not to ask for more. The $35,000 was enough, but he had to get greedy.”
“That’s not a lot of money—I mean, for committing murder for hire.”
Savannah knew her dart had missed its mark when Bonnie looked confused. Then angry.
“What are you talking about? Alvin didn’t kill anybody! He wouldn’t do a thing like that. Al was a sweetheart.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sniffed loudly.
“So why was Mack paying him? Just because of what he knew?”
Bonnie nodded. “Alvin lucked out. He was in the right place at the right time. He overheard my husband and Mack arguing about Caitlin coming here to live. He threatened to expose Mack—that thing that happened when he was in college—if he didn’t give her up. Then he showed up dead. Alvin went to Mack and told him he’d keep quiet if the price was right.”
“And Mack paid him?”
“Not until Alvin broke in here and got some stupid file out of the library desk. Alvin figured that should be worth something, too. But Mack just told him to do that so that he couldn’t go to the cops. He’d done something illegal, too, see? He was like an accessory or something.”
“Did Alvin plant those medals under my brother’s bed?” Savannah held her breath, hoping for the right answer.
“No, Mack did that.” She laughed, a nasty, bitter laugh. “That dog of your grandma’s, the old hound . . . he bit Mack. Bit a plug outta his ankle. Mack said he tried to kick him in the head, but the hound bit him again. Mack was really pissed about that! Alvin and me laughed our butts off about it later.”
“Did you see Mack kill Alvin?”
“No. But when I came home late Friday night, to Alvin’s place, I saw Mack driving out of our alley. I recognized that big black car of his. And I’m pretty sure he saw me, too. Then Alvin turned up dead the next day and . . . ”
She started to sob. Pulling the end of her tank top up to her face, she wiped her nose.
“And that’s when you hid out up here?”
“Yeah. I called my mom in Tennessee, but she said she didn’t want me to come back there. So I didn’t really have a choice.”
“Why didn’t you go to the sheriff or to Tom, tell them what happened?”
“Mack had told me I was an accomplice, too, ’cause I was with Alvin when he took the money. And besides, who’s going to believe me against somebody like Mack Goodwin? Everybody thinks I’m just a bimbo gold-digger.”
Savannah couldn’t resist that one. “Didn’t you marry the judge for his money?”
She shrugged. “Well, yeah . . . but I kinda liked him, too. He wasn’t so bad. He gave me really nice presents on my birthday. Alvin usually forgot.”
Hm-m-m, a lady with her priorities in order, Savannah thought.
“Bonnie, I think you’re underestimating the law,” she told her. “Okay, so you knew about Alvin’s blackmailing. You may have even put some money down on a car for yourself with part of it. But yo
u’re in a very good position to bargain with the powers that be. They’re a lot more interested in nailing somebody for two premeditated murders than a small fry like you.”
“You think so?” Her face lit up with hope.
Savannah was almost touched, in spite of herself. “I know so.”
“But I’m afraid if I leave here, if I come out of hiding, Mack will kill me. I know he must be looking for me. He even came by here yesterday and poked around. I saw him out that window. I was scared to death that he’d think to come up here. But he didn’t.”
“I promise we’ll keep you safe from Mack.”
“We?”
“Yes. Me and my friend, who’s a cop, and Tom Stafford. They’re waiting right now at the end of the driveway in Tom’s cruiser, and they’ve heard everything we’ve said.”
She opened her blouse to show the microphone clipped to her bra. “They’ve heard it and recorded it. Anybody who listens to this tape will want to work with you, I promise.”
Bonnie’s mouth hung open, her eyes huge. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“No, you’ll be helped. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Then, speaking into the vicinity of her left breast, she added, “Come and get us, boys. We ladies will meet you on the front verandah.”
Savannah crouched in the bushes at the edge of the picnic area and surveyed the riverside park for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes. Feeling chiggers, ticks, fleas, and probably a copperhead snake crawling up her legs, she cursed Dirk and Tom. Only under her breath, but enough for the sensitive microphone on her walkie-talkie to pick it up.
“I heard that,” Tom said, his voice crackling in the air waves.
“Up yours. I don’t care if you did or not,” she replied. “This sucks. And I’ll tell you again, if anything happens to her—after me promising her we’d keep her safe—I’ll get you.”
“She agreed to do it,” the walkie-talkie replied in Dirk’s voice. She could see the bush on the ridge above them where he was positioned. From there he could watch the road leading into the park and let them know who was arriving when.
“Like she had a lot of choice,” Savannah said. “Sheriff Mahoney telling her that if she didn’t he’d—”
“Heads up. She’s coming in,” Dirk said. “The old Dodge is turning off the highway right now. And here she is.”
The Charger rumbled down the dirt road, raising the dust in its wake. Savannah didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. For a moment there, she had entertained the thought that Bonnie Patterson might get behind the wheel and not stop until she had crossed a foreign border.
But she had decided to go for it. And Savannah had to admit that her estimation of the woman had crept up a few notches. For a frosted blond bimbo-head with big boobs, she wasn’t so bad.
The Charger came to a stop near Savannah’s position.
Good, she thought. Miss Bonnie can follow directions, even when she’s nervous.
“That’s fine,” she heard Dirk say. “Just sit right there and wait. I’ll tell you when I see him.”
“Okay.” The word was hardly more than a squeak, but at least Bonnie’s microphone was working.
After a frantic call to John and Ryan in California, a batch of top-notch surveillance equipment had been couriered to McGill from Atlanta within hours. Savannah intended to kiss them both soundly the next time she laid eyes on them.
Bonnie had made her phone call to Mack, suggesting their meeting . . . also taped, of course . . . and they were in business.
He had agreed to show up at noon, here beside the river, for a little business chat, as Bonnie had phrased it.
Savannah wondered if he was already making plans to dump the remains in the river once he had finished his “business” with Bonnie.
“Okay, I see him now,” Dirk said. “He’s in his Mercedes, and he’s entering the park. Hold tight, Bonnie. Everything’s cool. I’m on my way down right now, and Savannah and Tom have got you covered from the left and right.”
“Pull your car up closer to the bushes there by the side of the road,” Savannah told her. “Get really close.”
Bonnie drove the Charger so near to Savannah that she could see the terrified look and the sheen of sweat on her face.
“That’s good. Right there. I’m only a few feet from you, kiddo,” Savannah said in her best big-sister voice.
“I . . . can’t see you,” Bonnie replied.
“That’s the whole idea. Neither will he.”
“But I’m so nervous. He’ll know something’s up.”
“No, he won’t,” Tom said. “He’d expect you to be nervous under the circumstances. Are your doors locked?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Wait till he comes over to the car and just roll your window down an inch or so to talk to him. Do you remember what we told you to say?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Okay, everybody stop talking now. It’s show time,” Dirk said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Savannah saw him slipping through the brush coming up behind her. Tom was out of sight, but she knew he was only twenty feet away.
As the Mercedes made its way slowly down the dusty road, she ducked deeper into the brush. No matter how many times she did this, she was convinced some part of her anatomy—her elbow, her butt—would stick out, giving her position away.
As the car pulled closer, Savannah could see Mack Goodwin behind the wheel. He was looking right and left, scanning the bushes. Mack might be a murderer, but he was no dummy. Like a brown bear in an apple orchard, he smelled a trap.
Dirk crawled up behind her and touched her lightly on the back. She nodded ever so slightly, not taking her eyes off the car.
Finally, Goodwin cut the engine and got out. He strolled up to the Charger and looked through the back window, checking the rear seat and floorboard before speaking.
“Okay, I’m here,” he said. “Now what?”
“I . . . I figured you were looking for me,” Bonnie said. “I saw you pull out of our alley Friday night and . . .”
“And?”
“And I thought we should talk.”
He hardly looked at Bonnie at all. His eyes constantly scanned the surrounding brush, the road, and the path leading down to the lake.
Savannah looked him over as best she could from her limited position. He was wearing a polo shirt and slacks. No obvious bulges that indicated a weapon. But he could have something in his rear waistband or on his ankle.
“So, talk,” he said. “And roll that fuckin’ window down.”
“No,” Bonnie replied, her voice shaking but definite. “I don’t want you to grab me. I don’t want you to kill me like you did Alvin.”
“Look, you stupid broad. You asked me to come out here and talk to you, so tell me what you want.”
“I want to leave town. That’s all. I want to go home to Tennessee. I’ll let you have the mansion and all the money. I don’t care about it anymore. I just need enough for a plane ticket. About four hundred would do it.”
Savannah watched his face, watched his eyes.
She had seen killers’ eyes. They went cold, vacant, just before . . .
“How do I know you won’t come back for more, like your boyfriend did?”
“He was stupid. I told him not to do that. I warned him you’d hurt him. I won’t. I promise. I know you’d kill me.”
“And how do I know you haven’t told anyone else anything?”
“I haven’t. I swear! I’m too scared of you to do anything like that.”
His eyes glittered, then went empty. “What makes you think I won’t kill you right here and now?” His voice was strangely flat, as though he was giving a weather report.
He stepped closer to the car.
Savannah knew she couldn’t wait any longer. She crawled to the back of the Charger. Dirk moved to the front.
Mack reached behind him and pulled a pistol from the waistband of his slacks. He stuck the barrel through th
e gap at the top of Bonnie’s window and pointed it at her face.
“Open the door, you miserable bitch,” he said. “You and I are going for a walk down by the river.”
“No!” Bonnie started crying hysterically.
“Open it or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off right now!”
“No, you won’t,” Savannah said calmly, rising from the back of the car, holding her Beretta in both hands, combat-style. “You’re going to lay your weapon there on the top of the car, real nice and slow. Other wise . . . you’re dead.”
She watched the shock in his eyes turn to fury and indecision. For half a heartbeat, she thought he was going to turn his gun on her. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at her.
“I’m an excellent shot,” she said. “Are you? I mean . . . you took down the judge, but he probably wasn’t expecting it. And he wasn’t armed with a 9mm that would rip a hole in you like a cannon ball.”
“I’m pretty good, too,” Dirk said, leaning over the hood of the Charger. “Not as good as her, but I can hit a stationary target. Drop it.”
Tom stepped up behind Mack and cocked his own pistol, shoving the barrel against the back of his neck. “Lay it on the top of the car, now, Mr. Goodwin. I don’t know about them, but I can’t possibly miss from here.”
Mack Goodwin let out a long breath, like a balloon deflating, and placed his gun on the car.
Dirk grabbed the pistol, and Tom wasted no time cuffing the prosecutor and reading him his rights.
Inside the car, Bonnie Patterson collapsed across the steering wheel, sobbing hysterically.
Savannah ran up to Goodwin and knelt beside his feet in the dirt.
“Now,” she said, “the moment of truth!”
“What?” Mack looked confused. He looked upset. Savannah simply loved the way he looked at that moment.
She reached over and yanked his pants leg up to his knee, then pulled down his sock. “Damn. Nothing.”
She did the same to the other leg.
There, on Mack Goodwin’s ankle, were four rows of deep puncture wounds. One set looked seriously infected.
“Ah-ha! Beauregard, you’re the best hound in Georgia!” she shouted. “I love you, you flop-eared beast!”
Peaches And Screams (A Savannah Reid Mystery) Page 24
