Wicked Craving

by G. A. McKevett

  “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.”

  “Naw, they don’t care. Said they were in the neighborhood anyway. But that’s not why I called you. I was doing some stuff here on the computer, and then they came, and we’ve all been sitting here doing research on that Wellman guy and his wife.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “You gotta see this! We’ve found something really, really cool! Can you come home and see it?”

  Savannah knew she could just ask Tammy what she’d found and continue to enjoy her time with Gran on the pier. But poor Tammy worked so hard for the pittance Savannah could afford to throw her way whenever a paying job came along.

  And Gran was right about one thing: Tammy loved Savannah and the work they did together. She thrived on whatever meager praise she received and, of course, the pleasure of playing Nancy Drew and solving cases.

  Savannah figured the least she could do was play along with her.

  She covered her phone with her hand and said to Gran, “She’s dancing in her bloomers over there abou
t something she’s found on the Internet. Do you mind if we go home and see what it is before she pops?”

  “Let’s see…go back to your house, put my feet up, pet those pretty kitties of yours, and eat whatever goodies you put in front of me. Hm-m-m.”

  “Ryan and John are there.”

  “And feast my eyes upon the likes of Ryan Stone and John Gibson.” She placed the back of her hand to her forehead, fluttered her eyelashes, and did her best Scarlet O’Hara almost-swoon. “’Twill be a hardship, but I’ll bear up.”

  When Savannah and Gran arrived back at her house, they found Tammy sitting at the rolltop desk in the corner, staring at the computer screen. Ryan and John had arranged a couple of Savannah’s dining room chairs on either side of her, and they, too, were absorbed in what she was doing.

  Cleo was curled up asleep on Ryan’s lap, and Di was on John’s, savoring a prolonged scratch behind the ear.

  Diamante and Cleopatra firmly believed that if anybody sat down, creating a lap, it should be immediately occupied by a feline who was either napping or getting petted or both.

  “So,” Gran said, “what’s all the ruckus about?”

  “Yeah, it better be good,” Savannah added. “That beach was mighty pretty today.” She glanced at Gran. “And the company was nice, too.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your day,” Tammy told them. “But this couldn’t wait. And we had to actually show it to you…couldn’t just tell you about it.”

  Ryan stood, cradling the cat in his arms. “Here, Granny,” he said, indicating his chair with a nod. “Sit down and look at what we’ve got.”

  “I don’t go in much for computers and the like,” Granny said, but she gladly took the seat.

  “Come over here, dear,” John told Savannah as he, too, rose and offered his chair. He set a disgruntled Diamante on the floor. With a switching tail, she strutted away into the kitchen.

  Savannah sat down and gave Tammy a nudge. “Okay, I’m all eyes and ears. Lay it on me.”

  “Well…” Tammy said, milking the drama, “…before Ryan and John dropped by, I was finding all sorts of stuff on here about Wellman and his wife. They’d really only become rich and famous last year. Before that, nobody had heard of them. And boy, does he have some quacky ideas about weight loss.”

  “Like what?” Savannah asked.

  “His hypnosis, reprogramming-the-mind stuff. I mean, hypnosis can be a valuable tool to help a person eat the right things and exercise regularly. And I’m sure it helps someone who’s trying to lose weight to understand why they overeat…you know…un-resolved emotions and all that.”

  Savannah reined in her impatience and said as calmly as she could, “Okay…and you found…?”

  “All this stuff about how he thinks that fat is just stored emotions, and if you listen to his CDs or watch his DVDs, even one time, you can stir up all those repressed emotions and release them and all your fat into the universe.”

  “Well, a bunch of people have bought his stuff, and I haven’t seen big blobs of fat floating up into the sky…so, I guess it’s safe to assume it doesn’t work that way.” Savannah drew a deep, steadying breath. “So, he’s a schmuck. Anything that might help us solve the murder?”

  “When Ryan and John got here, I told them what I was doing, and how I wasn’t finding any information about them, except this recent stuff. Robert and Maria Wellman both just sort of appeared out of nowhere. I couldn’t even find out where they had lived before moving to San Carmelita a couple of years ago.”

  “And that,” Ryan said, “was when John suggested we check out the family tree and ancestry sites.”

  John nodded. “I thought perhaps if we knew where their families lived—parents and siblings—we could start from there.”

  “And we found something very interesting.” Ryan pointed to the screen. “Show them, Tammy.”

  “I found a number of Wellman family trees. One in particular seems to be centered in the Las Vegas area.” A few entries and clicks of the mouse and Tammy was on the site. She pointed to the diagrams on the screen that showed the various branches of the family.

  “As you can see,” she continued, “this is a particularly well-developed site. They have little paragraphs telling something about each family member, and most of them even have a picture of the person.”

  “This is good,” Granny said, squinting at the monitor. “We need one of these for the Reid bunch. Although we’d need a heap bigger screen than that one when we got to our nine younguns.”

  “I found Maria and Robert Wellman here on the family tree,” Tammy said. Again, she entered her search data and clicked. “There they are.”

  She pointed to the screen, where the photo of a couple—possibly taken on their wedding day—was displayed with a caption beneath that read: ROBERT AND MARIA WELLMAN.

  Savannah only had to look at the faded picture to know it was taken about fifty years ago. The lady’s pillbox hat with a half veil and the man’s bow tie and sharkskin suit with tiny, narrow lapels, spoke of a yesteryear’s fashions.

  The smiling lady in the photograph, holding a bouquet of roses, bore no resemblance at all to their victim. But, although the man wasn’t the same Robert Wellman she and Dirk had interviewed earlier, he did have similar facial features.

  “That might be Wellman’s parents,” Savannah said. “They’re around the right age, and this guy looks a little like the doctor.”

  “Maybe Robert’s a junior,” Gran suggested. “I don’t know if they go in for that in Nevada, but we got us a mess o’ juniors down South.”

  “That’s what we thought at first, too.” Ryan was grinning like a magician with a great trick somewhere up his sleeve.

  “But we kept looking,” John said. He patted Tammy’s shoulder. “Show them, love.”

  Tammy moved her cursor around on the screen, made a few selections, and brought up new images.

  “We saw plenty of pictures, even some videos, of Dr. Wellman and his wife on other Web sites, plus seeing him on TV,” she said. “So we were searching, looking for similar names or people who looked like them. Imagine how surprised we were to see this….”

  Savannah watched the new frame pop up on the monitor. There was no doubt about it; the face looking back at her was Robert Wellman. And it wasn’t the Robert Wellman wearing the bow tie, either. This was the man she had spoken to in his seaside mansion…the guy whose wife had just been found murdered.

  Tammy pointed to the caption beneath the picture.

  Savannah stared at it, uncomprehendingly, for a moment. Then she said, “Who the heck is Bobby Martini?”

  “Exactly.” Tammy giggled.

  “Maybe they got it wrong…the people who made up the Web site. Maybe it was an accident, putting ‘Bobby Martini’ under Robert Wellman’s picture.”

  “That’s no mistake,” John said. “His name and picture are on a number of this site’s pages. We studied the family tree, branch by branch. Your so-called Dr. Wellman is the real Robert Wellman’s nephew. And his name is Martini.”

  “So, Bobby Martini assumed his uncle’s identity?” Savannah’s head was spinning, processing this new information and thinking how much fun it was going to be to tell Dirk.

  “According to the social security death index,” Tammy said, “Robert Wellman, the uncle, died five years ago. How much do you want to bet that Martini is using his uncle’s social security number?”

  “But how about his wife, Maria?” Granny said. “If Robert Wellman is really Bobby Martini, then Maria’s name isn’t…I mean, wasn’t…Wellman, either.”

  Tammy started jiggling around in her seat, like a kindergartner who desperately needed to go to the little girls’ room. “Oh, oh, that’s the best part! Here, look at this.”

  Again, more clicking, typing, searching. And another picture appeared on the screen.

  It was Maria Wellman, all right. She was about ten years younger and had black hair, but there was no doubt in Savannah’s mind this w
as the same person. “That’s her, but…the name…Gina? Who’s Gina Martini?”

  Granny shook her head and sighed. “I’m all bum-fuzzled now. People oughta have to keep the name the good Lord gave ’em. And the hair color, too. Otherwise it’s just all too confusing.”

  “So, Gina ripped off Bobby Martini’s aunt’s identity, too?” Savannah asked. “Robert and Maria Wellman are really Bobby and Gina Martini. Wow.”

  “Hold on to your hat,” Ryan said. “It gets better.”

  Savannah wasn’t sure she could handle “better.” But she said, “Okay, lemme have it.”

  Tammy brought up yet another page, which was a picture of an enormous oak tree. On the limbs and branches of the tree were text boxes, containing names, dates, and the relationships between those remembered there.

  “The family tree,” Savannah said. “In all its glory.”

  Tammy tapped on the screen with her fingernail. “Check it out. Right there.”

  Savannah read what it said. Then she read it again. And then once more.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered, forgetting for the moment that her grandmother was sitting nearby.

  “Yeah,” Tammy said, terribly pleased with herself.

  “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Gran asked breathlessly.

  “Yeap,” Ryan replied. “Bobby Martini and Gina Martini weren’t husband and wife. They were brother and sister.”

  Granny did a tsk-tsk and shook her head. “I thought I’d seen some nasty cow-pucky back where I come from, but that there…that’s one mighty messed-up family.”

  Chapter 8

  Savannah waited as long as she could stand it to call Dirk—one minute and thirty seconds. And it only took her that long because someone had left the phone off the charger, and she couldn’t find it.