Wicked Craving

by G. A. McKevett

She finally hit the “Pager” button on the base and located it in the cupboard with the cat food.

  Reluctantly, she admitted that things around her house were getting misplaced more and more frequently the older she got. Her reading glasses had wound up in the freezer a couple of days ago, and that couldn’t be a good sign.

  “It’s a good thing my butt’s well attached,” she muttered as she leaned back against the kitchen counter and punched in his number on the phone, “or I’d probably find it in the crisper drawer of the refrigerator.”

  He answered after the second ring. “Coulter.”

  “‘Coulter,’ my butt. Don’t act like you don’t know it’s me. I know you’ve got caller ID. Listen…you aren’t going to believe the news I’ve got,” she started to tell him.

  But he cut her off. “Me, too,” he said. “I just left those road maintenance workers over there where they’re working by Wellman’s office building, and boy, they had a story and a half to tell me! Wait’ll you hear it!”

  “Like I said…I’ve got news of my own! Tammy found out that—”

  “Naw, I’d rather tell you in person. You’ve gotta go with me on another interview anyway. I’ll swing by and pick you up in ten minutes.” He hung up.

  She stood there, staring at the silent phone in her hand, wondering if this was what it felt like to be ignored and taken for granted.

  “Yes,” she muttered to herself. “This is exactly what it feels like. That boy needs a good skillet whack upside the head. That’d cross his eyes and set him straight.”

  When she walked back into the living room, where Tammy, Ryan, John, and Gran were still gathered around the computer, Tammy said, “Well, was he impressed with what we found out?”

  “I didn’t tell him.”

  “You what?”

  “He irked me, so I held out on him. That’ll teach him.” She walked over to her favorite chair, sat down, scooped Cleo into her lap, and kicked her shoes off. “Actually, he’s on his way here to pick me up in a few minutes. Said he wanted to take me on some interview. I’ll tell him the news when he gets here.”

  Savannah looked across the room at her grandmother sitting there next to Tammy, a twinkle in her eyes, a broad grin lighting her face. She enjoyed “sleuthing”—as Tammy called it—as much as any of them. In fact, Savannah was pretty sure she had inherited her nosiness from Granny, along with the famous Reid blue eyes, curvaceous, bodacious figure, and occasional bouts of pure cussedness.

  “Don’t worry, Gran,” she said. “I’m not going out with him again today. I’m staying home and visiting with you. We’ll bake some brownies and watch a Cary Grant movie together. Sound good?”

  “Sounds ridiculous,” Gran replied. “If Dirk wants you to go on an interview with him, you hightail it outta here. You’re not going to sit around the house keeping an old lady company when you could be catching a cold-blooded, good-for-nothing-but-fertilizer killer.”

  “She certainly isn’t,” John said. “Savannah’s going with Dirk, and you, dear lady, are coming out to dinner with us at Chez Antoine.”

  Granny lifted her hands in heavenly surrender. “Oh, if I have to. But you tell that Antoine, ‘no snails or frog legs.’”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure he remembers how you feel about those delicacies from the last time we took you there,” Ryan said.

  “Indeed,” John added. “I believe everyone who was dining at Antoine’s that evening remembers that you don’t eat…how did you put it? Ah yes—reptiles, amphibians, or critters that slither around in their own slime.”

  As Ryan passed by Savannah on his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, she caught him by the arm and whispered in his ear, “Do you think Antoine will let her back in the place, you know, considering?”

  “All taken care of. When I heard Gran was coming to town, I called him and asked him to cater John’s next birthday party.”

  “But that isn’t for eleven months. Don’t you think he’ll find your motives a little suspect when you walk in there with Gran on your arm tonight?”

  “Sure he will. But Antoine’s far too gentlemanly to throw a dear, silver-haired lady out of his restaurant…in front of his other customers.”

  Savannah looked back at her grandmother, who was still sitting next to Tammy, both of them studying the images on the computer monitor with rapt attention. “I’d like to see anybody try to throw my granny anywhere she didn’t want to go. They might accomplish it, but oh…the scratching, the biting, the kicking and gouging. All that blood and gore.”

  Ryan thought it over and shook his head. Somberly, he said, “It wouldn’t be worth the price they’d pay.”

  “Not even close.”

  Savannah had expected a pretty spectacular reaction from Dirk when she told him the news about Robert and Maria Wellman—specifically, that they weren’t Robert and Maria Wellman.

  And she wasn’t disappointed.

  He nearly ran the Buick off the road and into a lemon grove.

  “Are you kidding me?” he asked, slightly bug-eyed.

  “I kid you not. Brother and sister.”

  “That’s so gross.” He shuddered. “You don’t think they…you know…yuck.”

  She shivered along with him. “You’re so typically male. Your brain automatically gravitates toward ‘nasty.’ I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “Oh, you did, too.”

  “Well, I thought about it for a minute. Then I decided that they’re just living in the same house, posing as husband and wife, for some other bad—but not icky—reason. Something that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with creepy stuff.”

  “Like incest.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

  “Maybe they’re serial killers on the run. Maybe they ran a brothel outside Las Vegas and robbed and murdered all their johns, left ’em hanging on meat hooks in a trailer in the backyard…something like that?”

  She shot him an alarmed sideways look. “You scare me sometimes, boy.”

  “Live in fear, woman. Live in fear.”

  “Yeah…whatever.”

  They drove along in silence for a while down the narrow, two-lane road that wound among the citrus groves that bordered the town on the east side. The dark green leaves of the trees contrasted beautifully with the snowy blossoms, and the sun-warmed, ripening fruit scented the moist, late afternoon air with an intoxicating perfume. Once in awhile, they passed a stand of eucalyptus trees, planted to function as windbreaks, and that fragrance mingled with the others.

  Situated high on the foothills, the road also afforded an occasional view of the ocean in all its splendor.

  After living here so long, Savannah thought she might have grown accustomed to the breathtaking beauty of the glittering, turquoise sea. But she hadn’t. And she was sure she never would.

  “Oh yeah,” she said, snapping out of her commune with nature and back to business. “You didn’t tell me your news.”

  He looked a little pouty when he said, “Well, now that you told me that thing of yours, it doesn’t seem so important.”

  “Took the wind out of your sails a bit, did I?”

  “Sorta. And I’m not sure what it might have to do with what you guys uncovered.”

  “So, lay it on me and maybe I can figure that out, too.”

  He sniffed. “Get over yourself.”

  She laughed and punched him on the bicep. “You haven’t even told me where we’re going, who we’re going to interview.”

  “You haven’t given me a chance to talk since you got in the car.”

  “The floor’s all yours, puddin’ cat.” She glanced down at the floorboard, littered with newspapers, boxing magazines, and mostly empty fast-food containers. “Garbage and all.”

  He turned left, leaving the picturesque foothill road and heading down into town…the bad part of town…Stumpy’s part of town.

  But not anymore, Savannah thought with a self-satisfied grin.

  “So, give me your news, b
oy,” she said. “Lay it on me. What did the street maintenance guys have to say?”

  “A couple of them were gals. Women’s lib’s brought you girls a long way. Now you can fill potholes with the good ol’ boys.”

  Savannah shrugged. “It had to happen. A woman’s got a right to do roadwork and anything else she wants to do. And, of course, being female, she’ll do it better.”

  “You’re just feelin’ cocky because you got better news than me today.”

  “Is mine better?”

  “Yeah, but mine’s pretty good.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is, or just keep me guessing?”

  He gave her a mischievous grin.

  “I know what that look means,” she said. “It means I’m going to be getting mighty irked at you mighty quick.”

  He pointed to a sign up ahead and a dirt road entrance. “We’re already there,” he said.

  “Canyon Park? Your mysterious interview is in the park?”

  “Yeap. Watch and listen.”

  He drove the Buick down the long, narrow road that stretched from one end of the park to the other, passing the swings and slides, the sandbox and barbecue pits.

  Ahead, Savannah saw a yellow minibus in the parking lot. A group of elementary school children stood in a cluster near the bus, listening to a couple of women and a young man.

  Savannah recognized one of the females. “Roxanne? You’re here to see her?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

  “Don’t irritate the crap outta me, I won’t slap your jaws.”

  He parked near the bus and opened his car door. “Follow me,” he said. “This should be fun.”

  For once, she did as he said and trailed along behind him as he strolled over toward the kids and their chaperones.

  When they were about thirty feet away, Roxanne Rosen glanced their way. The moment she recognized them, a look of anger mixed with apprehension passed over her face. But she quickly covered it with a wooden half smile.

  Savannah noticed that she was dressed far more conservatively than before in loose-fitting, dark green slacks and a long-sleeved shirt of the same color. The seal of the city of San Carmelita was embroidered on the shirt’s pocket.

  “Hello again,” Savannah said to her as they walked up to her.

  “Uh…yeah, hi,” she replied, giving a furtive glance to the right, then to the left, as though looking for an escape route.

  “Hello, Miss Rosen,” Dirk said. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy. We’ve got to get these kids back into the bus and on their way.” With a wave of her hand, she indicated the group of kids and other adults, who were all listening intently, sensing something was amiss with one of their attendants.

  “I’m busy, too,” Dirk replied, considerably less friendly than before. He turned to the other woman in the group. “Can you do without Miss Rosen here for a couple of minutes? I’m a”—he looked down at the innocent, young faces, all aglow with interest—“a law enforcement official…if you know what I mean.”

  “The S-C-P-D?” the woman said, equally cryptic.

  “Precisely.”

  “Okay.” She turned to Roxanne. “We can handle them. Do what you have to do.”

  Reluctantly, Roxanne left the group and joined Savannah and Dirk. As they walked away from the children, Savannah overheard one little girl say, “Boy, when they start spelling stuff, you know it’s bad.”

  “You’d better have a good excuse for embarrassing me like that in front of the children and my fellow volunteers,” Roxanne said, once they were over by the picnic tables and well out of earshot of the others.

  “Volunteers?” Savannah said.

  “Yeah. We bring underprivileged kids out here once a month for an all-day field trip. It’s part of the Parks and Recreation program.” Roxanne plunked herself down on one of the picnic table benches and ran her fingers through her thick, carefully mussed curls. “I’m trying to do a good thing here, and you have to come along and ruin it.”

  Dirk sat down across the table from her. Savannah did the same.

  “There’s no reason at all for you to be embarrassed,” he told her. “The kids don’t know what’s up, and as far as the adults…Your boss’s wife got murdered. That’s no secret; it’s all over the news. It only stands to reason that you’d be questioned by the cops. So, get over it. You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of, right?”

  The piercing look he gave her put even Savannah on alert. What was going on here? Savannah knew that about-to-shoot-somebody-at-high-noon squint. And she knew that Dirk reserved it for people who had the dubious honor of ranking number 1 on his suspect list.

  “Where were you night before last?” Dirk asked. “And don’t lie to me, because I promise you that I’m going to check it out.”

  She thought it over, then shrugged. “Hanging out with my girlfriends at Rick’s Disco.”

  “What time, exactly?”

  She batted her suspiciously turquoise eyes a few times, looked around, as if looking for someone to rescue her, then said, “About eight o’clock.”

  “No later than that? Rick told me you usually come in around ten.”

  “I went in early, okay? It was Becky’s birthday. We were celebrating.”

  “What did you do before that?”

  “I sat at home and watched TV and drank screwdrivers. And since you’re probably going to ask…that’s what I did when I left there, too, okay? Now that I don’t have a job anymore, that’s what I do.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, making the fake aqua blue of her eyes even more intense. She folded her hands in front of her, fingers laced together, and stared down at them. “And I volunteer to help kids with crappy lives have a good time once a month. That’s me. That’s what I did that night. That’s what I do.”

  Something in the young woman’s words and demeanor touched Savannah. And, just for a moment, Savannah could feel herself hoping that Roxanne Rosen wasn’t the one who killed Maria Wellman, aka Gina Martini.

  “Why don’t you have a job anymore?” Savannah asked.

  Roxanne wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “What?”

  “You said you don’t have a job anymore. What happened?”

  “Yeah.” Dirk leaned across the table, staring at her with that strange look again. “Tell us all about that, Roxie.”

  Roxanne tugged at the cuff of her sleeve. “They…Dr. Wellman…he let me go.”

  “Why?” Dirk wanted to know.

  “I guess they needed to make cuts…not as much business or whatever,” she said.

  “And now you’re lying to me.” He turned to Savannah. “Tell her how much I love being lied to.”

  “He’d rather have a prostate exam and a root canal…at the same time. Don’t lie to him. It makes him cranky.”

  Roxanne tugged on her cuffs again, then sighed and said, “Okay. Maria was actually the one who fired me. She and I had an argument about…some stuff and…”

  “What stuff?” Savannah asked.

  “She was always on me about one thing or the other. She was terrified that they weren’t going to make every single dollar they possibly could. She watched how much paper I used in the office, how many pens and paper clips I went through. I never met anybody so greedy in all my life.”

  “You got fired because of an argument over paper clips?” Dirk said. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Cranky,” Savannah whispered, nodding toward Dirk. “Very cranky.”

  “It started over printer ink. I printed out some invitations to my nephew’s birthday party on the office printer, and she got all in a tizzy over it. It was as we were closing the office for the day. She followed me out to the parking lot and…well…it kinda escalated there.”

  Ah, Savannah thought. This is what the road crew saw…Dirk’s big news.

  Dirk gave Roxanne a nasty little g
rin. “I know what happened in the parking lot. So you’d better tell me your side of it and not leave anything out.”

  Roxanne looked like she was about to be sick. But Savannah could see the resignation in her eyes as she started to speak. She had a certain look of relief that came from deciding to tell the truth. “Like I said, it started with the business about me using the office’s ink and paper. Ten whole sheets! But I’d had a really bad day with some patients yelling at me, telling me they wanted their money back because the CDs were a big rip-off. And I just sort of snapped.”

  “Is that when you hit her?” Dirk said.

  “No, there wasn’t anything physical. It was just a verbal thing.” Again, she pulled nervously at the edge of her shirt cuff.

  Dirk reached across the table and grabbed her around the wrist. “Then you won’t mind if I roll up your sleeve and look at your arm, right?”

  When she didn’t reply, he unbuttoned her cuff and pushed the material up her arm.

  Four long, parallel scratches lined the inside of her forearm. They were deep, ugly, and red, as though infected.

  “Maria Wellman broke her nails on you,” Dirk said. “Several witnesses saw the two of you going at each other, hitting, scratching, and pulling hair, so don’t tell me it didn’t get physical.”

  Roxanne hung her head, pulled her sleeve back down and buttoned it.

  “So,” Dirk continued, “she yelled at you, and that’s when you snapped and tied into her.”

  “No! That’s when I told her that she had bigger things to worry about than paper and ink. I told her that her husband was screwing every female patient he could get his hands on, and it was a matter of time before they got sued and he lost his license.”

  Savannah shot a quick sideways glance at Dirk to see if this was news to him, too. It was. She saw the momentary look of surprise on his face before he squelched it.

  “And that’s when she hit me,” Roxanne said.

  “She struck you first?” Dirk asked.

  “She slapped me across the face, and nobody slaps me and gets away with it.” Roxanne’s eyes blazed with anger, and it occurred to Savannah that this girl would, indeed, be capable of killing someone if they pushed her too far.