Wicked Craving

by G. A. McKevett

  “But the witnesses back up Rosen’s version of the story that it was Maria who struck first.” Dirk set his empty beer bottle on a nearby table and reached into the cooler for a cola. “And we got the idea that Roxanne won the fight and was happy enough with that. I don’t know if she had enough anger left over to drive her to murder somebody.”

  “And no alibi but the telly?” John said.

  Savannah nodded. “That’s right.”

  “I think she might be trying to blackmail Wellman,” Dirk said. “There at the house on the beach, we overheard her demanding money from him or else she’ll go to the authorities. She claims she just wants the wages he owes her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s more than that.”

  “Maybe,” Tammy suggested, “she knows that his name isn’t really Wellman. She may even know why Bobby and Gina Martini changed their names to Robert and Maria Wellman, and why they were pretending to be husband and wife.”

  “Most folks don’t go changing identities like that without a good…or should I say, bad…reason,” Granny said. “They had some wickedness to cover up, or they wouldn’t have done such a thing.”

  “Maybe they were part of a witness protection program,” Ryan suggested. “Do you want John and me to check with our friends at the Bureau and find out?”

  “That’d be great.” Dirk took a swig from his soda can. “I’ve got a call in to the FBI, but as usual, they’re ignoring me. It’s nice to have buddies who used to be feds.”

  Savannah smiled and thought how far her friends had come in the past few years. The love of solving crimes created a strong bond among people who didn’t have much else in common. Ryan and John drank fine wines, ate gourmet food, went to the theater, and supported the local symphony.

  Dirk was a beer and hotdogs, Dodger stadium, and boxing on Pay-Per-View sort of dude.

  But they all loved to nail a bad guy…especially if the bad guy, or girl, was a cold-blooded killer.

  “Then we have Brian Mahoney,” Dirk said. “He’s a big, nasty husband of one of Wellman’s patients…a patient the doctor seduced. Mahoney actually caught his wife and Wellman in a compromising position—actually, it was his wife who was compromised—and he blackmailed Wellman.”

  “You know that for a fact?” Ryan asked.

  Savannah nodded. “His wife admitted it to me. She also admitted that her husband is violent with her. He even smacked Wellman around when he caught them together.”

  “But if Wellman has been paying this Mahoney fellow,” John said, “why would Mahoney kill Mrs. Wellman? He was angry at Wellman, not her. And by doing something so drastic as murdering Wellman’s wife—or sister, as it turns out—he could risk killing the goose that lays the golden egg.”

  “Mahoney doesn’t strike me as a guy who really thinks things through,” Savannah told him. “And who knows, Wellman might have decided to cut him off. Mahoney may have come back for more, and Wellman told him to forget it.”

  “For all we know,” Dirk said, “the killer went to the house that night intending to murder Wellman, not Maria, and then things went wrong.”

  “Then we have Karen Burns, who we interviewed today.” Savannah reached down and massaged her sore calf. “She says she’s pregnant with Wellman’s kid.”

  “If that’s true, she’d have a pretty powerful motive to kill off the wife,” Granny said. “It’s not like it ain’t been done before. Many a man’s put his wife in danger by fooling around with an unstable woman.”

  Tammy spoke up. “What if Karen found out that Robert and Maria were brother and sister? I’d think that would make Karen pretty mad, having him tell her that he can’t leave his wife for her, and then to find out he’s not even married.”

  Savannah shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s really gaga over him. And she’s giving him an alibi. She says he was with her after the ball. Not at home the way he claims he was.”

  “Yeah,” Dirk said. “I’m going to have to talk to Wellman about that.”

  “When are you going to tell him that you know who he really is?” Tammy wanted to know.

  “As soon as I find out why he’s living under an alias,” Dirk replied. “If he was able to disappear once before and then establish a new identity in another area, he might do it again. I don’t want to show him my hand until I’m sure what all my cards are.”

  “Well, I’m sure of one thing,” Gran said. “Mighty sure. That blackberry cobbler is calling out to me from inside the kitchen. And I figure that homemade ice cream has seasoned just enough. I need a few scoops of each.”

  “How true.” Savannah got up and tried not to limp as she headed for the back door. “Man…and woman…do not live by crime solving alone. We need empty calories to keep us going!”

  “Here, here!”

  “Now you’re talking!”

  “Go get it, girl!”

  “Don’t bring me much,” Dirk said. “Remember I’m on a diet.”

  “Good,” replied Gran. “I’ll have his, too.”

  “Are you going out with your young man again this morning?” Gran asked as she and Savannah sat in the living room with their morning coffee and enormous glazed cinnamon buns on Savannah’s best Royal Albert Old Country Roses china.

  “I thought I’d tell him no today,” Savannah said. “I’ve been neglecting you awfully bad and—”

  “Oh, stop it! That’s just flat dab silly. I’m staying a long time this visit—probably till you kick me out….”

  “It’ll never happen.”

  “And you’ve got work to do, and I understand that. Besides, Tammy’s driving me to Santa Monica. I want to go walking on that pier.”

  “We’ve got a pier right here in San Carmelita.”

  “Yeah, but it ain’t got a carousel like that ’un.”

  “True.”

  Gran licked some icing off her thumb. “Go call that sweet boy and tell him that you’ve got better things to do than babysit an old lady.”

  Savannah laughed, got up, and walked over to the sofa where Gran was sitting. She leaned down and kissed her soft cheek. “I would never have anything better to do than hang out with you.”

  “Well, I do! I got a carousel horse with my name on it. I was a little girl the last time I climbed onto a merry-go-round, and that’s way too long in between rides. So, you scram, girl. Skedaddle.”

  When Savannah got into the car with Dirk, she was already in a pissy mood. He had told her on the phone earlier that he was going to be a little later than usual picking her up. And he gave the same non-reason as he had before.

  “I’ve got something I’ve gotta do first.”

  That was all he had said. And that tidbit of non-information had been just meager and intriguing enough to stir her curiosity.

  Savannah wasn’t someone who needed her curiosity stirred. It was far too overactive already with no encouragement from anybody.

  But as she settled into the Buick, her former irritation disappeared as new concerns flooded her mind. Or more specifically, her nostrils.

  “What the heck stinks in here?” she exclaimed, rolling down the side window. “Did you leave old pizza on your floorboard again? Or Mexican food? Nothing smells worse than rotten re-fried beans!”

  “I don’t smell anything,” he snapped back.

  “How can you not smell that? It’s deadly.”

  She leaned toward him, and a look of horror crossed her face. “Ohmigawd! It’s you!”

  “Is not!”

  “It is, too. What the heck happened to you?”

  He puffed up like a river frog getting ready to sing. “I didn’t have time to take a shower this morning, okay?”

  “No, no way. I know what you smell like when you miss a shower. Not that bad really, for a guy. But this isn’t a missed-shower stink. You smell like a wet dog.”

  He reached over and rolled down his own car window. Then he roared away from the curb and headed down the street.

  “There, happy now?” he asked, qu
ite huffy.

  “It’s better, as long as the air’s circulating.” She looked him over. The flushed face, the clenched jaw, the eyes that wouldn’t meet hers. “Seriously, Dirk,” she said. “What did you do to yourself today?”

  “Nothing. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not discuss the way I smell.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” she muttered, “I’d rather not smell the way you smell.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just drive to wherever we’re going to. And this time, I don’t even mind if you speed. I just want out of this car.”

  “We’re going to Wellman’s again. I’m going to get in his face about the identity change and ask him about being with Karen the night Maria was killed.”

  “I thought you were going to wait and find out if he’s in some FBI protection program.”

  “I heard from Ryan about an hour ago. He and John already checked on it, and he’s not in any witness program.”

  “Wow, they work fast!”

  “They sure do. And they offered to check out the Island View Hotel where Karen says she and Wellman were that night. I told them, ‘sure. If all you guys have to do is play golf and bat a tennis ball around, have at it.’”

  “You have such a way with words…and people.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “You’re lucky that Ryan and John and I don’t have anything on our own plates right now. You have all this awesome talent at your disposal for free.”

  “They don’t have any hot celebrity bodies to guard at the moment?”

  “They’re like me; business comes and goes. And unlike me, when they have a job, they get paid big bucks.”

  “That’s how they can afford those awesome cars and that fancy condo up on the hill.”

  “Bodyguards to the rich and famous…yes, it pays better than working for the FBI did, I’m sure.”

  “Now, if you can get private detecting to pay better than being a cop did, maybe you can move into a condo on the hill and get a fancy car.”

  “Naw, I like my little house and my Mustang. I’m what’s known as a contented woman. I wouldn’t change a thing about my life…except that awful smell.”

  “The awful-smell discussion is closed.”

  Chapter 13

  A few minutes later, they arrived at Wellman’s house and pulled into his driveway.

  “Are you sure he’s home?” Savannah asked as they got out of the car.

  “Yeah. I called and told him I was coming by…warned him not to go anyplace.”

  “And you figure that did it?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s scared of me.” He grinned as he took her arm and walked her up the sidewalk to the door. “Isn’t everybody?”

  “Only those standing downwind of you.”

  Savannah rang the doorbell and it took some time for Wellman to answer. When he did, he was wearing wet swim trunks and his hair was slicked back and damp. He had a towel thrown around his bare shoulders and a glass in his hand that was half-filled with red juice. The sprig of celery told Savannah it might be a Bloody Mary.

  “Hello again,” she told him. “Nice day for a swim.”

  Wellman nodded. “Unless you’re looking at the rocks where your wife’s body was found,” he replied dryly.

  “Yeah, right,” Dirk said. “Your wife. We need to come in and talk about that.”

  Dirk walked inside without being invited, and Savannah followed close behind him.

  “Have you found those missing jewels yet?” Wellman asked. “The store called me twice already today. They want their merchandise or the money right away.”

  “Let us find out who the murderer is, and then we’ll get to working on those stolen gems, if it’s all the same to you,” Dirk told him.

  “Yes, well, before this conversation goes any further, I’d like to go change clothes, if you don’t mind too much,” Wellman said sarcastically. “I don’t fancy sitting around in a wet swimsuit while talking to the police.”

  “You’re just fine like you are,” Dirk said. “You knew I was coming and had plenty of time to change if you didn’t ‘fancy’ sitting around in your trunks. Let’s go into the backyard. You can sit on your patio furniture if you don’t want to get your expensive couch wet.”

  Dirk headed through the house and out the back door, leaving Wellman little choice but to follow him.

  “Be thankful you’ll be talking to him out in the fresh air,” Savannah told Wellman as they walked out together. “Believe me, it’s a blessing.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Dirk was already sitting on one of the deep-cushioned, wicker chairs. He was wearing a half smile, and his eyes sparkled with a grim sort of mischief. It was a look Savannah often saw on his face when he was getting ready to interview someone—and he had something really good on them.

  Wellman sat down and took a long, long drink from his glass, nearly emptying it.

  “I’d offer you one,” he said as he set the glass on the end table next to his chair, “but I know you’re on duty, and I’m sure it would be against regulations for you to drink alcohol.”

  He gave them both contemptuous looks. “And I’m sure that you two follow all the rules to the letter.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Dirk said, “that’s us. Rule followers all the way…Bobby.”

  Wellman’s face clouded over. “I prefer to go by Robert.”

  “But you used to go by Bobby. Bobby Martini.” Dirk sat back in his chair, lifted his arms, and laced his fingers behind his head. “Tell us about that. Tell us all-l-l about that.”

  “Yeah,” Savannah said, “and don’t spare any of the gory details. We can take it.”

  Wellman looked like someone had just poked his backside with a cattle prod. His face flushed nearly as red as his hair and mustache. “That’s…that’s…personal and none of your business.”

  “A murder was committed right here on your property, mister,” Dirk told him. “That means you have no personal business. None at all. Get used to it. Until I arrest the killer, your life is a friggen open book. Got that?”

  “With numerous really sordid chapters,” Savannah added.

  Dirk leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on his knees, staring at Wellman. “Start talking, and I’m in no mood for any of your bullshit, so give it to me straight.”

  “Start with the identity change,” Savannah said.

  Wellman glanced around him, and for a moment, Savannah thought she could see genuine fear in his eyes. Of what, she wasn’t sure. Was he expecting the rest of the SCPD to come out of the bushes and arrest him? Or was it something else?

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “We did have to change our names and assume new identities. But it was for my wife’s sake. She—”

  “Now there you go,” Dirk said, “pissing me off and spewing crap before you even get started.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ‘what’ us,” Dirk told him. “We already know that Maria wasn’t your wife. Gina was your sister.”

  Savannah gave Wellman a fake smile. “Do yourself a favor, Martini,” she said. “Just assume that whatever you’re hiding, we already know all about it. We’re just giving you a chance here to tell us your side of things, so that we don’t assume the worst about you.”

  “Yeah,” Dirk added. “You don’t want us thinking the worst about you. We have really evil imaginations and our worst is pretty bad.”

  Wellman let out a deep sigh, like a man defeated, and sank down in his chair. “Then if you know Gina was my sister, you know about Vegas and all that mess.”

  Savannah glanced at Dirk, who was as busy as she was, putting on a poker face.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t really blame you and Gina for leaving there like you did.”

  He nodded. “We had to. Gus is a really bad guy, I’m telling you. He went crazy when Gina divorced him, beat her up, threatened to kill her. Me, too. And with his connections, he could ha
ve done it or had somebody else do it. He would have gotten away with it, too.”

  “So, why didn’t you tell us about Gus right away?” Dirk said. “What if he’s the one who killed Maria? He could be long gone by now. All because you didn’t give us the heads-up.”

  “You think I haven’t already thought about that?” Again, he looked around him, staring into the shrubs that bordered the sides of the yard. “I didn’t want to blow my cover here…or whatever you people call it…by telling you about my past. And yet, I figure he probably knows where I am now.”

  “After appearing on those national talk shows, you didn’t have much of a cover to blow,” Savannah mentioned.

  “Yeah, I know. But my agent said I needed the publicity and couldn’t afford to pass up the opportunity to appear on national TV. She said she’d make sure nobody gave out my address.”

  Savannah shook her head. “Once you made your name and face public, you left yourself open. My assistant is good with the Internet, and she can find anybody in about five minutes.”

  “But I’m sure you sold a ton of those worthless CDs of yours,” Dirk said with a touch of bitterness. “So, I guess it was worth the risk.”

  Wellman bristled. “Yes, I did sell a ton of them. And they aren’t worthless. I’ve helped countless people achieve their dreams of weight loss and—”

  “Save it for the infomercials,” Dirk told him with a wave of his hand.

  Savannah took her notebook and pen from her purse. “There’s one thing I need,” she said. “I’m not sure how to spell Gus’s last name. Could you clear that up for me?”

  She mentally crossed her fingers that it wasn’t something like “Smith” or “Brown.”

  Wellman nodded. “Yeah, okay. You spell it A-V-A-N-T-I-S.”

  “Oh, thanks. I thought maybe Avantis had an ‘E’ on the end. That’s helpful.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dirk smirk. Her “gee, how do you spell that?” routine was one of his favorites. And he, himself, couldn’t pull it off. It required a soft, smooth, Southern accent and a certain amount of eyelash batting.