Sugar and Spite

by G. A. McKevett

  “Trying to stay ahead of the aging game, I guess,” Tammy said.

  “Hey, I know how she feels. Wait until you look in the mirror and know you’ve seen better days, and that it’s downhill from now on. For a woman who’s depended on her looks to get by, that can be a real hard nut to crack.”

  “Luckily you and I don’t have to worry about that for another twenty years or so,” Tammy said with a grin that touched Savannah’s heart. The kid wasn’t always honest, but she was sweet.

  “Find out everything you can about these guys,” Savannah said, handing her back the list. “See if anybody has a record or has been involved in anything questionable. We’ll interview them, one by one, but we want to see who’s the most unsavory in the group and start with him. We don’t have time to waste. Dirk’s in jail with scumbags that he busted. Not a good position for any cop to be in. Have you heard anything from Ryan or John?”

  “They haven’t checked in yet, but ...”

  Savannah had a bad feeling. She didn’t like “buts.” “But what?”

  “That Macon person did. He left another message. He’s got your e-mail address now, and he wrote to you.” When Savannah didn’t respond, Tammy pushed a little. “I printed it out,” she said, offering her a sheet of paper. “If you want to read it, you can—”

  “No, thanks, Tammy. I don’t think so.”

  “Okay.” Tammy looked a little hurt and a lot confused. “I’ll leave it here in the mail-in bin for when you get ready to—”

  “Throw it away. I won’t want to read it. Now or later.”

  Tammy hesitated, then placed it carefully in the garbage can. She gave Savannah a concerned look. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

  “Last spring, I think,” she replied. “Why? Is it autumn? Time to go back into the cave?”

  “Maybe you should chow down on some blackberries and apples first. I think that’s what bears do before they hibernate.”

  “Are you implying I’m grouchy?”

  Tammy gave her a sympathetic smile. “No more than would be expected under the circumstances. Seriously, can I make you a nice sandwich or something?”

  Savannah knew she was sincere, but she shuddered to think what sort of “healthy” concoction would come out of her kitchen with Chef Tammy in charge. Maybe a tofu and bean sprout omelet with green weed juice chaser to wash it down.

  “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I think I’ll just go make myself a cup of herbal tea or one of your protein drinks.”

  Tammy raised one eyebrow. “Do you really expect me to believe that you’re going to drink something good for you, something with a vitamin or mineral in it?”

  “Or maybe just a cup of hot chocolate with a big old scoop of Cool Whip on top.”

  “Now that sounds like you.”

  Savannah made her way into the kitchen, followed by the cats, who seemed to think that anytime she entered that room, they would receive nibblets of some sort. They had her well-trained. “All right, all right,” she said as she opened their special “cookie” jar and took out Kitty Snackaroos, bits of foul-smelling, dry cat food shaped like goldfish that stank like a bait-and-tackle shop. The cats had never even seen a goldfish in their lives. But they had a Pavlovian response to the clanking of the cookie-jar top and wound themselves around her ankles, purring loudly.

  It was when she bent over to drop the food into their bowls that black spots began to dance in front of her eyes. She heard the cats purring, but the humming sounded as though it were coming through some sort of filter, and in the far, far distance, she could barely hear Tammy asking her something.

  The strength went out of her legs and they buckled. Then the floor came rushing up at her ... and hit her right in the face. But, fortunately, by that time, she was already completely unconscious, so she didn’t feel a thing.

  When Savannah came to, she was lying on her own bed upstairs. Ryan Stone stood on the left side of the bed, a worried look on his handsome face. On the right was John Gibson, who was holding her wrist, staring at his watch, and timing her pulse.

  “There we go, lass,” he said, “opening those lovely blue eyes of yours. You had us all in quite a dither there for a while. But you’re fine now.” He shone a tiny penlight in first one of her eyes, then the next. “Ah, yes,” he said in a doctory tone. “Pupils equal and responsive. I don’t think any great damage was done by her colliding with the kitchen floor.”

  “The kitchen ... oh, yeah ...” She groaned. “I remember now. I was going to make myself something to drink. I leaned over to feed the cats and ... poof.”

  “Poof, indeed!” John tenderly brushed a curl back from her forehead, while Ryan grabbed her left hand and softly stroked her palm.

  Life could be worse, she decided then and there. If she’d known she would have gotten this much attention, she’d have fainted long ago.

  And what was this? Tammy entering the room with a cup of ... could it be ... ? Yes! Hot chocolate sporting a big blob of Cool Whip on the top! Miss Health Nut had even added a few chocolate sprinkles to garnish the cream!

  No wonder her great-great-grandmothers, pure Southern belles, had swooned at the tip of a hat, if they were treated like invalid princesses.

  “Why, Tammy, you shouldn’t have,” she said as the young woman walked over to the bed and set the steaming mug on the night table.

  “I know,” Tammy grumbled. “There’s enough sugar in that cup to give you diabetes, but I know that’s what you wanted. And you probably passed out from lack of sleep and low blood sugar. So, drink up.”

  “Gladly!”

  Ryan lifted her head with one hand and held the cup with the other while she sipped the wonderful combination of soothing heat and cool refreshment.

  “When did you fellows arrive?” Savannah asked, when she had licked away her foamy white mustache.

  “About five seconds after you did your face plant,” Ryan said. “We helped Tammy get you upstairs and onto the bed. We were just deciding whether or not to call an ambulance.”

  “No! Definitely no ambulances. Heck, I can’t even afford my annual Pap smear, let alone a ride to the hospital that would cost more than a limousine.”

  John looked appalled. “Do you mean to tell me you have no medical insurance?”

  “The only medical insurance I can afford these days,” she said, “is one or two meals a day and a roof over my head. After that, I’m broke.”

  “Barbaric,” John muttered, “this country’s medical industry. Positively savage.”

  “If you feel you need to go to the doctor, Savannah,” Ryan said gently, “we would be glad to take you ... and cover any expenses.”

  “Of course we would, my dear,” John added. “It would be an honor to—”

  “No, no ... just let me have another big swig of that hot chocolate, and I’ll be fit as a fiddle.”

  They obliged her, and as the life-giving chocolate made its way into her bloodstream, she did, indeed, begin to feel better.

  She sat up. Tammy rushed to fluff the pillows behind her head, then sat on the end of the bed, looking worried.

  “Thanks, you guys,” Savannah said. “I just got a little swimmy-headed from not eating or sleeping. I’ve just been so worried about Dirk, and...”

  She looked from John to Ryan, catching the little glance that had passed between them.

  “Oh, no,” she said, “what is it? What were you coming over to tell me? Come on, I’m already sitting down. Out with it!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “We don’t really need to go into all the details now,” Ryan said, continuing to stroke her hand. Normally, she would have savored the attention, but she pulled it away from him.

  “Don’t you hold back on me, Ryan Stone. Spit it out. What did you find at the trailer park?”

  He sank onto the chair beside the bed, looking a bit weary himself. “I found three couples who live in three different trailers immediately around Dirk’s. They all heard Dirk and Polly sh
outing at each other, just minutes before the gunshots.”

  “How many shots did they hear?” Tammy asked.

  “One. Then, less than sixty seconds later, another one.”

  “That would have been when Dirk was wrestling the gun out of the shooter’s hand,” Savannah said.

  The other three gave her dubious looks.

  “Now don’t tell me,” she said, “that you all are having doubts about Dirk, too.”

  No one replied or would meet her eyes. They each stared down at their hands, or the floor, or the bedspread.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Savannah said. “I swear everybody in this blamed county, except for me, thinks Dirk killed his old lady. Dirk roughs up a bad guy once in a while, when he has to in the line of duty, but he wouldn’t squash a bug when he’s off duty. You know that!”

  Again, no reply.

  She sighed. “All right. At least you’re all honest about your doubts. What did you find out, John?”

  “Dirk’s last few cases were: the unpleasant fellow terrorizing seniors in the park, a suspected arson case last month, and a missing person/suspected kidnapping.”

  “We need to check out that Nazi-wanna-be brat,” Savannah said, “just in case some of his misguided friends might have decided to strike a blow for the old swastika. And that arson case. Wasn’t that the old lady down near the waterfront whose house went up in flames just before Christmas?”

  John nodded. “They ruled it an accident in the end, started by a dry Christmas tree and faulty wiring on the decorative lights.”

  “And that missing person,” Savannah said, trying to recall. “Wasn’t that teenager found after all? She hadn’t been nabbed, just ran away with her boyfriend?”

  “That’s correct,” John replied. “She’s safe and sound at home.”

  “Tammy, you check out the boyfriend, just in case he’s carrying some sort of grudge against the cop who brought her back home.”

  “Got it,” Tammy agreed. “By the way, how did your trip to the lab go?”

  “The lab! Oh, shit!” Savannah bolted out of bed so quickly that her head began to spin again. “What time is it?”

  Ryan looked at his watch. “A quarter past five.”

  “Oh, man ... I almost blew it,” she said, “I’ve got to get back to the lab. Eileen said she had something to show me after five.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” Ryan said, placing a gentle but insistent hand on her shoulder.

  She shook it off. “Oh yes, I am. I have to. She acted like it was something important.”

  Ryan looked at John. John nodded.

  “Then we’ll take you there,” Ryan told her. “And no arguing, you understand?”

  Savannah grinned. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be driving the old Bentley today?”

  John laughed, pulled her legs off the bed, and knelt to slip on her loafers. “We are, indeed, madam ...” he said in his best British chauffeur’s voice, “and both we and the automobile in question are at your disposal.”

  Savannah always felt a bit like Cinderella in the magic carriage when she rode in John Gibson’s 1952 silver-and-gray Bentley. He and Ryan further indulged her by allowing her to ride in the backseat, where she usually sipped champagne, took off her shoes, and wriggled her toes into the plush carpet. The dove gray leather seats were deliciously soft ... softer than any purse she had ever been able to afford. And when Ryan and John were escorting her to dinner, they usually placed a lavender rose in the tiny silver vase attached to the side-window post.

  But today the leather beckoned her to lie down, and a second later she was asleep. Her dreams were anything but glamorous. Visions of Polly’s bullet-pierced body fought with images of Dirk, cuffed and vulnerable, behind bars with society’s worst. In her nightmare, she was holding the key to his cell in her hand, but when she tried to unlock the door, the key crumbled as though it were made of thin glass.

  Looking through the bars, she saw a particularly evil-looking inmate with a shiv in his hand, approaching Dirk from the rear. “No!” she screamed. “Look out behind you!”

  A gentle hand shook her awake. “Savannah, we’re here, sweetheart. Wake up.”

  Savannah sat up, looked around, and tried to reorient herself to more peaceful surroundings. She realized that they had transported her back to the industrial park and were parked in the lot beside the forensic lab offices. Ryan was sitting in the front passenger’s seat, leaning back to lightly jostle her.

  “It’s five thirty-two,” John said. “We’ve been watching for a few minutes now. A lady and a chap have left, and no one else has entered. Do you suppose your friend Eileen is alone now?”

  “A chap and a lady, huh? Well, that’s the staff. The coast should be clear. Let’s go.”

  “Let’s?” Ryan said. “Are you sure she’ll talk in front of us? Maybe you should go in alone.”

  “Naw ... I’ll get more out of her if the two of you are along. Eileen has an eye for a handsome fellow. Times two, I should get good and lucky.”

  John was right; Eileen was alone. And Savannah was right; she was instantly, completely smitten by the two men. Savannah had always been amazed to see how women converted into vats of quivering, female gelatin in their presence. The giggling, the tittering, the mincing, the hair fiddling, the eyelash batting ... it was ridiculous. Savannah didn’t want to think about the fact that she had done the same thing for the first year she had known them. Now she was over them. She hardly ever tittered or minced.

  “I’m sorry I had to be so secretive earlier,” Eileen was saying as she led them back to her personal cubicle at the rear of the large room. “But I didn’t want my assistants to know that I had shown you this. I don’t want anyone to know. Ever. You have to promise that you’ll keep it to yourself. I could lose my job if certain people, who aren’t big fans of yours, Savannah, found out that I’d let you see it.”

  “I double-dog promise,” Savannah said, solemnly crossing her heart.

  “Okay, then have a seat.” Eileen pulled up a few chairs, made goo-goo eyes at Ryan, then took a set of keys from the top drawer of her desk. “Wait right here,” she said, before disappearing behind the cubicle’s half wall.

  They heard keys rattling in locks, metal drawers opening and closing. Savannah had a feeling, a good feeling, the sort of premonition she often experienced just before she got a break in a case.

  One look at Ryan and another at John told her they were feeling the same. Ryan even gave her an encouraging little wink.

  A few seconds later, Eileen returned, holding several pairs of rubber surgical gloves and a plastic bag containing ... something Savannah couldn’t quite see. Eileen distributed the gloves, laid the bag on her desk, and donned a pair herself. Then she carefully opened the sealed, signed, dated bag and took out the object.

  “What an ominous-looking ... thing,” Ryan said, obviously as stumped for words as Savannah was.

  “It looks like some sort of fancy tool, like an ice pick or ...” Savannah said, staring at the beautiful but deadly instrument.

  It did, indeed, look a bit like an ice pick. Only the foot-long steel shaft had squared sides, like those of a screwdriver, and tapered to a deadly point. At the top of the spearlike section was the hilt, a horizontal figure eight, and above that was an ornate handle, fashioned into a rearing cobra’s head.

  “Is it some kind of dagger?” Savannah asked, inwardly cringing at the damage this sort of weapon could wreak.

  “Or maybe a minisword,” Ryan added.”

  “It’s a poniard,” John said, “and a beauty at that. May I?”

  He slipped on the pair of gloves Eileen had given him, then took the weapon carefully from her hand. Turning it this way and that, he examined it closely, the oversize hilt, the ornate handle with its evil-looking snake’s head and eyes that were faceted dark red gemstones.

  “Are those rubies in the eyes?” Savannah asked, her female interest piqued by any sort of jewels.

>   John reached into his pocket and retrieved his key chain. Dangling from it was a jeweler’s loupe. He used it to study the stones more closely.

  “You carry a loupe in your pocket?” Eileen asked. More than in lust, she was moving toward genuine, lifelong affection for the man with the cultured accent and the silver mane.

  Savannah chuckled. “Doesn’t everyone? You never know when you’ll need to appraise an heirloom or start a fire in the wilderness.”

  “They’re tourmalines,” John said, putting his key chain back into his slacks pocket. “Dark pink tourmalines. High-quality. A rather gaudy touch to an otherwise nice piece of workmanship. I’d wager that the added stones were the buyer’s idea, not the armorer’s.”

  “Is the handle gold?” Savannah asked, afraid to trust her eyes in the company of such a knowledgeable individual as John Gibson.

  “Gold-plated,” he said. “Again, a tad risque for my tastes, but ...”

  “What did you call it again?” Ryan asked. “A pin-yard?”

  “A poniard,” John replied. “It’s a medieval weapon.”

  “And exactly what would an item like that be used for?” Savannah asked, though she figured she knew the answer.

  “A poniard is worthless for fencing or for any display of sportsmanship,” John explained. “You can’t slice a loaf of bread or dress game with it, because there’s no cutting edge to speak of. Historically, poniards were used for only one thing: to kill human beings. And, I might add, although as a tool their repertoire was sadly limited, they were most effective at what they did.”

  “I’m sure they were,” Savannah said with a shudder.

  “How do you suppose,” Eileen said, handing it off to Savannah, “it got at the scene of the Coulter homicide?”

  Savannah nearly dropped it. “This hideous thing was in Dirk’s trailer? That’s where you found it?”

  “It was lying beneath the body, under her hips.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Not even a little.” Eileen smiled, pleased with the effect her words had on Savannah. “When Dr. Liu’s people lifted the victim, this was lying under her. It was covered with blood. We’re analyzing the blood now, but we expect it will turn out to be all hers. No prints or anything else on that fancy handle. Nothing else was on it ... other than the blood, that is.”