Sugar and Spite

by G. A. McKevett

  Her words ended the instant that Dirk and Jake grabbed him from behind and threw him up against the store’s cement-block wall. He struggled a moment, but gave up quickly as Dirk twisted his arms behind his back and Jake slapped cuffs on him.

  Savannah and Lynn couldn’t understand the words they were saying to him, but their no-nonsense tone was unmistakable. Kevin Donaldson was being read his rights.

  When all three turned around and headed back to the Buick, Dirk gave Savannah a smile and a discreet thumbs-up. Savannah had pushed Lynn’s head below the dash, but now she coaxed her to sit up. “Look at big, bad Kevin,” she told her. “He can dish it out, but he can’t take it. He’s bawling like a scalded hog.”

  She looked over at Lynn and saw something new on her face, the trace of a smile.

  “I guess I should feel bad,” the young woman said. “I mean, he is my boyfriend, and I’ve just caused him to be arrested for murder. Yeah, I should feel really bad.”

  “Why the hell should you feel bad?” Savannah asked. “A sonofabitch who’s made your life miserable, who’s threatened to hurt or even kill members of your family, who’s blacked your eye and busted your lip ... you’re supposed to feel bad that he’s getting locked up? Bull puckey! Are you over twenty-one?”

  “Turned twenty-two last month.”

  “Good!” She slapped her on the back. “Let’s celebrate. We’ll go to Tijuana Rose’s Cantina and order a couple of margarita grandes big enough to take a Jacuzzi in!”

  Savannah and Dirk stood on the window side of the two-way mirror and watched Kevin Donaldson sweat as Jake interrogated him in the “interview” room next door. Jake had allowed them to sneak in before the questioning with plenty of threats about “disavowing any knowledge of their actions should they be caught or killed.”

  Jake had only been at it for fifteen minutes, and Donaldson was already starting to crack.

  “The kid’s better at this than I thought he would be,” Savannah said, watching how Jake stayed behind Donaldson, just out of his line of vision, and leaned over him, practically breathing down his neck when he wanted to score a major point.

  “He is,” Dirk said. “But not as good as me.”

  “No one’s as good as you, sugar,” Savannah cooed.

  “If only you meant it when you kiss up like that,” he replied dryly.

  “Yeah, wouldn’t it be nice, if I were being sincere instead of just a smart aleck when I tell you how wonderful you are?”

  Dirk snorted. “You wanna shut up now so that I can hear what’s going on next door?”

  She laughed. “Sure. Let’s turn it up a notch.” She reached over and twisted a knob that was next to the light switch on the wall. Instantly, the conversation in the adjoining room was twice as loud.

  “We have the weapon,” Jake was saying. “You, know, the crossbow that you ‘borrowed’ from your girlfriend’s little brother.”

  “No way,” Kevin said, enraged and not a little worried.

  “Way. We dug it up from where you buried it there by that tree.”

  Savannah nudged Dirk. “Is that true? Do you guys have it?”

  “Naw. It’s bullshit. Lynn told us that he buried it under a tree down by the river, but we haven’t had time to get it yet.”

  “And not only that,” Jake continued, “but it’s got your fingerprints all over it.”

  Kevin shrugged. “So... I never said I didn’t touch the brat’s bow. I’ve shot it lots of times. But just at trees and birds and shit like that. I didn’t shoot that asshole Snake. Somebody else must’ve done it.”

  “Like I said,” Jake continued coolly, “the weapon has your prints all over it. And that’s not all.” He walked around in front of Donaldson and leaned across the table until he was squarely in his face. “And we know it was that crossbow that killed him.”

  “How? How would you know something like that?” Donaldson was starting to sound a bit desperate, as if he could see the old jail door swinging shut in his face.

  “Are you familiar with the concept of ballistics testing on bullets to prove that they came from a certain firearm?”

  “Yeah... I guess so. But it ain’t the same with bows and arrows.”

  “Oh, yeah? A lot you know. It’s not that way with a regular bow and arrows, but a crossbow is different. Every individual crossbow leaves distinctive markings on any arrow that’s shot from it... just like a gun barrel scores a bullet that passes through it. That’s the beauty of this whole thing. The arrow that killed Snake... was shot from the crossbow that has your fingerprints on it.”

  Savannah snickered. “What a load of bullshit. Let me get out my hip boots.”

  “Yeah, I’m jealous,” Dirk replied. “I thought I was the best b.s. slinger on the force. But the kid’s got me beat.”

  “That’s the beauty of it all,” Jake told his increasingly more uneasy interviewee. “We’ve got you by the balls, brother. Can’t you feel the squeeze? You’re practically singin’ soprano!”

  Kevin Donaldson could feel it. You could tell by the look on his face. Savannah knew the satisfaction that Jake was feeling. It was an almost orgasmic experience, watching a bad guy start to go down like a felled oak, and you standing there with the ax in your hand yelling, “Timber!”

  “There’s no question that you did it, Donaldson,” Jake said. “That’s been established. The only blank that needs to be filled in is: Why? What did you have against the old Snake boy that you’d hunt him down and shoot him dead like a deer in the woods? If you’ve got a good enough reason, maybe you won’t be lying strapped to a table while they shove needles up your arms. I hear you don’t like needles, Kevin. That’s why you either smoke or swallow your dope. No shooting for you.”

  Jake had hit a main nerve with that one. Donaldson’s face blanched, and he looked like he was about to throw up.

  “Snake wasn’t that great of a guy,” Jake continued, almost companionably. “He had a helluva rap sheet, and everybody I talked to said he was an ass. He helped you burn down that old couple’s house and he killed that lady... the cop’s ex-wife. You probably had a good reason for taking him out. What was it?”

  “I ... I didn’t. I mean, I ...”

  “Yes ... yes ...” Dirk murmured. “Come on, spill it.”

  But Kevin’s possible confession was cut short when the door to the interrogation room opened and Lieutenant Jeffries rushed inside.

  Savannah groaned and Dirk mumbled, “Talk about shit timing....”

  “Is this him?” Jeffries asked, pointing an accusing finger at Donaldson. “Is this our crossbow shooter?”

  “It’s him, all right,” Jake replied. “He’s already confessed, I—”

  “Did not! I didn’t either confess nothin’!” Donaldson shouted. “I didn’t do nothin’. Didn’t confess nothin’ neither.”

  “Ever notice,” Savannah said, “how frequently criminals use double negatives? I wonder if they’ve ever done a study on the correlation between bad grammar and the criminal mind.”

  “No, I ain’t never noticed nothin’ like that,” Dirk replied.

  “Oh, well... it was a thought.”

  They watched and, within moments, Lieutenant Jeffries had sent Jake out of the room, supposedly to get a copy of Donaldson’s rap sheet. And Jeffries himself was interrogating the suspect.

  “What did you tell him?” he demanded in low tones as he stood over Donaldson, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all,” Donaldson sputtered. “I told him I didn’t do it, but he says he’s got the crossbow and it’s got my fingerprints on it and he said the tests showed that it shot the arrow that killed him and ...”

  “He’s lying to you, you stupid jerk,” Jeffries said, slamming his fist down on the table.

  Savannah reached over and grabbed Dirk’s arm. Neither of them breathed.

  “He’s got nothing except your girlfriend’s statement. That’s it. Now if you...”

  Jeffries’s word
s trailed away as he seemed to realize where he was. He stared straight through the glass at Savannah and Dirk, as though he could see them standing on the other side of the mirror. They knew he couldn’t, but it was a creepy feeling all the same.

  “You got nothin’ to worry about,” Donaldson said. “I never told him that—”

  “Shut up!” Jeffries held up one hand,. “Don’t say another word.”

  The lieutenant walked over to the wall that separated the two rooms and flipped a switch mounted next to the mirror. Instantly, the speaker in Savannah’s and Dirk’s room crackled and went dead. Then Jeffries reached up and pulled a heavy shade down, over the mirror, and they were left in darkness.

  “Do you think he knows we’re in here?” Dirk whispered.

  “No, he’s just being careful. Can you believe it? Old company-man Jeffries?”

  “No, I don’t believe it, but...”

  “Shh-h-h-h,” Savannah said, carefully leaning her ear against the glass.

  “Can you hear anything?”

  “If you’d hush, I might.”

  Dirk took the hint and was silent. Savannah strained to listen for a minute or two. Then she peeled herself away from the glass and grabbed Dirk’s sleeve. “Come on!” she said. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “Jake’s come back in and it sounds like Jeffries is leaving. He might check in here.”

  They scurried out of the room and had barely closed the door behind them, when they heard the door to the interrogation room opening. They quickly ducked into the small, one-toilet men’s room across the hall. Leaving the door cracked, they watched as Lieutenant Jeffries did, indeed, stick his head into the room where they had just been, flip on the light, and look around. Satisfied, he closed the door and returned to the interrogation room.

  Savannah closed the rest room door and turned on the light. Dirk’s face registered her own shock and disbelief.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Jeffries involved in Snake’s murder? How? Why?”

  Dirk’s expression grew hard, his jaw tight. “What I want to know,” he said, “is what did Jeffries have to do with Polly gettin’ killed.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Savannah’s dragonfly Tiffany lamp lent a cozy glow to the scene as the members of Moonlight Magnolia—official and unofficial—sat around her table, pooling their assorted talents and resources. But the conversation was anything but cozy. Deciding the best way to nail a crooked cop, especially a lieutenant, was somber business.

  Jake McMurtry had joined them tonight. His misery was palpable, his position being more tenable than anyone else’s at the table... except for Dirk, who was equally out of sorts. He had received word an hour before that the DA was proceeding with the charges against him, in spite of the new developments in the case.

  As usual, Savannah had provided the munchables and potables for the occasion: Beck’s Dark beer for Dirk, Earl Grey tea for John Gibson, sparkling mineral water for Tammy, a glass of Chardonnay for Ryan, a Coke for Jake, and a cup of strong coffee laced with cream for her. More hot-from-the-oven Valentine cookies were piled on a plate in the center of the table, along with a platter of Brie and English wheat crackers. No one died of starvation on Savannah’s watch.

  “As if that weren’t enough,” Savannah said, after she and Dirk had told them everything they had witnessed earlier that evening during the interrogation, “wait until you hear the other little tidbit of info we have for you.”

  Savannah took a long drink of coffee, building the suspense for her listeners. “After Jeffries turned off the sound and dropped the shade, I put my ear to the glass and...”

  “What did you hear?” Tammy asked, more impatient than the rest.

  “Not much,” Savannah admitted. In unison, her audience sighed and deflated a bit. “Just one name.”

  Ryan’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. John toyed with the corner of his silver mustache.

  Jake was wriggling all over his chair, like a kid who needed to pee. “Well, what name?”

  “Cooper.”

  “Cooper?” Jake said.

  “Cooper who?” Ryan added.

  “Cooper what?” Tammy asked.

  “My dear,” John Gibson said, more patiently than the rest, “you were quite right in your original assessment of this new lead. It simply isn’t the grandest one might hope for.”

  Savannah batted her eyelashes and gave them her best, dimpled grin. “I have total confidence in you all,” she drawled. “We here at Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency have produced miracles with far less. I see no reason we can’t do it again.”

  She reached across the table and helped herself to a cookie that was liberally sprinkled with red and pink sparkles. Turning it this way and that, she admired her handiwork, while savoring the anticipation. “Now, who’s gonna do what?”

  Hours later, when everyone had left, except Dirk, and he was tucked into bed, Savannah sat on the edge of her own bed, still fully dressed, a pink WHILE YOU WERE OUT note from Tammy in her hand.

  She stared at the number. A local number. The number of a local motel that truckers often patronized. It was right off the freeway, with easy access and an oversize parking lot to accommodate big rigs. Next door was a diner that specialized in down-home, Southern-style cooking.

  And that was where Macon wanted to meet her. For a piece of pie, the message said.

  For the first time in her memory, she didn’t want a piece of pie. The very thought of sitting down to a table with Macon Reid made her stomach tie in a knot.

  She didn’t need this right now. With Dirk’s future hanging in the balance, the last thing she wanted was to deal with a man who had broken her heart, over and over and over again. Why hadn’t he just left well enough alone? Why hadn’t he just left her alone? He had been all too happy to do that for so many years. Why break the pattern now?

  As she reached for the phone, she thought, He’d better have cancer or some kind of terminal illness. If not, I might give him one. Then she quickly banished the thought as unworthy of her. If he really was sick, she’d feel lower than snail slime.

  She dialed the motel’s number, asked for his room, and waited, pulse racing for him to answer. But when the Hello came through, it was decidedly female and distinctly Southern.

  “Oh, hello,” Savannah said. “I must have the wrong room. I was calling for Macon Reid.”

  “Sure, darlin’, he’s in the shower. Hold on.” After a couple of seconds, Savannah heard her yell, “Macon, somebody wants to talk to you. I think it’s your girl.”

  His girl? Savannah thought that one over. Funny, she had never thought of herself as Macon’s girl. Or any other guy’s girl for that matter.

  When he answered, his voice sounded older, more feeble than she remembered. A lot older, in fact.

  “Hello, Vanna Sue? Is that you sugar?”

  Vanna Sue? She hadn’t been called that in about twenty years. She’d gladly opt for twenty more “Vanna Sue-free” years.

  “This is Savannah, Macon. I received your message and thought I should give you a call.”

  “I’m so glad you did, honey. How’s about I buy you a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie?”

  She wanted to tell him no. She wished now that she had pretended not to have gotten the message in the first place. But it was too late. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “When?” she asked.

  “Why right now! I’d just be so proud to see you.”

  “It’s late, Macon. And it’s been a long time.”

  “Too long. That’s why we oughta do it now. Say you’ll meet me at that little cafe over here in a few minutes.”

  She sighed, feeling old, tired, empty. Not at all the way a daughter should be feeling before meeting her estranged father.

  “Ten minutes,” she said. “But I can’t stay long.”

  “That’s fine, sugar. I’m mighty proud you’re coming.”

  “Okay.” />
  She hung up the phone and walked woodenly out of her room. As she passed the guest bedroom, she heard Dirk snoring. At least he was getting some sleep, bless his heart. He needed it.

  So did she. But, once again, she was putting someone else’s interests before her own. Was it because she was a loving, generous woman? Or because she was a fool and a doormat?

  She left a note for Dirk on the kitchen table, just in case he got up and found her gone. Then she threw on a sweater and walked out into the brisk, winter, Southern California night.

  Halfway to her Camaro, she decided....

  Yeah... it was the fool/doormat thing. Had to be. She just wasn’t all that generous and loving. At least not where Macon Reid was concerned.

  The odor of diesel from the eighteen-wheelers in the cafe’s parking lot mixed with the aroma of fried food and coffee from the diner itself and made Savannah a bit nauseous as she walked up to the door. Or maybe it was her topsy-turvy emotions bouncing around in there that made her feel like she had just ridden a loop-the-loop roller coaster.

  She didn’t want to do this. She so didn’t want to do this.

  You don’t have to do this, a voice inside told her. You could just turn around and walk away.

  And run out on him? asked a more humane, kinder, gentler voice. Possibly the voice of a doormat.

  Hell, yeah, run out on him. Just like he did you and your mom and your brother and your sisters, over and over and over.... Show him what it’s like to be sitting, waiting for someone you love to show up. On your birthday, on Easter, on Christmas Eve.

  But by then she was already inside the cafe. And he had spotted her and was rushing to meet her.

  Well, not exactly rushing. She noticed that he limped a bit. Obviously, it wasn’t only his voice that had grown more feeble over the years. His formerly auburn hair had turned white, and even though he had never been considered a lightweight, he had definitely gained thirty or forty pounds—all around the middle. Heart-attack city, just waiting to happen.

  He met her in the aisle and they shared an awkward moment as they decided whether or not to embrace. Finally, they gave each other a halfhearted hug and an air kiss in the general cheek vicinity.