“The police believe it,” he said. “At least, they’re considering the possibility.”
“The brass of the San Carmelita Police Department and I have an old vendetta going,” she said, feeling about 107 years old with another birthday pending. “They hate me. I swear, they would be plumb giddy if they could prove I was Jack the Ripper, but that doesn’t make it so.”
Again he weaved, unsteady on his feet.
“Colonel, why don’t you have a seat before you fall down.”
“I told her—” He jabbed a thumb in Tammy’s direction. She cringed as though it had been a loaded pistol. “I don’t want to sit down. I’m all right.”
“Tammy,” Savannah said, sensing that the young woman was near the end of her emotional tether, “why don’t you run along home. It’s been a long day.”
“But. . . . shouldn’t I stay. . . . I. . . . ?”
“No. Everything is fine here. You run along.”
With an expression that contained a mixture of misgivings and intense relief, Tammy seized the opportunity, grabbed her purse and jacket, and bolted out the door.
“Colonel,” Savannah said gently, turning back to Neilson, “I know that you aren’t all right. In your circumstances no one would be. You’re exhausted, you’re terribly upset, and I suspect you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Please sit for a spell and let’s talk. Just the two of us.”
She saw the momentary flicker of vulnerability in his eyes and knew he needed understanding and sympathy from someone. She would have been honored to give it, but right now, for reasons she could certainly understand, he considered her the enemy.
“We’re on the same side, really, Colonel,” she told him as she gingerly took his arm and led him over to the sofa. “We need to find your granddaughter and bring your daughter’s killer to justice. I know that’s what you want, too.”
He jerked his arm out of her grasp and refused to sit. “You caused my only daughter to be killed, my little granddaughter to be stolen from me. What kind of fool do you think I am? I’m not going to sit here in your house and drink coffee as if we were best buddies. You’re not going to get off that easily, Miss Reid.”
“Colonel, please, I—”
He headed for the door with a purposeful, if unsteady, stride and jerked it open. Outside, the night was dark and a soft rain was beginning to fall. “I’ve said what I came to say.”
She rushed to him. “Colonel Neilson, don’t go yet. Stay for at least one cup of coffee. Really, you’re in no condition to drive.”
Again, she grasped his arm, but more firmly than before.
“Get your hands off me, before I forget you’re a woman, and knock you on your ass.”
Savannah’s face hardened. Grieving father or not, she was getting her can full. “You could try,” she said, lifting her chin a couple of notches, “but I’m not sure you would succeed.”
Slowly, she released his arm, knowing there was no way to hold him if he was determined to leave.
“I really need your input, Colonel, if I’m going to help your granddaughter,” she called as she followed him out of the house. “Later, when you’ve thought things over, we need to talk. Please, stay in touch.”
Ignoring her, he staggered down her sidewalk toward his car, which was parked at the curb. The rain was falling more heavily by the moment, dripping on her from the bougainvillea that draped the porch. A cold wet trickle slid down the back of her collar, causing her to shiver.
When was this rotten day ever going to end?
Through the wet haze, she saw the outline of a yellow car . . . . a taxi. . . . pulling up behind his Lincoln.
Who was . . . . ?
No one she knew ever took a cab, not in San Carmelita. To her knowledge, the local service only had two cars, one for the senior citizens’ retirement home, one for Friday night drunks.
The cabbie rushed out of the car and around to the rear door. He opened it with flourish and offered his hand to his passenger.
Savannah watched, holding her breath as a woman unfolded herself from the taxi. A beautiful head of silver hair that glowed like moonlight beneath the streetlamp. A more-than-ample female figure in a long, flowing caftan, covered with a brilliant floral print. Sparkling, youthful eyes set in an aged, lined face.
The beloved face of her grandmother.
“Gran?” she whispered, her heart hopping up into her throat between her tonsils. “Granny Reid?”
Savannah was only dimly aware that her grandmother’s attention was fully on the colonel, who didn’t seem to notice anyone or anything as he climbed into his own car and pulled away from the curb.
“Gran?” Savannah called, finding her voice at last. “Gran, is it you? Of course it’s you.”
“Savannah?” She squinted, nearsighted as always, but still unwilling to admit that she needed glasses. “Is that you, baby?”
“Oh, Gran!” Savannah sailed across the space that separated them and threw her arms around the person she loved most in the world. Warm, salty tears of joy mixed with the cold rain on her face. “How did you. . . . when did you. . . . ?”
“Just now. Flew all the way from Atlanta, I did, into Los Angeles.” Her Southern accent was as sweet and poignant as the rose perfume she had worn for as long as Savannah could remember.
Gran shoved some cash at the driver, then cast a lingering look at the colonel’s car as it disappeared down the street. “Guess I shoulda showed up a few minutes earlier. Then, maybe I could have made the acquaintance of your gentleman caller. He looks more my age than yours.”
“It’s probably just as well,” Savannah said under her breath.
The cabbie handed Savannah a suitcase, nodded respectfully, wished Gran a wonderful vacation, and dismissed himself. Savannah had always been fascinated by the amount of adoration a woman in her eighties could receive from members of the opposite sex.
“This is such a wonderful surprise,” Savannah said. “When did you arrive in California?”
“About an hour ago. I flew on a red nose. It was cheaper.”
“A red nose?” Strange visions of reindeer danced through Savannah’s head until she had completed a quick, mental translation from Gran-ish to English. “Oh, you mean a red eye.”
“Don’t you go correcting your elders, young lady. I know what the hell I flew on.” She stood on tiptoe to plant a bright scarlet, lipstick kiss on each of Savannah’s cheeks.
Savannah returned the kisses.
“Now, are you going to invite me in for a nip of something to warm these stiff old bones,” Gran said as the taxi drove away, “or are we going to stand out here in the rain ’til we catch our death o’ cold?”
Savannah had to hug her one more time; she couldn’t remember when she had been so happy to see someone. She couldn’t remember when she had needed anyone so much. Gran had a way of showing up just when Savannah expected her least and needed her most.
With the suitcase in one hand and her other arm wrapped around her grandmother’s shoulders, she walked her up the sidewalk toward the house. “I’m tickled to death to see you, Gran,” she said. “Whatever made you decide to come out now?”
“I’m going to die soon, Savannah.”
Savannah felt a seismic tremor run through her soul. She dropped the suitcase, grabbed Gran’s shoulders and whirled her around to face her. “Oh, God. . . . Granny! What is it? Is it your heart? Oh, no . . . . it’s not ca . . . . canc—” She couldn’t bear to say it, couldn’t even think it.
“What? Oh, pooh, you’re such a silly girl. It’s nothing like that.”
“But you just said—”
“That I’m going to die soon. Well, for heaven’s sake, Savannah, it’s true. Let’s face facts; I’m eighty-three years old. I’m bound to kick off before too long, and I figured I’d better do some of those things I’ve always been intendin’ to do, but never got around to.”
Savannah felt her knees go weak with relief. “Then, you aren’t sick, or—?”
“Disneyland? You want me to take you to Disneyland?”
“No. I’m going to take you. Tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
“Tomorrow?” Reality returned in a nauseous wave. She retrieved the suitcase and searched for the appropriate words, that didn’t seem to be anywhere near the tip of her tongue. “Ah. . . . Gran, I’ve got some things going on here that. . . . well. . . . oh, shoot. . . . just come inside and I’ll fix you a hot toddy.”
Looking up, her grandmother blinked at the drops falling onto her face. “I thought they said it never rains out here in California.”
Savannah started to reply, when she saw a familiar, battered old Skylark lumbering down the street in their direction. Dirk was behind the wheel. He pulled up in front of the house and cut the engine.
“Great. . . .” Savannah muttered, “that’s all I need now. Unfortunately, Gran, that bit about the perfect climate isn’t altogether true,” she added with a sigh. “And sometimes, when it rains, it really pours.”
“What do you mean, you’re going to arrest my granddaughter for murder?” Gran stood in the middle of Savannah’s living room, her hands on her waist, her feet spread in a battle stance, her face looking like a Mississippi River lightning storm. She was glaring at Dirk, who sat on the sofa, squirming miserably beneath her scrutiny.
“I wasn’t exactly here to arrest her, ma’am, I just. . . .”
“Gran, please.” Savannah sat on the edge of her easy chair, clutching both cats to her sides for comfort.
“You’re that Dirk guy she’s written me letters about,” Granny continued. “You used to be her partner, and now you’re supposed to be her friend. You know damned well she wouldn’t kill an innocent person.”
Gran shrugged and seemed to briefly reconsider. “Oh, well, she did shoot a couple of fellows, way back when,” she conceded, “you know, her being a peace officer and all that, she had to. And she’s knocked the snot out of quite a few when they were askin’ for it. She knows that fancy black belt stuff and she does have a bit of a temper, but she wouldn’t—”
“Really, Gran,” Savannah interrupted. “Please don’t ‘help’ me.”
“Well, somebody sure needs to. It sounds like you’ve got yourself in a heap of trouble this time. Worse than usual, even for you.”
“They just want to talk to you for a while, Van. That’s all.” Dirk turned pleading eyes to Savannah.
“Talk? Bloss and Hillquist want to grill me like a porterhouse—rare and bloody—and you know it.”
“Who’s Bloss? Who’s Hillquist?” Gran demanded. “Do you want me to go down there for you, sugar? I could set things straight.”
“No, really!” Savannah spoke so loudly that the cats both ejected themselves from her lap. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Memories flashed across the back screen of Savannah’s mind: Gran literally tossing a vacuum salesman and his wares off her back porch, Gran telling Savannah’s grade school principal to “Sit on a fence post and spin” because he had kept Savannah for an hour after school, Gran threatening one of Savannah’s dates that she would “Jerk a knot in his tail” if he “got out of the way” with her granddaughter.
“Yes, Granny, I’m sure you could settle everything for me,” she said. “But it’s your vacation, and I think I should take care of this.”
Dirk brightened.
Savannah knew she had to let him off the hook by going in and facing whatever music Bloss and Hillquist wanted to subject her to, even if it were the last thing on earth she wanted to do.
“Will you feed the cats for me, Gran?”
“Is that all?” She looked genuinely disappointed. Her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement and her eyes alight with mischief.
“Yes, that’s all. And don’t wait up for me. I have a wonderful Black Forest cake in the refrigerator,” she said wistfully. “Feel free to dig in. The guest room has clean sheets. Make yourself at home.”
She stood and lifted her purse from a nearby table. Dirk hurried to get her raincoat from the hall closet. The perfect gentleman, he held it as she slipped it on. Like most males, his manners were always at their best when he was overwhelmed with guilt.
“When will you be back?” Granny asked her as she followed them to the door, her long caftan skirt swishing gracefully. Her steps were slower, but as always, the picture of Southern elegance.
Savannah gave her a hug, inhaling the lovely scent of roses and basking in the momentary comfort of maternal love. She thought of the long night ahead and wished she could just ask Granny to “Go talk to the principal” for her. It would be so lovely to let another person be strong in her stead.
There were definite disadvantages to growing up.
“Not in time to go to Disneyland bright and early tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’m sorry, Gran.”
“Awk, that’s all right. Mickey and Donald have been waiting for me all these years; I suppose they can hang on a bit longer.”
CHAPTER TEN
“How much did you tell them?” Savannah asked as she and Dirk walked down the hallway at the rear of the station which led to Hillquist’s office.
“They asked me what happened. I told ’em. No more, no less,” Dirk replied. He was staring down at the gray, industrial-dull tiles as though expecting the floor to open and swallow them whole. Maybe he was hoping.
“You know, you don’t have to beat yourself up about this,” Savannah said, lacing her arm companionably through his. “In spite of what my granny said, you aren’t really a good-for-nothing, backstabbing, double-crossing tallywhacker. She just has a special way with words.”
Dirk chuckled and his mood seemed to lighten a tad. “Appears to run in the family.”
“Here we are.” She paused before the door to the chiefs office. “Tell me again, just how mad was Bloss?”
“He waited here for you for three hours. How mad do you think he’d be? Whatever possessed you to do a thing like that . . . . as if you weren’t in deep enough shit as it was.”
She grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Wish me luck.”
“No way. I’m coming in with you.”
“They won’t let you stay.”
Dirk stuck out his lower lip and banged the door open. “They’ll let me stay.”
If pecking order were signified by creature comforts and chair assignments, Savannah didn’t have to think long to figure out where she stood. . . . or sat. . . . at the moment.
The chief lounged graciously behind his modern, blond oak desk in an executive, high-backed, leather chair. At his side, Bloss sprawled across an upholstered tweed, cushy affair, while she and Dirk were perched on folding, metal contraptions. Hers was rusty.
“Unless you’re her lawyer, leave,” Bloss told Dirk, snuffing out his cigar in the chief’s ashtray and pulling another from his shirt pocket.
“I’d like to stay,” Dirk replied as he stared at the scuffed tips of his loafers.
“I’d like to have left five hours ago.” Bloss made a ceremony of consulting his wristwatch. “But we don’t always get what we want, thanks to certain individuals.” He gave Savannah a dirty look.
The chief said nothing, but sat with his hands folded gracefully on the desk in front of him. At first glance, he seemed a more highly evolved specimen than the one sitting beside him. But his eyes reminded her of a few dead fish she had seen in the seafood section of her local supermarket.
“Good-bye,” Bloss told Dirk.
“With all due respect, sir. . . .” Dirk slurred the “sir” and his facial expression was anything but respectful. “. . . . I’m staying.”
Bloss looked to Hillquist for reinforcement.
“Let’s get on with it,” Hillquist said.
“Yes, please,” Savannah said, sitting back in her miserably uncomfortabl
e chair and trying not to look as nervous as she felt. “I’m tired, I’m in the middle of PMS, I haven’t had my dinner yet, and I’m starting to get cranky.”
“None of us have had our dinners yet,” Bloss growled. “After that little stunt you pulled earlier this—”
Hillquist held up one hand to silence Bloss then turned to Savannah. “Did you kill Lisa Mallock?”
“No.”
“Did you help someone do it?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Who?”
“I think it was her ex-husband, Earl Mallock.”
“How do you know that?”
Savannah winced as the wound went a notch deeper into her conscience. “I don’t know it, but I suspect it’s true. Mallock lied to me, claiming to be her long-lost brother, and used my agency to find her.”
Neither Hillquist nor Bloss registered any emotion at all. Hillquist didn’t appear to even have any brain waves. Savannah wondered why they were going over this, when it was obvious she wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t know already.
Hillquist picked up a gold Cross pen from his desk top and began to write on a piece of paper. At first, she thought he was taking notes, but another look told her he was merely doodling.
She couldn’t help wondering what he was drawing. Probably a hangman’s noose.
Without looking his way, Savannah knew that Dirk was watching her closely. She didn’t dare even glance at him for fear of intercepting some sweet, schmaltzy look that would twang her heartstrings. She had to keep her head clear; this definitely wasn’t the time to give in to emotions.
“Are you aware that trace evidence has been found that links you to the scene of the murder?” Hillquist continued to doodle, his eyes still as flat as his monotone.
“I’m not surprised,” Savannah replied. “I was there in the cabin the morning following the murder. I stood over the body. I touched it.”
“How do you know that was the morning after?” Bloss had been quiet as long as he could. He had to interject his nickel’s worth. “How come you’re so sure that she was killed the night before?”
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