A Decadent Way to Die

by G. A. McKevett

  But still, against her better judgment, she pulled over to the side of the road, opposite the house and dialed Tammy’s home phone number.

  As it rang, she formulated her lie: “I left my jelly roll pan there at your house last time I was over and just have to have it to make a raspberry jelly roll tonight….”

  Four, five rings. No one picked up.

  She knew the machine was about to answer, so she hung up. She also knew that if Tammy were in her right mind—her normal, highly curious mind—she wouldn’t have been able to resist a ringing phone.

  When a phone rang in Tammy’s presence, she answered it. Sometimes, even other people’s phones.

  Savannah stared at the living room window and was moderately consoled that it was lit and the bedroom window wasn’t. And as soon as that thought registered in her mind, an unsettling, unsavory feeling swept through her, as if she knew she was doing something wrong, something disrespectful, spying on her friend like this.

  If Tammy knew she was out here watching, she’d be angry, and Savannah wouldn’t blame her.

  By checking up on her like this, she was very nearly guilty of the same sort of controlling behavior that Chad the Creep had been doing earlier in the day, calling constantly to find out where she was and what she was doing.

  “Damn,” she muttered as she drove away. “Self-awareness can be a real bite in the ass.”

  The first time Savannah had visited Dirk’s trailer park, she had been critical of the location. She had made a snide joke about the name “Shady Vale,” since it wasn’t in any sort of valley and didn’t have a single tree to provide even a bit of the advertised shade.

  The country road leading to the park was lined with eucalyptus trees and orange groves. And as she got out of the car and walked to the mobile home parked in space number two, she could smell the intoxicating scent on the night air. The aroma added a bit of ambiance to an otherwise ambiance-free zone.

  As she walked up onto the porch, she noticed that Dirk had left the outdoor light on, in anticipation of her visit.

  She was touched. She knew how much it cost him in emotional suffering, leaving that light on and paying the one tenth of one cent’s worth of electricity it used.

  It made a girl feel so special.

  She knocked the “Shave and a Haircut” cadence on the door, right below his Harley-Davidson decal. A couple of seconds later, he swung the door open and stood there, grinning down at her.

  “This is a switch,” he said, “me entertaining you. Why were you looking for a change of scenery?”

  She walked inside and looked around at the worn, plaid furniture, the TV trays that served as end tables, the stack of Bonanza VHS boxes mixed with Clint Eastwood westerns, and the box beside the door brimming with empty beer bottles, waiting forever in Dirk purgatory before being taken to the recycler.

  “I’m feeling a little weak and shaky,” she said. “Guess I needed an infusion of testosterone and figured this was the place to get it.”

  “You got that right.” He motioned her toward a love seat that had been a school bus seat in a former life. “Sit yourself down and breathe it in … all that manly man air.”

  Since in Savannah’s experience “manly man air” wasn’t all that fragrant, she resisted the invitation to breathe deeply. “Actually,” she said, “it smells a bit like chili in here.”

  “Yeah, I warmed up a can for dinner last night.”

  “A warmed-up can of chili? No wonder you eat over at my house so much.”

  He pulled a plastic, molded lawn chair in front of the bus seat—an impromptu footstool. Then he moved the chair’s mate closer to her and sat down. “The pizza’ll be here any minute,” he said. “But till it gets here, you just rest your dogs there. Can I get you a beer.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll pass on the beer,” she said.

  “Why? We’re both off for the night, and it’s been a rough twenty-four hours or so.”

  “I want to keep my faculties clear … or at least not any muddier than they are.”

  “In case Tammy needs you tonight?”

  “Something like that.”

  She kicked off her loafers and lifted her feet onto the chair seat. He leaned forward, lifted one foot and placed it on his knee. With hands that were surprisingly gentle, considering their size, he began to massage her sole, arch, ankles, and toes.

  She felt herself melting into the bus seat, like a stick of butter left out in the summer sun.

  “Oh, that’s pure heaven,” she said. “If I’d known you could do that, I’d married you a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, a trace of sadness on his face. “You’re going to marry a dude with an old rusty house trailer furnished from the junkyard just because he gives good foot rubs.”

  She nodded. “Any guy with a job can pay a mortgage or the rent … but a man who gives delicious foot rubs … he’s worth his weight in gold.”

  “That’s an awesome compliment.”

  “From a woman with her priorities in order.”

  “So, how did it go with Ada?” he asked, working her pinkie toe.

  “Ada wasn’t surprised, shocked, or dismayed to be told that her lover had met the same fate as a lobster in that spa.”

  “She had to have been told already.”

  Savannah nodded. “And when I said the water had somehow become electrified, she instantly made the jump that someone had tossed something electrical into the water.”

  “We didn’t make that assumption.”

  “I don’t think most people would. And the most telling thing of all”—Savannah nudged his arm with her toe—“when I said he’d been killed with someone else, she never asked who.”

  “Get outta here. If their lover’s killed in a hot tub with someone else, who doesn’t raise hell to find out who it was?”

  “I sure would.”

  “I guess that doesn’t leave us with much … other than a healthy suspicion of her, which we’ve always had. She stands to gain a lot in inheritance if her aunt dies.”

  “And her schmucky son, Waldo, too.”

  “Not to mention Emma,” Dirk added. “I know you like her a lot and she’s your client, but still, we have to throw her into the pot and see who bubbles to the top when we turn the heat up.”

  Someone tapped at the door.

  Dirk jumped up. “Pizza’s here,” he said.

  “And not a minute too soon. I’m so hungry I’d gnaw the south end off a northbound skunk.”

  He gave her a disgusted look as he walked to the door to greet the delivery man. “You know,” he said, “I find most of your quaint Southern phrases charming. But that one, I can do without. It’s enough to put me off my pizza.”

  “Good. All the more for me!”

  Later, when the heirloom fine bone china had been washed and carefully stowed away in the butler’s pantry—or rather, when the pizza box and paper towel napkins had been tossed into the garbage—Dirk replenished her glass of iced tea and sat down beside her on the bus seat.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “There’s very little in my world that a foot massage and a thin-crust, everything-on-it pizza won’t set right.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve got a couple of things to tell you and—”

  “No! Don’t you dare spoil the first good mood I’ve had in weeks. You have no idea how rare good moods are to a peri-menopausal woman!”

  “That’s true, I don’t. But you’re just gonna have to brace yourself, ’cause you have to know.”

  “Okay.” Savannah sighed and slouched down in her seat. “Let ’er rip.”

  “Just before you got here tonight, I had a phone call from Eileen.”

  “All right. And …?”

  “And the water heater we found in the garage … it’s perfectly fine. Hasn’t been dunked in water, probably ever, and definitely not recently.”

  “Any prints on it?”

  “Waldo’s. But he’s the o
ne who used it most, so … that’s sort of to be expected.”

  “Dangnation.”

  “I know. And the shovel … clean as a freshly diapered baby’s butt. Not a latent, a smudge, or even a partial on it.”

  “Just like the circuit breaker box and the switches.”

  “Exactly like them. Wiped perfectly clean. Obviously no tool that’s used frequently would be that pristine unless it hadn’t been deliberately cleaned.”

  Savannah shook her head. “All that climbing around in spider-infested garages and sheds … it was all for naught. Shoot. I’m getting a little tired of living in this part of town called ‘Square One.’ Enough already. We need a break in this case.”

  She leaned her head wearily over on his shoulder and passed her arm through his. “I’m tired, big boy,” she told him. “Between worrying about Helene and Tammy, too, I’m plumb worn to a frazzle.”

  “Skipping a night’s sleep will do it to you, too,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  “No, I’ve done that many times before, as you well know. I’m not even that concerned about Helene, now that Ryan and John are there, watching over her. Let’s face it; it’s Tams. You know I’ve always felt like a big sister to that kid. She’s very dear to my heart.”

  “I know.” He patted her hand. “But there’s only so much you can do in that situation. You press her too hard, you’ll damage your friendship. I had a friend a long time ago, a guy I’d known since junior high. He got involved with this gal who was a real piece of work. Everybody knew she was trouble … everyone but him, of course. I tried to tell him so, and he cursed me out and never spoke to me again. They got married, had three kids, she left him for another guy, and he’s still handing over his paycheck to her every week.”

  “Sorry about your friend,” she said.

  “Learn from my mistake. Stay out of it. Let your friends work this stuff out on their own. That’s my motto.”

  “Okay.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a long time with him stroking her hand and her soaking in the warmth of his body as she leaned against him. It always made her feel better, just breathing in the comforting smell that she always associated with Dirk—leather, Old Spice deodorant, and the underlying aroma of cinnamon.

  Finally, she looked up at him, her heart in her blue eyes. “I want you to do something for me, good buddy,” she said.

  He looked down at her and smiled. “Anything.”

  “Run a check on that sonofabitch, Chad. Do it for me, and I’ll cook you anything you want. I promise.”

  “Anything?”

  “Name it.”

  “Pulled pork sandwiches, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and homemade ice cream.”

  “You got it.”

  “Cool.” He wrapped one of her dark curls around his finger and gave it a gentle tug. “I set you up, baby,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I already ran a check on that guy.”

  She sat up, suddenly alert. “Well?”

  “He’s got a record.”

  “For what?”

  “You really wanna know?”

  “Damn. Yeah, yeah … I wanna know. Lay it on me.”

  “Three girlfriends, three ROs, two assaults.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “No, no, no! He’s had three girls take out restraining orders on him?”

  Dirk nodded.

  “And he assaulted two of them?”

  “In violation of the ROs.”

  “Holy cow! Poor Tammy! That does it. I’m never, never going to sleep again.”

  But she did sleep. Two hours later, she was stretched across Dirk’s sofa, and she was out like a street lamp on the east end of town.

  Dirk walked out of the bedroom, a blanket in his hands. Gently, he spread it over her, tucking it around her shoulders, legs, and feet.

  “Sleep while you can, sweetheart,” he whispered. “It’s the only break you get from worrying about everybody and their brother’s cousin’s uncle’s dog.”

  He leaned down, brushed her hair back from her face, and kissed her cheek. “Always the big sister, aren’t you, Van,” he said softly, “taking care of everybody but yourself. Good night, baby.”

  He patted her on the back, then turned down the lights and left the room.

  She stirred slightly in her sleep, reached up and touched the spot on her cheek that he had kissed. “Good night, darlin’,” she whispered back. “Sleep tight.”

  Chapter 19

  When Savannah woke the next morning, for a moment, she thought she was back in Granny Reid’s feather bed in the little shotgun house in McGill, Georgia.

  Golden sunlight streamed through a nearby window, gently warming her face, and the heavenly aromas of coffee, bacon, and something that smelled a lot like pancakes filled her senses.

  The smell of Granny’s coffee and bacon was the only thing powerful enough to lure a body out of that feather bed. And even though she was pretty sure she wasn’t in Gran’s pillow-soft bed, the divine scent was the same.

  “Hey, sleepy head,” a deep voice said. “It’s about time you rejoined the land of the living.”

  “What?” She sat up and pushed the old army blanket off her shoulders. Looking around, she realized she was on Dirk’s sofa. A few feet away, he was puttering about in the kitchen. And through eyes that were still sleep-fuzzy, she was pretty sure she saw him flip a flapjack.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Your timing’s perfect. Breakfast is ready.”

  “You cook breakfast?”

  “Once in a while … on special occasions.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair and yawned. “What’s the special occasion?”

  He looked slightly hurt, then turned away from her to pour the coffee. “Let’s just say I don’t usually have company this time of morning.”

  “Oh.”

  She stood, smoothed her rumpled blouse and slacks, and walked over to stand behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders and said, “I’m not used to being anybody’s company this time of day either,” she said. “So, it is special. Thank you.”

  When he turned to face her, he had a large cup of coffee in his hand. On the front of the mug was a faded picture of the Bonanza gang: Pa Cartwright, Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe.

  As he handed it to her, she said, “Wow! And out of your favorite cup! I really am getting the royal treatment.”

  He blushed and looked uncomfortable, as he always did when he got caught doing something nice.

  “Go sit on the bus seat and pull up a TV tray,” he told her. “Is there enough half-and-half in that coffee?”

  “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

  She took her seat and dragged a tray in front of her. And a moment later, he set a plate, laden with golden pancakes and crisp bacon, in front of her, along with a wad of paper towels and a fork with three bent tines.

  Then he sat on the sofa across from her with a tray and heaped plate of his own.

  “Chow down,” he said. “Or bon appétit or whatever.”

  She took one bite of the pancakes and let out an orgasmic groan. “Oh, lawdy be! That is pure paradise in your mouth!”

  “Just pancakes,” he mumbled, again embarrassed to be on the receiving end of praise.

  “No, these are not just pancakes. What are these things in the batter, mandarin oranges?”

  He nodded, taking a big bite himself.

  “And what’s that special flavor I taste. Better than vanilla … It’s … What is it?”

  “I’m not telling you. You’ll laugh.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll put you in a headlock till you do!”

  He laughed and lifted his own Elvis mug to toast her. “Here’s to keeping a little mystery in every relationship.”

  The phone rang, and he groaned. “You want somebody to call you, just cook a decent meal and the damned thing starts ringing off the hook.”

  “Don’t answer it,” Savannah said. T
hen she thought of Tammy, and her heart jumped into her throat. “No, answer it. It might be—”

  “It’s Ryan,” he said, looking at the caller ID. He picked up the phone and said, “Hey, man … what’s happenin’?”