“Then, who do you think did?” Savannah asked.
He searched his brain for a long time. Savannah could tell it was a strain. “I don’t know. Maybe Emma.”
“Why would Emma want to kill her grandmother?”
“Because she’s dying to get her hands on all that money. Emma’s boyfriend, he’s made it clear he’s not going to marry her until she gets her inheritance. And Emma’s scared to death she’s going to wind up an old maid.”
“How much money are we talking about?” Dirk asked.
“I don’t know. Aunt Helene never tells anybody personal stuff like that. But it’s a helluva lot. And Emma’s getting sixty percent of it.”
“Who’s getting the other forty percent?” Savannah asked.
Waldo squirmed in his chair and cleared his throat. “Well … I guess … me.”
Dirk smiled. “That’s good to know. Very good to know. Thank you, Mr. Fischer. You’ve been most informative.”
When Savannah and Dirk stepped out into the hall, Dirk was practically rubbing his hands together with glee. “It’s him. He did it. And all that money he’s going to inherit, that’s the motive.”
Savannah shook her head. “If you were trying to prove he made the attempts on Helene’s life, maybe. But what does that have to do with killing Blanca and Vern? Those murders don’t get him any closer to the money.”
“But he did it! Why else wouldn’t he tell us where he was? He doesn’t have an alibi.”
“Isn’t he still on probation from his last drug charge?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, he was probably hanging out with his druggie friends … a violation of his parole, right?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Dirk sighed. “Well, maybe Eileen’ll find his prints on the boom box.”
“His prints on his boombox? The one that belongs to him? Dude, if that’s what you’re hanging your hat on, it’s a sad situation.”
Dirk reached out and ran his finger lightly down her cheek. “So, enough about Waldo. Tell me … what’s going on?”
Chapter 22
As Savannah stood in the hallway, looking up at Dirk, she could see the concern in his eyes and it went straight to her heart.
And when he touched her cheek, it went straight to her eyes, and the tears she had been holding back for hours started flowing.
She backed away from him a step and said, “Don’t. Don’t be nice to me. If you’re sweet, I’ll lose it for sure.”
“You’ll lose what? What’s going on, Van? Why the hell do you have blood on your blouse, and why are you crying?”
She turned her back to him and headed for the rear door of the station. By the time she exited, she was running.
He caught her in the parking lot, next to her Mustang. Grabbing her by the shoulder, he spun her around. “Savannah,” he said, pulling her close. “Talk to me, honey. What happened?”
For half a dozen reasons that immediately sprang to her mind, she didn’t want to tell him. First, he was a police officer, and she didn’t want to put him in the position of knowing about even one assault, let alone two. But the main reason she didn’t want to tell him was because she had a feeling that, if she did, there would be three felonies committed before the day was over.
Dirk had a protective streak just as wide as hers. And for all of his bickering with Tammy, he loved the kid dearly.
“You don’t want to know,” she said.
“Are you kidding me? You’re standing here crying with blood on your clothes, and you’re telling me I don’t want to know.” He hugged her to his chest and kissed the top of her hair. “Van, you are the most important person in the world to me. I have to know.”
All of a sudden, her legs felt very shaky beneath her. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.
It felt foreign, but good, to have someone to lean on, even for a moment.
“It’s Tammy,” she said. “That guy …”
Instantly, Dirk’s face clouded. He gripped her shoulders so tightly that it hurt. “How bad?” he said.
“A split lip, some bruises and swelling on her face.”
“Is she at the hospital?”
“She wouldn’t go. I sent her to a motel out of town.”
“Will she press charges?”
“No.”
He turned away from her and walked over to a garbage bin. He kicked it so hard that the side caved in. The sound reverberated like an explosion across the parking lot.
He stood there for a while, spewing obscenities, then strode back to her. “I don’t care if she’s willing to press charges or not,” he said. “You’ve got her blood on your shirt, and that’s enough for me. I’ll—”
“It’s not hers. It’s his.”
He stared at her a moment, then nodded as the truth dawned on him. “Oh, okay.”
“I think Lady Justice has already visited Chad Avery today, so to speak.”
“Gotcha.” He reached down and pulled her jacket lapels open, studying the front of her shirt. “That looks like medium velocity spatter. Do we need to get a shovel, take a long drive, and find a quite, secluded, wooded area?”
“No. The dirt bag’s still sucking air.”
Dirk gave her a dark, humor-free smile. “I’ll bet he’s hurtin’.”
“Oh, he’s in a world o’ pain.”
Savannah felt a bit guilty, taking any time to herself with two homicide cases open, a couple of unsolved attempted murders, not to mention three assaults—if she counted Tiago’s, Tammy’s, and the one she’d given Chad.
So much for peace on earth and loving your fellow man, she thought as she turned the water on in the tub and poured in a generous amount of rose-scented bath gel.
As the bath filled, she called Tammy.
“Hi, Savannah,” said the tentative voice on the other end. Tammy sounded like she had been crying.
“Hi, darlin’. How’s it going over there?”
“Okay, I guess. I’ve just been sitting here on the bed, thinking about things.”
“Unless you’ve got a bottle of whiskey and a lot of good country music to listen to, that’s probably not a good idea … the thinking, that is.”
Savannah heard her sniff, then blow her nose. “I need to figure out what I did wrong, how I let things get so out of hand. How did I ever get involved with a guy like that?”
“Tammy, there are women a whole lot smarter and stronger than you and I will ever be—and men, too, for that matter—who’ve found themselves in that situation. Abusers are hard to spot and even harder to get rid of.”
“He’s stopped calling me.”
“Oh?” Savannah pulled the shades down in the bathroom.
“Yeah. I got a couple of texts from him right after he left, but then they stopped. All of a sudden.”
Savannah lit a votive candle and stared into the flame. “Really? Huh. Imagine that. Maybe he broke one of his texting thumbs.”
“Did you break one of his thumbs?”
“Nope.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“Nope. But I can honestly say, the last time I saw him, I’m pretty sure his thumbs were where they’re supposed to be.”
“How long do I need to stay here in this place?”
Tammy sounded a bit better than she had at the beginning of the conversation. Stronger. No longer crying. And for that, Savannah was grateful.
“I’m pretty sure he’s done bothering you,” Savannah said, “but you’re already checked in there. Why don’t you stay the night and then come over here tomorrow morning bright and early? You can help me decide what we’re going to do next on the case.”
“I love you, Savannah.”
Again, Savannah heard sniffling, but it sounded like “good” crying … the kind of tears that healed.
“I love you, too, puddin’. I’m in for the evening now. So, you call me if you have a mind to. About anything.”
“I will. Good n
ight.”
“Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“Hey, don’t joke about that. In a flea-bag motel like this one, it could happen!”
Savannah hung up the phone, took off her dirty clothes, and slipped her aching, exhausted body into the glistening suds.
She smiled as she settled in for a long soak.
The kiddo was going to be okay. Not right away, to be sure, but with enough love and support … eventually.
A couple of hours later, Savannah was in heaven … or, at least, the closest thing she had ever found to heaven on earth. She was sitting in her comfy, rose-print, chintz chair, her feet on the ottoman, a cat on each side, keeping her toes warm. She was wearing one of her favorite white, Victorian nightgowns and on the table beside her was a box of Godiva chocolates.
On her lap was a romance novel with her favorite male model on the cover, chest exposed, a maiden draped backward over his muscular arm, her bosom spilling from the front of her unlaced bodice.
So far, she had been staring at the first page for half an hour and hadn’t read a paragraph yet. But the night was still young. And she held high hopes that eventually her mind would stop spinning like a chipmunk on an exercise wheel, and she could actually concentrate on Raif the Pirate Rogue and Lady Cumber-ley.
She reached into the box and selected a French vanilla truffle. Ah, heaven, indeed.
But as she raised it to her lips, a “Shave and a Haircut” knock sounded on her door.
She froze. “Dirk,” she told the cats. “Dang it!”
She shoved the chocolate back into the box, replaced the lid, and slid the container into the magazine rack beside her chair.
Long ago, she had decided that Granny Reid wasn’t always right. One didn’t have to share absolutely everything with those around you. Some things were sacred, and one’s chocolate stash definitely fit that category.
Experience had taught her that Dirk could mow through a box of chocolates in five minutes flat. And to a connoisseur like herself, that was pure blasphemy … and to be avoided at all costs.
When she opened the door, he looked her up and down, taking in the nightgown.
“Should I have called first?” he said. “You’re ready for bed already?”
“No. I just needed to get out of out my … um … school clothes and get comfortable.”
He gave her a mischievous grin. “Wash them in bleach yet?”
“No bleach. But they’re definitely in the washing machine, even as we speak.”
She stepped aside and ushered him in.
“Want something to drink or eat?” she asked, feeling only slightly like a hypocrite, considering the hidden chocolate.
“No. I’m good.”
Since when did Dirk turn down food? Especially at her house.
“Everything okay?” she asked as she motioned him toward his usual spot on the end of the sofa, next to her chair.
“Yeah. I just thought I’d drop by and give you a few tidbits of juicy gossip.”
“You know what Granny always says: ‘If you don’t have anything good to say about anybody, come over here and sit by me.’”
Dirk sat down, lifted his feet to put them on her coffee table, then thought better of it, and lowered them.
Taking pity on him, she reached into her magazine rack, pulled out a newspaper, and tossed it onto the table. “There,” she said. “Go ahead … this once.”
Gratefully, he propped his sneakers on the paper and slid down into a semi-reclining position. “The lab called. Turns out I lied to Waldo. There weren’t any prints at all on the boom box.”
“Wiped clean like everything else?”
Dirk nodded.
“Why am I not surprised?” Savannah said. “You better have some better gossip than that.”
“I do. I looked into our friend, Waldo, a bit more,” he said. “Found something interesting.”
“Besides the drug busts and assaults?”
“Yeah. I was looking over his sheet and found a familiar name.”
“What name?”
“Kyd Butler.”
“Kyd … as in Emma’s icky boyfriend, Kyd?”
“That’s the one. Last year, they were busted together at a club in the valley. Apparently, Kyd was Waldo’s coke connection. He-lene hired a good attorney for Waldo, he and Kyd pled guilty to a lesser charge, and they each served three months.”
Savannah thought of the disdain in Helene’s voice when she had spoken of her granddaughter’s boyfriend. “No wonder she doesn’t like him.”
“Who?”
“Helene. She can’t stand Kyd. The first time I met her, she was fixin’ to shoot me in her driveway because she thought I was him.”
Dirk gave her a searching look. “I guess some women don’t take it well when their female family members get mixed up with the wrong guys.”
She cleared her throat. “I hear it can be worrisome.”
“But before I found out all that stuff about Waldo,” Dirk said. “I checked on another friend of ours.”
“Oh?” Savannah cut him a sideways look.
“Yeah. I thought I should have a little talk with Tammy’s former beau … Chad What’s-His-Face.”
Savannah scooped Cleopatra up from the ottoman and put her in her lap. “And how did your, um, talk go?”
“Didn’t actually get to speak to him. Had a hell of a time finding him.”
“He wasn’t at home?”
“No. So, I went down to the warehouse where he works as a night watchman. And they told me he’d called in sick.”
“Fancy that.”
“Actually, he’d called in from the emergency room of Community General. Seems he took a tumble off his bike.”
“Poor baby.”
“Broke his nose and did severe damage to his groin. Sorta like Helene did to Vern. Kinda like Jesse Murphy the other day.”
“A lot of that going around these days. Maybe it’s a virus.”
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna start wearing an athletic cup.” He cleared his throat. “Seems Chad’s right testicle was a mess.”
“Only the right one? Damn.”
Dirk laughed and shook his head. “Remind me never to piss you off, girl.”
“We were talking about Chad, and I was really enjoying it. Get back on topic.”
“When I left the warehouse and went to the hospital, they said he was in surgery, getting things put back where they belonged.”
Savannah sniffed. “I feel plum awful about that. Let’s take up a collection and send him a fruit basket.”
“So, I never got to talk to him. But after hearing what a day he’d had, I figured it might be sorta redundant.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while as she stroked Cleopatra’s silky black ears.
“Are you ever going to tell Tammy about Chad’s … uh … bicycle accident?” he asked her.
“No. She’d probably be overwhelmed with remorse that he’d suffered on her account. Sometimes, Tammy’s just way too sweet for her own good. She’s got too big a heart.”
“Unlike you and me.”
“Yeah. Us old, nasty farts don’t suffer from that particular affliction.”
Chapter 23
When Savannah woke the next morning, she felt like a new woman.
It was amazing what a good night’s sleep could do to recharge a gal’s batteries … or so she thought until Tammy arrived.
Savannah was pouring her usual cup of coffee, adding the standard, obscene amount of creamer, when she saw her young friend standing there, looking through the glass in the upper half of the door.
The forlorn expression on her face, combined with the heavy makeup that Tammy never wore, twanged Savannah’s heart strings.
She hurried to the door, opened it, and pulled her inside.
“How are you today, sugar?” she asked, giving her a hug and a big-sister once-over exam at the same time.
A Decadent Way to Die Page 23
