A Decadent Way to Die

by G. A. McKevett

  “Okay,” Tammy said, managing a feeble smile. “Considering.”

  Savannah tried not to look too much at her swollen eye, her cut lip, or the bruised cheek that showed through the makeup. She also decided not to mention the turtleneck sweater … the first high-necked top she had ever seen Tammy wear in all the years she had known her.

  Savannah hurried to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of organic apple juice. “Did you get any sleep at all? Or did you lie awake all night worrying about bedbugs?”

  “I had a few nightmares,” she admitted. “Not about bedbugs.”

  Savannah handed her the glass of juice. “I’ll bet you did. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

  Tammy shrugged. “Unfamiliar bed.”

  “Right.”

  Savannah watched as she sipped the juice. “I’ve got some gra-nola cereal, if you want breakfast,” she told her. “Or I’d be happy to make you an egg-white omelet.”

  “No, thank you. The juice is enough. I’m not really hungry.”

  Savannah took a drink of her own coffee and thought how flavorless it seemed all of a sudden.

  She looked at her friend, sensed her wounded spirit, and thought it might be nice to go dislodge old Chad’s other testicle.

  “You haven’t heard from him, have you?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “No. Not a word.”

  “Good.” Savannah forced a smile. “So, are you ready to hit the road with me? I’m going to go talk to Emma Strauss about some new stuff that Dirk found out about her boyfriend and—”

  “No. Thanks, Savannah, but I can’t. I have an appointment in an hour. Something I really need to do. I’m sorry. I hate letting you down.”

  Savannah set her mug aside and took Tammy’s empty glass from her. “That’s fine. Really, it’s okay. If you have something you’ve got to do, then by all means, you attend to that. I understand. More juice?”

  “No. I’ve got to get going.”

  “Okay.”

  Savannah set the glass in the sink, then stood there as an awkward, tense silence built between them.

  Finally, Tammy said, “I’m going to a counselor, a psychologist who specializes in … this stuff.” She pointed to her bruised face. “I know what you said, Savannah, about how this wasn’t my fault. I thought about it all night, and you’re right … I didn’t deserve what happened to me. I didn’t cause it.”

  Savannah nodded. “That’s absolutely correct, Tammy. You’re a victim of a crime, just like a man who’s mugged walking down a street or a woman who’s raped or a store owner who’s robbed.”

  “I realize that. Really, I do.” Tammy choked back tears as she reached for Savannah’s hand and held it tightly. “But I want to talk to someone, a professional. I want to do everything I can to make sure this never happens to me again.”

  Savannah pulled her into her arms and held her, like she had her younger brothers and sisters when they had been hurt in a thousand different ways.

  “I think that’s a great idea, darlin,’” she told her. “It’s very brave and smart, and I’m proud of you for making that decision.”

  No sooner had Savannah let go of her than they heard a cell phone ringing. They both cringed when they realized it was coming from Tammy’s purse.

  She opened her bag, took out the phone, and looked at the caller ID. “It’s Dirk,” she said. “Never thought I’d be so happy to hear from him.”

  She answered with a cheery, “Hi, Dirko.” She listened for a moment, then said, “I’m okay, thanks. I’m at Savannah’s.”

  Savannah poured herself another cup of coffee, pretending not to listen as Tammy said, “Oh, that’s so sweet of you. A really nice offer. Can I let you know later? Okay … yeah … you, too.”

  She hung up. “Dirk just told me that if I want to stay over at his trailer and sleep on the couch, I can … for as long as I want to.”

  “An old bear like him, who growls when anybody even gets near his cave door? Wow, that is a nice offer.”

  “He told me that the door key is under that old Hudson hubcap he’s got nailed to the porch. Like I didn’t know that’s where he keeps it.”

  Savannah laughed. “Like everybody who knows Dirk doesn’t know that’s where he keeps it.”

  “He also told me that he loves me.”

  Savannah was taken aback. “Really? I mean, I know he does, but … he actually said it?”

  “Well, his exact words were: ‘Stay out of trouble and keep your nose clean, fluff head.’ But I know that’s what he meant.”

  Savannah was hoping she could catch Emma at home alone without Kyd around. Not that she didn’t enjoy his scintillating conversation. Not that she didn’t welcome the chance to glean fashion tips and philosophical insights from this prince among men.

  But she could swear her ears were still bleeding from listening to his so-called music the last time she’d been there. She wanted to give them a little time to heal before the next exposure.

  And she was hoping to talk to Emma about him behind his back.

  So, when Emma invited her into the little beach cottage, and she asked, “Is Kyd around?” and Emma said, “No,” it was all she could do not to break into joyful song right there in the living room.

  “Is there something new on the case?” Emma said, motioning for her to take a seat.

  “You mean, something besides the fact that we’re no longer just trying to find out about your grandmother’s ‘accidents,’ but also trying to solve two murders?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  Savannah studied the redhead sitting on the chair across from her. She thought how many different versions of Emma she had seen since she had met her. There was the impeccably dressed, conservative woman who had hired her. The seemingly carefree beach bum in men’s boxers and a tank top, explaining the fine points of death metal rock to her. And this woman, who looked as though she hadn’t showered for days or slept for several nights.

  Something about the jittery way she raked her fingers through her short hair, the way she ran her hands up and down her arms and constantly shuffled her feet, made Savannah wonder if Waldo and Kyd were the only ones with drug habits.

  In spite of the fact that it was a cool morning at the beach, Emma was sweating, and Savannah was sure that her pupils were dilated.

  “Are you okay?” Savannah asked her.

  “Sure. Fine.” She fidgeted in her seat, toying with her hoop earring. “You said there’s a new development?”

  “We found out something that might be important. That’s why I thought I’d drop by and talk to you about it.”

  “Yeah. Okay. What is it?”

  “We just found out that Kyd and Waldo are good buddies. Have been for a while now.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say they’re good friends. They know each other. We’ve been out to my grandmother’s for social events.”

  Savannah didn’t like being lied to. It was one of her pet peeves. And being lied to by clients who were supposedly paying you to uncover the truth was particularly inconvenient and irksome.

  “You’ve taken Kyd to a lot of tea parties at Oma Helene’s, have you?” she asked.

  Emma squirmed a bit more. “I don’t see why it matters, if Kyd and Waldo know each other.”

  “It matters because they were busted together … for dealing drugs together. That matters, Emma.”

  “Kyd’s clean now. He goes to meetings to stay straight and sober.”

  “The last time I was here, he was having beer for breakfast. So much for his sobriety. And how straight has he been? As straight as you are now?”

  Emma stood, her arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t know why you’re talking to me like this, Savannah. I thought you and I were friends.”

  “So did I. But you weren’t truthful with me, Emma. And I know why. You didn’t want me to look at Kyd … to think he’s anything other than this great, talented musician, a real standup guy.”

  Emma shrugged and hugged
herself tightly. “I’m sorry, Savannah,” she said. “I admit it. I was afraid that if you knew Kyd had a record, you might think he had something to do with what happened to my grandmother. But he didn’t. He loves her.”

  “Who are you kidding, Emma? I’ll bet you he doesn’t even like her. If she died tomorrow, how long do you think it would take him to march you down the aisle?”

  “No! It’s not like that! Kyd loves me for who I am!”

  “Maybe he does and maybe he doesn’t. But, Emma, a woman in your position has to be careful, discerning. Hell, we all do, but a future heiress like yourself …”

  “I think you should leave. I’m sorry I ever hired you.”

  Savannah stood and looked deeply into the young woman’s eyes. “Tell me the truth, Emma. Why did you hire me? And don’t lie to me. I’ll be able to tell.”

  “To protect my grandmother. That’s why. I swear it.”

  “Then answer two more questions for me. And again, you better answer me truthfully.”

  “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “Where does Waldo keep the key to his shed … the one behind his house?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know. You lived on that property for years. You’ve known Waldo all your life. Where’s the key to that padlock he has on the door?”

  Emma swallowed hard. “There’s a rock with a peace sign painted on it, on the ground to the right of the shed door. He keeps it under that. Now, what’s your other question?”

  “Does Kyd know where the key is?”

  Emma closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them, they were filled with tears. “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes. Kyd knows.”

  Usually, Savannah found Dirk’s company to be a simple comfort, a bit like an old, well-worn, much-loved house slipper. Occasionally, he was highly annoying, more like having a grass burr on the seat of your pants.

  But once in a while, when she was sitting next to him in the passenger seat of his old Buick, smelling his cinnamon sticks and Old Spice shave lotion, listening to an Elvis classic, an expanse of some Southern California freeway stretching into the distance before them, Savannah felt like life was pert nigh perfect. And his presence was a large part of the feeling.

  “This better pay off,” he grumbled in the middle of her blessing counting. “If we drag our candy asses all the way to the stinkin’ valley for nothin’, I’m gonna fly into a blind rage.”

  She sighed. Back to the burr on the britches again.

  “Did you have a lot of other leads to follow up on?” she snapped back. “Calls pouring into the tip line? Witnesses lining up to say they saw a guy with a long, black cape and a big, black mustache sneaking around the spa, carrying a boom box?”

  “All right, all right.” He gave her a sideways grin. “That’s quite enough out of you.”

  She sniffed. “I’ll decide when enough’s enough. I’ve got a really strong feeling about this Kyd guy. I want to make sure he was where he said he was that night. And if that means going to a club called Hell’s Inferno in the stinkin’ hot valley, so be it.”

  “A phone call wouldn’t do it?”

  “I told you, they didn’t answer. You don’t listen to me.”

  “You talk too much. My ears get tired. They say women speak twice as many words in the course of a day as men do.”

  “That’s because men don’t listen and we have to repeat everything.”

  He craned his neck to watch a gorgeous, classic Harley that was weaving through traffic. When it was out of sight, he turned back to her. “What?”

  “Exactly.”

  Hell’s Inferno was everything it promised to be. The bar was blood-red, as were the tables and the chairs. It looked as though the so-called decorator had walked through the door and tossed buckets of red paint on everything, then told some second-rate cartoonists to paint the walls with flames and cheesy little devils dancing around with pitchforks.

  “What would you call this?” Dirk asked as they stood in the middle of the room, looking around. “Décor by Dante? Staging by Satan?”

  Savannah looked at him with mild amazement. “Did anybody ever tell you, you aren’t the run-of-the-mill blue-collar dude?”

  “All the time.”

  They walked over to the bar, where a gal with hair the color of the walls, tables, and chairs was slicing a pile of lemons and limes.

  Savannah sidled up to the bar. “Hi.”

  “We’re not open yet,” the girl said.

  “No problem. We’re not drinking yet,” Savannah replied. “But I’ll bet you make a wicked Bloody Mary in here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Can we ask you a couple of questions?”

  Dirk pulled out his badge and passed it under her nose.

  Her eyes lit up. She pushed the fruit away. “You mean, like, when cops walk into a bar and ask the bartenders about people who come into the bar and the cops pay them money for answering? That kind of questions?”

  Dirk scowled as he dug a couple of bills out of his pocket and laid them down. “Yeah. The kind where the bartender spills her guts and gives the cop his money’s worth.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  Savannah pointed to a poster on the wall behind the bar with the same hideous Poison Nails logo she had seen on the side of Kyd’s van. “They play here often?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah. They’re everybody’s favorite! They’re here every weekend and sometimes during the week. We sell their CDs and everything.” She reached behind the counter, pulled out a CD, and slid it across the bar.

  Savannah picked it up and scanned the list of titles. It read like a roster of slice-and-dice horror flicks.

  “Were they here this past Saturday night?” Dirk asked.

  “Sure. They play here every Saturday night. And even when they’re not playing, they come by and hang out.”

  “How often does Kyd drop in?” Savannah asked.

  “Oh, he’s in two, three times a week with his girlfriend. He’s so cool. I love his hair. He likes mine, too. He’s into redheads.”

  “Apparently so,” Savannah said. “Emma’s isn’t as red as yours, but—”

  “Who’s Emma?”

  “His girlfriend.”

  “His girlfriend’s name isn’t Emma, and she’s certainly not a redhead. She’s a blonde … very proud of all her highlights … and her fake boobs … and her expensive, old-lady clothes. She stands out like a sore thumb in this place.”

  She made a face like she had just sucked on one of her freshly cut lemon wedges. “I don’t know what he sees in her. She’s old enough to be his mother and then some. It’s probably her money. He said she’s coming into some big money soon, and she’s going to finance his career. She’s already produced a CD for them.”

  Savannah felt something rising in her spirit that felt effervescent, like a nice champagne. She glanced at Dirk and saw a smile on his face that told her he was feeling the same thing.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know the name of this older girlfriend of his, would you?” she asked.

  “Sure. Her name is Ada.” She looked under the bar and found yet another CD. She handed it to Savannah. “This is the one she produced. It’s a completely different style than they usually do. I hate it. Figures she’d produce something stupid like that.”

  Dirk leaned halfway across the bar, giving the gal one of his gunfighter glares, as Savannah called them. “Are you absolutely, positively sure that Kyd was here last Saturday night. All night?”

  “No.”

  “No, you aren’t sure?” Savannah asked.

  “No, he wasn’t here.”

  Savannah’s thoughts spun around in a circle. “But you said Poison Nails played.”

  “They did. But Kyd called that afternoon and said he had an upset stomach and couldn’t make it. Antonio sat in for him.”

  Savannah turned to Dirk, a smirk on her face. “So, tell me, big boy,” she said. “Are you glad
you came to the stinkin’ valley now?”

  Chapter 24

  This time it was Kyd’s turn to sweat in the no-air-conditioning interrogation room of the San Carmelita police station. And he wasn’t doing any better than his buddy, Waldo, had.

  Even copious amounts of ultra-gel weren’t standing up to the heat. His hair was plastered flat against his head, and he was as wet with perspiration and as fidgety as his girlfriend had been earlier that morning. Though Savannah was pretty sure his condition wasn’t the result of a narcotic high.