by Patricia Fry
Sarah continued to stare at Savannah. She then glanced over at Michael. “You should both be seen.”Addressing Savannah, she asked, “You can drive, can’t you? Your right leg is okay?”
Savannah nodded.
Just then, a male paramedic walked in and addressed Sarah. “We’re taking the other guy to the hospital with a police escort.”
Savannah grabbed Michael’s arm, shaking it a little. Her face brightened into a wide smile. “Did you hear that, Michael? You put him in the hospital. My hero.”
“Naw, honey. He just wants to go there instead of jail; right Jim?”
Jim, who had been standing against the reception desk going over his notes, tilted his head in their direction. “Could be, Dr. Mike. Could be.”
The three of them watched as Sarah packed up her equipment. “Can we go?” Michael asked Deputy Jim.
“Yes, but I recommend you do as the medic suggests. Go get checked out. This is partly for your health, Dr. Ivey, but you may need a report if this case goes to trial.” He winked. “Just a little off-the-record professional advice, sir.”
Savannah sat up straight. In her most authoritative tone, she said, “That’s where we’re going right now, then.” She looked toward the hallway, a hint of sadness crossing her face. “…as soon as we put that poor dog in the cooler.”
After locking up the back area of the clinic and grabbing their belongings, Savannah and Michael returned to the waiting room. Just then, Jim stepped in and spotted them. “You might want to wait until they load Gamble into the wagon. He’s pretty angry. I don’t think you want to hear his tirade.”
Savannah felt suddenly weak-kneed. She took a deep breath and then pressed her lips together in an attempt to hold back another barrage of tears.
Chapter Two
“It was like watching a barroom brawl on the big screen with Sylvester Stallone,” Savannah said, her green eyes widening as she relived the scene. She became somber. “Only it was my gorgeous husband out there. Oh Auntie, I was so scared.”
“You were scared?” Michael challenged as he set his sandwich down on the plate in front of him and took a sip of sun tea.
“Yes. I was really scared.” She looked over at him, cocking her head. “And you weren’t?”
“Sure was,” he said picking up his sandwich and taking another bite.
“Well, you didn’t act like it. You were so courageous. Made me swoon.”
“You swooned? I thought you just tripped over something.”
“Yeah, when that guy pushed me,” she said, looking down at her leg which she had elevated on a kitchen chair. She adjusted the icepack.
“You two checked out okay at the emergency room, didn’t you?” Margaret asked, concern taking over her round face.
“Yes. Well, Michael got a pretty good wallop on the back of the head and he needs to take it easy for a few days. My knee is throbbing like heck.”
“And we’re both stiff and sore,” Michael said. “We move like old people.”
Margaret’s husband, Max shook his head slowly from side to side. “I can just imagine.” He looked across the kitchen table at Michael. “So what’s he charged with?”
“Probably assault.”
Max poked at the small portion of coleslaw left on his plate. “Really too bad all the way around. You lost a dog—that’s gotta be hard to start with—and then his owner goes berserk and threatens your life. And then you get beat up.”
Margaret cocked her head, her brown bobbed hair dancing across one shoulder. “But look at the bright side.”
Savannah creased her brow. “Bright side?”
“Yeah, what bright side?” Michael challenged, squinting his clear blue eyes.
Everyone waited to hear Margaret’s reasoning. She looked around the room and then said, “You’re still here. You live to treat more dogs and cats, have some kids, and finish the renovation of this old place.”
“Yes, we’re still here.” Michael reached over and squeezed Savannah’s hand. “I’m definitely thankful for that.”
Margaret blotted her mouth with her napkin, folded it onto her empty dinner plate, and addressed Michael. “What you’re doing with this house is wonderful. I’m so glad you two were able to buy it. It’s perfect for you.”
Max shoved his plate toward the center of the kitchen table. “Yes, Michael, you are quite the craftsman. I had no idea.”
“We do love it here,” Savannah said, reaching out to stack the dinner plates, “where Adam can come, where I can have Peaches, where Mom and my sister can stay when they visit. It’s great.”
Margaret stood. “Stay there, Vannie. I’ll take care of that. You two need rest. Isn’t that why we came over and fixed supper for you?”
“And it was delicious,” Michael said. He addressed Savannah, “Honey, see if you can get the recipe from Max.”
“Yes, Max. That is the tastiest grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had. What is your secret ingredient?” Savannah asked.
“There are several of them—like the Texas sliced bread…” Max started.
“That’s right, you have to use fresh thick-sliced bread,” Margaret agreed. “I like to bake my own or buy it fresh-baked and cut it into thick slices.”
“And then you use pepper-jack cheese, right?” Michael asked.
“Yup.” Max nodded. “Or any cheese of your choice. Two slices on each slice of bread. And in between, before putting the sandwich on the griddle, we spread a mixture of roasted tomatoes, lime zest and juice, red or green onions, and chopped cilantro. I like to roast the tomatoes with a little olive oil and garlic.”
Savannah tilted her head toward Max. “That’s it?” She then looked over at her husband. “I think we could do that, don’t you, honey?”
“Yeah, we should be able to manage it. Sure was good.” He addressed Max, “Did you learn this recipe at the culinary academy?”
Max thought for a moment and then said, “No. I think one of the restaurants I worked at in Chicago had one similar to this on the menu. This is a copycat recipe.”
“Berry cobbler anyone?” Savannah offered. “And coffee?”
“When did you make that?” Margaret asked.
“Early this morning. I thought we’d have some for breakfast, but we got kinda side-tracked. After my ride, we hot-footed it to the clinic and…well, you know the rest of the story.” She reached up and whisked her long bangs to one side. “So any takers?”
“Sure.” Max nodded enthusiastically.
“Yeowza!” Margaret said from where she stood rinsing dishes at the sink.
Savannah started to move her leg off the chair. “I’ll heat the cobbler and set the ice cream out to soften. That will give the coffee time to brew.”
“I’ll do it. You just sit, will ya?” Margaret scolded.
“Thanks, Auntie,” she said while rearranging the icepack again.
“It hurts, huh?” Margaret asked, concern in her voice.
“Yeah, a little. Trying to keep the swelling down.”
“What’s that?” Margaret jumped back and looked down toward her feet. “Well, hello Walter. Where’s your sidekick?”
Just then, the jangle of a dog collar could be heard and everyone looked over in time to see Lexie rising up from a nap in her bed near the kitchen door. When the dog saw the furry black cat rubbing up against Margaret, she rushed over to him and began bumping him with her nose. Walter laid down and froze in place; Lexie pawed at him.
“Watch out Lexie, he’s going to get you,” Michael warned.
Suddenly, Walter swished his tail once and then twice. His ears went back and the game was on. The cat and the Afghan-mix dog began chasing each other through the kitchen, into the dining room and living room and then back into the kitchen where they tore around the table—Walter in the lead during one go-around and then it was Lexie. Finally, amidst laughter, the duo raced into the living room and up the large staircase where they disappeared.
“What a pair,” Max said, st
ill laughing.
“Yes, they are entertaining,” Savannah agreed.
“So how does Rags and the little Himmie fit into the scheme of things here?” Max wanted to know.
“They stay out of the way when those two decide to play,” Michael said.
Savannah chuckled. “Rags and Buffy have teamed up. But they’re quite the odd couple. Buffy is so prim and fastidious. Rags is lackadaisical. She likes routine and loves to laze around in someone’s lap. He thrives on adventure and, as you know, has bundles of energy and some rather creative habits. She was kind of a loner, wasn’t she, Michael, before Rags came along?” He nodded and she continued, “Now she follows him around, plays with him and even lets him sleep in her pink canopy bed.”
“Now there’s a vision I can’t quite wrap my brain around—that long-legged cat of yours curled up in a pink foo-foo bed…” Margaret said with a laugh.
“Yeah, it is rather humorous,” Michael agreed. Then he explained, “He’s still king pin around here. It was Rags’s home first, you know.”
“Oh yes, I know,” Margaret said. “He took over as soon as he and Savannah moved in here with me last year.” She placed the cobbler in the oven and turned to face the others. “He wouldn’t leave my stuff alone—had to get married and move it all over to Max’s place.”
Max stiffened and frowned at his wife. “You married me to get away from Rags?”
Margaret laughed, walked over behind Max and put her hands on his shoulders. “Just kidding.” She looked at Savannah and asked, “Does he still steal things?”
“Uh, sure does, Auntie.” Savannah grimaced. “In fact, I think I see him snooping in your purse.”
“Drats.” Margaret dashed into the living room. Everyone laughed. “Oh no you don’t,” they heard her say. “What do you have, Rags? Bring that back, you bad boy.”
“Oh dear, I’d better go intervene,” Savannah said, preparing to move her leg off the chair.
Max stood. “No stay here. I’ll go.”
“So what did he take?” Savannah asked when she saw Margaret and Max return with big grins on their faces.
“Nothing,” Margaret said, walking into the pantry in search of ground coffee.
Max sat down, leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Nothing, my eye. You could have poisoned him with that thing. You really shouldn’t be leaving something like that down where a cat like Rags can get it. He did save your life once, you know.”
Margaret set the canister of coffee on the counter. She stood silent for a moment, remembering. No, she would never forget Rags’s part in saving her and Savannah from that crazy kidnapper. “Yes, he did,” she said.
She turned to face the others, tugging a little at the hem of her loose-flowing, purple-print blouse. “No. I would not want to harm one whisker on his little face.” She then tightened her mouth in staunch determination. “But I don’t need him stealing my stuff, either.”
“Then put your stuff out of his reach,” Max scolded good naturedly, his brown eyes twinkling under heavy, dark brows.
Margaret raised her arms. “And where is that? Where is, ‘out of his reach,’ pray tell?”
Max looked across the table at Savannah. “Good question. Do you have an answer?”
She addressed her aunt: “Sure, inside a closet or one of the rooms where you changed those lever door handles to knobs. He could certainly open the lever-handled doors, but not those with knobs.”
“We’ll have to build a closet just for women’s purses,” Michael joked.
Margaret, who had finished making the coffee, took her seat. She looked over at Michael. “Speaking of your projects, how’s the renovation going?”
“Good. I’m really enjoying the work.” He smiled. “This place is a tinkerer’s dream house.”
She leaned forward and looked squarely in his eyes. “Now tell me, have you found anything…well, unusual while tearing out walls and floors and such?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Um, no.” And then he chuckled. “Like what? Pirates’ gold or a lost Rembrandt?”
“Noooo, maybe something sinister.”
“Sinister?” the trio repeated.
“In what way?” Michael asked. “Dead body?”
“Been there, done that,” Margaret quipped with a shudder, remembering the day she found Marvin Byrd’s body in an upstairs bedroom of the old Forster home—her former home. “No, let’s don’t go there. No more dead bodies. No, Michael, from what I hear tell, it’s something a tad more…let’s say…eerie.”
“A ghost?” Savannah asked. Her face lit up. “Auntie did you sell us a haunted house? How cool is that?”
“No, I don’t think it’s haunted—unless old Jed Forster is still around.” Margaret thought for a moment and then smiled, her brown eyes sparkling under dark-brown bangs. “But his spirit would be gentle. He would fit in nicely with the two of you.”
“Well, I don’t want anyone else living here with us and peering in on our private life,” Michael said emphatically.
“The house isn’t haunted, Michael,” Margaret insisted.
“Then what?” he asked.
“To tell you the truth…”
“Helllloooooo, anyone here? Michael? Savannah?”
“Oh, it’s Iris,” Savannah said, rising carefully from her chair and hobbling toward the living room. She saw Iris peering through the open door and called out, “Come in, girlfriend.”
Iris stepped inside and closed the door. She looked at Savannah, concern on her face. “I heard about the…trouble and came to see if you two are okay.” She glanced around behind Savannah. “Where’s Michael?”
“He’s right in here.” Savannah grabbed Iris’s arm and began leading her along. “Come on in; have some cobbler with us.”
Iris stopped. “Just a minute, let me find a spot for my purse—somewhere away from that thieving cat of yours.” She laughed.
Savannah shook her head, grinning slightly as Iris reached up and tucked her large purse into a space on a bookshelf. Just then, Iris felt something against her leg. She looked down, a few curly wisps of red hair bouncing alongside her face. “Hi there, Lexie. How are you, girl?” She stooped over and ruffled the dog’s fawn-colored fur before entering the kitchen.
Michael stood. “Hi Iris. Have a seat—join us.”
Margaret reached out for Iris’s hand and the two former graduates of the Hammond High School class of 1973 greeted one another warmly. Iris patted Max on the shoulder. “Hi there, Max. Good to see you.” After sitting down in the chair Michael had pulled out for her, Iris looked over at Michael and Savannah, scrutinizing them carefully, and then frowned. “So how are you two? Sounds like you had an awful situation at the clinic this morning.”
“How did you hear about it already?” Savannah asked.
“Craig told me.”
“Oh yes, your honey. We can’t keep anything from you anymore since you’re dating Detective Craig Sledge.” Michael laughed.
“You were going to keep this from me? Why?” Iris looked hurt.
“Noooo.” Savannah slapped her hand in the air in front of her. “He’s delusional.” She leaned toward Iris and whispered loudly, “…got a wallop on the head, you know.”
Iris looked over at Michael again and noticed the purple swelling on the side of his face. “Oh Michael, you look like you took a beating. How are you feeling?”
He grimaced slightly, took a deep breath, and coughed. “Not too bad—a little sore here and there.”
“I would imagine.” Her eyes darted from Michael to Savannah. “So what happened?”
The couple repeated the details of the story once again.
“What does the doctor say?” she asked.
“Just to take it easy, use icepacks—general stuff like that,” Michael said. “Oh honey, you’d better get that pack on your knee.”
“Your knee?” Iris looked over at Savannah.
“Yes, Iris,” Margaret said—her voice accelera
ted, “he hit Savannah, too and knocked her down. She has a messed-up knee.”
“My God!” Iris exclaimed, looking down at Savannah’s legs. “He attacked you, too?”
“He pushed me, that’s all.”
Iris sat up straight, revealing a hint of black lace from beneath the low neckline of her fitted green and black blouse. “That’s assault, kiddo.”
“Oh I forgot, you know the lingo now,” Savannah said as she started to stand up. “Ouch.” She grimaced, reaching down and cupping her hand over her knee.
Margaret quickly stood. “Sit down, Vannie. I’ll serve the cobbler.”
Iris joined Margaret at the kitchen counter. “Here, Maggie, let me get those,” Iris said when she saw her struggling to reach the dessert plates.
“Thanks, Iris. Everything in this house is organized for giants. I need a stepstool or stilts to get anything out of these cabinets.” Margaret glanced over at her husband and said, “I’m trying to train Max to store everyday things we need for the shelter cats where I can reach them.”
“Or you could just grow, or wear platform shoes,” Savannah quipped.
Margaret smirked in her niece’s direction. “Spoken by the only Brannon to get the tall genes.”
Once the cobbler was served and the coffee poured, Michael asked Iris, “So is Craig on the case?”
“He didn’t say.” She took a sip of coffee, looked down at her dessert, and shook her head. “This is an awful thing to have happened. I was so scared for you two when I heard about it.” Tears filled her eyes.
“We’re okay, Iris,” Savannah said, setting her fork down and patting her friend’s arm. “Thanks for caring.”
“Iris, what do you hear from Damon?” Margaret asked. “Is he getting along okay?”
Still dabbing at her carefully made-up eyes, Iris said, “It seems so. He’s over at the state prison. Craig thinks he may get out early.” Her eyes brightened a little. “We can visit.”
“You visit that place?” Margaret scrunched up her face. “I’ve never set foot in a prison or jail. It must be dreary and drab. And then there are all of those…criminals.” She shuddered.
“It’s not my favorite place to spend a Sunday afternoon; that’s for sure,” Iris agreed. She took a bite of her cobbler, swallowed, and said, “But they do have a grassy area with picnic tables where you can visit. So it’s not too bad.” She looked off into space for a moment. “If I want my son back, it’s something I have to do.” She glanced over at Margaret. “You know, Maggie, Damon and I get along better when he’s in jail than any other time. It’s almost like the relationship we had when he was twelve. You remember those days, don’t you? He was a cool kid. Things didn’t go bad until he was in his senior year at high school.” She became sullen for a moment. And then she smiled. “He’s a very different young man when he’s not with those so called friends of his.”
