“Bring her with you next time, wouldja?” he asked. “I miss her when she’s not around.”
Tammy smiled, any former bad feelings disappearing in an instant. “I will,” she said. “She loves you, too.”
Just for a moment, Savannah saw her husband’s face soften and a light of happiness glimmer in his eyes.
But then he glanced her way and, once again, his troubled look returned.
Oh, no! Savannah thought. It is me he’s mad at, she thought. Not the world. Not the captain. Not Tammy. Me.
It was a deeply upsetting thing to realize. For the first time since she had said, “I do,” Savannah wondered if there might be something seriously wrong with her marriage.
Like any couple, they’d always had their share of squabbles. Maybe even more than their fair share, considering his basic lack of good manners and her low tolerance level.
But this was a whole new and worrisome situation. She wasn’t sure how to handle it.
She walked over to the sofa, dusted the top of the camera with her sleeve, and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. “There you go, sugar.”
Having lived alone for most of his adult life without anyone to fetch him a cold beer, offer a spontaneous back rub, or deliver a spare roll of toilet paper to the powder room at an opportune moment, Dirk was usually most grateful for these small niceties that communal-living people often took for granted.
That heartfelt gratitude, warmly expressed, was one of the pleasures of living with him . . . along with the fact that he was quick to offer such favors himself.
But today, all she received in return for her efforts was an unintelligible grumble.
One more try, she thought, her own irritation triumphing for a moment over her concerns for their relationship. And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to leave him and that grouchy face of his alone. He can either wallow in his grumpiness or decide to get happy in the same pants he got cranky in.
Her plan of action formulated, she tried again. “I’ve got some of that leftover smoked turkey in the refrigerator,” she told him. “There’s a fresh avocado, a nice, big tomato from the garden, some Dijon mustard. I could make you some sandwiches to eat on your stakeout tonight. If you ask nice, I might throw in some cookies, too.”
He considered it long and hard. Then he gave her a quick, troubled look and said, “Naw. That’s all right. I’ll grab some tacos or somethin’ at Juanita’s stand.”
Oh, howdy! This is serious, she told herself.
In all the years she’d known him, Dirk had never chosen tacos from a stand, not even Juanita’s, over her smoked turkey sandwiches. Not to mention freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
She looked over at Tammy and saw that her young friend’s mouth was literally hanging open.
Surely, this would make the network evening news. The lead story! It was one of those moments in history when, later, you would look back and say, “I remember exactly where I was, the precise moment when I heard . . .”
Savannah had a feeling it was going to take a lot more than one of Tammy’s infamous banana and seaweed smoothies to set her husband right again.
Even more troubling, there was another element to his mood that bothered her. It concerned her more than his surliness.
Since their anniversary squabble, he had been avoiding her eyes. On the rare occasion when he had sneaked a peek at her, she’d seen something that would bother any wife.
Guilt.
Not being a man who was given to a great deal of self-examination, Dirk wasn’t someone who suffered a great deal from guilt. Since he didn’t give half a hoot what his fellow humans thought of him, he seldom lied. If someone didn’t agree with his actions or like his words, too bad. He didn’t feel the need to cover any perceived wrongdoings with falsehoods.
Contrary to popular opinion, Dirk Coulter held himself to a relatively high standard of conduct. If tempted to do something that he was likely to feel guilty about later, he simply didn’t do it.
But there had been that time when he had accidentally broken her favorite Beauty and the Beast mug. Not only had he neglected to mention the catastrophe when it happened, but he had unabashedly lied his butt off about having no idea what might have happened to it.
She distinctly remembered the look on his face when he had fake-hunted for it with her on the top shelves of the cupboards. His eyes had the same furtive, anxious look that Waycross had worn when he came home from school on report card day.
Dirk had that look now.
Unexplained guilt.
It was certainly enough to raise any wife’s hackles and set her on a truth-finding mission.
She sat down in her chair and propped her feet on the footstool. “Did you mention to the captain that you had done four double tours this week? Seems like he’d want to avoid that for budgetary reasons, if nothing else.”
Dirk waited, a moment too long, before answering. “You know the captain. Nobody can tell him nothin’.”
Hardly an answer to her question.
She donned the most casual of her pseudo-casual voices. “Where is this drug house he’s got you sitting on? A rough area?”
“Rough enough.”
Again, not exactly full disclosure.
She laid her final card on the table. “I could go with you tonight, keep you company. Help you stay awake.”
He gave her a look of alarm, then quickly recovered himself and put on his own poker face. “Naw. That’s not necessary. There’s no point in both of us losing sleep.”
Rather quickly, for a guy who had been “dragging buns” only minutes before, he jumped to his feet, snatched up the camera, and draped the strap around his neck. “I gotta get back to the station house. Got stuff to do. A lot of stuff.”
Before Savannah could even give him a proper good-bye kiss, he was gone, slamming the front door behind him. Even Cleo sat on the floor, staring at the closed door and looking confused.
Savannah walked over to the front window and watched as he moped oh-so-slowly to the cruiser, his head down, his hands deep in the pockets of his bomber jacket.
For a guy who had just roared out the door as though somebody had set fire to his coattails, he seemed to be in no hurry at all to get to the vehicle.
See? He’s not rushing around now, that nasty voice in Savannah’s head said. He doesn’t have to be anywhere quick. He just wanted to be away from you! He doesn’t love you anymore, and he can’t bring himself to tell you. Not yet anyway. He will. Soon.
Tears flooded Savannah’s eyes until she could barely see him pulling out of the driveway and heading down the street . . . in the opposite direction from the one he would take to the station house.
You don’t know that he’s fallen out of love with you, her calm, wise voice countered. Something is wrong, but you have no idea what it is. Many things could be bothering him. There is no reason to assume it’s you.
Finally, with those comforting words in mind, she managed to halfway collect herself. She dabbed at her wet eyes with her shirt cuffs and turned her back to the window.
That was when she realized that Tammy was watching her. To her horror, she saw that Tammy’s eyes were filled with tears, too.
See? You aren’t imagining it after all, her fears told her, as though mocking any trace of optimism she had managed to conjure. Even Tammy knows there’s something wrong. Really, badly wrong. It’s over. And not just the honeymoon. The marriage. The whole kit and caboodle. . . down the toilet. Ker-flush!
Tammy shook her head solemnly. “I’m telling you,” she said, “potassium. Make up a big batch of that banana pudding he likes so much. It’ll turn him right around.”
“Since when does Miss Health Food Tammy recommend a sugary food like banana pudding?” Savannah asked. “You know, as well as I do, that whatever’s wrong with him, it isn’t going to be fixed with a big helping of dessert.”
Tammy looked down at the floor, blinked, and the tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m just tr
ying to help.”
“I know you are, darlin’. That’s all you’ve ever tried to do, and I love you for it. But I think this time it’s serious.”
Tammy rose from her chair and hurried across the room. Wrapping her arms around Savannah, she pulled her into a tight hug.
Savannah wanted to melt into her friend’s embrace, but she knew that if she allowed herself that luxury, she would dissolve into a hot, sobbing mess. And she couldn’t let that happen. Tammy wasn’t just her friend, she was her employee, her assistant.
Somewhere in the manual, Gaining and Maintaining Your Employees’ Respect 101, Savannah was pretty sure there had to be a chapter warning bosses not to blubber all over the help.
It just didn’t look good.
Chapter 9
Putting her own marital troubles and concerns aside for the moment, Savannah left Tammy at the computer in the living room and exited the house by way of the rear door.
No sooner had she stepped off the porch and into her backyard than she began to feel a bit better. Along with a generous amount of help from Granny Reid, Savannah had created a virtual fairyland garden of flowers including roses, hollyhocks, geraniums, jasmine, and hydrangea. Then there were the edibles: strawberries, tomatoes, cucumbers, grape vines, raspberry bushes, and myriad herbs. Of course, a Southern cook couldn’t be without a few food-producing trees. Years ago, she had planted a peach and apricot tree. Both produced a generous amount every spring, along with the ongoing supply of lemons, oranges, and avocados.
No one went hungry in Savannah’s presence, and certainly not in her backyard.
The floral and fruit scents alone were enough to satiate the soul.
But today, Savannah didn’t enjoy her corner of Eden quite as much as she usually did when entering it. She had other things on her mind, things more important and urgent than propping up peonies or thinning the lettuce.
She walked over to one of her favorite spots on earth, her wisteria arbor, sat down in one of the comfortable lawn chairs beneath it, and pushed some buttons on her phone.
Dr. Liu answered it almost instantly. “Yes, Savannah?” She sounded anxious.
“Hi.” Savannah drew a slow, full breath. The perfume of the garden soothed her spirit and helped her to arrange her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“Good” was the quick reply.
“I know I swore to you that I’d keep this problem of yours to myself. And I’ll keep my promise for as long as you hold me to it. But it’s not going to be easy.”
“Okay. Go on. . . .”
“My granny and Tammy were both aware that I went out to see a friend this morning.”
“No harm in that.”
“You wouldn’t think so, would you? But Tammy’s too bright for my own good. The minute I walked through the front door, Miss Smarty Pants asked me how Dr. Liu was doing.”
“No way!”
“She did. I’m not kidding! She said I smelled like formaldehyde and the only person I ever visit and come home from smelling like a natural history museum is you.”
Savannah heard Jennifer chuckle a bit on the other end of the line. “That’s a new one,” the doctor said. “Usually, I’m accused of making people smell like week-old corpses. I guess that’s an improvement.”
“True,” Savannah said. “But it presents a problem. As it turns out, my friends and family are some of the brightest people you’re ever going to meet. Keeping a secret from them, especially a big one that I’m going to be working on day and night . . . I’m not sure I can pull it off.”
“I see your point.”
“Worse yet, I have to be honest with you, Jen. Without their help, I don’t know where to start. I haven’t worked alone on anything for a long time. Until this minute, I didn’t realize how spoiled I’ve become. I depend on Tammy for research, Ryan and John for surveillance and technology, Dirk for his law enforcement connections and know-how.”
“Not to mention his brawn. He may not be my favorite person on the planet, but he’s a good bodyguard, I’m sure.”
Savannah smiled, a bit sadly. “Having a big bloke alongside you, one who loves you to pieces and would die for you, it does come in handy once in a while.”
Yeah, but you don’t know for sure that he still loves you, whispered her inner tormenter.
Oh, stick it up your left nostril, she replied.
She returned her attention to the external conversation at hand. “With your blessing, Jen,” she began, “and only with your permission, I would like to at least share the situation with Tammy. I can’t tell Dirk about it and put him in a compromised position, and I don’t need to bring Ryan and John in at this point. We can keep Waycross out of it. His leg renders him pretty useless anyway. But Tammy’s research abilities are invaluable to me. Especially with your problem, because we’re trying to keep everything under wraps. It’s a lot easier to spy on people using the Internet.”
“Unfortunate, but true.”
“I just can’t do without Tammy. She’s like my right arm. My left arm, too.”
Jennifer was silent for a moment, and Savannah could tell she was mulling it over.
“You can depend on Tammy,” Savannah added for good measure. “I would trust her with my life. Heck, I have trusted her with my life, and she’s never let me down.”
Finally, Jennifer reached her decision. Savannah heard her sigh and clear her throat. “Okay,” she said. “I trust you, Savannah, and you trust Tammy. That’s enough for me. Go for it.”
“Thank you, Jen. I appreciate it. You won’t be sorry. I promise.”
Savannah made sure she had ended the call and put the phone into her pocket before she whispered a little prayer. “Now, Lord . . . don’t make me out a liar. Okay?”
As she stood and made her way back through the garden toward the house, toward Tammy, Savannah felt a wash of relief sweep over her. At the thought of bringing her best friend into the investigation, she instantly felt less alone in the world.
She also experienced a bit of an epiphany. In that moment, Savannah realized how much her relationship with Tammy had changed.
The giddy, nosy little wanna-be detective, who was pretty good with computers and endearingly eager to improve her craft, had learned a lot and grown into a woman with powerful investigation skills.
Skills that Savannah could hardly function without.
She had also become a dear friend that Savannah never, ever wanted to be without.
* * *
“I’m thinking it was some sort of suicide pact,” Tammy said, after Savannah had filled her in on the scant details of the case that had been gathered so far.
“That’s what I was thinking, too, considering those lab reports showed the exact same cocktail of drugs,” Savannah agreed. “What are the odds that both of them would have the same recipe otherwise? Dr. Liu said it’s a rare concoction. One that would be particularly lethal.”
“Maybe someone’s posted instructions on how to mix it on the Internet.”
Tammy left the sofa, where the two women had been sitting as they discussed the case and possible avenues of investigation. She walked over to the desk and perched herself on Savannah’s old, leather, diamond-tucked chair. “Let me see if I can find any reference to it online.”
Savannah picked up the copies of Brianne’s and Nels’s toxicology reports, that Jennifer had made for her, from the coffee table and thumbed through them. “The main ingredient is primibarbital, if that helps.”
“It might,” Tammy said as she signed on. “Unless that’s the major ingredient in all suicide cocktails. I can’t say as I stay on top of that sort of thing.”
Savannah thought of all the joy that Tammy had in her world . . . a husband who adored her and the cutest baby on earth . . . at least in the Reid-Coulter family’s estimation. No wonder she wasn’t well-versed on how to end a life.
Not everyone was so blessed. Or, if they were, not all were capable of realizing it.
As Tam
my worked, Savannah sat patiently, happy to have her computer genius at work on her behalf. When the pinnacle of one’s Internet expertise consisted of checking one’s email and saving recipes on Pinterest, it was good to have a techno-savvy, whiz kid on the job.
“Okay,” Tammy said at last, “I’ve used numerous search engines, and I see only a few references to that drug. None of them include any sort of recipe. From what I can tell, some specialized anesthesiologists administer it to patients during surgeries, but it isn’t widely used. There have been some problems with it.”
“Then we’ll certainly check to see if either Brianne or Nels had any former lovers or family members who are anesthesiologists.”
“Or vets. Apparently, it’s used to euthanize animals, as well.”
“Okay, would you please check out some of these other drugs, too?” Savannah started to read the list, then decided against it. After even a few of the ten-syllable words, her tongue started to tie in knots.
She took the papers to Tammy and spread them out on the desk next to the computer, all the while making a mental note to be sure to pick them up and hide them before Dirk returned home after his late shift.
It wasn’t easy hiding things from a good cop. He wasn’t carrying a gold detective badge for nothing.
Savannah walked into the kitchen and got herself a glass of iced tea and a filtered water for Tammy.
By the time she returned, Tammy had given up the search. “I found references to all of these other drugs individually, but I don’t see any mention of this combination anywhere,” she told Savannah, taking the glass with its decorative celery stick. “If I can’t find it, I don’t believe Brianne or Nels could have either.”
Savannah pulled up a side chair and sat next to her, watching as she zipped through several websites, scanning their information.
“I’ve checked these pro-suicide websites,” Tammy said, “and there’s no mention of using this combination of—”
“Pro-suicide?” Savannah was shocked. “Are you telling me there are websites that support that sort of thing?”
Tammy nodded. “If you search ‘suicide,’ mostly you’ll find sites that try to talk you out of it. Others inform the public about how to help a loved one who’s depressed or how to save someone’s life who’s overdosed. But there are plenty of other sites designed by people who fully support an individual’s right to decide to end it all.”
Bitter Brew Page 7
