Bitter Brew

by G. A. McKevett

  Savannah cringed at even the thought of her little brother being sick. Of her eight siblings, Waycross and Alma were, hands down, her favorites. Sweet, sensible, generous, and loving, he had always been dear to her heart.

  She asked, “Tummy or muscle cramps or headaches or—?”

  “All of the above.”

  “O-o-o, that’s rough. Can I help? I could run to the drugstore for you or bring some chicken soup or . . .”

  “No. I think we’re okay.”

  Savannah thought of little Vanna. “How about you and the baby?” she asked. “We wouldn’t want either of you to catch it, especially the little one.”

  “I know. I was just going to suggest that to Waycross.”

  “Do you and the baby want to stay at my house until he gets a bit better? He might appreciate the peace and quiet.”

  “No, it’s worse than that. I’m afraid to leave him alone. He’s really sick. Throwing up constantly, dizzy, weak. He’s a disaster. Couldn’t even keep down the herbal tea or miso soup I gave him. He threw up when I even mentioned a seaweed smoothie.”

  “Oh, wow. I hate to hear that. I know how much he loves those.”

  “I know, right?”

  “What if I come get Vanna and take care of her for you while you tend to my brother?”

  “But you have”—Tammy dropped her voice to a whisper—“that thing you’re working on. You don’t have time to babysit.”

  Savannah was about to tell her that family came first and the investigation would have to wait, but then she thought of a better plan. “Pack that little puddin’ cup a diaper bag with some bottles of that special momma milk of yours, and I’ll swing by and get her. I’ll ask Gran to come to my house, and she’ll help me watch her.”

  “But if Gran’s around you very long, she’ll figure out that you’re up to something.”

  “That ship done sailed,” Savannah said with a sigh. “One glance and she knew I’d been chewed on by a billy goat.”

  * * *

  Savannah only needed a few minutes to get to the charming little storybook house on Pelican Lane where Tammy lived with Waycross. Two doors from the beach with a steeply pitched roof, horseshoe-shaped door, rustic stonework, and leaded glass windows, the fanciful cottage had been Tammy’s home for quite some time before Waycross had relocated from Georgia to San Carmelita.

  The house had been a gift from Savannah after a particularly lucrative case had closed. Savannah had happily bestowed it upon her faithful friend and assistant as a reward for all the uncompensated time and love that Tammy had given the agency for so long.

  Sometime later, to Savannah’s delight, Waycross had visited California and promptly fallen in love with the Golden State and his golden girl, though not in that order. Fortunately, Tammy and he had figured out that they were in love far more quickly than she and Dirk had.

  Savannah couldn’t have been happier when the sister her heart had chosen became her honest-to-goodness sister-in-law.

  It was always a pleasure to drive down here to this picturesque cottage and recall the good times they had shared over the years. But today, Savannah had more serious things on her mind. The case, her marriage, and if those weren’t enough, her younger brother’s health.

  No sooner had she pulled into their driveway, than the door opened and Tammy appeared on the porch with Vanna Rose in one arm and the diaper bag in the other.

  Savannah got out of the car and hurried to her.

  “Give that little fairy princess to her auntie Savannah,” she said, taking the excited, wriggling child into her arms.

  Savannah looked into the baby’s bright eyes, sparkling with joy at seeing her, and her heart melted.

  Children, dogs and kitties . . . the purest sources of true, unconditional love on earth. It was the sort of affection that healed the heart in an instant and brought peace to the most troubled soul.

  She kissed the baby’s chubby pink cheeks, then turned to Tammy. “How’s that little brother of mine doing?”

  “He refuses to go to the doctor,” Tammy replied, a worried scowl on her pretty face. “I told him if he gets any worse, I’m going to make him go, if I have to drag him there myself.”

  “Good for you. If he kicks and screams too much, give me a call. Between the two of us, we’ll get him there. You can’t fool around with the flu. It can be serious.”

  “I know. But you know how guys are about going to the doctor.”

  “If duct tape and staples won’t hold the severed limb on, they’ll think about it.”

  “Exactly.”

  Savannah opened the Mustang’s passenger door, flipped the seat forward, then tucked Vanna Rose into her own carrier that had been installed in the rear seat even before the baby was born.

  The Reid clan had been ecstatic to welcome a little one into their midst after a long, dry, boring spell of “adults only” family gatherings.

  A baby reminded everyone that, amid all the heartaches in the dark, bitter world, there was also sweetness, innocence, and light.

  Vanna cooed and shrieked a good-bye to her mother, as Savannah climbed inside and started the car.

  “Call me if you need me,” Savannah shouted to Tammy as she pulled out of the drive.

  “You, too,” Tammy yelled back.

  As Savannah drove away, she glanced at her rearview mirror and saw Tammy walking back to the arched front door of her Three Bears cottage. Her head was bowed, her steps faltering and slow, not at all like her usual, bouncy, energetic gait.

  An unsettling thought occurred to Savannah. Maybe my little brother’s flu is even worse than she’s letting on.

  * * *

  No sooner had Savannah gotten Vanna Rose settled back at her house, than Granny arrived to attend to the wee fairy princess. So, Savannah wasted no time getting the Farrows’ address from Dr. Liu and heading that direction to interview Nels’s widow, Candy.

  Savannah wasn’t looking forward to it. Dealing with grieving families had always been the worst part of being a cop for her. As a private investigator, too.

  At least this time, she wasn’t having to make the much-dreaded notification.

  She headed up the hills that bordered the east side of town, into an older, quaint area above the historic, adobe mission. Here, homes were smaller, a bit more modest than the mansions on the beach or perched at the top of the highest hills, enjoying the best ocean view—or wildfire view, depending on the season.

  It wasn’t hard to find the small, Spanish-style house, not unlike her own, with its white plastered walls and red clay tile roof. The Farrow home even had an impressive, red bougainvillea climbing across the front porch. Though the colorful vining plant wasn’t nearly as robust as Ilsa and Bogie, the pair that graced her own entryway.

  As she got out of her Mustang and walked up to the house, she couldn’t help noticing the well-tended landscaping in the front yard. Ice plants abounded, as was common in a drought-prone area, as they could survive with very little water. But the floral beauty didn’t stop there. Everywhere Savannah looked, she saw purple irises and crane-shaped birds-of-paradise flowering in profusion, along with bottlebrush plants that looked like giant pink caterpillars.

  Behind the flower beds, framing the property and providing privacy, were thick, lush Oleander bushes that were at least six feet tall.

  Omnipresent in Southern California, Oleander was known as a plant that was used to make medicines and, unfortunately, occasionally, a lethal poison.

  That was a fact Savannah was all too familiar with, having solved a case where it had been used as a deadly weapon.

  She knocked at the door several times. Eventually, it was answered by a pretty, young woman, whom Savannah guessed to be in her early thirties.

  At least, she would have been pretty, if her eyes had not been red and swollen nearly closed from crying.

  The petite blonde was dressed in a shirt that had long sleeves, which was unusual, considering the heat of the day. In Southern Californi
a, long-sleeved shirts were usually reserved for the bitterest cold, winter day, when the temperatures plummeted to sixty-nine.

  Savannah noticed that in her left hand, she carried a pair of long-handled rose-pruning shears.

  Savannah didn’t need Tammy the Super Sleuth to explain the reason for the long sleeves.

  “Hello. May I help you?” The woman looked a bit guarded and suspicious, and Savannah couldn’t blame her. No doubt, the lady of the house was mistaking her for some sort of vulture, who had read the obits, and was now swooping down onto her front doorstep with the intention of selling her something related to her husband’s passing.

  “My name is Savannah Reid. Would you happen to be Candy Farrow?”

  “I am.”

  Trotting out the same old story that she had used on Paul Oxley and Dee the groomer, Savannah said, “Mrs. Farrow, I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this. But I’m an investigator, doing some research that will hopefully benefit people who suffer with Halstead’s. I know you’re busy, and this is probably the worst time of your life to entertain an uninvited guest. But if you could answer just a few questions for me, I promise to make it as quick and painless as I possibly can.”

  “I was pruning my husband’s roses” was the lackluster reply.

  Savannah smiled. “Yes, I see that. I raise roses myself, and I’m quite familiar with the equipment—not to mention the battle wounds. Pruning roses ain’t for sissies.”

  That brought a slight smile to Candy’s face. “That’s for sure.” Her guard seemed to drop a bit, and she opened the door. “Come on in. I don’t mind answering a few questions if it will help people with that horrible disease. As long as you don’t mind me pruning while we talk.”

  “I won’t object one bit. I’m convinced that the best conversations are the ones conducted in a flower garden,” Savannah assured her, as she followed Candy through the living room, the kitchen, and out the back door.

  “My husband would agree with you. I mean, he would have agreed with you.”

  “I understand. It’s hard . . . remembering, I mean.”

  Savannah looked around and realized that she wasn’t the only one in San Carmelita with a green thumb. The Farrows’ backyard was quite different from hers. It was far more masculine with its raised flower beds bordered with carefully laid stones, assorted cacti arrangements, coyote bushes, Manzanita, and sunflowers. But it was just as impressive in its own way.

  Candy led her toward the rear of the yard, to an area enclosed with a white, picket fence. Its entrance was a sturdy, arched trellis that supported a glorious burden of climbing roses the soft color of lilacs.

  Savannah remembered what Dr. Liu had said about Candy finding Nels in the rose garden. She was a bit surprised that the woman could bring herself to be in this place, beautiful though it was, let alone work here in the hot summer sun.

  Many people found it difficult to revisit a scene where they had experienced a trauma. But then, human beings mourned in many different ways, and she had learned long ago not to judge their choices.

  Savannah was also surprised to see that every blossom in the rose garden was a delicate shade of lavender. She had never seen anyone plant only one color of roses. There were so many beautiful varieties, that when she had planted her own, she had found it difficult to choose and had limited herself to one of each type and color.

  As Candy led her beneath the trellis and into the garden, the new widow said, “Everyone is surprised to see an all-purple rose garden. But Nels planted this for me the first year we were married, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Especially now that he’s gone.”

  “Your husband must have been a very romantic man,” Savannah said.

  Candy laughed softly, even as tears moistened her eyes. “He was. Though not in the traditional ways. He frequently forgot anniversaries, was worthless at gift giving, and I could probably count on one hand the times he uttered the words, ‘I love you,’ I’d have to say he wasn’t much of a snuggler either.”

  Savannah gulped, thinking of her own non-traditionally romantic man. “Women place such great store on the words and the presents and cuddling,” she observed. “Men . . . not so much. Not most of them anyway.”

  Nodding, Candy replied, “True. Instead, when mine found out that lavender roses were the symbol of love at first sight, he planted this garden for me and then lovingly tended it, year after year. I always knew what that meant, what he was saying to me. Every time I walk into this beautiful place, I remember the moment we met.”

  “You two were instantly smitten?”

  “Absolutely. On the spot.” Candy glanced down at Savannah’s wedding band and engagement ring with its enormous, princess-cut diamond. It was the one gift that Dirk had definitely gotten right. “How about you and your husband? Was it love at first sight for you two?”

  “Um, no. For a long time, we were just buddies. Good buddies, then best friends. We knew each other for years before we realized there was something more there. He sorta grew on me gradually.”

  “But it’s working?”

  Savannah felt a knot in her throat when she replied. “I think so. I sure hope so.”

  A look of urgency came into Candy’s eyes, along with some fresh tears. “Don’t take your husband for granted. Make the most of every day you have with him. You never know when—”

  She choked on her words and had to pause to tamp down her emotions.

  “Thank you,” Savannah said, filling the awkward silence for her, while fighting some unpleasant feelings of her own. “I appreciate that. It’s good advice that we can all use.”

  Chapter 15

  As Savannah was driving home to check in on Granny and Vanna Rose, she used the car phone to call Jennifer Liu. Again, the doctor answered after only one ring.

  She must be sitting on that phone, Savannah thought. Poor girl. I sure wouldn’t want to be in her shoes. Not even her best Jimmy Choo, crystal rhinestone embossed stilettos.

  Savannah wished she had some good news to share with her. Unfortunately, she had no news at all, which in this situation was the same as bad news.

  “Savannah! How’s it going?”

  “I just left Candy Farrow.”

  “Did you find out anything helpful?”

  Savannah hesitated, trying to think of how to put the best spin on what little she’d uncovered. “She and Nels were very close. If he was having an affair with Brianne or up to no good in any substantial way, I don’t believe she suspected it at all.”

  “Did she seem like a savvy woman who would have known if he was?”

  “Yes. She’s intelligent. Wise, too. She gave me some good advice that I’m going to do my best to follow.”

  “But she didn’t suggest any connection between the two of them?”

  “Not at all. I told her about Brianne passing from the same illness and asked if she’d ever heard of her. She said she hadn’t.”

  “How about Nels and his recent behavior?”

  “She said that he was depressed, as one might expect, considering he’d received a death sentence.”

  “Any suggestion of suicide plans?”

  “Quite the contrary. She said he was determined to cherish and make the most of every day he had left. The night before he died, they sat at the kitchen table and wrote a bucket list of things they wanted to do together, while he was still able.”

  “That doesn’t sound like someone who was intending to end it all the very next day.”

  “I know.”

  For a moment, the two women were silent, grappling with this new piece of evidence that supported their worst fears.

  “They really were murdered,” Jennifer finally said.

  Savannah could tell by her tone that the brutal fact had just become even more real to her grieving friend.

  After years of observing other people’s worst trials and experiencing some of her own, Savannah had discovered that some of life’s harshest truths were too painful to swallow in on
e moment and had to be sipped gradually, taking in only as much as the heart could bear at the time.

  Apparently, this was one of those circumstances for Jennifer.

  “I hate to say it, Jen,” she said. “But I do believe that’s what we’re looking at.”

  “But we’re no closer to finding out who did it.”

  “I still have a couple of leads. I’m going to go home for a pit stop. Gran’s babysitting my baby niece there. I’m going to pop in and see how it’s going.”

  Savannah didn’t mention the other reason she wanted to stop at the house.

  Sometimes, if Dirk was pulling a double shift, he would come home around that time to shower and grab a bite to eat before going out to tackle the second part of his workday.

  Savannah had tried to convince herself that she wanted to be there to feed him, to touch base, and show him some wifely kindness. But she knew herself better than that.

  Her intentions were far less admirable. She had puredee no-good on the mind.

  All day, the good wife inside her, the one who believed it was important to trust one’s spouse and give them the benefit of the doubt in almost all circumstances, had been wrestling with her basic nature, the core part of her that made her a good detective.

  Her nosy self.

  She knew, all too well, who would win the battle in the end. There was no question about the outcome. She wasn’t going to have a moment of inner peace until she found out whom he had been speaking to on the phone that morning in the kitchen.

  No matter how many times she scolded herself for even thinking of sneaking a peek at her husband’s phone while he was in the shower, she knew she was going to do it.

  She had already convinced herself that, having eavesdropped on the conversation she’d overheard that morning, ninety-nine out of one hundred wives would do the same. And the one who wouldn’t just didn’t know how to look up the call history on a smart phone.

  But she decided not to burden Dr. Liu with her marital problems. The woman had enough on her mind and thought precious little of Dirk as it was. No point in deepening her dislike for him.

  Savannah took momentary comfort in the fact that she was a loyal wife, if not a great respecter of her husband’s privacy.