Bitter Brew

by G. A. McKevett

  In seconds, Dirk answered with his standard “K.”

  Her husband had always been a man of few words, and Savannah figured that was probably a good thing, considering how many she had of her own.

  A moment later, Tammy sent “Thx. CUS.”

  Savannah assumed that Tammy was not inviting her to curse but was thanking her and letting her know that they would “see you soon.” But she wasn’t sure. She was pretty proud of herself for even learning how to text at all, considering that it required a certain amount of typing . . . and she had flunked typing class.

  Someday, she had frequently promised herself, she would learn the official language of texting, and then her messages would no longer be a source of amusement for her younger, more tech-savvy friends.

  Not anytime soon though, she had decided. Maybe after she learned French, Latin, flamenco dancing, and advanced origami.

  She punched in her own home phone number and steeled herself for the confrontation to come.

  Gran wouldn’t yell at her. No, she would be kind and speak in a soft voice as she made you feel lower than a burrowing worm in a well, all because you’d made the best person on earth feel bad or worry about something.

  Granny Reid was a gentle person, a peace-loving woman, unless you lied to her, used the Lord’s name in vain, spit while in her presence—especially if you weren’t outside at the time—or even worse, left her out of the loop concerning family business.

  Savannah wasn’t expecting an easygoing, just shooting the breeze “Why, hi there, sugar pie. It’s so good to hear from you!”

  But neither was she prepared for what she got.

  “What in tarnation is going on? Tell me right now, before you’re a minute older, Miss Savannah!”

  Okay, Savannah decided. Maybe gentle Gran did yell once in a while, if she was riled enough.

  “Well . . . I . . .”

  “Well, you what? You and your man lit out of here faster than a sneeze through a screen door. I’ve been trying to call you for nigh on an hour. Didn’t you get my messages?”

  Savannah drew a deep breath. If there was anything she hated it was having her grandma upset and knowing she was the cause of it.

  “Everything’s okay, Granny,” she said softly. “Everybody’s fine. But Waycross had a bit of an accident with his car and—”

  “Oh, Lord’ve mercy! Is he hurt bad?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He looks fine, but just to make sure, they brought him to the hospital to check out his bad leg and such. They are doing an X-ray or CT scan or whatever on it right now. But swear to you, he didn’t have a mark on him.”

  “Was anybody else banged up?”

  “Not at all. It was a single-car accident. He mashed one fender of his Charger and took out a mailbox. But that was the worst of it.”

  Savannah heard her grandmother sigh with relief on the other end. “Reckon we can all be thankful for that,” she said. “But what in Sam Hill was he doing behind the wheel? It was hard enough for him to drive with his busted leg, but with the flu, too? What was that boy thinking? He should’ve been back home in bed.”

  Savannah weighed her response carefully, trying to choose words that were true but delaying the moment when she would have to tell her grandmother everything. That would be much better done face-to-face than over the phone.

  “I’m sure he has his regrets,” Savannah said. “But the important thing is that he’s okay, and nobody else got hurt.” She hurried to change the subject. “How are you and the baby doing?”

  “Vanna Rose is just fine and dandy. Taking a nap here on my lap. Needless to say, I missed my own nap. Didn’t get a wink o’ sleep, worryin’ myself downright silly over y’all.”

  “I’m truly sorry, Granny,” Savannah told her. “I didn’t want to call you until I knew for sure that he was okay. You’d have done the same, if it’d been the other way ’round.”

  She could practically hear Granny thinking it over. Finally, she said, “That’s true. I would’ve held it back from you until I knew. You did good, Savannah girl. Thank you for taking care of your little brother for me.”

  Savannah smiled, feeling twelve years old all over again. Gran was proud of her and, at the moment, that was all that mattered.

  This evening, when she finally made it home, she would have to break her grandmother’s heart with the news of their family’s latest challenge. But for now, all was well. At least, as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

  “I’ll talk to you later, Gran,” she said. “I’ll call you if there’s anything new to report.”

  “Thank you, darlin’. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Bye.”

  No sooner had Savannah hung up, than she made her next call.

  When Jennifer Liu answered, Savannah said, “Hi. Can you talk now?”

  “Just a minute. Hold on. . . .”

  Savannah heard the clicking of high heels on tiled floor, then a door open and close.

  “Okay,” the doctor said. “I’m in my office now. What’s up?”

  “Unfortunately, nothing to do with your case at the moment. We had a nasty scare. As a matter of fact, I’m at the hospital and—”

  “The hospital? Are you all right?”

  “I am, thanks. But my brother, Waycross, was in an auto accident. It appears he’s okay, at least for the moment, but I’m afraid the whole thing kind of derailed me from working on your case. I’m really sorry. I know how important this is to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Savannah. Family comes first. Especially in a situation like this. Is there anything I can do for your brother or for you?”

  “Thank you. But I’m sure they’re taking good care of him. In fact, Dirk went to get Tammy and bring her here. As soon as they arrive, and I know that she’s okay, too, I’ll get back to work for you. I still need to go over to The Fisherman’s Lair and see what I can find out there.”

  “Are you sure? Really, I don’t expect you to—”

  “Hush now. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Your situation is extremely important, and we consider you family, too.”

  Savannah could have sworn that she heard the usually stoic medical examiner sniff before replying, “Thank you. It’s an honor being part of your family, Savannah.”

  “Can I check back with you later this evening, after I’ve been over to The Lair?”

  “Sure. I’ve got an autopsy that’ll probably keep me late, but if you text me when you’re ready, I’ll duck out and meet you at the beach. I need to talk to you about something anyway.”

  Savannah wanted to ask, “What about?” But at that moment, she saw the hospital exit door open and Tammy and Dirk enter the garden.

  “Um, I’ve got company,” she told Jennifer. “Talk to you later.” She stashed her phone in her purse, jumped up from her chair, and ran to Tammy.

  Enfolding her in a hearty hug, Savannah said, “How are you, sweetie?”

  “I’m okay,” Tammy said with more poise and strength than Savannah would have expected.

  Yes, Tammy was growing up, Savannah realized. Motherhood was good for her. Now that she was a married woman, her concerns stretched beyond which organic vegetable she would have for lunch and how much farther she would extend her daily run.

  Although, with Miss Health-First Tamitha, those things would always be high on her list of priorities.

  “How is he?” Dirk asked, looking more worried than Tammy.

  “Last I heard, he’s okay. Getting his leg X-rayed.” She glanced at her watch. “We might find out something in ten more minutes or so. Maybe we should go back into the waiting room.”

  “I can’t wait to see him,” Tammy said as they walked out of the garden. “To see if he’s my old Waycross again. I guess it was the fever that made him act that way earlier. That had to be it.”

  Savannah gave Dirk a quick glance. He lifted one eyebrow a notch and shrugged.

  He hasn’t told her about the meds, Sava
nnah thought. That’s all right. Let Waycross tell his wife himself, in his own time and in his own way.

  Only seconds after they had taken seats in the waiting room, a nurse in blue scrubs came out to meet them. She walked over to Tammy and said, “Are you Mrs. Reid?”

  Tammy jumped up from her chair. So did Savannah and Dirk.

  “Yes. I’m Tammy Reid. How is my husband?”

  “The X-ray of his leg showed no new injuries.”

  Tammy beamed. “Then he’s okay! Can I take him home now?”

  “No. We’ll be holding him for a while yet. He has some other issues that need to be addressed.”

  Savannah studied the nurse’s face, trying to get a read off her expression. But Savannah classified it as “Professionally Inscrutable.”

  Savannah decided that, if the nursing gig didn’t work out, the woman could make a fortune in Las Vegas, playing poker.

  “What kind of issues?” Tammy wanted to know.

  “Mr. Reid would like to discuss that with you himself. Come with me, please.”

  Looking flustered, Tammy said, “Can my sister-in-law and brother-in-law come with me?”

  “No” was the curt response. “Your husband asked for you to come alone.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Tammy turned to Savannah and Dirk. “Thanks, you guys. I appreciate you bringing me over here. Why don’t you go on home?”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed Dirk on the cheek. “I know you have to get to work. Thank you for bringing me over here and taking good care of me.”

  He returned the kiss. “No problem, kid. But how are you gonna get home?”

  “Don’t worry about us, Dirk-o. We’re grown-ups. We can take care of ourselves.”

  She turned to Savannah and gave her a quick hug and peck. “And I know you’ve got things to do, too. I sent you some emails about that stuff you needed me to research. Be sure to read it as soon as you get home.”

  Savannah couldn’t help being curious about what Tammy might have found. Also, she was surprised that her young friend had managed to get some work done on her behalf, while nursing her husband and dealing with the miseries of the past few hours.

  “Mrs. Reid,” the nurse said in a distinctly grumpy tone. “Do you want to see your husband or not?”

  “What a ridiculous question,” Tammy snapped back. “Of course, I do. Take me to him.” Without another word Tammy scurried after the retreating blue scrubs, blowing kisses over her shoulder back to Savannah and Dirk.

  As they stood there, watching her disappear down the hallway, Dirk shook his head and said, “You know, if this keeps up, I might have to change my ring tone for her. Our fluff-head bimbo’s not such a dumb blonde after all.”

  Chapter 19

  By the time Savannah and Dirk pulled into the driveway of their house, he was already late for his shift. He dropped her off with a hug and a kiss and immediately left for the station house.

  Considering their recent state of détente, she would have much preferred to have him home for the evening. It would have been nice to connect and make up for lost time . . . except for the fact that she, herself, had work to do.

  Covert work.

  She couldn’t help being uncomfortable with the fact that she was doing exactly what she had been angry with her husband for doing only hours ago—keeping secrets from her spouse.

  Was it ever okay?

  When she kissed him good-bye, wished him a good, safe evening, and didn’t mention that she was going to the town’s roughest bar to do some undercover work, it felt like she was lying.

  She couldn’t help wondering if he was picking up on her guilt, the way she had sensed his.

  She wouldn’t be at all surprised. He knew her far too well for her to get away with much, just as she knew him.

  As she trudged into the house, laden with her heavy load of shame, she couldn’t help thinking it would be easier to just be regular folks . . . unburdened by the inconvenience of having not one but two detectives in the household. Not to mention Granny, Tammy, Waycross, Ryan, and John running in and out.

  Shoot f ’ar. Nobody can get away with anything in this dadgum place, she thought as she opened the front door.

  The kitties came running to her, as always. She bent down to pet them and ask about their day. Then, putting her purse on the pie crust table, she started to call out to Gran. But the house was uncharacteristically quiet, and it occurred to her that the baby might still be asleep.

  Quietly, she walked into the living room, expecting to see Granny sitting in her chair. But it was empty.

  So was the kitchen.

  Savannah tiptoed upstairs, and that was where she found them—two of her favorite people in the world—stretched out, both sound asleep, on her guest room futon.

  She watched them for a moment, allowing the sweetness of the sight to soften the harshness of the day. Even when Life was unkind, she bestowed the occasional blessing along the way. Sometimes, you just had to look for it.

  After soaking in her fill, Savannah went to her bedroom and exchanged her simple T-shirt for a blouse that could be unbuttoned a notch or two, once she was out the door and no longer in danger of encountering Granny.

  While she wasn’t in the mood to go all the way with full-on hooker garb in hopes of dazzling The Lair’s ruffians, she knew the effect an inch or two of cleavage could have on the male brain. Especially if that gray matter was addled by alcohol.

  Having donned the blouse, some slightly tighter jeans, and a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals that showed off her tart red toenail polish to its best advantage, she snuck back down the stairs to the living room and switched on the computer.

  Fortunately, she was better at retrieving her emails than she was at texting, and it didn’t take her long to find the one that Tammy had sent.

  As quickly as she could, she scanned its contents.

  Tammy had done her work well. The attachments contained a plethora of personal information on Brianne Marston’s brother, Henry, and his wife, Darlene.

  On the surface, they appeared to be extremely wealthy people, after receiving an enormous inheritance from Brianne and Henry’s father some time back. But Tammy had uncovered numerous facts and figures that demonstrated Henry and Darlene’s lack of restraint when it came to spending that fortune.

  Savannah was no accountant, but it didn’t take a financial expert to see that they had mowed through the monies left to them and were now deeply in debt.

  As she was reading, it occurred to Savannah that Brianne’s heir would probably be her brother, her next of kin.

  If Brianne had died after the wedding, rather than a short time before, as her new husband, Paul might have inherited the estate instead.

  Savannah tried to recall the specifics of her conversation with Dee, Brianne’s groomer. What was it she had said about Paul allowing only Brianne’s brother and sister-in-law to see her in her final days?

  Had Henry and Darlene merely visited with Brianne? Or had they helped Paul in nursing her?

  Suddenly, Savannah had two suspects with both motive and opportunity to poison Brianne. What that might have to do with Nels Farrow, she had no idea.

  But it was something.

  At least, it was possibly something and, thanks to Tammy’s diligence, that was more than she’d had five minutes before.

  As she headed for the foyer, took her leather coat from the closet, and slipped her Beretta into her purse, it occurred to her that her day might be turning around a bit.

  “It wouldn’t take much,” she muttered to herself. “Some days, you gotta figure there’s no place to go but up.”

  * * *

  The Fisherman’s Lair reveled in its reputation as the seediest bar in town, much the same way a schoolyard bully enjoyed being considered the kid most likely to give you a bloody nose if you looked at him crossways or, God forbid, tried to steal his favorite marble.

  The owners and workers at The Lair thought that being a “bad ass joint” made them
special somehow. In Savannah’s estimation, the place’s only true distinction was that of having the oiliest French fries in town.

  But then, the fries complemented the oily characters who ate them and the layer of grease scum on the bar counter that received a quick wipe-down once every month or two, whether it needed it or not.

  Yes, The Lair was consistent, if not overly sanitary.

  When she sashayed into the place, around ten o’clock that night, she eyed the hundreds of fishing lures that had been nailed to the knotty pine walls over the years. Not for the first time, she wondered if the owners had known—back in the day when they’d named the place and painted its tacky sign—the difference in the words lair and lure.

  Probably not, she decided, and that gave her a chuckle each time she entered.

  In her estimation any place that gave you a laugh, or even a self-righteous snicker every time you walked inside, wasn’t a complete write-off.

  She looked around the place, sizing up the crowd, and figured she’d done the right thing by only undoing one button of her blouse.

  One caught their interest. Two might’ve sent them into a testosterone-fueled frenzy—boob grabs, rear pats, the works.

  She wasn’t in the mood for that sort of thing. The last thing she needed was to make the front page of the local newspaper with a headline like:

  FORMER SCPD DET. KILLS 7 OVER PINCHED BUTT

  No, she definitely didn’t need that kind of publicity. Not to mention how hard it would be to explain to Dirk.

  He would, no doubt, howl for a month, complaining that she hadn’t taken him along for the fun.

  She sauntered over to the bar and perched herself on a stool to the left of a cowboy wannabe, who seemed the chattiest of The Lair’s patrons. With flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, he was regaling the bartender and the fellow to his right with a joke in which he was managing to denigrate women in general, minorities at large, and the entire feline species in particular.

  Briefly, Savannah wondered if she could slip her Beretta from her purse, shoot him in his left buttock, then scurry out the back door without being seen.