Bitter Brew

by G. A. McKevett

  “Surely not, Doctor.” John reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “If you have any problem posting bail, you let us know right away.”

  “Yes, please do,” Ryan assured her. “We don’t want you spending one minute behind bars, if it can be prevented. Let’s just say, we know people who know people who . . . You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Jennifer gave him a grateful smile. “Needless to say, I’d rather be walking the streets free than sitting in jail—at least until I have to be.”

  “Don’t say that.” Tammy’s voice trembled when she added, “I can’t bear to think of you locked up. You’re not tried and convicted yet.”

  “There isn’t going to be a trial,” Jennifer said softly. “I intend to plead guilty. I am. There’s no point in fighting it.”

  “Well, I believe in our American justice system,” Granny said. “I know it ain’t always perfect, ’cause it’s made up of people, and we all know how flawed we human beings are. But in my heart, I do believe they get it right most of the time. I have to.”

  Gran took a sip of her coffee, then continued. “You did tell some falsehoods when you made out them reports, Dr. Jen, and that was wrong. But I reckon the reason why somebody does what they do is just as important as the action itself. And the reason behind your action was love. You were just trying to help a friend who meant the world to you. Pure and simple. For the justice system to be fair in your case, they’ll have to take that into consideration. We’re gonna hope and believe that they will.”

  As Savannah listened, she wished that she could be as optimistic as Granny. But she had seen and heard too many court decisions that, at least in her opinion, were less than perfectly just. Try as she might, she couldn’t summon the degree of faith that her grandmother usually could in difficult circumstances like these.

  Long ago, Savannah had decided that faith as pure and strong as Granny’s was surely some kind of spiritual gift. Few mere mortals could find it in their fearful hearts to believe that, come what may, in the end all would be well. Perhaps in the years ahead she could grow and become more like her grandmother, but for now, she was still a work-in-progress.

  Savannah picked up her pencil and started to scribble on a yellow legal pad. “All right, assignments.... Dr. Jen, you’re off to your attorney and then maybe the D.A. That’s enough on your plate for the moment.”

  “I’ll research and see what else I can uncover about Brianne’s brother and sister-in-law,” Tammy offered. “At the moment, it seems like they would have the strongest motive for killing Brianne.”

  “Yes,” Savannah agreed. “The chance of inheriting an estate the size of hers would be a powerful incentive for the wrong person.”

  “But whoever killed Brianne must’ve murdered Nels, too,” Dirk said. “We don’t know if Henry or Darlene had anything against him. Or if they even knew him.”

  “We can check into Dr. Kendall for you,” Ryan offered. “She seems the most likely link you have between the victims.”

  “Yeah, that couldn’t hurt,” Dirk mumbled.

  Savannah couldn’t help noticing his usual reluctance to admit that Ryan and John might be his equals when it came to investigating. It was hard enough for Dirk to accept that they both had full, lush manes of hair. Then there was the “problem” of women throwing themselves at the attractive couple everywhere they went, ignoring the fact they were in a long-term, committed relationship of their own.

  But worst of all, at least on Dirk’s jealousy-meter, they owned a five-star restaurant, and therefore had constant and unlimited access to a cornucopia of gourmet food.

  Savannah knew that Dirk could get over the hair and the women . . . but free, delicious food?

  No. Every guy had his limits.

  “What can I do?” Granny asked. “I gotta have some sorta job besides just sittin’ around here with my teeth in my mouth, lookin’ pretty. This gal ain’t just for adornment, you know.”

  “We could sure use a coordinator,” Savannah suggested. “Someone to take phone calls and keep track of who’s doing what, where, who’s found out what, and figuring out what it might mean. I know it’d be complicated, but does that sound like something you could do, Gran?”

  “With my hands tied behind my back, my mouth duct-taped, and wearin’ a blindfold. Don’t forget, I used to live in an itty-bitty town, where ever’body knew the color of everybody else’s underdrawers and when they’d last changed ’em. And they all registered an opinion about it, too.”

  “That’s a sterling resume if ever I heard one,” John said, giving her a flirty smirk. “ ’Twill be a pleasure reporting to you.”

  Dirk rolled his eyes and said, “If we’re all done smooching up, let’s get down to business.”

  Savannah told him, “Once we know that Dr. Liu has talked to her attorney and the DA, I’m thinking maybe you should go on to work. Being senior investigator, you might get first crack at this, once it crosses the captain’s desk. It’d be good if you and not McMurtry or some other dimwit was in charge.”

  “Naw. Captain’s not gonna hand me no plum cases. He’s still hung up on the Rhinestone Gladiator Sandal Scandal. If he gets the idea I want the assignment, he’ll give it to the dogcatcher before me.”

  “Then hightail it over to the station house and tell him you desperately need two weeks off, because we bought tickets for a ten-day cruise to the Caribbean.”

  “Good idea. Then he’ll stick me with it for sure.”

  “As for me,” Savannah said, “once I find out where Dr. Earlene Kendall’s office is, I’m heading up to Santa Barbara to have a talk with her. The sooner we can figure out the connection between Brianne and Nels, the better.”

  In seconds, Tammy had pulled her electronic tablet from Vanna Rose’s diaper bag and found the information. “Dr. Earlene Kendall has two offices. One is on Dora Drive in Montecito. The second is at the northeast corner of State Street and Selena Drive. Today, she’s at the second one.”

  “Hmm. Both of those places are high-end real estate,” Savannah observed. “Her practice must be thriving. I wouldn’t think there’d be that much of a demand, considering how rare Halstead’s is.”

  “I did a bit more research on Dr. Kendall last night,” Jennifer said. “She’s quite an accomplished woman, prominent in her field. She’s written numerous books on genetic disorders of all kinds. Not just Halstead’s. Also, she lectures worldwide, trying to educate the public, as well as researchers, about these horrible diseases. I wish I had the opportunity to get to know her myself.” She shrugged. “But it seems I’m going to be a bit busy. . . .”

  “We all are,” Savannah said as she scribbled the last bit of information on the legal pad and handed it to her grandmother. “There you go, Gran. Who’s doing what, where, and why. Let’s get to it. Daylight’s burning.”

  Chapter 23

  When Savannah walked into Dr. Earlene Kendall’s office on State Street in Santa Barbara, she wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting. But after hearing the physician’s credentials from Dr. Liu and having passed the luxury stores in the neighborhood that featured high-end, designer attire on her way to meet her, Savannah had conjured an image of a somewhat stuffy, professional woman.

  She imagined the office to be minimalistic and the doctor wearing an expensive, traditional suit, modest but quality jewelry, and a classic businesswoman’s haircut.

  But not so.

  Savannah did a double check to make certain she had the right building. It looked more like a posh, outdoor mini-mall than a medical center.

  After walking through an outside passageway lined with greenery and passing numerous intriguing boutiques, a used book store, a handmade candle shop, and a yoga studio, she finally found a door with the doctor’s name on it.

  She went inside, expecting the routine layout of a reception area and check-in desk. To her surprise, she found that she had stepped inside what looked more like a Moroccan tearoom than a physician’s office.


  The walls of the large room had been painted a warm, vibrant shade of tangerine and covered with framed, intricate, mosaic murals. Turquoise and purple lengths of embroidered silk draped the windows, tinting the sunlight streaming through.

  The furniture consisted of a large, L-shaped sofa upholstered in a patchwork of colorful prints and covered with silk pillows in various sizes, shapes, and hues. In front of the sofa was a large, round table with short legs and a beautiful mandala painted on its center. On the floor, an equally brilliant rug added its own busy patterns to the already dizzying array.

  At least half a dozen bronze lanterns with stained-glass panels lent their brilliance to the room.

  Savannah felt like she was inside a giant kaleidoscope.

  She would have enjoyed standing there, soaking it in for the rest of the day, but she heard a movement behind her. Turning, she saw that she was no longer alone in this exotic, if somewhat unusual, room.

  A woman as unique as her surroundings stood, quietly studying her. She was dressed, not in the expected Chanel suit, but in bohemian attire as colorful and flamboyant as her surroundings.

  At first glance, Savannah thought she looked like a retro hippy who had aged gracefully. But a closer look told her that no hippy-chick from Haight-Ashbury could have afforded the glorious burnout velvet kimono she was wearing. The delicate garment sparkled with tiny crystals that accented its paisley designs in earthen tones. The sheer cloth flowed gracefully from her shoulders to the floor and accented her movements as she walked forward, hand out, to greet Savannah.

  Beneath the kimono, Dr. Kendall wore a simple black tank top and slacks that showed off a figure that was lithe and youthful, considering the fact that she must have been in her late fifties or early sixties. Her silver hair spilled over her shoulders in gentle waves.

  Savannah looked into the woman’s pale, gray eyes and decided, then and there, that Dr. Kendall was strikingly beautiful in her own unique way. She seemed to have a style all her own, and Savannah both appreciated and admired that.

  She had always thought that conformity to someone else’s idea of “fashion” was highly overrated.

  “I’m Earlene Kendall,” the doctor said, shaking Savannah’s hand. “Did you have any problem finding me?”

  “Not really,” Savannah said, noticing the silver rings on the hand in hers. There was one for each finger and even her thumb. Each was set with tiny beads and inlays of turquoise and coral.

  Glancing down at her left hand, Savannah saw that all of those fingers were similarly adorned, except her ring finger, which was bare. Savannah wondered if the absence had anything to do with a former marriage or relationship.

  “I was a bit surprised to see that your office is surrounded by wonderful places to shop, rather than dentists, gynecologists, and psychologists,” Savannah said. “But I applaud your individuality. The unexpected is delightful,” she added, waving a hand to indicate the room’s décor.”

  Earlene chuckled and walked over to the sofa. She took a seat and patted the cushion next to her, inviting Savannah to join her. “Any professional can do the gray and burgundy thing in their office. But a lot of sad people come through my door. They’re weighed down with burdens that most of us can only imagine. I like to give them a warm, soft, cheerful place to be, even if it’s only for a little while, before they have to return to the cold, hard, colorless world.”

  Savannah settled onto the sofa, melting into the pillows. “I can see why someone might want to spend a lot of time here. It’s like . . . a fantasy. Only real.”

  “Thank you. That’s what I was going for.”

  Dr. Kendall gave her a smile, but Savannah could tell she was looking her over, evaluating, even as she had taken inventory of her. Savannah glanced down at her own simple white blouse, linen slacks, and loafers. Her only adornment was her wedding ring and a simple pair of gold hoop earrings.

  She felt dull by comparison. But she strongly suspected that the doctor’s appraisal of her had more to do with Earlene’s curiosity about this meeting than interest in Savannah’s fashion sense . . . or lack thereof.

  Earlene reached for a tall, silver teapot on the table and said, “I brewed some Moroccan mint tea for your visit. Would you like to try it?”

  “How nice of you. I’d love to.”

  As Earlene poured the golden tea from the pot into a beautiful red glass decorated with swirls of hand-painted, gold accents, she said, “I heard your Southern accent on the phone, so I made it extra sweet.”

  “I appreciate that.” Savannah took the lovely glass, admiring its beauty. “I’m afraid we do like our tea well sugared down in Dixie.”

  Earlene shrugged. “Everybody needs a vice or two.”

  Once they had both settled back on the sofa, their drinks in hand, Savannah said, “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice, clearing your schedule like this.”

  “I will admit, it wasn’t easy. But you said it was extremely important, so. . . .”

  The doctor’s gray eyes searched hers so intently that Savannah felt a bit uncomfortable, as though she were the one being interviewed, rather than the other way around.

  Savannah took a sip of the tea, savored its unique, sweet, smoky flavor while choosing her next words carefully.

  At least, thanks to Dr. Liu’s self-sacrifice, she could be open about her purpose.

  “As I told you on the phone,” she said, “I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into the circumstances surrounding the death of a couple of people I think you might know.”

  She looked startled and asked, “Who?”

  “Brianne Marston and Nels Farrow.”

  Earlene gasped and nearly dropped her glass of tea. “Nels? Nels is gone, too? Oh, no. Poor Candy. She must be devastated.”

  Savannah thought of the young widow obsessively tending her dead husband’s rose garden. “Yes. She is.”

  “But Nels should’ve had more time. He was doing so well. What happened?”

  “We don’t know for sure. That’s why I’m investigating.”

  “Good. We need to know.” With a shaking hand, Dr. Kendall set her glass on the silver tray. Then, abruptly, she turned to Savannah and said, “Please, don’t tell me that he was a suicide, like Brianne.”

  Rather than answer her, Savannah said, “Then you knew Brianne, as well as Nels?”

  “Of course. I knew them both. They were members of my group.”

  “Your . . . group?”

  “My support group that meets here once a week. They’d been coming for a while, and I’d come to know and love them both. I thought they were coping well, so I was shocked to hear that Brianne had ended her life. But now Nels, too?”

  Her eyes searched Savannah’s. “Is that what you’re telling me? That Nels did the same?”

  “It appears that he died in the same manner as Brianne.”

  Earlene grabbed one of the cushions from the sofa and hugged it tightly to her chest. She rocked back and forth, as though trying to comfort herself.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Savannah said, touched that a physician would have such an emotional reaction to the death of her patients. Especially a doctor who, because of her field of practice, would lose so many.

  No wonder Dr. Kendall was so highly regarded in her field and well loved by those she treated.

  “Brianne was planning her wedding,” Earlene said, her voice choking. “And Nels and Candy wanted to go to Alaska—a cruise and then a train trip through Denali. This is most unexpected and distressing.”

  “I understand. I’m so sorry.”

  “How did Nels . . . how did he do it?”

  “The same way as Brianne.”

  “A drug cocktail?”

  “Yes. The exact combination Brianne used.” Savannah opened her purse and took out the list that Jennifer had given her. She handed it to Earlene. “This is a breakdown of the drugs that were found in both of their systems during their autopsies.”

&nbs
p; Earlene studied the paper for a long time, then said, “I’ve never seen this particular combination before. But I must admit, it’s a very good one. It would be most effective in delivering a quick and relatively gentle passing.”

  Handing the paper back to Savannah, she added, “I wonder where Brianne and Nels found that formula. It’s quite sophisticated.”

  “As in . . . only someone in the medical field could come up with it?”

  “I should think so. Or, at the very least, someone with an advanced knowledge of pharmaceuticals.”

  “But neither of them had any sort of training in those areas,” Savannah reminded her.

  “Then it would seem that someone assisted them.”

  “Assisted them . . . if they asked for assistance.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Savannah hesitated, waiting for the doctor to come to her own terrible conclusion.

  Suddenly, Earlene caught her breath and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as though protecting her heart. “No,” she whispered. “No, no. You aren’t saying that someone murdered them. That’s not what you’re saying, right?”

  “After investigating their attitudes and circumstances, right before their passing, some people observed, just as you did, that both Brianne and Nels had positive attitudes and a lot to look forward to. It’s also been suggested that both died before they or their primary physicians expected them to.”

  “But murder? Really? I can’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing. They were such nice people. Even here in the group, they were very popular, an inspiration to everyone.”

  “The people in your group . . . are they all your patients?”

  “No. Very few are. Most were referred to me from various genetic disorder clinics in the Los Angeles area. They have their own general practitioners and specialists. We only offer support.”

  “How many people attend your meetings and how often?”

  “Once a week. Between twelve and twenty, depending on what sort of week they’ve had, and if they’re able to get here.”