Faraday looked up at Dirk blankly, his mocking grin gone. He didn’t reply.
Savannah stood and followed Dirk to the door. But before they left, Dirk turned back to Geoffrey and said, “Oh, yeah. I understand you’re Lucinda Faraday’s sole heir. That makes you number one on my list. Congratulations!”
As they left the house and Geoffrey Faraday with an unhappy look on his formerly prissy face, Savannah couldn’t help thinking how glad she was that she’d married a policeman, instead of a certain banker’s son she’d fancied herself in love with, years ago.
She had nothing against bankers or their sons, of course. No doubt many of them were exciting, fun guys. But she was pretty sure her own life was more interesting, hanging out with her favorite cop.
Chapter 8
Nearly an hour later, when Savannah and Dirk arrived back at their house and pulled into the driveway, she saw the living room lights were on.
“Granny’s still awake,” she said, feeling a tug of guilt to have kept her grandmother up past her bedtime.
“Of course she is,” Dirk said as he parked the car and shut it off. “When did you ever come home, after being out late, and find your grandma snoozing?”
“It happened. But I could probably count the times on one hand. She used to say, ‘A mama hen cain’t close her eyes to sleep till all her chickees are safe and sound in the nest.’”
As they got out of the car and walked to the front door, Dirk draped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “I just hope that little ankle-biter didn’t give her a hard time tonight. If he did, him and me’s gonna tangle.”
Savannah laughed, slipped her arm around his waist, and gave him a squeeze. “I hope not, too. It purely traumatized me, watching my beloved husband get the stuffin’ beat out of him by a squirt that doesn’t weigh as much as his thigh.”
Dirk sniffed. “I had my hands full with his wild hyena of a mother. I’ve taken down bikers on PCP who gave me less hassle than that woman. I’ll be happy if the only time I ever have to see her again is from the witness stand at her trial.”
“You think she’s going away?” Savannah asked, as the harsh truth of the boy’s situation hit her.
“Oh, she’s goin’ away for sure. No doubt about it. That gal’s rap sheet’s longer than my”—he gave her a quick, suggestive grin—“my right arm.”
She snickered. “Well, as long as it’s your right arm and not your third leg.”
“That’s for sure. If that was the case, she’d be goin’ away for life.”
He unlocked the front door, opened it, and stood aside to allow her to walk through before him.
That was one thing she deeply appreciated about her West Coast boy. He might not be a son of the old South, but he had good ol’ boy manners when it came to how to treat a lady.
Best of all—after the many years they had been together, first as partners on the force, then best friends, then husband and wife . . . after all the intimate knowledge they had of each other, gleaned from circumstances that were anywhere from deeply romantic interludes to dealing with the effects of bad chili cheese dogs—he still considered her a lady.
His lady.
The fact that he treated her as such, even when performing the simple act of going through a doorway, was one of his more endearing qualities.
She was also pleased that, without her even asking, he immediately took the precaution of putting his own weapon into the closet safe, rather than placing it on the top shelf.
When it came to kids, Dirk took no chances. Not even with ones who had given him a shiner earlier in the evening.
As they walked into the living room, Savannah glanced to the left, expecting to see her grandmother sitting in the most comfortable chair in the house, Savannah’s infamous “comfy chair.”
Like most of the Reid women who sat in it, the chair was soft, pretty, feminine, and overstuffed. The large, cushy footstool, also covered in the same rose floral chintz, was usually inhabited by one or both of her sister cats, Diamante and Cleopatra. Like bookends covered with silky black fur, they provided comfort and love in the form of purring foot warmers.
But, to Savannah’s surprise, the chair was empty.
For half a second, she thought something might be wrong. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left her elderly grandmother in the company of a juvenile delinquent, whom she had known for only a couple of hours.
But one glance toward the sofa put her mind at ease.
Granny sat in the middle, an open, well-read copy of Peter Pan in her lap. To her right was Cleo, curled in a ball against her thigh.
To her left sat Brody, his head on her shoulder, his eyes closed.
He looked like a different kid from the one Savannah had left in her grandmother’s care earlier. This kid was clean. Shockingly clean. His dirty blond hair was now three shades lighter, definitively blond without a speck of the dirt. Sun-bleached, no doubt from spending a lot of time outdoors, his long hair was now fluffy and curly instead of straight and greasy.
Brody Greyson was the poster kid for Southern California Surfer Boy.
He was wearing Savannah’s Mickey Mouse T-shirt, one of her many souvenirs from Disneyland. It was far too large for him, hanging down to his knees.
Savannah could see only a bit of his shorts beneath the shirt. But like the boy’s hair and the rest of his body, the shorts had undergone a transformation in Granny’s expert hands and were far cleaner than Savannah would have guessed they could ever be.
On the boy’s lap was Diamante, curled into a contented, purring, snoozing circle of ebony fur, like her sister. Although the boy appeared to be asleep, too, his fingers were lightly stroking the cat’s neck.
Granny was still reading the book, her voice soft and low. She glanced up at Savannah and smiled, the personification of peace.
“Hi,” Savannah whispered. “I see you have everything under control, as expected.”
Granny quietly closed the book and set it aside. “Nothin’ needed controllin’ ’round here tonight,” she said. “The child was good as gold. Not a cross word or a disrespectful action outta ’im. He wanted to bring the Colonel indoors with him once it got dark. But I explained how that could result in a hound dog with no nose on his face.” She nodded toward the cats. “He dropped the subject, we put the hound in the utility room on his bed, and we sailed through the rest of the evenin’ with nary a problem.”
“Then you did better than me,” Dirk said, taking off his tennis shoes and kicking them under the coffee table.
Granny looked up at him and squinted, trying to see him clearly in the dim lamplight. “Mercy sakes alive, boy. Is that a black eye you’re sportin’ there?”
Dirk nodded. “About as black as it’s ever been, I hate to admit,” he told her. “Don’t let that angelic look there fool ya. That little runt can be a tear-cat when he wants to be.”
“I ain’t asleep, you know,” Brody said, his southern accent thick and drowsy. He opened his eyes halfway. “I can hear everythin’ you’re saying. I ain’t no runt, and I ain’t a tear-cat neither, ’less you’re puttin’ a whoopin’ on my momma.”
“Yeah, and I’m an officer of the law,” Dirk shot back, “not a lousy, pig-nose skunk butt neither. Your momma was resistin’ arrest and encouraging her boy to rip my face off, which I might remind you, you were tryin’ your best to do.”
Granny cleared her throat and looked down at the child next to her, a frown on her face and a distinct twinkle in her eye. “Brody Greyson, tell me the truth, ’cause I don’t abide no lyin’. Did you call Detective Coulter a pig-nose skunk butt?”
“I did.”
Brody didn’t appear embarrassed. Not even a little. Savannah didn’t know whether to be amused or concerned.
She decided she was both.
Granny continued, “Okay, thank you for your truthfulness. Did you lay your hands upon him in a violent manner, intendin’ to do him bodily harm?”
Brody thought it ove
r for a minute, then said, “I jumped on his back and started whalin’ on him for all I was worth, intendin’ to rip his face off and shove it where the sun don’t shine—just like my momma was tellin’ me to do.”
He looked up at Granny with eyes that were filled with more innocence than might have been expected from someone who had just delivered such a damning confession. “Is that what you mean by ‘bodily harm’?” he asked.
“Yessiree bob. That there’s exactly what I meant.” In one practiced move, Granny reached for the child, grabbed him by the shoulders, and spun him around until they were eye to eye.
The awakened and unhappy Diamante jumped off his lap and joined her sister on Granny’s right side.
Granny looked deeply into the boy’s eyes and said in a gentle but firm voice, “Young man, you and me gotta get somethin’ straight right now. Detective Coulter there is a policeman, and in this household, we hold police officers in high regard.”
The boy bristled. “Well, me and my momma don’t like ’em. They’re mean, nasty, monkey—”
“Stop! We don’t allow no name-callin’ in this house!” Granny took a deep breath, then having gathered a modicum of calmness, she continued. “You may have met some mean police in your young life. I’ll grant you that. There’s no-goods in any group of people. You line up a bunch of plumbers, teachers, even preachers, you’ll find a dud or two among ’em. Cops ain’t no different that way. But the vast majority risk their lives ever’ day to keep us all safe, and we won’t have nobody bad-mouthin’ ’em in this house, let alone raisin’ their hand to ’em. You hear me?”
With his nose only a few inches from hers, Brody continued to glare at Granny for what seemed to Savannah an eternity. But the older woman’s steady, gentle gaze finally wore him down. He nodded and looked away.
Granny smoothed his hair back away from his eyes and placed a quick kiss on his forehead. “Detective Coulter is part of my family, Brody,” she said. “A precious part. He’s like a son to me. If you and me’s gonna be friends, you’ll have to treat him with respect. Understand?”
Savannah glanced over at Dirk and thought she saw a tear in his eye. She couldn’t be sure because the black one was bloodshot and swollen. But she could tell that Gran’s words had found their way to his heart.
As she had countless times already in her life, Savannah felt infinitely grateful to have a grandmother like hers.
So what if her childhood, her parents, hadn’t been all they should have? She wouldn’t trade her own upbringing for anyone’s. Not if it meant losing Gran.
Savannah walked over to the sofa and held out her hand to Brody. “I think it’s about bedtime, young man,” she said. “I know it is for us old folks.”
“That’s for sure,” Dirk grumbled. “But I’ve gotta eat something first. I’m about to starve. Is there any of that coconut cake left?” he asked Granny.
“It’s in the icebox,” she told him. “We saved you both big slices. Why don’t you two eat ’em whilst I put our youngest to bed upstairs in the guest room?”
Surprised, Savannah looked at her grandmother. “No, no,” Savannah told her. “The guest room is for you, like always, when it’s late and you stay over. I’ll make up a bed for Mr. Brody here on the couch.”
“But . . . but he’s the guest of honor tonight,” Granny argued.
“Yes, he is,” Savannah agreed. “As a gentleman, he would be honored to give you, his elder and a lady, the best bed while he holds down the couch and keeps it from floating away.”
Savannah gave Brody a wink and a grin. “He’s tough, aren’t you, darlin’?”
Instantly, the boy gave her a broad smile. “I sure am. Tough as they come. I’m used to sleepin’ on the floor in the back of my momma’s van. Sleepin’ on a couch ain’t no big deal to the likes o’ me.”
Granny stood and whispered in Savannah’s ear, “Are you sure? I don’t mind bein’ down here on the—”
“Sh-h-h. We won’t hear of it,” Savannah told her. “I had a feeling you’d be staying the night when I left earlier. I put fresh sheets on the futon, so the guest room’s all ready for you.”
The two women embraced and kissed each other good night. Granny hugged Dirk tightly, gave Brody a peck on his cheek, then disappeared up the stairs.
Savannah began to take the back cushions off the sofa and set them aside to make more room for the boy to sleep.
Dirk walked into the kitchen, and Savannah assumed he was headed to the refrigerator and the coconut cake. But a moment later he returned with his arms full of bedclothes from the utility room closet.
He waited until Savannah had removed the last cushion, then he spread the sheet and tucked it in.
“Lay down there, kid, and be quick about it,” he told Brody with gruff playfulness.
The child grinned and scrambled to do as he was told.
As Savannah spread the second sheet and a blanket over his legs, she couldn’t help thinking what an improvement that was over his and Dirk’s earlier exchange.
“There’s just one thing I’d really like to have,” Brody said as he sat on his newly made “bed,” his arms crossed over his chest.
“Whaddaya want now?” Dirk asked. “Oh, I know. A pillow fight!” He smacked the boy soundly with the pillow, knocking him onto his back. “Oops! Fight’s over,” Dirk told him. “I won.”
Brody roared with laughter, grabbing the pillow away from Dirk and shoving it under his head.
Then the child turned to Savannah, his eyes filled with a longing that went straight to her heart.
“What is it?” she asked. “You want a glass of milk to help you sleep or—”
Brody shook his head. “No. Your grandma gave me so much to eat, I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again. What I’d really like is . . . Do you think I could sleep with the kitties?”
Savannah and Dirk looked at each other for a moment, then Dirk said, “Actually, they’re our bed partners. I sleep with Cleo, and Savannah cuddles up with Diamante.”
The boy looked crushed, but he busied himself fluffing his pillow. “That’s okay. I understand,” he said. “They’re used to sleeping with you guys. They’d probably be scared if we changed things up.”
Savannah reached down and scooped up the still-pouting Diamante from the floor, where she had been placed when they had started making the bed. “Oh, I don’t think Di would be scared to sleep with you. She likes you a lot, after you paying so much attention to her hurt ear and giving her all those good pets earlier. We’ve got two cats, and we aren’t stingy folks. I reckon we can share with you.”
Brody Greyson’s bright, grateful smile was the only reward Savannah needed for her sacrifice of a purring, furry bed warmer.
She handed Diamante over to the child and watched him cuddle the contented feline close to his chest. Then Savannah bent over and gave him a kiss on the forehead.
“See there,” she told him. “I promised you earlier that you’d be rewarded for being brave and making the right choice. I told you your life was going to get better. Remember?”
He nodded solemnly. “I remember. I’m always gonna remember that. Forever and ever.”
Dirk reached down and rubbed the kid’s head with his knuckles, rustling his hair. Dirk nodded toward Savannah and said, “This gal here, I’ve known her a long time. When she makes you a promise, you can take it to the bank and cash it.”
“Okay.” Brody grinned, tucking Diamante’s head under his chin, while being careful of her ear. “You two are married, right?” he said to Dirk.
Dirk laughed. “Figured that out all by yourself, didja? Maybe we’ll make a detective outta you someday.”
Brody snorted. “That’ll be the day. My momma’d pitch a fit if I was to ever become a cop. She’d rather me be a bank robber.”
Dirk opened his mouth to say something, shot a sideways look at Savannah, and mumbled, “No comment.”
As he ambled off to the kitchen, no doubt in search of coconut cake, Savann
ah hurried over to the end table near Brody’s head and switched off the lamp.
“Good night, sugar,” she told him. “If you need anything at all, don’t be afraid to come up and get me. Upstairs, down the hall, last door on the right. Next to the bathroom in case you need that, too.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t get scared, and I’m used to holdin’ it.”
Savannah felt her heartstrings twang. “You’re in my house now. Everybody here gets scared once in a while. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and when you’re under my roof, you go when you need to. It’s not healthy to . . . ‘hold it.’ Okay?”
“’Kay.” He glanced toward the kitchen. They could hear knives, forks, and plates rattling. “That cake your grandma baked is the best I’ve ever ate. You better get in there quick, before he eats it all.”
Savannah laughed. “How did you know?”
“He’s the kinda guy you gotta watch your food around. Believe me, I can tell.”
Savannah recalled something Dirk had told her once about literally having to fight for food back in the orphanage.
She looked down at her little guest with his gaunt cheeks and too-thin body. “You two boys have more in common than you probably think,” she told him sadly.
“Me and him? Naw. We’re nothing alike at all.”
She gave him a final tuck in. Then, as she walked away, she whispered, “More than you might think, little man. In fact, more than you could ever imagine.”
Chapter 9
“Your new boyfriend was lookin’ pretty sharp this mornin’,” Dirk told Savannah the next day as she drove him to the county morgue. “How much did all those new clothes set ya back?”
“More than you’d think,” she replied. “Outfitting a young’un from head to toe with a week’s worth of clothes—even a little kid—it’s not cheap.”
“Lemme know how much it was, and I’ll pay it,” he said, much to her shock. Since when did Ol’ Stingy Pants fork over money without being asked nicely? Asked nicely while being prodded with a red-hot pitchfork or being hung upside down by his toenails.
And the Killer Is . . . Page 8
