Killer Reunion Read online

  Tammy hurried inside, and Waycross followed, along with Beauregard, Granny’s bloodhound, who was sniffing the sausage-scented air.

  The dog had no problem locating the remaining half link, which was just about to go into Dirk’s mouth. Colonel Beauregard sat on his haunches at Dirk’s feet and let out a soul-rending howl.

  Laughing, Dirk tossed the tidbit to him. “Boy, you got it rough, don’t cha? Eating Granny’s leftovers three times a day. We should all be so lucky.”

  His treat consumed in one gulp, without chewing, the dog laid his head on Dirk’s lap and gazed up at him with pleading eyes.

  “Sorry, guy. That was it. I know how you feel,” Dirk told him, stroking the silky ears. “Once the last bite’s gone, life’s hardly worth living. Until the next meal, anyway.”

  Tammy and Waycross sat down at the table, and Savannah jumped to get them something to drink before Gran could do it.

  “You don’t need to wait on me, sis,” Waycross said when she handed him a steaming coffee mug. “We all know our way around this here kitchen.”

  “After what you did for me last night, I should be giving you a back rub and a foot massage, both at the same time,” she answered.

  “It’s not his back or his feet that are hurting,” Tammy said with a giggle. “Let’s just say, it’s a good thing we already have a family on the way. He did himself some mischief, climbing over that windowsill on the way into Miss Barnsworth’s room.”

  Waycross’s freckled face colored brightly. “And I smacked my noggin good on the way out. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this breaking-and-entering business.”

  “Well, I am.” Tammy untwisted the cap from a bottle of mineral water that Savannah had pressed into her hand. “As soon as this baby’s here, I’ll be back to it.”

  “Just wait till she shows you what she’s got,” Waycross said, gazing at his fiancée with unadulterated adoration. “She was on that tablet of hers first thing this morning, searching this and posting that. She’s a holy terror on that stuff.”

  “Of course she is.” Savannah sat back down, her own mug refreshed. “Why do you think I pay her the big bucks?”

  “You pay me big bucks?” Tammy asked, digging out her tablet.

  Savannah reached over and pushed a strand of golden hair out of her eyes. “Not that big, darlin’. I could never pay you what you’re worth.”

  “Let’s see whatcha got, kid,” Dirk said.

  “What I have,” Tammy said as she found the information she was searching for, “is the identity of Imogene’s mysterious companion.”

  “Get out!” Savannah nearly jumped out of her chair. “Already?”

  Tammy beamed. “Yes, indeedy.”

  “How did you do that?” Savannah asked.

  Waycross answered, “When we were there in Miss Barnsworth’s room, Tammy was watching us through the window. And she saw a picture of a guy on the lady’s nightstand.”

  “I thought he was young and good looking, and I wondered who he was,” Tammy explained. “So I passed my phone to Granny and told her to take a picture of the picture. Late last night, after we went back to our motel, I did a search on the picture itself, an image search, and there he was. Oh, Savannah, just FYI, you were right about the other guests there at the No-Tail Motel being restless. I never heard so much banging around in my life.”

  Waycross’s coloring turned even ruddier as he stared into his coffee.

  “Well? What’s the name of the guy in the picture, and who is he?” Dirk asked.

  “Rodney Ruskin,” Tammy replied.

  “Is he some sort of exotic gigolo?”

  “No. He doesn’t seem to have any form of income at all,” Tammy said. “Hasn’t for a long, long time. He lives in a shack there in Sulfur Springs, in the middle of a cotton patch, right next to the spring that reeks of sulfur. Seems that Charger is all he’s got in the world.”

  “What’s his connection to Miss Barnsworth?” Dirk asked.

  “Must be something juicy,” Savannah suggested, “considering how secretive she is about him.”

  Tammy looked a bit sad when she said, “Rodney Ruskin is Miss Imogene Barnsworth’s grandson.”

  “Her grandson?”

  “That’s right. Her only grandchild. From her one and only child, an illegitimate daughter, who died several years ago.”

  “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming,” Savannah said, her mind spinning.

  “You know what that means,” Dirk added.

  “Yes, I do.” Savannah took a deep breath. “He’s her heir.”

  “Her heir to that big fortune she’ll get from her brother,” Gran said. “That’s a motive for murder if ever I heard one.”

  Savannah felt the phone buzz in her back pocket and heard “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” playing. “It’s Butch,” she said. “Sorry. Hold on.”

  She answered it and was greeted by her brother-in-law’s nasal twang on the other end. “Vi says you wanted to ask me somethin’. Whuzzup?”

  “I was going to see if you know anybody here ’bouts with a General Lee Charger. But I just found out the fella’s name. It’s Rodney Ruskin.”

  “Yessiree. Hot Rod. That’s what the ladies call ’im. They say he fills out a pair of jeans good or some such nonsense. Funny you should mention him. I seen him just yesterday. Dropped by my garage here, he did.”

  “Really? What did he want?”

  Savannah felt her world begin to turn in slow motion as she waited and waited for his reply.

  “He bought a new brake light for his Lee. Seems his was burned out and . . .”

  It took Savannah and Dirk the better part of the morning to figure out which cotton patch Rodney Ruskin lived in.

  “These cotton fields are sorta pretty, but if you’ve seen one, you’ve pretty much seen them all,” Dirk remarked after the first hour.

  By the time they found Rodney’s humble abode, Dirk was long past thinking there was anything pretty about farmland at all.

  He was even ready to wear woolen briefs, if necessary.

  And the smell of the area didn’t help at all.

  Sulfur Springs had been named for a natural hot spring that flowed downward from a crevasse in a rock on the hill above and through the small community. The water smelled like rotten eggs served in hell’s dining room and did nothing to improve the ambiance of the little village.

  As Savannah and Dirk reached the end of the dusty dirt road and found the rust-eaten house trailer, Savannah saw Mr. Hot Rod himself bending over, with his head stuck under the open hood of a Lincoln limousine. His General Lee, in all her glory, was parked in the shade of the property’s one oak tree.

  Savannah perused Hot Rod’s shapely rear end, so well tucked into a pair of worn jeans that were molded to his every curve. But try as she might, she couldn’t determine what all the women were swooning over.

  That made her feel very old. Or very married. Or a bit of both.

  Since when didn’t she notice a tight pair of jeans on a nicely rounded male heinie?

  Maybe there was something about having a fine domesticated rear within easy reach and readily available that made the exotic foreign brands less alluring.

  Or maybe it was the menopause thing.

  Either way, she didn’t care if Hot Rod had hot buns, as long as he didn’t try anything ugly with them out here in this lonely, isolated place.

  She missed the comforting assurance of her Beretta. And she knew Dirk felt naked without his Smith & Wesson. Curse Tommy Stafford for confiscating them like that. If she and her husband got killed because of that boy’s foolishness, she would, well, she’d come back and haunt him, or whatever else she was allowed to do from the great beyond to make his life miserable.

  “Watch out for this guy,” Dirk said as he brought the car to a stop a few feet from the limo.

  “I will. You too.”

  They got out of their vehicle and walked over to the limousine. Rodney came out from under the hood and squinted at t
hem, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

  “How do?” he said.

  “Hi,” Savannah replied. “You’re Rodney Ruskin, right?”

  “Guilty as charged.” He pulled a greasy rag from his hip pocket and wiped his face. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m Savannah. This is my husband, Dirk. We’re acquaintances of your grandmother.”

  “My grandma?” He looked a bit surprised but quickly recovered. “She don’t usually tell people about me. If she’s gonna talk about me, she’s gotta explain about my mom and why she never got married and all that.”

  Savannah gave him a sympathetic smile. “I guess things were different, you know, back then for single mothers. Not like it is now.”

  “No, I guess not. If she has to introduce me, she usually calls me her best friend’s son or whatever. I don’t mind. Whatever makes her happy.” He turned to Dirk and gave him a wink. “You know, us guys have to do whatever it takes to keep our women happy. That goes for grandmas as much as for wives.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Dirk replied. Pointing to the limousine, he said, “What’s the deal with this? She’s an old beauty. Are you fixing her up?”

  Rodney’s eyes glistened with something bordering on mania. “I sure am! I just got ’er, and she needs some work. But you just wait till I’m done with ’er. She’s gonna be the finest machine in Georgia!”

  “Yeah?” Savannah feigned great interest. “What are you going to do with her?”

  “I’ve got so many plans, you wouldn’t believe it! I’m gonna have the interior done all red, white, and blue.”

  “Very patriotic,” Dirk mumbled.

  “And I’ll have a hot tub installed there in the very back. I hear they can do that. And then I’m gonna have ’er painted with red, white, and blue flames, going from the hood back and trailin’ down her sides. And probably some stars and stripes thrown in to boot.”

  “Sounds amazing,” Savannah said, wide eyed.

  “It’ll knock your eyeballs plumb out!”

  “I have no doubt it will.”

  Dirk cleared his throat. “That’ll set you back some major dough there, dude.”

  “Eh, I don’t care. I’m comin’ into some big bucks any day now. I’m gonna be gettin’ more than I can spend in years. My grandma’s buying a big house that’s got a five-car garage. I’m gonna fill it up with all kinds of cool cars and maybe even get myself a monster truck or two.”

  He wiped his hands on the rag, then pitched it to the ground, where it lay among discarded beer cans, empty oil bottles, and old tires. “No more livin’ out in a dang cotton patch for Hot Rod Ruskin. My ship’s done come in, and she’s a big ’un!”

  “Which ship is that?” Dirk asked. “The USS Barnsworth?”

  Rodney’s broad smile lessened to half a grin. “Yeah. So?”

  “Nothing. I just heard about your great-uncle’s passing, and, well, sorry for your loss.”

  Dirk didn’t sound that sorry, and Rodney seemed to notice.

  “Him and my grandma weren’t all that close. I didn’t really know the man.”

  “And that would account for your lack of grief at his passing,” Savannah supplied.

  “Yeah. I reckon it eases the pain a bit that I never laid eyes on ’im.”

  “And how about his wife?” she asked. “Were you acquainted with her?”

  Rodney’s eyes were definitely guarded now. Savannah decided he might be a bit brighter than she’d thought at first glance.

  “I think I saw her walking down the street a couple times,” he said. “She was pretty hard to miss, struttin’ around in purple all the time.”

  “Yes, Jeanette stood out in a crowd. That’s for sure.” Savannah took a deep breath. “It’s pretty awful what happened to her. I guess you heard.”

  He thought it over for a moment, then said, “Yeah. I reckon it’s bad, winding up in the lake like that. Figure she had too much to drink at that high school reunion or whatever.”

  “No. They’re saying she was murdered,” Savannah told him.

  He didn’t look at all surprised when he nodded and said, “I guess that was a stroke of luck for me and my grandma. Wasn’t too lucky for Miss Jeanette, though.”

  “Reckon not.” She searched his eyes for any compassion for his recently departed relatives and saw not a smidgen.

  “Where were you Saturday night?” Dirk asked.

  “Why don’t you ask my grandma if you wanna know so bad?” he replied, suddenly looking confused and afraid.

  “Because we’d rather hear it from you,” Savannah said. “Where did you and your grandma go after you picked her up there at the nursing home?”

  “I think that’s not any of your business. And I think it’s about time for the two of you to be making some tracks off my property,” he said, walking away from them and heading toward the house trailer.

  His stride was purposeful. And it occurred to her that he might be going to get a weapon.

  Apparently, it occurred to Dirk, too, because he wasted no time in grabbing her by the arm and leading her back to their car. Once inside, he started it right up and sped away, kicking up an impressive dirt cloud behind them.

  “Well, whatcha think?” he asked. “Time to go pay another visit to your old boyfriend?”

  “Absolutely. And this time, if he doesn’t listen, I’m gonna smack him upside the head.”

  “You be sure to do that, Van. Hit him twice, in fact. It worked out so well last time.”

  “Um, good point.”

  Chapter 25

  Savannah and Dirk made record time driving to the station house, only to be told by Deputy Jesse that Sheriff Stafford was “out in the field.” He was sitting behind the desk, his dirty boots propped on a stack of official-looking paperwork, sucking down a convenience store soda big enough for four people to take a Jacuzzi in.

  “Where exactly ‘in the field’ is he?” Savannah asked, trying to hide her annoyance with the lackadaisical lawman, who had enough manure on the bottoms of his boots to fertilize Granny’s garden. She’d always had contempt for those who worked “the job” with no intention other than to collect a paycheck and a pension.

  Apparently, Jesse was irritating Dirk, too, because Dirk’s face was an unhealthy shade of reddish purple when he asked, “Why can’t you say? Is it because you’re clueless? Or because you’d rather bust our chops than help us find the sheriff when we need him?”

  “What do you need ’im for? Maybe I can help you out.”

  From the vacant, lazy look on Jesse’s face, Savannah had the strong impression this man wouldn’t fetch a garden hose if they were both on fire in a dynamite factory. So she wasn’t hopeful.

  “We need to talk to Tom directly,” Dirk said. “We wouldn’t say it’s important if it wasn’t.”

  “So, when we find him,” she added, “and we will find him sooner or later, we’ll tell him that his deputy was sitting at his desk, polishing off a gallon of soda pop, his filthy boots propped on what looks to be like some pretty important paperwork. But Deputy Jesse was too all-fired busy to even tell us where to find the sheriff.”

  That seemed to do the trick. Jesse shoved the beverage aside, set his feet on the floor, and adjusted his collar. “He went to see the undertaker.”

  “Mr. Jameson?” Savannah asked, a bit surprised.

  The deputy nodded.

  “Why?” Dirk wanted to know.

  “He didn’t say.” With a sigh, he added, “Frankly, the sheriff ain’t all that open about his business. Leastways, not with me, anyhow.”

  “Gee. Imagine that,” Savannah replied evenly. “And you, so confidence inspiring and all.”

  Jesse smiled and nodded, obviously deeply touched. “Why, thank you, ma’am.”

  Savannah turned and headed back to the door. “Think nothing of it. I sure don’t.”

  Rather than go into the funeral home and interrupt whatever might be passing between Tom Stafford and Herb Jameson, Savannah
and Dirk parked behind a large billboard where the mortuary’s driveway met the highway. They could see the sheriff’s big cruiser in front of the building and knew he’d have to pass by them to exit.

  “What do you suppose he’s doing here?” Dirk asked as he took out a cinnamon stick to “smoke” as they waited.

  “I don’t know. But I take it as a good sign. At least he’s doing some sort of investigation.”

  “But he’s talking to Jameson. Jameson’s the main one who’s saying it was you who done it. Maybe the old guy’s just convincing him all that much more.”

  She fixed him with an evil eye. “You know, I can think of depressing crap like that all by myself, without any help from you.”

  “Hey, I do what I can.”

  At the same moment, they both spotted Tom coming out of the funeral home.

  “Thank goodness,” Dirk said. “I was afraid we’d be sitting here for hours and I’d be starving to death. I need another of those Burger Igloo burgers. This time with extra cheese and chili.”

  “You’re gonna die.”

  “With a full stomach and a song in my heart.”

  Tom got into his car and headed toward them.

  “Fingers crossed,” she said. “I want to do the talking.”

  “If you’re doing the yakking, I’ll cross both of ’em on both hands.”

  “And you be nice.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  “Be nicer than you always are.”

  They could see inside Tom’s car well enough to know the moment when he spotted them. He frowned and shook his head. And kept going, driving right past them.

  “Honk,” Savannah said.

  Dirk did. A long, long, long honk.

  She groaned. “You don’t even know how to honk nice.”

  “Honk nice? How the hell do you honk nice?”

  “A pleasant little beep, maybe? Never mind. He’s stopped. Let’s go before he changes his mind and takes off again. You and your rude, nasty honks. Sheez.”

  They shot out of the car and scurried over to the cruiser, which was sitting on the side of the road. Savannah hurried around to the passenger’s door and was happy to find it unlocked. She opened it and climbed in. Once inside, she could hear Dirk trying to open the back passenger’s door—unsuccessfully.