Bitter Brew Read online

  The two women sat and looked at each other, absorbing each other’s thoughts, fears, and anger.

  Tears glistened in Jennifer’s eyes, and Savannah knew they were indicative of the grief and rage she felt for the young man lying in her cooling room, and even more for her childhood friend.

  “The sickest, most evil part of this,” Jennifer said, her voice breaking, “is that those are also the symptoms of late-stage Halstead’s.”

  “So, whoever killed them, did so in such a way that they thought they were dying of a horrible disease.”

  “The same debilitating, dehumanizing disease that took their parents.”

  Jennifer wiped her eyes with the cuff of her shirt with a quick, angry movement and squared her shoulders. “You asked why I’m worried about being exposed. I’m not worried about being found out. ‘Exposed’ be damned. I covered my tracks well. I’m upset because I know I’m going to have to come forward and admit what I did.”

  Savannah said nothing, just shook her head solemnly.

  “Because if I don’t,” Jennifer continued, “they’ll get away with it. That monster made my best friend, my heart’s sister, think that she was dying of the same disease that destroyed her mom. And the whole time, Brianne was perfectly healthy.”

  Jennifer grabbed the reports off the desktop, crammed them into the drawer, and slammed it closed. “Then, as if that wasn’t enough, they killed her! I don’t care if I lose my license and spend the rest of my life in prison, they’re not going to get away with doing that to the person I loved most in this world!”

  Chapter 7

  As Savannah drove back to her home, she could hardly concentrate on her driving for all the thoughts racing through her head. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  No case was. But this would be trickier than usual.

  Normally, she would assemble the members of her Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency. They would sit down to her dining table with a plate of chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies, discuss what had to be done, then distribute the various tasks among themselves, according to their skill sets.

  At the very least, she would have hurried home to share the news with Dirk. She and her husband would kick it around over a cup of coffee and a slice of pie and come up with a game plan.

  However, not only had Jennifer sworn her to secrecy, but Savannah couldn’t compromise her law-enforcement husband in such a way. It was bad enough that she, a civilian, was failing to report a felony. But to expect Dirk to put his job on the line, possibly even face imprisonment, to keep Dr. Liu’s secret . . . no, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  As she approached the town pier, she found herself pulling into the parking lot. She had always found the act of gazing at the ocean therapeutic, not to mention enlightening and restorative.

  With the grandeur of nature spread before her, the salt sea air filling her lungs, the sound of the surf rolling in and the palm trees dancing in the breeze, it was far easier for her to still the frenetic, yelping hyenas in her brain and listen to the calm whisper of her spirit.

  So, you’re on your own. What are you gonna do, kid? she heard herself ask.

  Obviously, she thought, the first step would be to do some research on Brianne Marston and Nels Farrow.

  Yeah, that would be great, wouldn’t it? yelled a nasty little voice in her head. Now, don’t we wish we had taken a few of those computer lessons that Tammy offered us? Then we wouldn’t be so dependent on others to do the simple things that any six-year-old can do.

  “Oh, shush,” she told her inner accuser. “If you don’t have anything constructive to say, keep your trap closed.”

  Savannah had no problem differentiating between that ugly, bossy voice’s rantings and the calm whisper of her spirit. Her spirit was, well, calm . . . and it whispered. The witchy gal had an abrasive, nasal tone, barked out her judgmental opinions with wild and reckless abandon, and seldom had anything of value to add to the situation.

  Yeah, you just hate it when I’m right, don’t cha? her internal nemesis interjected once again. If you’d put out any effort at all to learn that researching crap, we wouldn’t be in this predicament, unable to sneeze without Tammy telling you how and in which direction. You’d be able to check out Brianne and Nels yourself, not to mention find a good recipe for pecan fudge pie.

  Savannah waited. She knew it was coming.

  But then, we don’t really need another recipe for pecan fudge pie. The last thing we need is more pie on our butt because, as it is now, we can’t even squeeze into—

  “Aww ! Shut! Up! Ugggh!”

  She lifted her fist to pound the steering wheel, then reminded herself how much she’d paid for it when the red pony had been totally refurbished a few years ago.

  Even when losing one’s temper, a gal had to be practical.

  So she just gripped it. Really hard.

  Eventually, having recovered a bit of her dignity and composure, she rolled down the window, inhaled the pungent, salty air, and breathed out her frustration, along with at least some of the fear that was churning through her insides.

  After the third repetition of this familiar ritual, the yelping hyenas quieted down a little. The sharp-tongued shrew seemed to find something else to do and someplace other than inside her head to do it. Thankfully.

  That was when she heard it. The quiet, gentle whisper of her spirit.

  You’ve got this, Savannah girl. You were called into this sad situation for a reason. You’ll fulfill your purpose, whatever it may be. Just take it one step at a time.

  Savannah studied the face of the woman in her rearview mirror. She saw her fear, sadness, and concern.

  But that wasn’t all she saw.

  The eyes of the woman looking back at her were filled with wisdom born of tough living, of myriad hardships overcome, and wounds that had healed . . . or at least not gone fatally septic.

  “What are we going to do next?” she asked the woman with the wise eyes and kind smile.

  That’s easy, she heard her softly reply. We’re going to trust our friends to be friends.

  “Good idea.”

  Savannah turned the key in the ignition, sat there for a moment, then spoke to her car phone. “Call Tammy.”

  A moment later, a cheerful voice answered, “Hi, Savannah. What’s going on?” She sounded a bit breathless, as though she might have rushed to the phone.

  “If you’re not too busy,” Savannah began, “if my little namesake isn’t driving you nuts with that trying-to-learn-how-to-crawl business, I could really use your help.”

  “Absolutely! No problem. I can be at your house in ten minutes. Is that soon enough?”

  “That’s perfect, darlin’. Thanks a bunch.”

  But Tammy had already hung up the phone.

  Savannah smiled, loving her friend. All it took was a whiff of mystery in the air to get Ms. Tammy Hart-Reid in gear.

  * * *

  By the time Savannah had driven home and entered her house, Tammy was already on the job. Sitting at the rolltop desk in the corner, computer on, an eager smile brightening her pretty face, the San Carmelita version of Nancy Drew was raring to go.

  Tammy was the only person Savannah had ever known who actually carried a magnifying glass in her purse.

  Seeing how handy that particular tool could be, Savannah was determined to buy one someday, when she was in the store that sold such items.

  Unfortunately, until the grocery store began stocking detection tools in the Ben & Jerry’s freezer between the Chunky Monkey and Chubby Hubby selections, Savannah wasn’t likely to remember how much she needed a magnifying glass, a deerstalker cap, and a Meerschaum pipe.

  “Did you actually drive over here?” Savannah asked, plopping down on her comfy chair and gathering the two cats onto her lap. “Or do you have some sort of space-age transporter that you haven’t told me about?”

  Tammy giggled and turned her chair around to face Savannah. “I ran.”

  “You did not.
Don’t even tell me that. You live six minutes from my house. And I was only three minutes away when I called you. You couldn’t possibly have—”

  “I was up on Hillside Road, halfway through my run. I was only a block away when you phoned me.”

  Savannah sighed with relief. It wasn’t easy living with a superwoman who was a size zero and had boundless energy.

  “Oh, right,” she said. “I remember, your car wasn’t out front.”

  “Your powers of observation less than optimal today?”

  “My pretty much everything is less than optimal today. Thank you very much for reminding me.”

  Savannah looked around the room for the usual lightweight, portable baby stroller with a sleeping infant inside. “You didn’t bring the munchkin?”

  “Not this time.”

  “I thought you were taking her running with you every day now.”

  “She enjoys it, and so do I. But today, Waycross was feeling a little better, and he offered to take care of her while I was out. It’s getting a bit easier for him to get around with his leg now than before.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I know he was in a lot of pain there at first.”

  “Oh, he’s still hurting. The doctor says it’s the damaged tendons. He told us they can take longer to heal than broken bones. Sometimes, he hurts so much he can hardly stand it. His pain’s been so bad that it even caused him to throw up.”

  Savannah felt a momentary, sympathetic ache in her own leg. A twinge that only a mother could feel, or perhaps, an older sister who had helped to raise her eight siblings.

  “Poor Waycross,” she said, shaking her head. “My brother is such a good man. There are so many other people I’d rather see tumble off a roof than a sweetheart like Waycross.”

  Mentally, she added, Some I wouldn’t mind giving a bit of a nudge just to make sure they did. But she kept it to herself.

  Being a far better person, Tammy wouldn’t approve.

  Sniffing the air, Tammy said, “So, you went to see your mysterious, troubled friend, eh?”

  “Um . . . yes.”

  “And how is Dr. Jen these days?”

  Savannah caught her breath. “What the heck? Why would you even say it was Dr. Liu? I didn’t—”

  “You smell of formaldehyde. Unless you’ve been hanging out in some museum of natural history or olde curiosity shop with marinating organic oddities, you went to the morgue.”

  “You are far too good at this, girl.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  “Well, that’s true.” She patted the cats for a little while. When she looked up again at Tammy, she saw her assistant watching her with such a keen eye that it made her uncomfortable.

  On the job, when she absolutely had to, she could spin as convincing a lie as the best of them. But with loved ones, she had never developed a taste for it nor the skill.

  “What’s wrong with Dr. Liu?” Tammy asked. “And why is it such a secret?”

  “You don’t want me to break a confidence, do you?”

  For a half a second, Tammy looked truly repentant. Her head even hung down a bit, hiding her face with the silky, golden curtain of her hair. But when she lifted her head and looked at Savannah, there was a definite twinkle in her eyes as she said, “Is it breaking a confidence if the other person swears not to pass it along any further?”

  “Yes! It would be. Dang, Tams. I haven’t decided how much to tell you about what I’m not supposed to tell you yet. You’re like a bulldog sometimes.”

  “A cute little French one?”

  “Stop.”

  “Does it have anything to do with her friend Brianne Marston dying?”

  “What?!” Savannah inhaled too abruptly and choked on her own spit.

  She truly hated it when that happened. It made a gal feel so stupid to be suddenly gagging to death on her own saliva. So far from the cool, chic, and collected image she tried to portray. Most of the time.

  “I read about that friend of hers online. Her name was Brianne Marston. She died a few days ago of this horrible disease that killed her mother. I think it’s called Halston’s.”

  “Halstead’s.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Aha! Gotcha!” The young woman looked far too pleased with herself to please Savannah. Apparently, there was such a thing as teaching someone too well. “Halstead’s is a very rare disease,” Tammy continued triumphantly, “and I don’t think you’d have known that if you hadn’t just—”

  “Shh,” Savannah said, eager to end the conversation for more reasons than one. “Drop it right now. Dirk just pulled in.”

  Chapter 8

  Sure enough, through the window, Savannah could see the cruiser was parking in the driveway beside the Mustang. She watched her husband get out of the vehicle and trudge up the sidewalk to the front door.

  Yes, she decided, there was a definite slogging quality to his walk—slower and even less energetic than his usual saunter.

  Unless he was chasing a fleeing felon. Then, for a big guy, Detective Sergeant Dirk could really move.

  “What’s wrong with him, seriously?” Tammy asked. “He’s really droopy lately, even for him, and it can’t just be the anniversary presents-fiasco.” She paused a moment, mulling over the possibilities. “His iron shouldn’t be deficient. It’s ridiculous how much red meat he eats. Maybe his potassium is low. Does he eat bananas? He’s seriously dragging buns.”

  It occurred to Savannah that Tammy was the only adult she knew who was so pure of heart that they actually used the phrase, “dragging buns.” But she didn’t have time to contemplate the possible nutrient deficiencies of a man who ate doughnuts for breakfast, fast food for lunch, and pure Southern culinary genius at the hands of his wife every night at the dinner table.

  The door had opened.

  With a finger to her lips, Savannah motioned for Tammy to hush.

  Savannah heard him moving about just inside the door, as Cleo jumped off her lap and flew into the foyer to greet him. Dirk could come through that door fifty times a day, and every event was Kitty Christmas Morning for Cleopatra.

  Placing a pouty Diamante on the floor, Savannah rose and hurried toward the door to meet him. Not quite as eagerly as Cleo, who didn’t know the word dignity when it came to “Dad,” but spritely enough to score a few badly needed Wifey Points.

  When she entered the foyer, she saw he had picked up Cleo and was petting her as she rubbed her whiskers on the front of his bomber jacket. That was when Savannah noticed he was still wearing his coat. No doubt, his holster, too.

  Not a good sign.

  She expected him to turn and give her a hearty hug and a significant lip kiss, as was their routine. But, although it was a subtle difference, he gave her a simple, curt nod, only fleeting eye contact, and a peck on her forehead when she leaned in for the kiss.

  Her heart sank.

  Small gestures, broken rituals, sometimes spoke volumes.

  “You’re home early, darlin’,” she told him, trying not to look or sound disappointed. “I haven’t made lunch yet.”

  “That’s okay. It’s just a pit stop,” he said. “Gotta pick up something I forgot and go right out again.”

  “What did you forget?”

  “That camera. The one with the really good zoom lens.”

  Her heart sank. “The captain’s got you surveilling that drug house again tonight?”

  “Yeah,” was the barely-there reply.

  “Darn. He’s really got it out for you. I mean, the overtime’s nice once in a while, but I’ve hardly seen you all week.”

  “Sorry. Can’t be helped.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you know where it is? The camera.”

  She nodded. “Have a seat. Put your feet up a couple of minutes at least. I’ll get it for you.”

  He followed her into the living room and sank onto the sofa, while she went to one of the bookshelves on either side of the desk, and took the expensive, department-issued camera fr
om the top.

  Tammy spun her desk chair around to face Dirk. “You look tired,” she told him.

  He fixed her with a blank, noncommittal look that Savannah recognized as the one he used when forced to exchange pleasantries with someone he considered incapable of intelligent and meaningful conversation.

  He drew a breath, released it slowly, and then said, “That’s because I’m dead tired. You work two eight-hour tours, and then we’ll see how peppy you look.”

  Savannah winced. Frequently, Dirk bantered with Tammy, but his words were almost always seasoned with humor and softened with affection.

  This little speech had been delivered without a trace of humor, softness, or affection.

  One glance at Tammy told her that the barb had found its mark and stung. But it didn’t appear to have gone too deeply, because Tammy rolled her eyes in Savannah’s direction, gave a nod, and said, “Yeah, I’m still thinking bananas. A nice banana purée with some seaweed and blackstrap molasses.”

  Savannah tried not to gag at the thought. In a world where biscuits, cream gravy, and Granny’s peach preserves were available, why would anyone want to pour gunk like that down their throat?

  Dirk glanced around the room, obviously searching for something, and Savannah saw his already-low mood-o-meter drop a few more degrees.

  “Where’s the little redhead?” he asked Tammy. “She usually comes over here with you.”

  “She’s with her dad,” Tammy replied.

  “Her dad?”

  Nodding, Tammy said, “Yes, he’s watching her now. He’s doing better and better with that cast . . . most of the time anyway.”

  The look of disappointment on Dirk’s face went straight to Savannah’s heart. It touched her, how much her rough and gruff, grizzly bear husband loved that baby. The child and Kitty Cleo were the stars in his nighttime sky.

  A few days ago, Savannah would have said that she was his sunlight. Though these days, the weather forecast seemed to be trending toward, “Cloudy with a threat of occasional thunderstorms.”