Killer Reunion Page 8

  “It’s going to have to wait,” Savannah said as she watched her old beau walk up to the screen door and stand there, filling its frame with his oversized, overly muscular body. He had his burly arms crossed over his chest, and as Dirk had observed, he was wearing his most officious scowl.

  She recognized it immediately.

  It was the look most lawmen—and women—wore when they truly meant business.

  They practiced it in the mirror more often than they practiced their marksmanship at the shooting range.

  She gulped and thought, Oh, goody.

  Chapter 7

  Over the past twenty-plus years, Savannah had often wondered if Tom Stafford still had feelings for her. And she’d hoped he did, if for no other reason than that her vanity demanded it.

  After the decades she had spent pining over him, it seemed only fair that memories of her had haunted at least a few of his nights.

  She didn’t require much. No hand-wringing, midnight floor pacing, or suicidal regrets. Just a bit of tossing and turning, some pangs of conscience, and a bit of wondering about what might have been.

  At the reunion the night before, she had seen him casting wistful glances her way, and she could have sworn she saw regret in his eyes.

  But that was last night.

  Now he was sitting in her granny’s chair, on the edge of the cushion, leaning toward her, his green eyes boring into hers. From her seat on the sofa she could have reached over and touched him.

  But she had never been less inclined to do so.

  Gone was Tommy, the sweet boy who had snuggled with her, kissed her, and made passionate love to her in the peach orchards. Sheriff Tom Stafford was a man now, fully overgrown, wearing a khaki uniform and a star on his chest, which he appeared to take too seriously.

  “Don’t go battin’ them big blue eyes at me, Savannah Reid,” he was saying. “And don’t go givin’ me no abbreviated answers to my questions. I want to know exactly what you did from the time I last saw you until this minute right here. And don’t leave out nothin’.”

  Dirk had been quiet for too long. He reached over and put his arm around Savannah’s shoulders. “My wife already answered your questions, Stafford,” he said. “Until you say why you’re interrogating her, she’s done talking unless she’s got a lawyer present. Got it?”

  Tom never took his eyes off Savannah. “Is that true, Savannah? Are you the kind of wife that does everything her husband tells her to do? You never seemed like that kinda gal to me.”

  She knew he was just trying to make her mad, to get her riled up so that she would say something she hadn’t intended to.

  And it was very nearly working.

  But not quite.

  She fixed him with an even stare that matched his own gunfighter eyes and said, “You tell me why you want an accounting of my whereabouts beyond what I’ve already told you, or I’m going to lawyer up.”

  A look of impatience and frustration crossed Stafford’s face, but he quickly wiped it away. “You two are cops. Well, you are, Coulter, and you used to be, Savannah. You know I don’t have to tell you nothin’.”

  “And we all know that goes both ways.” Savannah sat back on the sofa, crossed her legs, and try to appear as nonchalant as possible. “What’s going on, Tom? Has Miss Prissy Pot decided to press charges, after all?”

  “Yeah,” Dirk interjected, “’cause if that’s the case, you saw it all happen there at the school. Why does it matter what we did or didn’t do after the reunion last night?”

  Tom looked from one to the other. Savannah could practically see his mental wheels whirring as she searched her own mind for an answer to his line of questioning. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Jeanette’s not pressing charges for anything. Least wise, I don’t think so.”

  “Then what’s all this about?” Savannah asked.

  “She’s missing.”

  His words hung in the air, heavier than the summer humidity.

  “What do you mean, ‘missing’?” Savannah asked, breaking the silence.

  “Just that,” he replied. “She was supposed to bring that new purple Cadillac convertible of hers to the dealer this morning. She’d made a big stink about the fact that she was comin’ by. Something about her not liking the leather on the backseat. But Arthur says she never showed. When I called the house—the big Barnsworth mansion south of town, where she’s still livin’, even though he’s dead—the maid answered and told me she hasn’t seen her all day. And her bed hasn’t been slept in.”

  “Maybe she got lucky after the reunion and forgot about the leather on her backseat,” Savannah offered.

  “She didn’t show for her pedicure at the nail salon.”

  “Which one?” Dirk grumbled under his breath. “You have so many.”

  Savannah gulped as a sinking feeling swept through her.

  Someday the world might stop turning. The seven seas might dry up, and time might come to an end. But the vain and meticulously groomed Miss Jeanette would never, ever miss a pedicure.

  “Damn,” Savannah whispered.

  Tom heard her. “Yeah.”

  They all three sat in ominous silence.

  Jeanette Barnsworth had gone missing. Within hours of an altercation with Savannah. In the presence of witnesses.

  In the presence of law enforcement.

  A softer look crossed Tom’s face, and he even gave Savannah a slight smile. “You know I’d rather be anywhere but here right now, don’t cha, girl?” he said, his deep voice tremulous. “I care about you and your family. I really do. The last thing I want to do is accuse you of anything. Let alone somethin’ like murder.”

  “Then don’t accuse her,” Dirk said, his own voice hard and cold. “Dammit, man, if you’re such a good friend of hers and this family, then cut her some slack. If you know Savannah as well as you claim to, you know she has never done anything criminal in her life, let alone a homicide.”

  Tom bristled. “I’m being a better friend to her than you think. If it was anybody else, I would’ve at least dragged them into the station to question them. And I’d probably have them behind bars. So you better just cool your heels, buddy, and stay out of this.”

  “That’s asking a lot, Tom,” Savannah said. “You’re a good old boy yourself. Chivalrous and all. If your old lady was in the same predicament, there’s no way you’d stay out of it. You’d be right there in the thick of things, stirring up as much trouble as you could.”

  He thought it over for several moments, then said, “Okay. Tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothin’ but the truth about what you did last night, and I’ll leave you alone. At least for now.”

  Savannah could feel her pulse racing and her body starting to tremble as she struggled to make what might be one of the most important decisions of her life.

  As a private detective, she told lies. Many lies. Everything from little white fibs to big, black, soul-threatening whoppers, and that hadn’t bothered her conscience. At least not enough to cause her any lost sleep.

  That was just part of the job.

  But in her personal life she tried to be as honest as possible. Even if it was embarrassing or got her in trouble or might be hard for another person to hear, she almost always chose to tell the truth.

  If Granny Reid had taught her nothing else, it was the value of honesty and forthright speech.

  Other than smacking Jeanette Barnsworth’s jaws, she had done nothing wrong the night before. And she certainly hadn’t murdered anyone. Why not just tell the truth and let the chips fall where they might?

  Because she had been a cop, and she knew how cops thought.

  If she were Sheriff Tom Stafford right now, and if she knew for certain that Jeanette Barnsworth had been murdered last night, she would, without a doubt, know who her number one suspect was.

  The woman who had harbored resentment toward the victim for decades. The woman who had exchanged harsh words with the victim the evening of her disappearance. Th
e woman who had assaulted the victim only a few hours before she disappeared.

  Savannah Reid.

  And then there was the splash.

  Savannah couldn’t get that sound out of her mind. She knew she would hear it for the rest of her life.

  Out there on that hill, amid the fragrant pine trees, in the midst of nature—an unnatural sound.

  Even then, it had chilled Savannah’s soul to hear it. And now that she knew her childhood enemy was missing, had probably come to a bad end, some part of her knew the sound she’d heard was connected to that disappearance.

  She hadn’t seen anything last night, when she had gotten out of the car and walked around in the pouring rain. She had even peered over the edge of the cliff to the lake below and had seen nothing unusual. But something deep inside her knew Jeanette Barnsworth, or what remained of her, was at the bottom of that cliff.

  She looked into the eyes of the man she had loved for most of her childhood and for more of her adulthood than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She saw his affection for her and his hope that she would give him a solid alibi, something he could use to exclude her as a suspect.

  She also saw his suspicion and his determination to follow his duty wherever the evidence might lead.

  She thought of the sandal that had slipped off her foot as she trudged around in the mud. The high heel she had not been able to find in the rain and the storm. The highly identifiable shoe she had just worn to a party with one hundred or more of her fellow schoolmates in attendance.

  The shoe was still there somewhere, waiting to be found by the all too observant Sheriff Stafford or one of his deputies.

  She drew a deep breath and said, “Okay, Tom, you want the truth? Here it is. After my little squabble with Jeanette there by the back door of the school—”

  “When you knocked her out cold.”

  “I didn’t hit her that hard. She’s obviously got a glass jaw. Anyway, after my conversation with you, Dirk and I walked to our car and drove away. We came back here to Granny’s, took a shower, and went to bed.”

  He stared at her so intently that she felt like he was climbing right inside her, into her mind and soul. It was all she could do to hold the gaze and not to look away.

  Finally, he said, “That’s it? That’s all?”

  She nodded.

  He turned to Dirk. “And you stand by that, Coulter? That’s your statement, too?”

  “Absolutely.” Dirk stood and pulled Savannah to her feet. “If you don’t mind, Sheriff Stafford, we’re going to get on with our day, and I suggest that you do the same.”

  To Savannah’s surprise and enormous relief, Tom stood, as well, and walked to the door. He stood there for a moment, as though considering whether to say anything more. But in the end, all he did was give her a long, sad, and hauntingly tender look before opening the door, walking out, and closing it quietly behind him.

  Savannah turned to Dirk and saw every fear that she was feeling in his eyes.

  He held out his arms to her.

  She fell into them, buried her face against his chest, and began to cry.

  Chapter 8

  Needing a bit of privacy to discuss their course of action, Savannah and Dirk decided to leave the tiny house, filled with listening ears, and take a drive around the countryside.

  Whether their destination would be Lookout Point and whether their mission would include the retrieval of a certain lost sandal—those would be the two major talking points of their intended discussion.

  All went as planned when they were sneaking out of the house, but Granny nabbed them just as they were about to get into the car.

  “I don’t mind telling you,” she said as she snatched the keys out of Dirk’s hand, “that I am highly perturbed and disturbed.” She turned to Savannah, blue eyes blazing. “I’m hearing from your sister that after the get-together at the school last night, you slapped ole Jeanette plumb silly.”

  Savannah shrugged and muttered, “Didn’t take long. She was most the way there already.”

  “I’m sure it didn’t. That girl’s always been dumb as a box of hair. But that’s beside the point, and you know it. I always taught you kids that it’s wrong to lay hands on another person in a spirit of violence.”

  Savannah sighed and repeated the time-worn admonition. “Never lift your hand to another human being, unless they hit you first. Then beat the tar outta ’em, so’s they know not to ever do it again.”

  “It appears your memory’s better than your self-control.”

  “Gran, you don’t know what she said to me before I smacked her. I had good reason.”

  “I’m sure it was something vile and nasty. I also know that there’s more than one way to assault another person—and not all of them have to do with slaps and punches. I know that words can be the cruelest weapons of all. But for your own sake, if not for hers, you shoulda kept your hands to yourself.”

  Dirk stepped forward and gently patted Granny’s shoulder. “What you’re saying is true, Gran. And I’m sure that Savannah regrets what she did. But, frankly, that ship’s done sailed, and we have bigger fish to fry right now.”

  “So I gathered. I can’t say’s I’m accustomed to entertaining the county sheriff in my front room. What did he want with you?”

  Savannah weighed the pros and cons of telling the same set of lies to her grandmother that she had given Tom Stafford. But she knew better. Gran was far more astute than Tom, good cop or not, would ever be.

  Besides, Gran had seen the red mud. Gran knew about Lookout Point.

  Plus, there was that other pesky detail: Gran was the closest thing Savannah had to an alibi, false though it might be.

  “He told us that Jeanette’s missing,” Savannah said. “Apparently, nobody’s seen her since she left the school last night.”

  “Right after you cleaned her clock for her,” Granny supplied.

  “Exactly,” Dirk said. “If it turns out that she really is missing, and there’s no innocent explanation for it, that’s not gonna look good for Savannah.”

  Savannah’s heart ached as she saw the full realization of the situation register in her grandmother’s eyes. To be the cause of pain or concern for the woman she loved most on earth was almost more than she could bear.

  “I’m so sorry, Gran. You are absolutely right. I shouldn’t have hit her, no matter what she said. If I could take that moment back, I’d do it all so differently. I’d just tell her to kiss my rear end, and walk away.”

  “I know you would, sugar,” Granny said. “What’s done is done. And as your husband just said, we got other fish to fry, and they might turn out to be whoppers.”

  Savannah couldn’t disagree. “I suppose they might. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and all that.”

  Gran nodded. “That’s just what we’ll do. And all’s going to turn out well, because other than smackin’ her somethin’ fierce, you didn’t do anything wrong, let alone illegal, last night.”

  Savannah wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. But she answered, anyway. “That’s absolutely true, Gran. Whacking her was the worst thing I did to her or anybody all night long. I swear it.”

  “I believe you, granddaughter.” Gran reached out, placed her hand on Savannah’s cheek, and gave her a sweet smile. Then her expression turned somber and all business. ”I reckon when Tom Stafford and y’all were havin’ your little chitchat there in my front room, he must’ve inquired as to your whereabouts last night, after the party.”

  Savannah gulped. This was going to be the worst part. “Yes. He did mention it.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told him that after the reunion we drove back to your house, took a shower, and went to bed.”

  Gran was silent for a while. Then she said, “Did he ask you what time you got back here to my house?”

  “No,” Dirk answered. “He didn’t. Obviously, Tommy boy’s not as good a cop as he thinks he is.”

&nb
sp; Or he’s afraid he might hear something he doesn’t want to, Savannah thought, like that his old girlfriend killed somebody. His old girlfriend whom he still has some feelings for.

  But she didn’t share her ruminations with Gran and Dirk. The last thing she needed now was for Dirk to get any more jealous than he already was.

  Meanwhile, Gran wasn’t saying anything. But Savannah could tell that she was weighing the situation and reaching a decision.

  Finally, she spoke, and the deadly serious tone of her voice sent a chill through Savannah’s soul. “Okay. If Sheriff Tom Stafford all of a sudden becomes a better cop and asks you what time it was when you got back here, you’d best make sure that I know what you told him. As it stands, I’m not sure what time you came home. I didn’t look at the clock when you walked through the door. So, whatever time you say it was, that’s what we’re goin’ by.”

  Savannah stood there, looking at her grandmother, who, as far as Savannah knew, had never told a lie in her life. And her heart ached that she was the cause of her being in this position.

  If necessary, her grandmother would lie to protect her. Because she loved her, and because Gran knew she hadn’t killed anyone. Knowing that made Savannah feel warm and safe and terrible all at the same time.

  She tried to speak but couldn’t for the tight knot in her throat.

  Dirk spoke for her. In a quiet, gentle tone, he said, “We left the reunion about eleven, Granny. If Sheriff Stafford asks when we got back here, we’ll probably tell him around eleven fifteen. . . more or less.”

  Gran nodded once, then turned and walked slowly back to the house. As Savannah watched her, she noticed that the usual spring in her step was gone. She didn’t look like Granny Reid. She looked like a tired old woman.

  And Savannah wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

  “Where’s a good old-fashioned Georgia sinkhole when you need one?” she muttered.

  “What?” Dirk asked.

  “Nothing,” she replied with a sigh. “Let’s get going.”