Bitter Sweets (22 page)

“E
arl Mallock murdered Lisa, just like we thought,” Savannah told Dirk, who had pulled on a pair of jeans in honor of the occasion. “And Colonel Neilson killed him . . . . ‘executed' him, is the way he put it.”

Dirk leaned forward on the sofa, acutely interested. “He actually confessed to you?”

“Yes, there in his house, just before he had the heart attack.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “A confession. Now
that's
something I didn't have.”

“What do you mean? You didn't know it was the colonel!”

“I did after I had the lab run an overnight ballistics check on that Colt .45 of his. It matches the bullet that killed Mallock. I wonder why he didn't get rid of it?”

“He said he took it out to the end of the pier and was going to toss it. But he couldn't.”

“Understandable.”

They sat quietly for a moment, and Savannah's ire began to rise. “Okay . . . . so you've got the gun, but you don't know about the piano wire, smart aleck.”

“The one missing from Neilson's baby grand? Oh, yeah. Been there, done that. You aren't the only decent detective around here, you know.”

“Well! Well . . . . I . . . .” she sputtered. “I was there first! I was the one who found the damned gun for you. And it wasn't easy, either; he had hidden it in the big grandfather clock.”

“Would've been the first place I'd have looked.”

“Bullshit!”

“Bull, true.”

She sat, glaring at him, breathing hard, nostrils flared. “You know, Coulter,” she said in a deadly quiet tone, “I've never really liked you. Not even a little bit. I want you to know that.”

He smirked. “Can't say as I'm all that crazy about you, either. Though you are kinda cute when you're pissed.”

“I am not!”

“Cute?”

“Pissed. I don't have anything to be pissed about, except you trying to take credit for my work. I broke this case and you know it. If it hadn't been for me, you'd still be harassing poor Brian O'Donnell.”

Dirk sobered. “Oh, yeah . . . . I've gotta apologize to that guy. I was pretty hard on him.”

Savannah reached for a ratty blanket that had been tossed on the end of the sofa and draped it around her shoulders. Suddenly, she felt chilled.

“What are we going to do about Colonel Neilson?” she asked.

“He committed a murder.”

“I know. But that doesn't answer my question.”

“Doesn't it?”

“You're going to arrest him.” It was more of a statement than a question. She knew Dirk all too well. Why had she even asked?

Dirk sighed. “The hospital called about two hours ago. He'd just had another heart attack. He slipped into a coma. They don't think he's going to come out of it.”

Savannah imagined the colonel, lying helpless on his white hospital bed, and she thought of how unfair it was that people were housed in such vulnerable machinery as the human body.

“If he does come out of it?” she asked.

Dirk stared at his thumbnail. “I'll arrest him. I'll have to, Van.”

“And if he doesn't? Dirk, his reputation, his granddaughter. . . .”

Dirk rose and walked over to his kitchen sink. Opening the cupboard below, he squatted and pulled out the colonel's small gun case. “If he doesn't, I guess you and I will take a romantic moonlight stroll on the pier, kiddo.”

She smiled at him. Loved him. For the compassion and the goodness he tried so hard to hide. “It's a date.”

As Savannah drove down her street toward home, Dirk sitting next to her, she said, “I wonder what our surprise is. Tammy sounded excited.”

“I don't think my system can take many more surprises this week,” Dirk growled.

“She sounded happy.”

“She sounded ditsy. With her, it's hard to tell the difference.”

Approaching her house, she saw a classic, silver-gray Bentley parked in her driveway. “Hey! Ryan's here, and maybe Gibson. They must be part of the surprise.”

“Oh, thrill,” he drawled. “I'm getting terribly excited. I think I'm having a hot flash,” he added with an obnoxious lisp.

“You know, Coulter, I really wish you would try to be a little more tolerant,” she said. “And a whole lot kinder.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm working on it.”

“Work harder.”

They parked, got out of the car, and by the time they were halfway up the walk, Tammy had thrown the front door open and was dancing a little jig on the porch.

“You're here, you're here,” she said with giggles interspersed.

“You're a ditz, you're a ditz,” Dirk muttered under his breath. But Savannah heard and gave him the usual jab in the ribs with her elbow. “If you don't stop doing that, I'm going to start wearing a gougeproof vest.”

“What's up, sugar?” Savannah asked as she bounded up onto the steps.

“Just come inside.”

When Savannah entered the living room, she found Ryan and John sitting on the sofa, wearing smiles as broad as Tammy's.

“Good morning, Savannah,” John Gibson said as he rose to kiss her hand. “Detective Coulter.” He gave a curt nod in Dirk's direction. Dirk responded with a grunt.

“Apparently it is a good morning,” Savannah replied. “Does someone want to tell us why?”

“Ryan and John just got here about half an hour ago, and I called you right away,” Tammy said breathlessly. “You see, I had a feeling the colonel might have been the one who murdered Earl. And after I talked to your grandmother early this morning—I called to talk to you, but she said you were already up and out—she and I were both sure it was the colonel and—”

“Tell-a-Gran,” Savannah muttered. Gran was sweet, she thought, but discretion was not her most prominent virtue.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. Go on.”

“So,” Tammy continued, “I kicked into high gear and did some serious research there at home with my computer and modem. When I found what I was looking for, I called Ryan and John and they took it from there.”

She grabbed Savannah's hand and led her through the living room, into the kitchen, and over to the back door. Dirk followed as quickly as he could without appearing to be overtly interested.

“Look at what they brought for us.” Tammy pointed through the window in the back door.

Savannah stared through the glass, blinked, and looked again. But it wasn't easy to see, because the tears were already beginning to well.

There, sitting at her small picnic table beneath the grape arbor was Granny Reid. Dressed in a caftan that was sprinkled with tiny daisies, a handmade wreath of daisies from Savannah's country garden in her hair, she wore a happy, contented smile that made her look at least a generation younger.

She was sharing a pitcher of lemonade with Christy Mallock, who wore a similar daisy ring around her red curls. One of Savannah's J.C. Penney catalogs was open on the table before them, and each held a pair of scissors. They were “cutting out paper dolls,” an activity that brought back a flood of fond memories for Savannah.

For a moment, Savannah couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe. Then she whirled around and grabbed Tammy about the waist, lifting her off the ground.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said between sobs.

Then she turned to Dirk and did the same thing. . . . except for the lifting part. She tried, but he was much larger and made of denser stuff than Tammy.

Ryan and John had followed them into the kitchen. They were hugged and profusely thanked next.

Even Dirk had moist eyes as he grabbed Ryan's hand, then John's and gave them hearty shakes.

“Where the heck did you find her?” he asked, too relieved to care that he had been beaten to the punch.

“An old army buddy of the colonel's. A lieutenant colonel who feels he owes Neilson his life.”

“How did you talk him into giving her to you?” Savannah asked.

Ryan winked at her. “We quietly suggested that if he did, he might not get into trouble for hiding her all this time. With the colonel in the hospital, he felt it was the best thing to do.”

“Another thing,” John added, “we promised we would deliver her safely into the arms of her Uncle Brian.”

“Brian, oh, yes,” Savannah brightened at the thought. Good news to tell him, at last! “Someone needs to let him know what's happened.”

“He's on his way over,” Tammy said proudly. “But we thought you should be the one to tell him.”

 

Less than twenty minutes later, Savannah had the deeply satisfying pleasure of introducing Christy “The Snow Fairy Queen” Mallock to her Uncle Brian.

If Brian O'Donnell had seemed the least bit remote or unemotional before, Savannah decided that it had all been an exercise in self-control as he folded his niece into his arms and kissed her cheek.

For a child who had been through such a horrible ordeal, Christy seemed remarkably open to him.

“Are you really my mommy's big brother?” she asked as they sat down next to each other on the picnic bench.

The adults gathered around, feeling like intruders on this tender occasion, but unable to pull themselves away.

“I sure am,” he said. “That's why we all have red hair and brown eyes . . . . and lots of freckles.”

“Mommy says they're angel kisses.”

Brian cast a quick look at Savannah, who felt her heart catch.

“Then that's what they are,” he replied, his own voice husky.

“My mommy's dead,” Christy said with childlike candor. “Daddy killed her, just like he said he would.”

“Did you see that happen, sweetheart?” Brian was sliding easily into the role of father; Savannah could tell by the way he held his niece and the gentleness of his caress as he smoothed her hair back from her face.

They all waited tensely for the girl's reply.

“No, he did it in the other room. But I heard the gun go off. It was really loud. And I knew what he did.”

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that, honey.” Brian kissed her forehead.

“Then my daddy took me into the woods to this little bitty house. And I thought he was going to hurt me, too, because he got mad and said I looked just like my mommy.”

Savannah had a quick, terrifying vision of what might have happened if Colonel Neilson hadn't decided to take care of “his soldier” on his own. It didn't bear speculation.

“But my grandpa saved me. He hurt my dad before he could hurt me. I think my daddy's dead, too, but I'm not sure.”

She waited, obviously expecting an answer.

“That's true, Christy,” Uncle Brian said. “I won't ever lie to you. He's dead.”

She nodded matter-of-factly. “That's probably good. But my grandpa's in the hospital.”

“I know. We're all praying he gets well.”

“Me, too. But that lady said I can't live with him all the time, cause he has to take care of himself and Beowulf.” She nodded to Gran. “She said I might get to live close to Disney World.”

Brian laughed and reached into his hip pocket, pulling out his wallet. “You sure are. Only a few miles from Disney World. And you're going to live with her . . . .” He opened the wallet and showed the girl a picture. “She's my wife, your aunt. And these are my three sons.”

“Three boys!” Her mouth fell open and her amber eyes widened. “I always wanted a brother or a sister, but three of them? And they're all boys!”

“They all have red hair. Just like you.”

“And freckles?”

“Between us all, we probably have a million, billion freckles.”

Christy laughed. “Our family will look like
One Hundred and One Dalmations!”

 

“Our family.”

Savannah played the term over and over in her mind for the rest of the day and night, even after she had gone to bed. Having heard those words come from Christy's lips, she knew she could sleep, trusting that the child would be okay in the end.

Later that night, about ten o'clock, Brian's wife had flown in from Orlando to accompany Christy and Brian on their trip to Florida.

Having met her, Savannah knew that—although she would never take Lisa's place in Christy's heart—Mrs. O'Donnell would be a loving and devoted mother to the child.

“Are you still awake?” Gran asked, sticking her head into Savannah's bedroom. She was wearing a purple satin robe with a lace shawl collar. A daisy was still stuck behind her ear. She had never looked more beautiful to Savannah.