A Decadent Way to Die (20 page)

Ada waved a hand, spreading a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Oh, please. Who didn’t want to do him harm? Vern was a jerk … didn’t have a moral bone in his body … or a spine either, for that matter. He had more enemies than he had pairs of Italian shoes.”

Savannah couldn’t help asking, “So, why were you with him? Why keep him around?”

Ada shrugged, and just for a moment, Savannah saw a glint that might have been the beginnings of a tear in her right eye. “Vern had a way about him,” she said. “He could make you feel like you were nineteen again, and at the beginning of love … not at the end.”

She reached for the glass of wine on the coffee table and downed the last half in one draught. “You wouldn’t think a girl could buy a feeling like that … but you can. Believe me. The going rate is a Rolex and a Ferrari.”

Savannah got into her car and sat there, looking up at the high-rise complex, counting the floors, figuring out which one was Ada’s. She didn’t really think she’d be so fortunate as to see Ada walk out on the balcony, arm-in-arm with her other squeeze—whoever was sharing the candlelight and alcohol with her.

Savannah’s sixth sense had told her there was someone in the bedroom, bathroom, or maybe the broom closet, while she’d been talking to Ada. And Savannah couldn’t help but wonder why Ada had felt the need to hide another lover. She didn’t appear to be shy about having the world know about her affairs. Why get secretive all of a sudden?

But although Savannah was curious and tempted to just wait in front of the building to see if anyone she might recognize came sauntering out, she was exhausted and in need of some companionship herself.

She didn’t need a man to make her feel nineteen years old, or surrounded by the sweet springtime of love, or to make her forget those crow’s-feet that had appeared out of the blue last week.

But she could use a friend.

She punched in some numbers on her phone.

Dirk’s deep voice answered with a, “Hey, good-lookin’. What’s up?”

“I’m pooped. Completely done for,” she said. “Or, as Granny says, ‘my hind end’s draggin’ my tracks out.’”

“Same here. Staying up all night and working all day, it’ll do it to ya every time.”

“Whatcha doing for dinner?” she asked.

“Is that an invitation to your house for a Savannah blue plate special?”

“No, it most certainly is not. The last thing in the world right now that I want to do is cook.”

“So, meet me at my trailer, and I’ll order us a pizza with everything on it.”

She knew she was tired, because she very nearly burst into tears at the simple offer. “Oh, thank you, sugar,” she said.

“You don’t have to sound so grateful. It’s just pizza.”

“That’s what you think,” she said, after she hung up. “The pizza’s the least of what I want. With the way this day’s gone, what I really need is a friend’s shirt to snivel all over.”

Chapter 18

O
n the way from Ada’s apartment building to Dirk’s trailer park in the outer foothills of town, Savannah couldn’t resist making just one quick drive by Tammy’s house. And once she had, she wished she hadn’t.

The sweet little house with its blooming flowers and perfectly manicured yard and bright pink Volkswagen Beetle in the driveway looked so very Tammy. The big red SUV with the flames painted down the side … not so very Tammy-ish.

Savannah hated the SUV on sight, reminding herself of how many serial killers had been pulled over during routine traffic stops, only to have dead bodies discovered in the backs of their vehicles.

She knew how ridiculous it was to despise an inanimate object, like an automobile, because of a strong distaste for its owner.

Nearly as ridiculous as thinking someone was a serial killer just because he drove an SUV.

“Duh, Savannah,” she told herself. “Get a grip. You’re losing it here.”

But still, against her better judgment, she pulled over to the side of the road, opposite the house and dialed Tammy’s home phone number.

As it rang, she formulated her lie: “I left my jelly roll pan there at your house last time I was over and just have to have it to make a raspberry jelly roll tonight….”

Four, five rings. No one picked up.

She knew the machine was about to answer, so she hung up. She also knew that if Tammy were in her right mind—her normal, highly curious mind—she wouldn’t have been able to resist a ringing phone.

When a phone rang in Tammy’s presence, she answered it. Sometimes, even other people’s phones.

Savannah stared at the living room window and was moderately consoled that it was lit and the bedroom window wasn’t. And as soon as that thought registered in her mind, an unsettling, unsavory feeling swept through her, as if she knew she was doing something wrong, something disrespectful, spying on her friend like this.

If Tammy knew she was out here watching, she’d be angry, and Savannah wouldn’t blame her.

By checking up on her like this, she was very nearly guilty of the same sort of controlling behavior that Chad the Creep had been doing earlier in the day, calling constantly to find out where she was and what she was doing.

“Damn,” she muttered as she drove away. “Self-awareness can be a real bite in the ass.”

The first time Savannah had visited Dirk’s trailer park, she had been critical of the location. She had made a snide joke about the name “Shady Vale,” since it wasn’t in any sort of valley and didn’t have a single tree to provide even a bit of the advertised shade.

The country road leading to the park was lined with eucalyptus trees and orange groves. And as she got out of the car and walked to the mobile home parked in space number two, she could smell the intoxicating scent on the night air. The aroma added a bit of ambiance to an otherwise ambiance-free zone.

As she walked up onto the porch, she noticed that Dirk had left the outdoor light on, in anticipation of her visit.

She was touched. She knew how much it cost him in emotional suffering, leaving that light on and paying the one tenth of one cent’s worth of electricity it used.

It made a girl feel so special.

She knocked the “Shave and a Haircut” cadence on the door, right below his Harley-Davidson decal. A couple of seconds later, he swung the door open and stood there, grinning down at her.

“This is a switch,” he said, “me entertaining you. Why were you looking for a change of scenery?”

She walked inside and looked around at the worn, plaid furniture, the TV trays that served as end tables, the stack of
Bonanza
VHS boxes mixed with Clint Eastwood westerns, and the box beside the door brimming with empty beer bottles, waiting forever in Dirk purgatory before being taken to the recycler.

“I’m feeling a little weak and shaky,” she said. “Guess I needed an infusion of testosterone and figured this was the place to get it.”

“You got that right.” He motioned her toward a love seat that had been a school bus seat in a former life. “Sit yourself down and breathe it in … all that manly man air.”

Since in Savannah’s experience “manly man air” wasn’t all that fragrant, she resisted the invitation to breathe deeply. “Actually,” she said, “it smells a bit like chili in here.”

“Yeah, I warmed up a can for dinner last night.”

“A warmed-up can of chili? No wonder you eat over at my house so much.”

He pulled a plastic, molded lawn chair in front of the bus seat—an impromptu footstool. Then he moved the chair’s mate closer to her and sat down. “The pizza’ll be here any minute,” he said. “But till it gets here, you just rest your dogs there. Can I get you a beer.”

“No, thanks. I’ll pass on the beer,” she said.

“Why? We’re both off for the night, and it’s been a rough twenty-four hours or so.”

“I want to keep my faculties clear … or at least not any muddier than they are.”

“In case Tammy needs you tonight?”

“Something like that.”

She kicked off her loafers and lifted her feet onto the chair seat. He leaned forward, lifted one foot and placed it on his knee. With hands that were surprisingly gentle, considering their size, he began to massage her sole, arch, ankles, and toes.

She felt herself melting into the bus seat, like a stick of butter left out in the summer sun.

“Oh, that’s pure heaven,” she said. “If I’d known you could do that, I’d married you a long time ago.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, a trace of sadness on his face. “You’re going to marry a dude with an old rusty house trailer furnished from the junkyard just because he gives good foot rubs.”

She nodded. “Any guy with a job can pay a mortgage or the rent … but a man who gives delicious foot rubs … he’s worth his weight in gold.”

“That’s an awesome compliment.”

“From a woman with her priorities in order.”

“So, how did it go with Ada?” he asked, working her pinkie toe.

“Ada wasn’t surprised, shocked, or dismayed to be told that her lover had met the same fate as a lobster in that spa.”

“She had to have been told already.”

Savannah nodded. “And when I said the water had somehow become electrified, she instantly made the jump that someone had tossed something electrical into the water.”

“We didn’t make that assumption.”

“I don’t think most people would. And the most telling thing of all”—Savannah nudged his arm with her toe—“when I said he’d been killed with someone else, she never asked who.”

“Get outta here. If their lover’s killed in a hot tub with someone else, who doesn’t raise hell to find out who it was?”

“I sure would.”

“I guess that doesn’t leave us with much … other than a healthy suspicion of her, which we’ve always had. She stands to gain a lot in inheritance if her aunt dies.”

“And her schmucky son, Waldo, too.”

“Not to mention Emma,” Dirk added. “I know you like her a lot and she’s your client, but still, we have to throw her into the pot and see who bubbles to the top when we turn the heat up.”

Someone tapped at the door.

Dirk jumped up. “Pizza’s here,” he said.

“And not a minute too soon. I’m so hungry I’d gnaw the south end off a northbound skunk.”

He gave her a disgusted look as he walked to the door to greet the delivery man. “You know,” he said, “I find most of your quaint Southern phrases charming. But that one, I can do without. It’s enough to put me off my pizza.”

“Good. All the more for me!”

Later, when the heirloom fine bone china had been washed and carefully stowed away in the butler’s pantry—or rather, when the pizza box and paper towel napkins had been tossed into the garbage—Dirk replenished her glass of iced tea and sat down beside her on the bus seat.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“There’s very little in my world that a foot massage and a thin-crust, everything-on-it pizza won’t set right.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’ve got a couple of things to tell you and—”

“No! Don’t you dare spoil the first good mood I’ve had in weeks. You have no idea how rare good moods are to a peri-menopausal woman!”

“That’s true, I don’t. But you’re just gonna have to brace yourself, ’cause you have to know.”

“Okay.” Savannah sighed and slouched down in her seat. “Let ’er rip.”

“Just before you got here tonight, I had a phone call from Eileen.”

“All right. And …?”

“And the water heater we found in the garage … it’s perfectly fine. Hasn’t been dunked in water, probably ever, and definitely not recently.”

“Any prints on it?”

“Waldo’s. But he’s the one who used it most, so … that’s sort of to be expected.”

“Dangnation.”

“I know. And the shovel … clean as a freshly diapered baby’s butt. Not a latent, a smudge, or even a partial on it.”

“Just like the circuit breaker box and the switches.”

“Exactly like them. Wiped perfectly clean. Obviously no tool that’s used frequently would be that pristine unless it hadn’t been deliberately cleaned.”

Savannah shook her head. “All that climbing around in spider-infested garages and sheds … it was all for naught. Shoot. I’m getting a little tired of living in this part of town called ‘Square One.’ Enough already. We need a break in this case.”

She leaned her head wearily over on his shoulder and passed her arm through his. “I’m tired, big boy,” she told him. “Between worrying about Helene and Tammy, too, I’m plumb worn to a frazzle.”

“Skipping a night’s sleep will do it to you, too,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“No, I’ve done that many times before, as you well know. I’m not even that concerned about Helene, now that Ryan and John are there, watching over her. Let’s face it; it’s Tams. You know I’ve always felt like a big sister to that kid. She’s very dear to my heart.”

“I know.” He patted her hand. “But there’s only so much you can do in that situation. You press her too hard, you’ll damage your friendship. I had a friend a long time ago, a guy I’d known since junior high. He got involved with this gal who was a real piece of work. Everybody knew she was trouble … everyone but him, of course. I tried to tell him so, and he cursed me out and never spoke to me again. They got married, had three kids, she left him for another guy, and he’s still handing over his paycheck to her every week.”

“Sorry about your friend,” she said.

“Learn from my mistake. Stay out of it. Let your friends work this stuff out on their own. That’s my motto.”

“Okay.”

They sat in companionable silence for a long time with him stroking her hand and her soaking in the warmth of his body as she leaned against him. It always made her feel better, just breathing in the comforting smell that she always associated with Dirk—leather, Old Spice deodorant, and the underlying aroma of cinnamon.

Finally, she looked up at him, her heart in her blue eyes. “I want you to do something for me, good buddy,” she said.

He looked down at her and smiled. “Anything.”

“Run a check on that sonofabitch, Chad. Do it for me, and I’ll cook you anything you want. I promise.”

“Anything?”

“Name it.”

“Pulled pork sandwiches, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and homemade ice cream.”

“You got it.”

“Cool.” He wrapped one of her dark curls around his finger and gave it a gentle tug. “I set you up, baby,” he said.

“What?”

“I already ran a check on that guy.”

She sat up, suddenly alert. “Well?”

“He’s got a record.”

“For what?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Damn. Yeah, yeah … I wanna know. Lay it on me.”

“Three girlfriends, three ROs, two assaults.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “No, no, no! He’s had three girls take out restraining orders on him?”

Dirk nodded.

“And he assaulted two of them?”

“In violation of the ROs.”

“Holy cow! Poor Tammy! That does it. I’m never, never going to sleep again.”

But she did sleep. Two hours later, she was stretched across Dirk’s sofa, and she was out like a street lamp on the east end of town.

Dirk walked out of the bedroom, a blanket in his hands. Gently, he spread it over her, tucking it around her shoulders, legs, and feet.