Sugar and Spite (20 page)

“He’s your friend,” Tammy said matter-of-factly. “And he’s not so bad. We’re sorta like a family around here. A highly dysfunctional family, but…”

Savannah fingered the piece of paper in her skirt pocket. Speaking of dysfunctional families, she needed to decide what she was going to do about hers.

“I’m going to change out of this outfit. Unlike Dirk, I’m
not
getting used to the comfort of being laced up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Then I’m going to fall onto some horizontal surface and faint dead away, like the delicate buttercup that I am.”

“Shall I call you if I need you?” Tammy shouted up to her as she climbed the stairs.

“Only if the extinguisher won’t put out the fire and the tourniquet won’t stop the bleeding.”

* * *

Hours later, when Savannah had finished her nap and changed into modern attire—a sweatshirt and jeans—she came back downstairs to find that Tammy had left for the day. She stood beside the desk a long time before finally sitting down and turning on the computer.

Feeling a strange mixture of pain and numbness, she accessed her e-mail and began to compose the short note:

Macon,

Received your message. If it’s really important, I suppose we could meet. When? Where?

Savannah

She typed in the e-mail address he had given and pressed
send
with a note of finality. The instant she saw the message
your mail has been sent
splayed across the screen, she wanted to take it back. Why open a door left closed for so long? Let sleeping dogs lie and all that.

After all this time, she had nothing to say to this man who had been her father, biologically and in name only. It had been years since she had cursed him mentally and rehearsed the hard words she would use to express her hurt. It had also been years since she had wanted to express any kind of affection.

No, she had nothing to say to Macon. No words of love or hate.

What could he possibly have to say to her? Whatever it was, she was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear it.

Yes, she definitely wished she could “unsend” that message. But like most things between her and Macon Reid, it was too late.

Savannah and Dirk waylaid Jake McMurtry the moment he stepped out of his apartment door the next morning. Neither really wanted to show their mug at the police station, but they wanted to know what, if anything, was happening with the investigation.

“Get in,” Jake said, motioning to his new Mitsubishi. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair uncombed, his clothes rumpled, his face still sheet-creased. He looked better than they felt.

“You two look like hell,” he told them.

“Yeah, and your mother wears combat boots, and she dresses you funny,” Savannah replied as she slid into the passenger seat. “But we love you anyway. What have you got?”

Dirk climbed into the back. “Yeah. Who was this Snake dude and who killed him?”

“Hell, you don’t ask for much,” Jake said. “I’m supposed to have it sewn up already?”

“Damned right.” Dirk told him. “It’s my butt in the stranger here; you’d better wrap it up quick. I’ve got the DA breathing down my neck. Indictment’s right around the corner, staring me in the face.”

Savannah nudged Jake in the ribs with her elbow. “Dirk frequently mixes his metaphors, but you can’t blame him for being upset… considering the circumstances.”

“Hey, I understand, but I’m only one guy.”

Dirk leaned over the console, his nose almost in Jake’s right ear. “Yeah exactly why is that? Why doesn’t my case rate more than one detective, and—no offense—but a rookie detective at that?”

Jake gave Savannah a wry smile. “Ever notice how people always say, ‘no offense’ just before they say something really offensive?”

She nodded. “True. I’ve noticed that myself. And when they say, ‘I like you, or whatever,
but
…’ you can just forget everything they said before the ‘but’. It’s what they say after the ‘but’… that’s what’s really on their mind.”

Dirk sighed and fidgeted like a kindergartner who needed to visit the little boy’s room. “When you two get done blabbering about worthless shit, could we get back to my case?”

“Sorry,” Savannah said, turning suddenly businesslike. “Exactly who
is
this Snake dude and who killed him?”

“I got the first part,” Jake replied. “I’m working on the second.”

He leaned across Savannah, opened his glove box, and took out a pack of cigarettes. Before he even had one out, in his mouth, and lit, Dirk was puffing away in the backseat. Savannah quickly rolled down her window. Normally, she would have complained, but considering the stressful circumstances, she decided to let it slide.

“So, give us what you’ve got,” Dirk said, blowing smoke out his nose and settling back in the seat.

“Snake was a charming nickname—”

“Well, I figured Mama Snake didn’t name her sweet newborn baby something like that,” Dirk said.

“No, she didn’t,” Jake agreed. “She named him Maximillian. Maximillian Fernando Schneider.”

Savannah sniffed. “No wonder he changed his name to Snake. Imagine how the other kids would beat the crap out of you at recess with a name like Maximillian Fernando Schneider.”

“Yeah,” said Dirk, “but Snake Schneider ain’t all that easy to wrap your tongue around either. Did he have a record?”

Jake nodded and took a deep drag. “Yep. Long one. Grand theft auto when he was a juvenile and several break-ins. Drug charges. Aggravated assault on a convenience-store clerk who wouldn’t sell him booze. Domestic violence with girlfriends.”

“Nice guy,” Savannah said. “But it’s not too surprising. Most people don’t begin their criminal careers with first-degree murder. Usually they sorta work up to it.”

“How much time had he served?” Dirk asked.

“Six years total. That’s quite a bit, since he was only twenty-eight. He spent more of his adult years inside the system than out.”

“A local boy?” Savannah asked.

“Born and bred San Carmelitan. Mostly worked construction jobs, here and there, nonunion, under the table.”

“Any obvious connection to me?” Dirk said, flicking ash out the window.

“I was hoping you’d tell me. Did you ever bust him or—?”

“Hell no. If I’d busted him, I would have remembered him, and I would have known who he was all along.”

“Hey, don’t jump down my throat.” Jake held up one hand like a school traffic monitor. “You’ve busted a lot of people; I figured you might have forgotten a face or—”

“I never forget a face, and I’d never seen that guy’s ugly mug before… except the night he murdered my ex-wife. I’m asking you if there’s any other connection to me, something you might have uncovered yourself, razor-sharp detective that you are.”

Savannah discreetly reached back, laid a hand on Dirk’s knee, and gave it a cautionary squeeze. It wouldn’t help his situation any to piss off the only detective working the case.

“What Dirk means is…” she quickly inserted, “… did you check this Schneider’s locations—work, home, spare-time activities—against Dirk’s places, like his home, the police station, etc.”

“Yeah. I did.” Jake sounded slightly wounded. “Nothing that I could see.”

“And connections to Polly?” Savannah asked.

“No.” Jake shook his head. “Nothing there either. I don’t know what he would have had against either of you.”

“And how about his killer?” Savannah asked. “Have you got any leads on who shot that arrow?”

“Not really. Dr. Liu wrote up a description of the arrow for me and gave me a snapshot of it. I’m heading out to the faire this afternoon to show it around. Whoever it was, he was a pretty good shot. The doctor said it got Snake right in the heart. Just like he got Polly.”

Savannah grimaced. “He died so quick, I figured it was through the heart.”

“I understand,” Dirk interjected, “that it’s not that hard to be accurate with a crossbow. They’re almost as deadly as a gun. Even more if you consider how quiet they are.” He looked at Savannah and grinned. “Maybe I’ll start packing a crossbow and a quiverful of arrows until they give me my Smith &. Wesson back.”

A buzzing sound startled all three of them until Savannah reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “No rest for the weary,” she said as she punched the appropriate button and put it to her ear. “Yep, I’m here.”

The caller was Tammy, and she sounded excited. But then, Tammy was usually thrilled about something. It was her charm… and her downfall.

“Somebody called you,” she said. “I think it’s a lead. A cool lead!”

“Great. Who was it?” Savannah asked.

“Who? Oh, yeah… well, he didn’t give me his name.”

Savannah sighed, momentarily deflated. “Tarn, most really cool leads generally leave a name.”

“He didn’t say who he was, said you gave him your card at the faire and told him to call if he heard anything. He acted like you’d know who he was.”

“I gave about twenty people my card,” Savannah said… wanting, hoping, but doubting. “Did he leave a phone number?”

“No, but he wants to meet with you. He says his crossbow is missing… or at least it was for a while… and he knows who took it.”

Savannah smiled and gave the acutely interested, eavesdropping Dirk and Jake the thumbs-up. “You’re absolutely right as rain, Tammy, my darlin’, that
is
a cool lead. Tell me all-l-l-l about it. Where and when? We’ll be there with bells on.”

* * *

“Are you sure this was the third dirt road on the left after we crossed the bridge after the sulfur started stinking?” Savannah asked as the three of them trudged down a dusty path that wound through a woods and eventually led—at least in theory—to some water holes, where—or so they had been told and were fervently hoping—their cool lead would be waiting for them.

The directions had been: Take Santa Lucia highway into the Los Lobos National Park, turn left on Sulfur Hill Road, and wind around the base of the minimountain until the stench of the sulfur-rich, natural springs was strong enough to gag you, cross the stone bridge, and hang a left… or was it a right… at the third dirt road and hike back to water holes. The disgruntled owner of the missing crossbow was supposed to be there, waiting for them.

“He’d better be there,” Savannah said, as the path narrowed and dry, brittle bushes scratched her legs, even through the linen of her slacks. She was wearing loafers, not boots, as the path might have dictated. Of course, she’d had no inkling when she’d dressed that morning that she’d be marching to Tipperary before the day was over.

“This is probably a setup,” Dirk said, huffing and puffing along behind her as the Southern California winter temperatures took a nosedive to a bone-chilling seventy-nine degrees. “We’re probably going to get an arrow through the back any minute now.”

Savannah stopped so abruptly that he ran into her. “Do you mind? I’ve got other things to think about right now, like dying of thirst, hunger, rattlesnake bite or grizzly bear attack. I’m so hungry right now that an arrow through the back would be a mercy killing. I should be home right now, sitting in my easy chair with my cats at my feet and a red heart-shaped box of chocolates on my lap.”

“Eating and sitting…” Dirk muttered, “… that’s your calling.”

She glared at him. “And this from a guy whose greatest talents are lying on
my
sofa, swigging
my
beer and watching the fights on
my
HBO.”

Dirk shrugged, mumbling something about “the price is right” and continued to drudge down the path. Savannah followed suit.

At the head of their short, motley column of foot soldiers was their ranking officer, Jake, looking as out of sorts as they did. “Why couldn’t this dude just meet us at Mama’s Cafe on Lester Street for breakfast, like any other snitch?” he said. “What’s with the Nature Boy routine, setting up a meet out here in the sticks?”

“I told you,” Dirk said. “He’s gonna kill us.”

Savannah sighed. The hike wasn’t bad enough; she had to put up with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. “And since we have no idea who he is,” she said, “and therefore, couldn’t bust him if we had to, he has absolutely no motive whatsoever to kill us.”