Sugar and Spite (26 page)

“Any idea why?” Savannah asked.

“Because they refused to sell their old home place there on the hill to the developer, and without their land, he couldn’t go ahead with his plans to build this fancy gated community.” She paused to catch a breath “Does any of this make sense?”

Savannah smiled up at Tammy. “Oh, yes. More than you might imagine, Joleen. Just keep it comin’.”

“Well, Polly didn’t say anything more about it to me, but then, a few weeks later, she told me she was getting a boob job and her teeth capped. That was something she’d been wanting to do for a long time, but hadn’t been able to afford. When I asked her if she’d won the Lotto, she just smiled and said her new boyfriend had connections.”

“Do you think she was getting these goodies in exchange for her silence?” Savannah asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but I think so. I also think things went wrong a little while after that. She acted really nervous when she came in, jumpy. You know, like somebody was after her. She said she was thinking of going back with her old man.”

Savannah scowled. “You mean Dirk?”

“Yeah. She said she was having some problems, and he would look out for her.”

Savannah felt a sickness in her stomach that had nothing to do with the roll of the boat on the ocean waves. Polly had been kissing up to Dirk so that she could have a free bodyguard. He had been used right up to the very end and didn’t know it.

“Does anyone else know these things you’ve told us?” Savannah asked. “Anyone who works with you there in the parlor, or—”

“No, just me. A girl named Shawna does nails with me, and she worked on Polly sometimes. But I’m sure Polly didn’t tell her anything.”

Savannah leaned over and patted Joleen’s knee. “You have no idea how helpful you’ve been. Would you be willing to just keep this in your bonnet for the time being and then go with me to the proper authorities when the time comes?”

Joleen grinned broadly. “Sure. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you get the bad guys. Whatever she might have done, Polly didn’t deserve to get killed like that.”

“Good girl.”

“Do you think I might get my name and picture in the paper?”

Savannah thought of Rosemary Hulse and the exclusive story she had been begging for. “I can almost guarantee it,” she said.

The boat’s engine was slowing to an idle, signaling that they had reached their destination, the required distance from shore for at-sea burials.

“Guess it’s about that time,” Savannah said, rising. “We’ll take your number and address before we get back to shore,” she told Joleen. “And thanks again, a million times.”

“Glad to do it.”

As Savannah and Tammy walked over to where Dirk and the others had gathered at the railing with Polly’s ashes, she whispered, “The part about why Polly came back to Dirk…”

“For protection?” Tammy added, a grim look on her face.

“Yeah. That part. We’re gonna keep that to ourselves. Right?”

She nodded. “Sure. I understand.”

“I know you do. Thanks, sweetie. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. Dumb ol’ Dirk is my friend, too.”

Savannah chuckled, thinking of all the times she had stood between them to prevent bloodshed on her living room carpet. “Since when?”

“From this very minute… until the next time he calls me a bimbo.”

“Well, it won’t be the longest-standing friendship in history. Probably fifteen minutes at the most.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, the ashes had been poured over the railing into the water, the flowers that Tammy had brought were floating in the same spot, and everyone had gone below for a cup of hot coffee, to take off the chill.

Except for Dirk, who stood at the stern, watching as the boat slowly pulled away, leaving the site unmarked as even the flowers began to drift away with the tide. And Savannah, who stood beside him.

To her surprise he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She put her arm around his, too. Dirk wasn’t the demonstrative type. If he needed a hug, even a sideways one, he was feeling pretty bad.

“It’s hard to give her up, Van,” he said, staring at the flowers. “I feel stupid, like a real putz for even saying it. But I don’t want to let her go.”

“You shouldn’t feel stupid,” she replied, hugging him tighter. “You had your reasons for caring about her. You don’t have to apologize to anybody for that.”

“But she wasn’t a very good person. I know that. She used people. She cheated people.” He swallowed hard. “Hell, what am I talking about? She used me. She cheated me. She fooled around on me and looked me square in the eyes and told me she hadn’t. She took my money. What I didn’t give her, she stole. To tell you the truth, Van, I don’t even think she ever loved me. I think the only one she ever gave a damn about was herself. So why am I such a dope? Why did I care about her?”

Savannah fought the urge to agree with him. For years she had told him all of these things which he, only now, seemed to understand.

It would feel oh so good to say, “I told you so.”

But that was the last thing her friend needed to hear right then.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Dirk,” she said. “There are many, many reasons why we love someone. No, maybe I didn’t understand what you saw in Polly, but I didn’t have to. She wasn’t my wife. Obviously, she was someone different to you. Behind closed doors, lovers share something that the rest of the world doesn’t see. In your private moments, she must have made you feel loved.”

“
Needed
is more like it. I guess that made me feel like a big man. God, Savannah, did I have to keep a loser like her in my life just to boost my ego? Was I… am I that insecure?”

“Everybody’s insecure, honey. Everybody needs to feel needed. That’s only natural.”

They stood for a long, silent moment, holding each other, saying nothing. In a move that was far more intimate than their usual interaction, Savannah leaned into him and rested her head on his broad shoulder. She breathed in the masculine scents of tobacco mixed with a spicy aftershave that was cheap, but dear and familiar. The warmth from his body, from his arm around her made her feel stronger somehow, safe and secure.

“Just for the record,” she said, “it isn’t only needy people who need you. We all do.”

He looked surprised. “We who?”

“Those of us who love you. We all count on you—your courage, your strength, the fact that you would always be there if we were in trouble.”

He pulled back slightly so that he could look down into her eyes. He wore a slightly puzzled expression, puzzled and maybe a little pleased.

“Do
you
love me, Van?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion. “Do you ever need me?”

She reached up and brushed his windblown hair out of his eyes. Then she allowed her palm to slide down his cheek and along his rugged jaw line, feeling the bristle of his “stakeout” shave.

“Of course I need you, Dirk. Every day of my life. I always will.” She stood on tiptoe and placed a long, soft kiss on his cheek, then a quick one on his lips. “And as far as loving you… you shouldn’t even have to ask. Do you think I’d be standing out here, freezing my bee-hind off for just anybody?”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the rail. “You get a cup of hot coffee in you and you’ll feel a heap better. Especially after I fill you in on the latest…”

In San Carmelita, small-time crooks who hadn’t collected much in the “wages of sin” department spent many of their evening hours at the grubby little bars on Lester Street. Those establishments were decorated with dusty stuffed marlins and swordfish hanging on their walls, dusty fish netting strung from hooks on the ceiling and dotted with dusty shells and the occasional, scantily clad, plaster mermaid… also dusty.

Crooks who had raked in the bucks, either because they were smarter or luckier, whiled their evenings away at the Oyster Bay House. The Bay, as locals called it, was perched on a cliff high above the town, with a breathtaking view of the city, the pier, and the ocean. Fountains cascading into ponds stocked with koi, the pink-marble-and-brass entry, an atrium brimming with exotic orchids, gave the Bay a facade of tasteful gentility. But beneath artistic tiled murals of sea gods and their goddesses, swindles were plotted, frauds were perpetrated, and even cold-blooded murders were commissioned.

And Savannah had been told that Ethan Cooper, land developer and self-made quadzillionaire, spent much of his leisure time holding down a barstool at the Bay.

Her sapphire silk dress had been chosen to highlight the cobalt blue of her eyes… and of course, to show off her magnificent cleavage to its best advantage. A generous amount of makeup, a long blond wig, her best cubic zirconia earrings and tennis bracelet, and four-inch-high heels with ankle straps made sure she caught his eye when she sashayed, Dixie-style past his stool and took a seat at the opposite end of the bar.

Yeah… she had “Floozy” down pat.

“Floozy” was only a couple of notches above “Professional Working Girl” which was a few steps higher than “Scanky, Drugged-Out Hooker.”

She could play them all. But “Floozy” was more fun. Because, like the crooks that hung out there, she could pretend to be classier than she was. The facade of finery afforded them all the illusion.

And one look at Ethan Cooper told her that he was living the delusion of illusion.

He was probably in his mid-sixties, and at one time might have been considered a hunk or maybe a jock. Remnants of his faded good looks and athleticism remained, and his shoulders, which were slightly stooped, were still broad. He could have been a football player in his youth.

His hair might have been black; now it was a dignified salt-and-pepper… heavy on the salt. His dark eyes were aglow with interest as Savannah gave him the benefit of a demure dimpled smile. He quickly sent a second whiskey sour her way.

“Mr. Cooper wants you to join him,” the bartender said as he set the napkin and glass in front of her.

She sent her benefactor another coy grin. “Tell Mr. Cooper,” she said in her silkiest Georgian accent, “that a gentleman meets a lady halfway.”

The bartender looked surprised and more than a little uncomfortable. “Are you sure you want to send Mr. Cooper a message like that?”

“Oh, I’m sending him all sorts of messages,” she said with a deep-throated chuckle. “Let’s see if he gets them and meets me in the middle of the bar.”

Cooper didn’t look pleased when the bartender delivered the message. But, along with his displeasure, she saw his interest level rise. Ethan Cooper appeared to be a conceited jerk who enjoyed a challenge.

He waited, just long enough to save face, then casually picked up his tumbler of straight-up scotch and sauntered to another stool closer to the center of the bar. Of course, he took care to project a don’t-give-a-damn attitude, but he wasn’t fooling anyone in the place. And several people were watching them.

Just as slowly as he had, she picked up both of her drinks and strolled over to sit on the stool next to his. As she sat down she watched his face closely, looking for any signs of recognition. If he had any inkling who she was, this little undercover routine would be down the drain before it began.

But he didn’t seem to know her. Didn’t seem to notice the fake wig. Funny, men could spot a bad toupee a mile away on another guy, but they never noticed when a woman wore a wig. Especially if it was long and blond. And worn with a low-cut dress.

“Hey, little lady,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast. “You like playing hard to get?”

She grinned at him and clicked his glass with hers. “Oh, I don’t play at it. I
am
hard to get.”

“Well… we’ll just have to see if you’re worth it…” He gave her a lecherous grin that made her instantly despise him. She would enjoy netting this mangy bobcat.

“If I’m worth it?” she replied. “Oh, what I have to sell doesn’t come cheap.”

He looked a bit put out, as though his ego were slightly wounded. “Oh. You’re a pro. I should have known. How much do you charge?”

She laughed and took a sip of her drink. She waited until the bartender had walked away before answering. “That’s not what I’m selling, Mr. Cooper.”