Sugar and Spite (28 page)

“Not me. Maybe Ryan or John would want to—”

“Don’t even go there,” she warned him. “After all they and ‘the bimbo’ have done for you lately, I’d think you’d be a bit more gracious than usual. It wouldn’t take much,” she added under her breath.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Savannah nearly gasped. Such a heartfelt apology from Dirk was a rare commodity, indeed. His emotional state was obviously far more fragile than she had thought. She vowed to handle him a bit more gently.

“No apology necessary,” she said.

They drove along in silence for a while. She could feel his mood deteriorating by the moment. A sideways glance at his face told her his thoughts were far away and sad. She wondered if he was embarrassed about crying in her presence last night.

“Are you okay today, buddy?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied.

She thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “You don’t need to feel weird about… you know, anything. I mean, there’s no shame in grief. There’s nothing wrong with letting it out, even crying a little when—”

“I wish I could,” he said brusquely, cutting her off.

“Could what?”

“Cry. You chicks have it good. When you feel rotten, you blubber. Us guys don’t get to do that.”

She turned and stared at him, not sure she had heard him correctly.

“You wish you could cry?” she said. “Do you mean, like, now?”

“Now. Anytime. Sometimes I just wish I could let go and bawl like a baby. Shit, I haven’t cried for years. It would probably feel good to just let it all hang out.”

She continued to stare at him, her mouth open. Could it be that he didn’t remember? Had he been asleep the whole time? Sleep
walking
was one thing. But sleep
crying
?

She shook her head. Men. Such weird creatures. Who could figure them out?

* * *

Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of Tammy’s apartment and tooted the horn. She came running out, dressed in her idea of what a hairstylist/cosmetologist would look like. Far too made-up. Hair much too big. A bright, floral-print shirt and hot pink capris that were way too tight.

“The Cosmetologists’ Union should hang her from a lamppost by her three-inch-long nails,” Savannah said as she watched her assistant bounce merrily down the sidewalk to their car. “Such gross misrepresentation.”

Dirk shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. She looks kinda cute.”

Savannah shook her head. “Your taste in women leaves something to be desired. The next time you tell me I look great I’m going to go right back into the house and change clothes.”

Tammy climbed into the Buick’s backseat, amid the fast-food wrappers and old newspapers. “Well, what do you think?” she asked proudly, throwing her hands wide.

“Are the nails glue-ons?” Savannah asked.

“Yep. So is half of the hair. Pinned on, that is.”

“What’s your name?” Dirk asked gruffly.

“Joleen.”

“And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a hairstylist who doesn’t make nearly enough money to keep quiet about everything I know… all kinds of sordid details that my customer, Polly, told me just before her untimely death.”

Dirk nodded approvingly. “Not bad.”

“How much money are you asking for?” Savannah quizzed her.

“Fifty thousand… and liposuction on my thighs.”

Savannah and Dirk both grinned. She said, “Good girl.”

He added, “Maybe we don’t have so much to worry about after all… with the bimbo on the job.”

Tammy beamed, actually pleased with the compliment.

Savannah made a mental note to compliment the poor kid a little more often.

* * *

After rendezvousing with Ryan and John, who were driving the “Bat Van” as Savannah called it, they drove to a small coffee shop across the street from San Carmelita’s Community General Hospital. Savannah and Dirk left the Buick parked on the street, while John pulled the van into a lot behind the restaurant. They all congregated inside the van.

“Check your wire to make sure it’s working,” Ryan told Tammy as he switched on blinking red, green, and yellow lights on black-box equipment and adjusted various dials and toggle switches.

“Testing one, two, three. There once was a girl from Nantucket…” Tammy stopped and giggled. “Sorry, I’ve been hanging out with Savannah too long.”

Dirk glanced at his watch. “Enough nonsense. It’s almost eight hundred hours, the time the old doc orders his hotcakes and sausage. You’d better get going.”

“John will be in there with you, sitting at the bar, if you run into trouble,” Savannah said. “And we’ll be listening to and recording every word out here. Remember the cue: ‘I have to go to the john.’ If we hear that, we’re comin’ in. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Savannah gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Scared?”

“More like excited.”

“Good. Then you’re ready.”

Tammy started to open the van door, but Dirk reached out and held her by the arm. “I just want to say, I really appreciate you doing this,” he told her. “You don’t have to, and…”

“No problem.” She patted his hand, then threw the van door open. “And don’t thank me…” she said, climbing out, “… until we get something good on that tape.”

* * *

“Nothing good yet,” Savannah sighed as they sat tensely in the van, listening to Tammy’s and the doctor’s voices that came from the small speaker in the ceiling over their heads. “This guy’s smarter than Cooper. He’s not going to give us anything we can take to the bank.”

Tammy and Dr. Julian Rafferty had been talking for more than ten long minutes, and he had skillfully avoided anything even remotely resembling a confession.

“So, let me get this straight,” he was saying. “You expect me to give you fifty thousand dollars and perform complimentary liposuction on you, so that you won’t go to the police with some ridiculous rumor that I had something to do with some woman’s murder. A woman I never met.”

“Oh, but you did meet her. You gave her a boob job. But maybe she gave you a different name. Here’s a picture of her.”

Some rustling as Tammy took the photo from her purse.

“Nope. Never saw her before. You’re barking up the wrong tree, young lady. For ten cents I’d call the cops and have you arrested for attempted blackmail.”

Again, a bit of rustling. Then a click of metal.

“There you go, Doctor,” Tammy said. “I’ll supply the dime. Go make your call.”

Savannah raised one eyebrow. “The kid’s got moxie,” she said. “But a call’s a quarter these days.”

“I don’t have time to make any calls, and I certainly don’t have time to waste with you,” Rafferty replied. They could hear him sliding the coin across the table. “Get out of here and leave me alone. My pancakes are getting cold.”

“Here’s my pager number,” she said. “I’ll expect you to give me a call before the day is over. If I don’t hear from you by midnight, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Go crying to the authorities that your pigeon wouldn’t pluck? I don’t think so. Get lost, lady.”

They heard Tammy rise from her chair. Savannah sighed. Dirk sagged. Even Ryan looked discouraged.

“Midnight,” Tammy said. “That’s how long you have. Otherwise, tomorrow morning the People of the State of California will be buying your pancakes. And I don’t think they provide maple flavoring in the syrup.”

* * *

A minute and a half later, a discouraged Tammy climbed back into the van. “Sorry, guys. He just wouldn’t say it.”

“The game isn’t over yet,” Ryan said as he looked out the front window of the van and saw John walking toward them. A few paces behind him came a very worried-looking Dr. Rafferty.

John got into the van and started the engine. “Ladies and gentlemen, our disgruntled surgeon didn’t finish his breakfast. The moment our Miss Hart had left him, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and made a phone call. It was short, but, judging from the unpleasant look on his face, rather urgent.”

They watched as Rafferty hurried to an enormous navy blue Mercedes and got in.

“Hey, hey!” Ryan said. “He’s going to do it! Dirk, old boy, you were right!”

“What?” Tammy asked, confused. “What’s he doing?”

John chuckled, a smug, self-satisfied, very British chuckle. “Let’s just say, dear chaps, we’re going to have the opportunity to use some of our new toys. What bloody great fun!”

As Dr. Rafferty left the restaurant parking lot and headed west, toward the beach area, Savannah called Jake McMurtry on her own cell phone and gave him a heads up about the latest development.

“Get that buggy of yours rolling in this direction,” she told him. “With any luck we’ll need somebody with a badge on the scene.”

“What scene?” Jake asked.

“The scene remains to be seen. Call you back in a few.”

It didn’t take long for them to figure out where the doctor was going. Following a discreet distance behind the Mercedes, they watched as he pulled into the public parking lot for the city pier.

They found a spot nearby, getting out.

Savannah gave Jake another ring. “We’re at the pier, in the southern lot, in a black van. Get here as soon as you can, but don’t let him see you. Park on the right side of us and we’ll let you in.”

For the next seven or eight minutes, the doctor continued to sit in his Mercedes, and they continued to watch him. A few passersby strolled along the walkway leading to the pier: a pair of lovers walking arm in arm, fishermen with poles over their shoulders and tackle boxes in hand. Since it was a school day, the swing sets on the beach were empty, and the only “kid” romping on the beach was a golden retriever chasing a Frisbee.

They could sense the doctor growing impatient as he fidgeted inside his car.

“Don’t you love it?” Savannah said with a broad grin as she watched his anxiety mount. “It’s great… rattling their cage and seeing them squirm like the snakes they are.”

“Do you think he’s as nervous as we are?” Tammy asked, then gulped from a bottle of mineral water.

“More so,” Ryan said as he continued to adjust his various equipment instruments.

“Go easy on that water, kiddo,” Savannah told her. “The number one rule on a stakeout… if you’re a female, limit your fluids.”

“Why if you’re female?” Tammy asked innocently.

“Because we guys can use an old coffee cup, or anything else with a lid,” Dirk replied dryly.

She made a face. “Way more information than I needed. Sorry I asked.”

“Ah, ladies and gentlemen,” John said, “our pigeon is on the wing.”

Rafferty had gotten out of his car and was walking along the beach toward the wooden stairs leading up the pier.

“Shouldn’t at least one of us go up there?” Tammy asked. “You know, trail him?”

“No,” Savannah answered. “Now that he’s seen us all at one time or another, we can’t risk him recognizing anyone. If he realizes we’re here, it’ll ruin everything.”

“Besides,” Ryan added, “that’s what this new gadget is for.” He flipped a switch and they heard scratchy static coming from the speaker overhead… along with amplified sounds of the surf and the occasional seagull squawk. “It isn’t the best fidelity,” he said, “but it should do the trick if I get it pointed in just the right direction.”

“Is the tape recorder going?” Dirk asked anxiously.

“It certainly is,” Ryan replied. “And, yes, I triple-checked it. Everything’s a go.”

“Oh! Oh! Look!” Tammy nearly jumped off her seat. “It’s him! It’s Cooper! Walking over from the jetty!”

Savannah chuckled. “Ain’t it great?”

“What?” Tammy said.

“When a plan begins to unfold. When the bad guys are stupid, and you’re smarter. When they do exactly what you want them to do.”

Dirk grumbled, less optimistic. “Yeah, well, the fat lady ain’t singing yet. Let’s hear what they’ve got to say. And where’s Jake? He should have—”

“Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear,” Savannah said, as Jake’s Mitsubishi pulled into the parking space beside them.

They slid the van’s door open and yanked him inside. It made the quarters more than a little snug, but they were glad to have his company.