Bitter Sweets

G. A. McKEVETT

    BITTER SWEETS

    A Savannah Reid Mystery

    KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

    Kensington Publishing Corp.
    850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022

    Copyright 1996 by G.A. McKevett and Kensington Publishing Corp.

    All rights reserved
    No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
    any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief
    quotes used in reviews.

    Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

    Library of Congress Card Catalog Number:
    0 96-075281 ISBN]-57566-032-6

    First Printing: May, 1996

    Printed in the United States of America
    This book is lovingly dedicated to my grandparents

    Stella and Arthur McGill

    Better known i and loved as Ma and Pa Gill

    For their generous contributions of time, support and expertise, the author would like to thank:

    Rob Ward

    Brad Haskell

    Bruce Watson

    Ken Chapman

    And a certain medical examiner, who wishes to remain anonymous, but she knows who she is.

    CHAPTER ONE

    “Just take a deep breath and dive right in there, sugar.” Savannah Reid pointed to the body that lay in a pool of sunlight and red gore on the polished oak floor. “Welcome to Homicide 101.”

    The young would-be detective, who stood beside Savannah, crossed her arms tightly over her chest, crumpling the front of her impeccably tailored suit. She swallowed hard and turned a sickly shade of green that was a tad more chartreuse than the elegant jade silk she was wearing.

    Savannah chuckled inwardly but kept a straight face. What a wimp, she thought. This one was nice and fresh. It didn’t even smell. Wait until Miss Tammy Prissy-Pot had to examine a truly ripe corpse that had been lying around, unrefrigerated, for a month of Sundays. She’d be tossing her cookies for sure.

    Savannah enjoyed the company of her new assistant, in spite of the fact that the two women couldn’t have been more different. Tammy’s strict attention to detail and left-brained approach to life irritated Savannah from time to time. Mostly because the contrast highlighted Savannah’s own disorganization that sometimes bordered on outright sloppiness.

    But Tammy was bright, curious, humble about what she didn’t know, and eager to learn. Training her was turning out to be quite a pleasure for Savannah... if she could only get her past her queasiness.

    “Come on, shake a leg,” Savannah drawled in a Georgia accent as thick and sweet as peach pie filling. She knelt beside the body, which was lying on its side, sprawled across the office floor near a large bay window. The low afternoon rays of the California sun streamed in, illuminating the crime scene and leaving little to the imagination. “Let’s get to it. What’s first?”

    “Well...” The petite blonde’s usually squeaky voice with its distinctive Long Island twang had slid at least half an octave up the scale. “This... um, this guy... he’s the victim, and...”

    “No shit, Sherlock.” Savannah grinned good-naturedly. “Get down here and check him out. He’s not gonna bite you. Not now.”

    Gingerly, Tammy stepped a bit closer and chose a clean spot on the floor to place one shapely knee.

    “Next time you might want to wear something a bit more casual,” Savannah suggested, pointing out her own attire of slacks, sweater, and loafers. “Stiffs don’t care how you look.”

    “God, Savannah, you’re so crude.”

    “Who, me? Naw, I’m just a bit earthy. You should watch an autopsy with Dirk. He’s got some great one-liners that would make you split your bloomers laughin’.”

    At the mention of Dirk Coulter, Tammy wrinkled her pert nose.
    “Yeah, I’ll bet he does,” she replied dryly.

    “All right, down to business, kiddo.” Savannah’s face changed in an instant, the teasing smile gone, her blue eyes intense and calculating as she studied the body on the floor. “The victim of a violent crime is often the only witness, other than the perpetrator,” she began in a serious monotone, reciting by rote. “They can give you the most accurate account... that is, if they can talk when it’s all over. Obviously, this guy ain’t sayin’ much. So?”

    “We look to the crime scene to tell us what happened,” Tammy supplied.

    “That’s right. Tell me, what happened?”

    She quickly scanned the victim. “Somebody--or bodies--handcuffed this guy, blindfolded him, and shot him in the back of the neck.”

    “From a distance or close range?”

    Tammy leaned over to