Bitter Sweets

resort cabin on the shore of Lake Arroyo, another person was trying to believe that, in spite of misgivings, everything was fine. Reid is good at what she does. She’ll find her. It won’t take long.

    Nervously pacing the old cabin which smelled of mildew and fish, the individual marked time. Waiting, hoping, aching for the moment to come, when so many carefully laid plans and cherished fantasies would be fulfilled.

    But everything hinged on Savannah Reid’s ability to locate Lisa Mallock. And Lisa had no intention of being found.

    Carefully, the person examined the paraphernalia spread on the threadbare chenille bedspread: thin copper wire, wads of cotton batting and silver duct tape, the all-purpose hunting knife, and...of course...the pistol.

    The scene was set.

    All that was needed .. . was the not-so-innocent victim. It wouldn’t be much longer now. The waiting was almost over.

    CHAPTER THREE

    When Savannah had begun to canvass Lisa Mallock’s neighborhood that afternoon, she could have sworn that her face had been three-dimensional. But with every door that had been slammed on it, she could feel her profile becoming more and more flat.

    There had to be an easier way to make a living.

    Once, she had thought that people opened up to her because of her charm, her good looks, her warm wit. Now she realized that they had only talked to her because they’d had to. She had been a cop. Without that badge hanging on its gold chain around her neck, the members of her adoring public weren’t nearly so accommodating.

    She stood on the sidewalk, roasting in the heat of a dry, Santa Ana afternoon. The weather man had predicted smog warnings, bad air quality that might be harmful to sensitive persons. No kidding, she thought, tasting the pollution on her tongue. Sensitive people or anyone with a set of lungs.

    Glancing around her, she made a quick mental tally of the houses visited. Eight in all. The ones on either side of the colonel’s home and several across the street.

    Lisa Mallock’s neighbors were extremely suspicious... far more than normal, even in typically paranoid suburbia...and very protective of her.

    “Why do you want to know?” and “What do you want with her?” were the questions Savannah had received instead of answers. So far, no one would even confirm or deny that Lisa still lived with her adoptive father, the colonel.

    Ever the hopeful heart, Savannah strolled up the walk of a house four doors north. The flowers in the yard, the children’s rope swing that dangled from a sturdy oak limb, the tole-painted birdhouses, all seemed to suggest warmth, hospitality, and welcome.

    Maybe.

    The woman who answered the door wore a bright smile and a white apron. Savannah didn’t think that anyone wore those anymore. She felt as though she had stepped back in time into a 1950s Frigidaire commercial.

    “Hello, may I help you?” the lady asked.

    Savannah could smell the wonderful fragrance of chocolate chip cookies baking.

    “I certainly hope so,” she said, trying not to sound too discouraged. “I’m trying to get in touch with Lisa Mallock. Can you tell me if she lives around here?”

    The beautiful smile froze on the woman’s face. “Not anymore,” was the reply. “She moved a couple of weeks ago.”

    Well, at least that answered one thing.

    “I really do need to speak to her. Do you know where she is now?”

    “I... ah... I really don’t think I should tell you. Lisa asked us not to say because . . .”

    “Yes? Because?”

    “Nothing. I don’t think I should discuss her with you. She’s a really nice person, one of the best people I’ve ever met, and she’s had such problems lately with ...”

    “With?”

    The woman shook her perfectly styled head of hair. “No. That’s all I’m going to say. Good-bye.”

    At least she didn’t slam the door in her face. She simply closed it. Firmly, decisively, if apologetically, she closed it.

    Same difference, Savannah thought as she dragged her body-which suddenly seemed bone tired-down the sidewalk.

    “Hey, lady,” said a soft, barely there voice behind her.

    She turned and was surprised to see a small fairy princess, about ten years old, standing on the porch of the house she had just visited. Instantly, she knew it was a fairy, because of the pink tights and leotard, the lacy skirt, and, of course, the glitterspangled wand in the child’s hand.

    “Yes?” she asked, smiling down at the dainty apparition