Bitter Sweets

matter.

    From what she could see on paper, Lisa Mallock was a decent person, a hardworking mother.

    Someday the devils who were chasing Lisa would probably catch up to her; that was the way life usually worked. Savannah might not be able to prevent that from happening, but she sure as hell didn’t want to be the cause of it.

    Saturday afternoon, at one-thirty sharp, Savannah stood in line outside the gymnasium with her three dollars in hand, eager to see “The Snow Fairy Queen” pageant in all its glory.

    With the golden California summer sun beating down on her dark hair and perspiration pooling in the cups of her bra, it wasn’t easy to get into the “winter” mood, but she was trying.

    Fifteen minutes later, she was allowed in and found herself an excellent, if uncomfortable, seat on the bleachers...four rows back in the center.

    As the giggling cast of dozens scurried about on the makeshift “stage,” wearing pink satin, ruffles of stiff netting, glistening with bits of iridescent glitter, Savannah felt a twang of regret. Here she was, forty years old, no kids of her own, not even a marital prospect on the horizon.

    Loving children, she hadn’t exactly planned her life this way. Like most women she knew, she had nurtured fantasies of home, hearth, husband, and a handful of hellions. But “Life” had a way of happening while you were busy coping with the present and dreaming about the future. And when today’s problems were settled and tomorrow arrived, it seemed to always have a new set of concerns all its own. Either way, she was discovering that the “future”-once it had arrived-wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

    Shaking herself out of her somewhat depressing reverie, Savannah searched the crowd for the hundredth time, looking for the red-haired woman whose picture she had seen on Dirk’s computer screen.

    But the moment the presentation began, it was Christy Mallock who first caught her attention.

    The child, who twirled across the stage on her tiptoes, was the image of her mother. Dark, copper hair fell in shimmering waves to her waist. Her pretty face reflected the same strength of will, the same enthusiasm for life, as her mom’s.

    And there was no mistaking the costume with its extra ruffles, excess glitter, and the jeweled crown perched on her head. Christy was, indeed, the personification of a Snow Fairy Queen.

    A second later, Savannah spotted Lisa Mallock, sitting a few rows behind her and to the left, wearing an infinitely proud smile on her tension-tight face. At that moment, Savannah envied her... despite whatever personal problems she might have. Savannah would have given anything to have felt that kind of pride, even for a moment, to take that little girl home with her and spend the evening baking chocolate chip cookies and maybe watching Beauty and the Beast on home video.

    She had intended to approach Lisa Mallock here, after the show in the parking lot, to attempt to give her the information about her brother and his search for her.

    But she couldn’t bring herself to interfere with this event, which obviously meant so much to both mother and daughter. If Lisa Mallock had been living under even half the stress that Savannah supposed, she would need this fanciful interlude to enjoy some of the precious aspects of life.

    No problem. Savannah had tailed more than one person from place to place. She would follow them home, and then, only then, would she intrude on their lives. If worse came to worst, she’d just get another door slammed in her face, right?

    Wrong. It was worse. Much worse.

    That evening, when Savannah knocked on the door of the modest duplex, it opened promptly, and she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

    The face at the other end of the pistol had the same basic features, but bore little resemblance to the proud mommy at the dance recital.

    “I wondered how long it would take someone to show up here,” Lisa Mallock said, sighting down the barrel. “Get away from my door and leave me alone.”

    Savannah had a long-standing policy: If they’re pointing a gun at you, do whatever they say...within reason.

    She had been at gunpoint before, but each time, she had previously anticipated the problem and had been somewhat emotionally prepared. When you went barging into a major cocaine dealer’s house with a dozen ATF officers, you expected trouble.

    She hadn’t seen this one coming.

    The thought deeply disturbed her.