Bitter Sweets

furniture shopping today,” she admitted.

    “I see.”

    Of course, he didn’t see, but his hazel eyes looked vaguely interested behind his paint speckled, wire-framed glasses, and that was a start.

    “You used to be over on Harrington Boulevard,” she began, then reconsidered the wisdom of her opening gambit when she saw him scowl.

    “Yeah, so?”

    “And when you were, you had a partner named Earl Mallock.”

    “Unfortunately.”

    “Mmmm...well, I need to speak to him, very badly, and I was wondering if you might know how I could reach him.”

    Logan returned to his furniture stripping, and Savannah noticed that his hand was gripping the scraper far harder than necessary. His knuckles were literally turning white.

    The excess blood seemed to have flowed to his face, which was bright crimson.

    “I’ll do you a favor,” Logan said through a tight jaw, “I’ll give you the best advice I can. Stay away from that bastard, and save yourself a lot of grief.”

    “Believe me, my intentions aren’t romantic or even social in nature.”

    He perked up immediately. “Oh, really ? Are you a bill collector or something?”

    “An ‘or something.’ I’m a private investigator.” She pulled her identification from her pocket and flipped it open so he could read it.

    “You’re a P.I.?” He glanced her up and down with renewed interest. “1 thought those were all ugly guys with gum on their shoes.”

    She lifted her loafer and showed him some residue which she had collected on her way in from the parking lot. “One out of three?”

    He chuckled, and it occurred to her that he was rather attractive when he smiled.

    “I don’t know where Earl is,” he said. “Haven’t seen him since the day 1 dragged him into court. I won, too. But 1 can give you the name of somebody who does know where he is...whether she’ll admit it or not.”

    “And who’s that?”

    “Not so fast. First you have to promise that when you find ol’ Earl, you’ll give him a message from me.”

    “A verbal message?”

    He laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. “Yeah, no lead or steel involved.”

    Savannah considered the deal. A few words delivered in exchange for a valuable tip. It seemed acceptable. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a pad and paper. “Okay, 1 promise.”

    “There’s a crazy bartender, six feet one inch, with purple hair who-”

    “Purple?” Savannah just wanted to make sure she had heard correctly.

    “That’s right. Bright purple. She works at the Shoreline Club at the bottom of El Camino Boulevard on the beach. Her name’s Vanessa. For some reason I could never figure, she’s nuts about Earl. And Earl... well... he’s just plain nuts. I’m pretty sure that she won’t tell you, but she’ll know where he is.”

    “Okay, thanks a lot.” She scribbled on the notepad. “And what’s the message?”

    His friendly, hazel eyes went suddenly cold; the transformation was startling. “You tell him that he and Alan Logan still aren’t even. Not by a lo-o-ong shot.”

    When Savannah got back into her car, she decided to give Dirk’s mobile phone another try. This time he answered.

    “Yo.”

    She sighed and shook her head. “Have I ever told you that your particular telephone salutation makes you sound like a cracker?”

    He chuckled. “Yeah, several times. But considering you eat stale cornbread crumbled up in buttermilk with a dash of salt and pepper, I’m not going to lose any sleep over what you think of me.”

    “It’s good in regular milk, too...without the pepper.”

    “Yuck. What do you want?”

    She headed the Camaro homeward. A hot cup of coffee and a piece of raspberry cheesecake would give her some fuel to run on for the rest of the day. Maybe a bit of chocolate sauce drizzled across the top.

    “I want to know what’s going on,” she said.

    “Body’s at the morgue. Dr. Liu is finished with her.”

    Savannah winced, having seen Jennifer Liu perform more than a few autopsies. More than anything else, Savannah had never gotten over the shock of seeing how a brutal act committed by one person could turn another living, breathing, human being into a piece of dead meat.

    If it were the result of an accident or disease, one could more easily chalk it up to Divine Will, karma, or simple destiny. But murder went against the rules. There was no way to believe it was good or a natural occurrence.

    “What did she find?” Savannah asked.

    “Cause