Bitter Sweets

“No offense.”

    Savannah shrugged. “Some of us aren’t too bad.”

    “She couldn’t fish worth a darn, but we had a tree house and ...”

    As his voice faded away, Savannah decided not to push it any farther. His reasons for wanting to locate his sister, spoken and unspoken, were pretty clear.

    “Is the tree house still there?” she asked softly.

    “Yeah. And I still live on my father’s property, where we were when she was given away. I have three boys of my own now. There’s a picture of them there with the other stuff I brought you. They’ve made some improvements to the old shack-they call it a fort-but I think Susie would still recognize it. I want her to see it. If she’s got kids, I want them to meet my boys.”

    “I understand.” Savannah thought of her own brothers and sisters in Georgia-all eight of them-and felt a pang of homesickness. “But why now?” she asked. “Is this your first attempt to locate Susette ...” She referred to the papers. “.. . or Lisa, as she’s called now?”

    “Oh, no. I’ve tried off and on for years without any luck. Then, a couple of months ago, my dad passed away. He wasn’t wealthy, by any means, but he did leave some money for Susie--I mean, Lisa. Before he died, he asked me to try one more time.”

    O’Donnell’s face eased into a tired, sad smile. “But he wouldn’t have had to ask,” he added. “I would have looked for her again anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever give up...not until I find her. She’s the only family my boys and I have anymore. Other than my wife, of course.”

    “Of course.” Savannah studied the pile of papers in her lap. Work. Finally, a job to sink her teeth into. It had been too long. “One more thing, Mr. O’Donnell. Why did you choose our agency?”

    He smiled and for a moment he didn’t look quite so tired. “Like I said, I traced Lisa to San Carmelita. I know she was living here three months ago, but now I’ve lost her trail. While I was in the library, trying to find some records, I came across an old newspaper article and ...”

    He paused and looked slightly embarrassed.

    Savannah decided to let him off the hook and supply the rest. “You read about my little ruckus with the police chief and the city council.”

    “Ah...yeah.”

    “And about me getting kicked off the force.”

    “Yes, but you solved your case anyway. That’s what counted. I figured if you could whip City Hall, you could solve a little problem like mine.”

    Savannah leaned over and offered him her hand. “Thank you. I hope I can live up to your high expectations.”

    “I’m sure you will.” He took her hand and they shook solemnly.

    “Mr. O’Donnell, you’ve hired yourself a detective agency,” she said. “And we’re going to do everything we can to find your sister for you.” Hot damn, she thought as she watched the stress melt from his face. It sure felt good to be back to work, to be doing something useful in the world.

    She reached for his mug. “Now, how about another cup of coffee? This time let’s do it right. We’ll dose it with a slug of Bailey’s and slap some whipped cream on it.”

    Although Savannah had migrated to the Southern California seaside years before, she prided herself on the fact that you could never quite squeeze the last drop of juice out of a true Georgia peach. Southern California or southern Dixie, it didn’t matter when it came to entertaining friends and family.

    Like her Granny Reid and generations of ladies before her, Savannah lived in mortal fear that someone, somewhere, might suffer a pang of hunger while in her presence. It simply wasn’t allowed.

    Except, maybe, for Dirk.

    Facing him across her dining room table at this, the first official personnel meeting of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency, Savannah was beginning to get a bit peeved as she watched him reach for his sixteenth chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookie. She had baked a plateful. There were two left.

    After having served as his partner on the San Carmelita Police Force, and having been his closest personal friend for years, Savannah had to admit, she loved the guy. But she harbored no illusions about him. Dirk was a real pig, in more ways than one.

    “Would you like me to put this meeting on hold for half an hour or so and go fix you a meal, Dirk?” she asked. “I could whip up a leg of lamb with mint jelly, prime rib and a creamy horseradish sauce, or maybe Chateaubriand?”

    He