Bitter Sweets

address-1513 N. Lotus. The last known residence of one Lisa Mallock, formerly known as “Susie” O’Donnell.

    Brother Brian had given Savannah this information, his final lead in his search for his sister. He had told her that, when he had knocked on this door, he had been informed that Lisa was no longer living there. The door had been slammed in his face by a somewhat austere, elderly gentleman with an enormous dog.

    A cheery prospect to look forward to.

    But not one that bothered Savannah. Hell, in her line of work a slammed door was nothing. If they didn’t shoot, stab, punch you, or insult your genealogy, it was usually considered a satisfactory interview.

    “Hmm-mmm...not bad,” she mumbled as she pulled in front of the pseudo-Swiss chalet, trilevel home. The design might have been a tad outdated, but the home was well kept, freshly painted, the yard immaculate, with flowers blooming in orderly profusion.

    She decided not to park the Camaro on the spotless driveway; it had an embarrassing habit of dripping oil.

    The moment she rang the doorbell, she heard a dog begin to bark. Considering the bass tone and deep resonance, she decided that Brian hadn’t exaggerated. It was a very large dog, who obviously took his job seriously.

    When the door opened, a bundle of bristling, black fur burst through and charged toward her. Bared teeth glistened in a face that looked like a cross between an Akita and a grizzly bear.

    Instinctively, Savannah slipped her hand inside her jacket to her shoulder holster and the handle of her Beretta. But she resisted the compulsion to draw. Shooting the family beast on the porch was hardly a way to get on anyone’s good side.

    “Beowulf, sit!” growled the equally determined, male voice of a human as the door swung wider.

    “Yes, please, do have a seat, Beowulf,” she whispered, feeling the dog’s hot breath on her calf through the thin linen of her slacks.

    Obedient, he stopped barking but continued to growl, his teeth inches from her leg, his lips fluttering like a window shade in a stiff breeze.

    “Beowulf, that’s enough. Knock it off,” said the handsome, elderly man whose broad-if slightly stooped-shoulders nearly filled the doorway. For his age, which was probably around seventy, he was an exceptional physical specimen. He was tall, well over six feet, steel gray hair cut in a short buzz, and pale blue eyes that were unnerving in their intensity.

    Only the arthritic swelling and distortion of his finger joints gave any hint of disability or special challenge.

    But, apparently, his problems didn’t prevent him from pursuing his interests. Judging from the soil on his jeans and tee shirt, and the smudge of peat moss on his right cheek, she had interrupted his gardening.

    He reached down, grabbed the dog by the abundant scruff of the neck, and gave him a gentle shake. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he told her with a slight Southern accent, reminiscent of her own. “The old fellow is just trying to earn extra doggie treats by acting like a tough guy. His bark is worse than his bite.”

    Doubtfully, she looked down at the gleaming incisors. “Really?”

    The man chuckled. “No, not really. But he doesn’t eat anyone without my permission.”

    “I’m so pleased to hear that.” She extended her hand to him. He took it and gave her a firm shake. “My name is Savannah Reid. I’m trying to get in touch with Lisa Mallock. Is she at home?”

    Instantly, he dropped her hand. “No.”

    The open, friendly expression slid off his face as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and scowled down at her.

    “I see.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “When do you expect her to return?”

    “Who’s asking?”

    Shrugging her shoulders, she gave him her most winning smile, the one that deepened her already-charming dimples, and she turned up the Southern Comfort in her voice. “Why, just me.”

    He wasn’t impressed. In fact, he was beginning to look as irritable as his dog. “What do you want with her?”

    Savannah dropped the Georgia peach routine and fixed him with her most official eyeball lock. He wasn’t the only one on the porch with intense blue eyes. And hers were a few shades darker. “I’d rather not say, sir, but it’s regarding some very important family business.”

    “Yeah, I’ll just bet it is.” He took a step back, dragging the dog with him. “Lady, you can go to hell!”

    A split second later, she was staring at