Bitter Sweets

have to see the black side of every cloud.” She poured herself another glass of Gran’s homemade lemonade, leaned back in the chaise lounge, and took a long swig.

    She needed it to cool off her temperament as well as her palate.

    Ordinarily, this would have been a relaxing, pleasantly hedonistic experience, sitting in her backyard, beneath the grape arbor, sipping an icy beverage and listening to Gran hum through the kitchen window as she prepared her famous chicken and dumplings.

    But Dirk’s negativity could sour any occasion.

    “I swear,” she muttered, shaking her head, “if you won the lottery, you’d bitch.”

    “What’s the point in winning?” He shrugged. “The whole thing’s rigged, and besides, even if you won, the damned 1RS would take most of it.”

    She studied him, continually amazed. “Point proved. But no matter what you say, I still think this helps to define our list of suspects. Before, we were only considering people who had motives to kill both Lisa and Earl. Now we know it may have been two different individuals.”

    “How does the list change?” He helped himself to a refill of lemonade. Savannah cringed when he set the cobalt blue antique pitcher down hard on the glass-topped table between their chaises. The man was hopeless.

    “Well,” she said, “we can rule out Vanessa. She may have hated Lisa, but she was in love with Earl.”

    “It wouldn’t be the first time someone killed the one they love. Maybe she found out that Earl killed Lisa and figured it was because he was still hung up on her. Vanessa admitted she’s the jealous type. Besides, she may have wanted to nab the kid...like it’s the one she never had, or something like that.”

    “All right, I’ll give you that one,” Savannah admitted reluctantly. “But how about Alan Logan? He threatened to destroy Earl’s family, just like he did his. Looks like someone did exactly that.”

    “He was a suspect before. He’s one now. Nothing’s changed there.”

    “And then there’s the colonel. Gran says he was grief-stricken. He may have killed Earl because Earl murdered his daughter. I couldn’t say that I’d blame him too much.”

    He sniffed. “Naw, the colonel’s an old fart with arthritis. If you and me were huff in’ and puffin’ to hike back there to that shed, he never would’ve made it. He was barely able to get around his living room the other day.”

    Savannah heard a loud crash from the kitchen. A skillet or pan had hit the tiles. A moment later, Gran’s head appeared at the window. “Dropped the diamond outta my ring,” she said cheerfully. “Nothin' to worry about.”

    Yesterday, she had broken a glass, and a plate the day before. Savannah had decided not to concern herself. Dishes were replaceable. Gran was priceless.

    “And then,” Dirk continued, “there’s that punk, Ian Warner. If he did it, then a whole houseful of people are lying for him. Which is possible, but not likely. Before, I figured he killed both Lisa and Earl to get to Christy. Now, I reckon Earl could have beat him to Lisa, but that don’t change nothin’. It don’t matter what Dr. Liu says about it bein’ two different killers. Like I said, we’re up Shit Creek without a paddle.”

    He settled back in his chair, drew a deep breath, and assumed that self-important, omniscient look that made Savannah want to slap him naked and hide his clothes.

    “Yep ...” he said, “.. . for my money, I’m still bettin’ on the brother. He’s the one with the most to gain with both Earl and Lisa dead and the kid missing. That way, he don’t have to share with nobody.”

    “Three lives, for only fifty thousand dollars?” Savannah said, desperately refusing not to meander down that trail of thought.

    “Get real, Van. People have been knocked off for a helluva lot less.”

    Savannah sighed, giving up the fight. Sometimes, it was futile to try to battle Dirk’s cynicism. Like the mumps or German measles, it was contagious. If you were around it, eventually, you caught it.

    “You’re right,” she admitted, chug-a-lugging the rest of the lemonade, wishing it were straight Scotch. “There’s no point. The 1RS probably would nab it all. Besides, quadzillions of people would write you tearjerker letters and beg for money, and... God, I hope I never win.”

    “Me, too.”

    Across the dark brown crockery bowl that contained the world’s lightest dumplings, Gran studied Savannah with a curious