Bitter Sweets

look on her face.

    “I heard what you and that Dirk character were talking about out there this afternoon,” Granny told her as she ladled another helping onto Savannah’s plate.

    “Oh, you did, huh?” Savannah chuckled. “Is there anything you don’t hear?”

    “Not much.”

    “That’s what I thought. And I suppose you have an opinion about what was said, or you wouldn’t have brought it up, right?”

    Gran smiled broadly. “Moss don’t have a chance to grow on you, does it, sweetie-pie.”

    “Moss doesn’t grow well in piss and vinegar...or so I’ve heard you say.”

    “That’s true. And I do have an opinion about what was said in your backyard. I think your friend, Mr. Dirk Coulter, is a donkey’s rump.”

    Savannah laughed. “Not many would argue with you about that.”

    “And I think he needs a bit of an attitude adjustment where old people are involved.”

    “And women...and kids...and cats... and ...”

    “But older folks, especially.”

    Taking a closer look, Savannah saw that her grandmother was genuinely offended, a rare occurrence. “What did he say that upset you, Gran?”

    “Your rude friend called Colonel Neilson an old fart which he ain’t. He’s a man who’s managed to keep himself alive for seventy or so years, that’s all. And fought three wars for his country and won himself a Congressional Medal of Honor in the process.” Gran hesitated, toying with a bit of dumpling on her plate, her eyes full of hurt. “And what’s worse, Savannah, is that you didn’t even set Mr. Coulter straight for sayin’ it. I’m surprised at you, honey.”

    Her grandmother’s gentle rebuke went straight to Savannah’s heart. She was right, of course.

    How many times had she jumped on Dirk’s case for uttering a racial slur, a sexist remark, an unkind observation about someone who was overweight, underweight, badly dressed, mentally or physically challenged, or just plain different in some way from himself.

    But she had never thought to come to the defense of a person who was being denigrated because of his advanced years.

    “Prejudice is prejudice, Savannah,” Gran continued, “no matter who it’s against. It’s just plain ol’ ignorance: one person thinkin’ he’s better than any other one of God’s creations. Ignorance and arrogance.”

    “I understand. I’m sorry, Gran. I should have said something.”

    “I’ve brought five children into this world, and they’ve blessed me with twenty-two grandkids besides. I’m here to tell you, they’re every one different and I love ‘em in different ways. But I love every single one completely, with all my heart and soul. It hurts me to hear one of ‘em talkin’ trash about the other one. And I’m not nearly as good a parent as the good Lord above. I can tell you, He feels the same.”

    “I’m sure He does, Gran. I’ll talk to Dirk the very next time I see him. I promise.”

    “Well, you better. You inform Mr. Hot Shot Coulter, that he's gonna be old, too. It’ll happen before he knows it, too, unless he kicks the bucket early, that is, and most people don’t want to do that. You tell him that us old folks aren’t any different than anybody else, except that we’ve been around longer. Just like younger people, we feel love and hate, sorrow and joy. Every day we decide whether to do good deeds or evil. And don’t fool yourself, we’re perfectly capable of both.”

    “Are you telling me that Dirk should reinstate the colonel on his list of suspects?”

    “Hell, yes!” Gran’s eyes blazed with a passion and conviction that, as always, made Savannah less afraid to grow old. “Don’t you hear what I’m telling you, girl? To leave Colonel Neilson off that list is a downright insult! He belongs on there with the best and the worst of 'em!”

    With the help of the Yellow Pages section of her phone book, Savannah located the bike rental agency that was nearest the abandoned Montoya Ranch where they had found Earl Mallock’s body.

    It was only a mile away from the cutoff that led to the old ranch house. She reminded herself to give Ryan a punch in the chops, at least verbally, for not mentioning this fact earlier. It irked her to think they could have ridden to the spread on the relative comfort of a dirt bike, rather than trudged over hills, through valley and dale.

    “How long have you guys been in business?” she asked the swarthy, curly-haired fellow behind the counter. He was wearing a