Bitter Sweets

she might have.

    Which left her with the most burning question of all: If she were able to prove that Colonel Neilson murdered his son-inlaw, how could she bring herself to turn him in?

    “Have a nice ride?” The young man’s eyes flickered up and down Savannah’s body as he spoke, taking in the dirt-streaked jeans, the mud-splattered blouse, her disheveled hair.

    “Just friggin’ ducky,” she replied as she returned the bike and retrieved her generous deposit. Fortunately, the machine had fared better than its rider.

    “Find the trail okay?”

    “It was right where you said it was. Just behind the ‘Absolutely No Trespassing’ sign.”

    “You gotta be careful going up there,” he told her, counting the bills onto her outstretched palm. “Some dude got himself murdered in a shack a few days ago.”

    “I know. That’s why I was up there. I’m investigating the homicide.”

    “You’re a cop?” he asked, his eyes wide with shock.

    “Nope. A private investigator.”

    She could tell by the enthusiasm meter on his face that he was far more impressed by the title of P.I. than law enforcement officer.

    “Wow, cool.” He leaned across the counter toward her, his smile eager. “Can I help you with anything? I keep a close eye out all the time. I notice all kinds of stuff.”

    “Can you tell me who else has rented this bike lately,” she asked, hopeful. “The one I was riding today.”

    “Sure. Some crazy chick with purple hair. She loaded it down with groceries and camping stuff from her car, then took off. I figured she’d be up there for weeks, considering all the provisions she took. But she came right back that afternoon.”

    “Which afternoon was that?”

    Savannah couldn’t help being hopeful. Maybe it was Vanessa, after all. She had to admit she would be relieved. She liked the colonel, Brian O’Donnell, and even Alan Logan. If it had to be someone . .. and it did...she hoped it was Vanessa, her least favorite.

    “A gal with purple hair?” Savannah tried to sound surprised. “I guess you would notice something like that.”

    “It looked like she was trying to hide it under a baseball cap. But it was sticking out on the sides.”

    “What day, exactly, did she rent the bike?” Savannah was so excited, she could hardly feel the pain in her butt or the bruise on her thigh.

    The kid hauled a stack of receipts in a binder out from under the counter. “Let’s see now. It was about the fifth or the sixth. Yeah, here it is. It was the morning of the sixth.”

    “Oh.” Her hopes fell. Suddenly, her injuries began to throb. “That was a week or so before the murder.”

    “I guess it doesn’t have anything to do with it, then, huh?” he said, looking equally disappointed to have let her down.

    “Is that the last time you rented it out?”

    “I’m not sure. Let me take a look at these and ...”

    He thumbed through the pink sheets, then stopped, excited. “Wait a minute. Here’s another one for that bike. It was rented on Thursday.”

    “This last Thursday?”

    “Yeah. Hey! Wasn’t that the day that guy got blown away?”

    “Yes, it was. Can you tell me the name of the party you rented it to?”

    “Sure.” He consulted the ticket. “It was a guy named Charlie Delta.”

    “Charlie Delta?” Bells went off in Savannah’s head. “Do you recall what this ‘Mr. Delta’ looked like?”

    “Yeah, now that I think about it, I do. He was an older guy with gray hair. It was chopped off flat on top, one of those dumblookin’ crew cuts, like the Beach Boys used to wear, you know, way back in ...”

    CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

    Savannah stood at Colonel Forrest Neilson’s back door, her heart in her throat, and a slice of Gran’s famous beef liver in her hand.

    The colonel wasn’t at home. Of that she was sure, because she had just seen him drive away in his Lincoln. But, unfortunately, he hadn’t taken Beowulf along.

    “It’ll work, 1 tell you,” her grandmother had said as Savannah had left home fifteen minutes ago with two pieces of dinner leftovers zipped into a plastic bag. “Dogs love it. Just stick it under his nose and he’ll be yours forever...or at least until he finishes gobbling it down.”

    “That’s a good Beowulf,” Savannah told the dog as she presented her offering to him. “Come on, you handsome devil. Bite the liver, and not the leg.”

    With incisors bared and eyes gleaming, the dog took one step closer to her. The growl