Cooked Goose

him to use a glass or a coaster or to leave the toilet seat down. Having Dirk around the house was a bit like owning a husband, Savannah had decided, but without the added fringe benefits of regular sex, lawn care and automobile maintenance. The price without the perks.
    “So,” he said, “you’re worried about getting sued by the Santa with the blue balls. I’d worry too, if I was you. He sounded like he meant it.”
    Dirk never pulled punches with her. It was his greatest charm... and the major reason she often wanted to strangle him.
    “How could you tell? Maybe he was just a little—“
    “Nope, he meant it. His eyes were bugged out. Way out! That’s a definite sign of sincerity. I learned a long time ago from doing interrogations: When the veins in a guy’s forehead are poppin’, he’s usually telling you the truth.”
    Savannah sighed and thought of all the overdue bills in her desk drawer—scary red-lettered documents threatening to disconnect or repossess some basic creature comfort. The last thing she needed right now was to be sued, by anyone, and especially Saint Nick.
    Being a private investigator could prove lucrative from time to time, but more often, detecting provided only a meager existence. Savannah missed the steady paycheck from the S.C.P.D., the medical and dental coverage, the Christmas fund and the all-you-can-eat-and-drink Fourth of July picnic. But she didn’t miss the department’s lopsided politics or the con-stant hassle from the suits. Life hadn’t been easy as an outspoken, brassy broad who had never quite perfected the fine art of kissing trouser backsides.
    No... when all was said and done, Savannah was content with her present lot in life; she’d rather be broke.
    “So, let Kris Kringle sue me,” she said. “I can’t imagine that he would welcome headlines that read, ‘P.I. Gives Santa Blue Balls.’ How’s he going to explain that he was ripping a woman’s shirt off in the parking lot five minutes before he was going to be sitting on the gilded throne, bouncing kiddies on his knee?”
    Dirk took another slurp of suds. “You’re right. The mall wouldn’t like that either. But they’re not going to be hiring you for surveillance again any time soon. That’s gonna cause a problem.”
    “Yeah. It was my only paying gig, and the electric bill’s seriously overdue.”
    “Oh, well, sorry about your cash flow, but I was worried about my investigation. I was hoping you and Fluff Head would help me nab my guy.”
    “Thanks for your concern,” Savannah replied dryly, “and don’t call her that. Tammy’s a good kid.”
    “She acted like a nitwit today and opened you up for a lawsuit. Now you’re defending her. You’re both a bit screwy if you ask me.”
    “I didn’t ask you. And now that you’ve insulted my employee and me, I’m not going to lift one dainty pinky to help you with this case. You can catch your Santa Rapist without assistance from the bimbos at Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency.”
    “You were going to help me... even without being paid?”
    His jaw and every ounce of flesh attached to it dropped several inches. He couldn’t have looked more forlorn if he had just been told that his new cocker spaniel puppy had to have triple bypass surgery.
    “You were going to give me a hand with this case... for free?”
    “That’s right, big boy. An honest-to-goodness freebie, for old time’s sake and all that. But you had to open your smart mouth and throw it all away. Now ain’t that a bite in the ass.”
    He snapped his mouth closed. A muscle twitched in his
    jaw.
    “So, what’s it gonna cost me?” he said. “Exactly how do you want me to suck up?”
    She batted her eyelashes at him. “Why, darlin’, what makes you think I want you to ‘suck up’ as you so indelicately put it?”
    “Because you’re a dame. And dames always want us to suck up. They expect us to kiss their lily white butts and admit what a jerk we’ve been.”
    Savannah pictured it for a moment: Dirk on his knees, looking oh-so-humble, her skirt lowered just enough on one side to accommodate the penitent kiss. His lips warm and soft as—
    She shuddered.
    “Naw... that’s all right. We’ll skip the butt kissing part. Just admit you were a jerk, do some sincere grovelling for the rest of the evening, and we’ll call it even.”

    * * *

    10:05 P.M.

    Angie Perez searched the car’s glove box for the box of mints she had stashed there for just this