Cooked Goose

blinked them back. “The Roadster’s a write-off, isn’t it?”
    Dirk nodded. “Afraid so. But it was a pretty smart move; it got you away from him.”
    “I guess it’s too much to hope that you found him dead inside the car,” Margie said bitterly.
    “Way too much, I’m afraid.”
    Savannah set a bowl of ice cream in front of Dirk and handed him the jar of hot fudge. Years ago, he had been demoted from “guest” to “family.” If she could buy it, he could damned well serve himself. “No sign of Santa?” she asked.
    “Not even a curly white hair,” he said, sounding tired. ‘Of course, we had the car towed to the impound lot. We’ll go over it with a fine tooth comb tomorrow morning when it’s daylight.”
    “Does my dad know what happened to me yet?” Margie asked.
    “Not as far as I know. We put out an APB for him, so I’m sure he’ll show up soon.”
    Margie gave a disgusted sniff that didn’t cover the hurt in her eyes. “He’s probably hanging out in a sleazy motel somewhere with some bimbo. That’s usually what he was doing when my mom couldn’t get in touch with him.”
    Dirk looked embarrassed. Savannah had noticed, years ago, that Dirk took it personally when members of his own gender screwed up. And she had decided that was somehow endearing.
    “Well, whatever he’s doing,” Dirk said offhandedly, “I’m sure he’ll get the message soon. How about your mom? Have you talked to her yet?”
    Margie shook her head. “ Savannah already offered to call her. But she’s gone to Italy this month with her new husband. I don’t know how to get hold of them... wouldn’t really want to anyway.”
    “Hm-m-m-m.“ He picked up the ice cream and dumped twice as much into his bowl as Savannah had originally given him. “Then why don’t we just see how big a dent we can make in this carton of ice cream,” he said, “and we’ll talk about the guy who grabbed you tonight.”
    “Dent, my eye.” Savannah shook her head, mentally wishing her Chunky Monkey a fond farewell. “By the time Coulter finishes an ice cream carton, it’s as totalled as your car. Sorry, Margie, bad joke.”
    She left the table and walked to the coffeemaker where she threw in some water and a hearty, Louisiana chicory blend. It was going to be a long night; all that sugar would need a caffeine chaser.
    Margie and Dirk continued to chat companionably, and Savannah wondered at the seeming compatibility between these society misfits. In polite company, neither would have been considered charming. Maybe that was the common ground.
    Just before she left the two of them, and headed upstairs, she told Margie, “I’m going to try to get your dad again on the phone, while you tell Dirk all the gory details.”
    As she walked upstairs and into her bedroom, Savannah whispered a prayer of gratitude that, at least this time, the details weren’t nearly as gory as they might have been.
    She had an idea where she might get in touch with Bloss. The comment Margie had made about the cheap motel and a bimbo had stirred an inkling.
    Cops—like plumbers, bankers, and doctors—were creatures of habit. And some of those habits weren’t particularly commendable.
    In her years on the force, she had seen far more “fooling around” than she had wanted to, and a lot of it had taken place at the Blue Moon Hotel on the outskirts of town.
    Experience had shown her that San Carmelita’s doctors took their honeys to the Grand Marquis on the beach for nooners. Lawyers preferred Casa Presidio in the marina. But cops fancied the understated, underpriced ambiance of The Blue Moon for their peccadillos.
    “Hello,” she said when the front desk answered, using her breathy, phone-sex voice that she usually reserved for undercover prostitution stings. “I need to speak with one of your guests. His name is Bloss.”
    “There ain’t no Bloss stayin’ here,” said an oily-sounding guy.
    “I see.” She dumped the sexy tone. Why put out if it wasn’t working? “Could you please check again,” she snapped. “He and his ‘wife’ might be listed under ‘Smith’ or ‘Doe.’ ”
    “I’m sorry.” The asshole didn’t sound exactly suicidal to her. “We don’t have any guest listed with the name Bloss, Smith or Doe. Is there something else I can do you for?“
    “You can tell the good captain that his daughter has been in a traffic accident, and he needs to get over to Savannah Reid’s house as soon as possible.”
    “I