Cooked Goose

neither girl stuff,” Jack said, looking as indignant as he could, considering the green frosting smeared across one cheek and the chocolate sprinkles stuck to his chin. “I’m doin’ it, and I ain’t no girl! And my cookie ain’t no girl neither!” He pointed to the cookie man in front of him who was sporting an icing penis of monumental proportions. Jack had recently reached the age where the anatomical differences between the genders was consuming most of his waking thoughts. A state of mind that would typically last for the next eighty-plus years of his life.
    Dirk chuckled. “You’re all boy, that’s for sure,” he told the child, tweaking some of the chocolate off his chin. “And so’s that cookie you’re working on. Hand me one of those and some frosting, and I’ll see what I can do with it.”
    “Nothing obscene,” Savannah whispered.
    “But he—”
    “He’s five years old. You know better. At least, you should.”
    “Hel-... heck. You take all the fun out of everything.” A few minutes later, Savannah leaned over his shoulder and studied his creation, a cookie man wearing a white beard and a red hat.
    “Mmmm...” she said softly, “...anybody we know?“
    “After the business with the rings, I’m beginning to wonder,” he replied.
    “What’s that?” Margie said, glancing up from her reindeer, who had a silver stud in his red nose and several others in his ears.
    “Nothing,” Savannah told her, “just shop talk.“
    “Speaking of shop talk,” Dirk said as he began to chew the legs off his Santa. “Do you mind if we take a walk around the block? I don’t want to bore these guys with the details, but I had something I wanted to run by you.”
    Savannah doubted that any “details” would be boring. Quite the contrary. She appreciated Dirk’s discretion; he could be sensitive when he had a mind to be.
    “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing a couple of bells and a star for herself. “Will you be okay, Vi, if I’m gone for a few minutes?” Vidalia instantly deflated. “Well... I was hoping you’d watch the kids while I take another nap, but I guess I don’t have to. It’s just that my back hurts so bad and...”
    Savannah glanced at Margie, whose eyes widened with horror at the very thought. And Savannah couldn’t really blame her.
    “I’m only going to be gone ten minutes, Vi,” she said in her most authoritative, but gentle, big sister voice. “I’m sure you can stay awake and watch your kids that long. When I get back, I’ll give them baths and put them to bed.”
    “Oh... all right... I guess...”
    As Savannah walked out the front door with Dirk she could almost hear the crackling of the flames around the stake where Saint Vidalia suffered. And her final words rang in her ears, “I just can’t get any help with my children... not from my sister... not from that sorry excuse of a husband of mine... not from...”
    Savannah and Dirk hit the sidewalk and turned north, taking their time as they strolled through the quaint neighborhood of tiny Spanish-style bungalows, palm trees and bougainvillea-covered fences. The smells of evening meals and the sounds of television, conversations and music drifted from her neighbors’ houses and filled the cool, moist air.
    Christmas decorations glistened on most houses. Some had only a simple strand of lights, hurriedly tacked to eaves. Other yards looked like miniature Las Vegas casinos with animated Santas, elves, reindeer and angels, flashing Nativity scenes, and myriad lights twinkling in every tree and bush.
    Dirk walked along, his face solemn and thoughtful, his hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. Savannah slipped her arm through his, enjoying the peaceful, easy moment. One of the nicest things about Dirk was that he was as comfortable as an old slipper and required so little effort.
    It was one of the few times this holiday season that Savannah had taken a moment to feel the Christmas spirit. But a sideways glance at Dirk told her that he wasn’t sharing the moment with her. His mind was elsewhere. She didn’t have to think hard or long to figure out where.
    “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked. “Is there anything new on the case?”
    “Well, maybe. I just found out this evening, Edward Stipp was released from San Quentin a couple of months ago.“
    “He got paroled? What are those stupid boards thinking, letting a cop killer—”
    “He wasn’t paroled; he’d served his time.