Cooked Goose

or otherwise, to find him out.
    “And I waited for Vidalia to tell him to be nice,” Margie continued, “you know, like a mom’s supposed to do, but she didn’t. So I got mad and...”
    “And hollered, ‘Booger rat!’ ”
    “Something like that.”
    Having put on the rest of the outfit, Savannah stepped out of the bathroom. She had transformed herself into what she hoped was a poor man’s version of a femme fatale.
    “Whoa!” Margie bolted up off the bed, her eyes wide with amazement. “You look fantastic!”
    “Oh, you think so?” Savannah decided that the kid had been insulted sufficiently in one evening, so she swallowed any wisecracks about her lack of taste.
    “Yeah, but you need some metal.”
    “I was going to put on earrings. Big, hanging down ones.“
    “No, no, no. Here, you can borrow some of my stuff.”
    The girl hurried over to her and began to unbuckle her own paraphernalia and transfer it to Savannah . A minute later, Savannah was looking at herself in the mirror, wearing a metal-studded dog collar around her neck, a bracelet to match, a heavy chain around her waist and on her thumb, an enormous skull-shaped ring with rhinestone eyes.
    “Now, sit down there...” Margie pointed to the dressing table. “...and I’ll do your hair.”
    After the cloud of hair spray had settled, Savannah emerged with bigger hair than she had ever imagined possible. Margie had given her a modified version of her own spiked do, and Savannah had to admit, it was wild, but fun.
    “You look perfect,” Margie exclaimed, as proud as any Hollywood makeover expert. “Except for the tatoos.“
    “Tattoos? I don’t have any tattoos.”
    “Exactly. That’s what’s missing.”
    “Oh well, Edward will just have to do without.”
    “Is that who you’re going out with? Somebody named Edward?”
    “Sort of. It’s not really a date but—”
    A shriek cut through the air, scaring them both witless. They turned around to see Vidalia standing in the doorway, wearing a nightgown that resembled a burlap sack, her hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes bugged.
    “What is it?” Savannah said as she jumped up from her stool in front of the dressing table and hurried to her sister. “What’s wrong with you?”
    Visions of a premature delivery danced through her head, nightmare fantasies of the baby falling right out of Vidalia, and rolling across the floor, before anyone could catch it.
    “What’s wrong with me?” Vidalia said, gasping like the quintessential Southern belle with a case of the “vapors.“
    “What’s wrong with you ? My lord, Savannah , wait until I tell Gran.”
    “Tell Gran what?”
    “Don’t you act all innocent with me.” Vidalia shook her finger in Savannah’s face. It was all Savannah could do not to bite it. Hard. “I know what that sort of a git up that is.”
    “What git up?”
    “The one you’re wearing. You’ve moved out here to this California ... this land of sin... this Sodom and Gomorrah and you’ve become a... a... a streetwalker!”
    Savannah laughed and gave her horrified sister a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Vi. I’m not a hooker... far from it.” She sighed. “Hookers get a lot more money and respect than us lowly private detectives.”

    * * *

    If the Shoreline Club had been a little classier, it might have been called a dive. If the clientele had been a tad more discriminating they might have been called the sludge of the
    earth.
    But the place would have to be renovated and every occupant would need to bathe and shave—including the women—to reach such lofty aspirations.
    Most of the lost souls holding down stools at the bar looked like they had just been released from San Quentin. Edward Stipp might be hard to spot.
    Savannah had been here many times before in the pursuit of law and justice. She never failed to marvel at the genius of the decor.
    The bar was decorated in a nautical theme with the usual assortment of mangy, stuffed, marlin on the wall, a rusty anchor hanging from the ceiling, and a tacky mural that featured a grotesquely busty and slightly cross-eyed mermaid. But no self-respecting sailor would be caught dead hefting a pint in the Shoreline.
    “I want you to notice,” Savannah told Tammy as the two of them took their lives in their hands and strolled through f the joint, “that I take you to only the best places.”
    “I’m noticing. I’m noticing,” Tammy replied, moving a little closer to Savannah for