Sour Grapes

she wanted to do. But she had to have answers, and they lay down there in the darkness.
    The moment she began to descend the stairs, she felt the coolness of the old adobe structure surround her, sheltering her from the afternoon sun. Her eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness and when they did, she saw a sharp turn halfway down the narrow staircase.
    It was when she reached that landing and turned to the right that she saw her. A pitiful, crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs.
    Savannah was only faintly aware that Dirk had caught up to her and was standing on the step above her.
    “Shit,” she heard him say, quietly... a lot of pain expressed in one word.
    “Yeah,” she replied. ‘Yeah.”
    “Here,” he said, shoving a flashlight into her hand.
    “Thanks.”
    “Watch where you’re steppin’.”
    “Okay.” Normally, she wouldn’t have needed to be reminded about crime-scene protection. But at the moment, she wasn’t thinking; she was feeling.
    “Oh, sweetie,” she said, the words catching in her throat as she hurried on down the steps and knelt beside the girl. As she reached out her hand to touch the body, she knew that Mike Farnon was right. Francie Gorton was dead. But until Savannah actually touched her, she wouldn’t allow herself to believe it.
    Behind her, Dirk wasn’t saying anything. He knew, too. But he asked anyway, and she understood why. Hope. Until you absolutely, positively knew for sure... there was always hope.
    “She’s gone,” Savannah said. “No pulse, no breathing. No rigor yet. It hasn’t been long.” She reached down and stroked the long, glossy hair that spilled across the girl’s face and onto the floor. “Poor baby, no wonder she stood me up. While I was there at her house, she was...”
    Savannah felt Dirk’s hand, big, warm and comforting on her shoulder. “Come on, Van. We’ll call Dr. Liu. Why don’t I walk you up and outta here.”
    The professional deep in Savannah’s mind told her that they should be searching the floor and every inch of this stuffy, dark, spooky little room for evidence.
    But a louder voice that was speaking from her heart told her, “To hell with evidence. What does it matter now? You can catch and execute a dozen killers for this, and this sweet, young girl will still be dead.”
    “I’m sorry, Francie,” she said. “I told you I’d look out for you, and... I’m so sorry.”
    Dirk’s hands were under her arms, lifting her. “That’s enough. Let’s go.”
    He pulled her to her feet and turned her back toward the stairs. On rubber legs she climbed the steps into the sunlight. As if she were a feeble, newly released hospital patient, he guided her to the Buick, opened the door, and seated her inside.
    After getting her settled, he walked over to the cruiser and shared a few words with Mike Farnon. Then he returned to the car and got in.
    He didn’t say anything as they drove away, out of the parking lot and onto the highway, heading back toward Villa Rosa.
    It was when they reached the citrus groves that Savannah lost it. The grief came crashing in on her, so intense that she began to shake all over. Her hands covering her face, she leaned forward in her seat and began to sob.
    Immediately, Dirk pulled the Buick off the road and parked it between two rows of lemon trees, where he cut the engine.
    He reached over the back of the seat and fumbled around in the rear floorboard.
    “Here, Van,” he said, shoving a handful of yellow Wendy’s napkins at her. They smelled of ketchup and onions, but she took them anyway and continued to cry into them.
    She felt his arms go around her, pulling her to him. Giving in to a rare and luxurious moment of complete neediness, she sagged against him and buried her face in his warm, solid chest.
    “It’s okay, honey,” he said. “Go ahead and bawl your face off if you wanna. I won’t tell nobody.” He patted her head like she was a distressed golden retriever. Then he began to slowly run his fingers through her hair, from the nape of her neck and out. It was deliciously soothing.
    “That’s why I got you outta there right away,” he said. “You looked like you were gonna start blubbering any minute.”
    “Th-th-thanks,” she said, hiccuping.
    “No sweat. It ain’t nothin’ you wouldn’t do for me. Except, of course, I wouldn’t actually be cryin’, but you bein’ a broad and all, you can do that sorta thing and—”
    “Dirk...”
    “Yeah?”
    “You’re