A Few Drops of Bitters

Book 26: Savannah Reid Mystery

by G.A. McKevett

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

For the first time in recent memory, Savannah has no guilt about indulging in personal interests before her career. Between being a mom to her new foster son and arranging a lavish wedding for her sister, things are messy, unpredictable, and delightfully fulfilling. She even gains an impressive friend: Dr. Carolyn Erling, a caring veterinarian with a deeper story than her down-to-earth nature suggests... When Savannah attends a birthday bash for Dr. Carolyn’s husband, she’s astonished to find that her no-frills acquaintance resides in a pristine hilltop mansion with Dr. Stephen Erling, a jet-setter brain surgeon boasting throngs of A-list patients around the globe. Before Savannah can get a headcount on the mingling celebrities, Dr. Stephen has one too many champagne toasts and drops dead. With a poisonous residue found inside Dr. Stephen’s glass, the search is on for the killer who spiked his drink. Motivated to set things right for a devastated Dr. Carolyn, Savannah must infiltrate the elite world of foreign dignitaries and Oscar-winning stars to identify the guilty culprit—or prepare to kiss this happy chapter in her life goodbye.

Release date: July 27, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“You better live in fear, Savannah girl. Look over your shoulder in the daytime and sleep with one eye open ever’ night,” Granny Reid called out as she watched the shenanigans in the backyard through her granddaughter’s laundry room window. “That boy you’ve taken in . . . he’s a handful and a half!”

“You’re telling me?” Savannah Reid called from the adjacent kitchen, where she stood at the stove, preparing breakfast for her household, which seemed to be growing by the day. “I found a spider nearly the size of my hand in my lingerie drawer two mornings ago. Fortunately, it was fake. But before I realized that, I nearly had myself a heart attack.”

Savannah chuckled at the memory as she removed the sizzling, crispy strips of bacon from her cast iron skillet and turned off the heat. Her grandmother had given her that beloved utensil, which had been used by Granny, her mother before her, and no one was sure how many generations before that. It had seen a lot of bacon, fried eggs, and cream gravy in its day and had even been pressed into service as a weapon on more than one occasion.

The Reid gals were renowned, originally in Georgia and now in Southern California, for their ability and willingness to administer a serious skillet smackin’ when sufficiently roused.

Leaving the bacon to drain on a platter covered by paper towels, Savannah stepped out into the laundry room to join her grandmother and see what her newly acquired foster son, “Mr. Brody Greyson,” as he liked to call himself, was doing at the moment.

Trying to find a frog for her shower? Earthworms for the cats’ dishes?

No, she thought. He’d never play a trick, even a harmless one, on a pet.

Brody loved animals fiercely. It was people he liked to mess with, not innocent “critters,” as he liked to call them with his Southern drawl that was as thick as Savannah’s and Granny’s.

Savannah walked over to stand next to Gran and slipped her arm around the older woman’s shoulders. “What’s the little rug rat up to now?” she asked, peering out the window into her backyard.

“I’m not sure,” Granny replied, “but it appears to me he might be playin’ hide-’n’-seek with the Colonel.”

“He probably is. Brody’s been working on teaching him that. Dr. Carolyn told him it was a good way to bond with his new buddy.”

“Dr. Carolyn?”

“His veterinarian friend.”

“Oh, right. I remember him sayin’ somethin’ about her. Seems to think highly of her.”

“He does, and so do I. She’s scary smart, funny, and down-to-earth.”

Granny looked up at Savannah, a loving grin on her face. “Sounds a lot like somebody else I know and love. I’m not surprised you two get along so good.”

Savannah gave her grandmother a sideways hug, then turned her attention to her backyard. She spotted the small boy with tousled blond hair and a pixie face, which was flushed from the exertion of play on a warm, Southern California day, running from one potential hiding spot to another.

Bare feet and tanned skinny legs flying, he darted behind the garage, then out again, over to the gazebo and through her flower garden.

She winced when he came perilously close to her prized Lady in Red peonies, but he deftly maneuvered past them and leapt over a bed of Martha Washington geraniums, landing squarely on one of her mosaic-adorned stepping-stones.

“He’s a spry one,” Granny remarked. “Thank goodness, or those pretty blooms of yours would be lyin’, flat as a flitter, on the ground.”

“I know. I told him once how much my garden means to me, and he’s been careful ever since. Though he does visit the strawberries more often than I’d like. I don’t think I’ll have enough left to make jam this year.”

Granny chuckled. “Somethin’ tells me you’d rather see strawberries on that youngster’s face than in a jar any day.”

“That’s true. I don’t think there was a lot of fresh food available where he came from, judging from the way he gobbles up every bite he gets his hands on. Obviously, his little body needs it. I’m just happy I can provide it.”

“You and Dirk have done wonders with him already. He’s blessed to be with the likes of you two. Good people who care about him. Really care.”

“We’re the ones who’re blessed. Other than a fake spider and some short sheeting, and the occasional and unexpected, cold and refreshing squirt from a water pistol, he’s a joy.”

Savannah grinned as she watched the boy head for the utility shed near the back of the property and the alley. “This particular round of the game is about to come to a happy ending,” she said.

“Yeah, I believe you’re right. Do you see what I see?”

“I do. A long, copper-colored tail sticking out from behind that shed, wagging up a storm.”

“The Colonel’s never been worth a hoot at hiding. He always forgets about his backside.”

They watched as Brody raced toward the shed and the waving appendage that wagged even faster as the boy approached.

“I see you! I see you, Mr. Colonel Beauregard!” Brody shouted as he, too, disappeared momentarily behind the shed.

“Here comes the tussle,” Granny said.

“The tussle’s what it’s all about.” Savannah laughed as, true to her grandmother’s prophecy, Brody and his quarry reappeared, the child dragging the 100-pound bloodhound from his hiding place.

As the boy, who was less than half the dog’s size, tackled the Colonel and forced him to the grass, the hound’s loud, plaintive baying suggested he was suffering greatly. But he always sounded the same, whether he had just received the bite of steak he had been begging for from the barbecue grill or was being denied the opportunity to chase Savannah’s cats.

Savannah could swear she saw something akin to a grin on the droopy, sad-sack face as Brody and the dog grabbed each other in an eyeball-to-eyeball wrestling embrace, then rolled together across the yard.

Brody squealed with delight, and the Colonel howled with equal joy.

“I’m so glad there’s a boy around to keep that mangy mutt occupied,” Granny said, laughing. “I’m too old to roughhouse with ’im that way. When he’s been over here for the day, he goes home and sleeps like he’s a hibernating grizzly.”

“Brody tends to wear everybody around him to a frazzle,” Savannah agreed, “including Dirk and me. But we wouldn’t have it any other way,” she added as she saw her rough-and-tumble foster son plant a quick kiss on the hound’s wrinkle-furrowed brow.

Savannah glanced at her watch. “I’m going to have to call a halt to the wrestling match out there if he’s going to get to school on time.”

“I’ll walk him to school, if you want me to. I don’t mind one bit,” Granny offered so sweetly that Savannah was sorry to have to decline.

“Dirk already said he wants to take him, so I reckon he’s got dibs. You have to get your reservation for Brody time in early.”

“I could pick him up when he gets outta school,” Granny was quick to suggest. “The Colonel and me, we could walk over together, then the three of us could stop at the drugstore and get ice cream cones on the way back. The Colonel loves it when I give him the last bite of my cone. I’d get him one of his own, but it gives him so much gas, he ain’t fit to be around man nor beast.”

Savannah leaned over and kissed the top of her grandmother’s hair, noticing how it glistened silver bright in the morning sunlight coming through the window. “That sounds nice. Brody’ll love it. You share the Colonel with us, it’s only fair we share the boy with you.”

“Colonel Beauregard’s as fine a pooch as ever there was, but I’m still gettin’ the best of that deal.”

“You are,” Savannah told her. “You might have to sweeten the pot with one of your carrot cakes sometime soon.”

“Be glad to.”

“One thing about the ice cream business, though. He promised Dr. Carolyn he’d go to her clinic at four and help her clean some kennels for an hour or so. Seems she’s got a busy day today and needs some help.”

“‘Help’ her exercise some kittens or puppies is more like it. We both know it ain’t the kennel cleanin’ he’s interested in.”

“Can’t blame him much. I’d love to have a job playing with kittens and puppies. It’d beat what I do for a living anytime . . . or don’t do at the moment,” Savannah added when she recalled that she hadn’t had any sort of private detecting for profit in a long while.

Even Dirk’s cases had been quite mundane. A break-in here. A drug bust there.

All in all, the sleepy little coastal town of San Carmelita, California, had been quiet—even on weekends when their beaches were inundated with hordes of visitors from Los Angeles.

Savannah was happy for her fellow townsfolk that they hadn’t been committing any serious crimes against each other lately. But she held the strong opinion that “quiet” was a second cousin to “boring.”

As boring as a house could get with a six-year-old boy, a bloodhound, frequent visits from a feisty grandmother, and Savannah’s little sister, Alma, planning an extravagant wedding to a world-renowned movie star.

There was plenty of activity at all times in the household, but lately, none of it had anything to do with catching bad guys or gals, and that translated to yawns for Savannah.

With all of her newly acquired parental responsibilities and her determination to help Alma have her dream wedding, Savannah had a lot to do. But not anything that got her blood pumping and her brain spinning, and she missed the “action.”

Granny nodded toward the kitchen. “I hear your man up and about in there. He’ll be hollerin’ for his breakfast in a minute.”

“Van?” a deep voice called out from the kitchen. “Where are you, darlin’?”

“Out here with Granny.”

“I smell bacon and coffee.”

Savannah chuckled. “Gran, it’s scary how accurately you can predict human nature.”

“You do somethin’ over eighty years, you’re bound to git good at it,” she replied with a sly grin. “I’ll go start the eggs, while you round up that young’un.”

“Thank you, Gran. Be sure to throw a bunch in the skillet while you’re at it. Don’t hold back. The boy eats as much as Dirk, and I never thought I’d say that about anybody.”

As Granny retreated to the kitchen, Savannah stepped to the back door and opened it. “Yoo-hoo,” she called out. “Brody boy, stop that wallowing around on the ground, getting mud and dog slobber all over you, and come wash up for breakfast.”

Brody froze in midwrestle, then with a great effort, rolled his opponent off him. Even the hound looked surprised at the sudden change of events.

“Sure!” the boy yelled back. “Be right there!”

With exceptional speed and enthusiasm, even for one as vivacious as Mr. Brody Greyson, the child raced inside, the dog at his heels. Savannah had to step aside to keep from being knocked over like a spare bowling pin.

“Wow! You must be plumb starved!” Savannah declared as he streaked by, followed by the baying Colonel.

“Yep” was the curt reply as he ducked into the half bath, gave his hands a quick rinse, then took off for the kitchen.

But it wasn’t hunger on the kid’s face that gave Savannah cause for concern.

No, it was the smirk.

Savannah had been raised with six sisters and two brothers, one named Waycross. He spent much of his childhood time and energy playing various pranks on his family, his schoolmates, and the tiny, rural town of McGill, Georgia, where Granny had raised them.

Much to his family’s embarrassment, the community’s general opinion of the child was: That Reid kid’s got a lotta nerve just bein’ a redhead, let alone a hooligan on top of it.

So, Savannah knew more than her share about mischievous boys and what a sneaky grin and a twinkle in the eye meant, when worn by a male six-year-old.

Something was up. As Granny had predicted, she would have to look over her shoulder and sleep with one eye open until she knew what.

Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter had worked late the night before on a fruitless drug house stakeout. He had arrived home after midnight, cranky and too tired to eat much more than a sandwich. So, Savannah wasn’t surprised when her husband asked if he could have a bowl of cereal while the eggs were frying and the biscuits baking.

Brody jumped up from the table and raced to the cupboard where the boxes of assorted flakes, crisps, and crunches were stored. He returned almost immediately with a box of granola in one hand and the toothsome grin even broader across his face.

There it is again, Savannah thought. Something wicked this way comes for sure.

Fetching cereal might be helpful, but the task seldom caused a child to smile, and Brody was grinning like a kid who’d just been asked if he wanted to go to Disneyland for the day.

Savannah glanced at Granny, who had just taken a chair at the table, and saw that her grandmother was also watching the boy closely, one eyebrow slightly quirked.

Dirk, on the other hand, had just crawled out of bed. Without a sufficient infusion of caffeine-laden coffee, his detective skills were dull at best. He was barely conscious.

But, since they now had a child in the home and Granny was visiting, he had at least deigned to upgrade his usual breakfast table attire from his boxers to pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

Never let it be said he doesn’t give a hoot about his looks, Savannah thought when she saw him run his fingers once through his hair.

Normally, he would have given her at least a moderately lusty good morning hug and kiss when he came downstairs, but after Brody gagging quite loudly upon seeing anything even remotely resembling “gross, mushy junk,” they were limiting their displays of affection to their bedroom.

Gone were the days of impromptu romantic encounters on the sofa, beneath the kitchen table, or on the staircase.

Aww, the price of “parenthood.”

But, as Savannah took over for Granny, flipping the eggs, one by one, onto the platter with the bacon, she glanced Dirk’s way and saw that he was watching her with a somewhat wistful look in his eyes.

No, things hadn’t been quite the same in the romance department since they had become foster parents, but she knew the desire was still ever-present, and she had always found that to be one of the most satisfying benefits of having a love life.

Knowing you were wanted.

As though reading her thoughts, he gave her a wink and an ever-so-slight air kiss, which she returned.

She nodded toward the bowl in front of him. “You best chow down that bowl of cereal before it gets soggy and these eggs get cold,” she said, setting the platter between him and Granny.

“Yeah, I had a few bites of it already,” he said, grimacing down at the bowl. “I’m not crazy about this new stuff you got.”

“It’s organic, high-protein granola,” Savannah said. “Tammy swears it’s better for you than that puffy, sugary stuff you like.”

“Yeah, well, shows you what she knows, health nut that she is.” He grimaced. “This stuff tastes like sh—” He looked at Granny, then Brody. “Garbage. Tastes worse than garbage, in fact.”

“You sound like an expert. You been eatin’ a lotta garbage lately?” Brody asked, suppressing a giggle.

“No, he has not,” Granny interjected. “Mostly he eats my granddaughter’s good down-home cookin’, and that’s some of the best food to be had on God’s green earth.”

“That’s for sure!” Brody said. “But she didn’t cook this here new cereal, and Dirk don’t like it one itty-bitty bit.” Brody reached over and poked one of the pieces floating in the milk. “What does it taste like, really?” he asked with what looked to Savannah like a mock serious expression on his face.

“Like a combination of dirty socks and a stale tuna sandwich.”

“Ah, come on now . . . it cain’t be all that bad.” Granny reached over and slid the bowl to her side of the table. “Lemme have a bite.”

“No!”

Everyone jumped and turned to look at Brody, who had practically hurled himself across the table to grab the bowl away from Granny. He pulled it against his chest and wrapped his arms around it.

“What the heck, young man?” Dirk said. “You don’t snatch food outta anybody’s hand, let alone from hers! Around here, we show respect to our elders!”

Savannah would have joined her husband in his admonition, but she could see he was doing fine on his own . . . besides, a light bulb had flipped on in her brain.

“I’m sorry, Granny,” Brody said, looking rattled and more than a little remorseful. “It’s just that, well, he said it didn’t taste good, and I didn’t want you to put something icky in your mouth, ’cause, you know, you’re our most elderest elder.”

Savannah walked over to Brody, put her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed, a tad harder than usual. With the other hand, she reached around him and took the bowl from him.

She studied the assorted bits and pieces floating in the milk, poking a few with her fingertip.

“Hm-m,” she said. “Some of these pieces are green.” She held the bowl up to her nose and took a sniff. “Smells sorta strange, too. Even for Tammy’s oddball, healthy stuff.”

“Lemme go flush it down the toilet,” Brody offered, far too eagerly. “I mean, if it’s bad, we don’t want anybody else eatin’ it.”

Savannah picked up one of the green bits, looked it over, then put it to her nose and sniffed it. “Well, well. I think we’re gonna need to have a talk with that Tammy about her recommending this cereal to us. These green pieces do smell like gym socks and a week-old tuna sandwich, and I suspect there’s a good reason why that’s true.”

“Maybe it’s past its expiration date,” Brody said, grabbing the box and making a big show of looking for the stamp. “You gotta watch out for that. Especially with cereal. Ain’t nothin’ worse for you than expired cereal!”

Savannah walked over to the cabinet and took out a different box. “I hope the cats enjoy their new, healthy, organic food that their aunt Tammy recommended I get, too.”

Brody looked alarmed as she headed for the cat dishes in the corner. “No!” he said. “I wouldn’t give them that! It might not be good for them! Dr. Carolyn says you gotta be careful what you give your pets. They can’t eat everything we do.”

Savannah pointed to the writing on the box. “It doesn’t expire for several months yet, and it’s all wholesome ingredients that cats enjoy.”

“Like tuna?” Granny asked with a twinkle in her eye.

Savannah read the fine print on the end of the box. “Hey, exactly like tuna. It’s the number one ingredient, in fact.”

A second later, the room seemed to explode.

Dirk jumped up so fast that he overturned his chair. Brody dove under the table, crawled to the other side, where he scrambled to his feet, and ran for the back door with Dirk in pursuit.

“Boy, when I get my hands on you,” he roared, “you are gonna wish that you—”

Brody escaped through the door half a second before Dirk reached him.

But the cop who had come up empty-handed during his surveillance the night before seemed determined not to lose his quarry, even if it meant apprehending the culprit in his own backyard, in full view of any nosy neighbors, while still wearing his pajamas.

Colonel Beauregard raced after them, slipping and sliding on Savannah’s freshly waxed floor, his ears and jowls flapping, filling the house with his full-throated baying.

Savannah and Granny casually walked to the utility room window and watched as man, boy, and dog met in the middle of the yard—thankfully nowhere near Savannah’s peonies or geraniums—in a writhing, howling, laughing heap of testosterone-fueled manliness.

“I ain’t ever eatin’ nothin’ in your house again that didn’t just come outta a sealed can or jar,” Granny said.

“You don’t need to worry,” Savannah told her. “Brody would never let you or the kitties eat something they weren’t supposed to.”

“Just Dirk,” Granny said, watching her grandson-in-law apply a knuckle-noogie to Brody’s head as the child squealed with laughter.

The Colonel grabbed Dirk’s fist in his big, wet mouth and fake growled until the rubbing stopped.

“Getting one up on another fella, it’s a guy thing. So is taking revenge on the guy who gotcha,” Savannah said.

Granny laughed. “Apparently so. Let’s leave them to it, while you and me go tie into them eggs and biscuits before they get cold.”

As they headed back toward the kitchen, Granny added, “You’ve got plenty of peach preserves, right?”

“Of course. Apple butter, too.”

“That’s a girl thing.”

“It sure is!”

“Are you absolutely, positively sure that we were invited to this party, Brody?” Savannah asked the boy for the third time since he had come home from the veterinary clinic, after so proudly announcing their impromptu plans for the evening.

“Dr. Carolyn said she wants us to come to a party at her house tonight!” he had proclaimed as Savannah was driving him home from his backbreaking labor of playing fetch with the clinic’s mascot, an ancient golden retriever named Maggie Malone. “It’s a birthday party! It’ll be so much fun. I can’t wait!”

Savannah had voiced her concerns that maybe she should call the good doctor and confirm the invitation only to be told, “Why? Don’t you trust me? I wouldn’t lie about a thing like a birthday party!”

After half an hour of questioning the youngster, Savannah had gleaned precious few facts to connect the dots. Apparently, the birthday “boy” was Dr. Carolyn’s husband, Stephen, and no, they weren’t expected to bring a present, since it was such short notice, and no, they didn’t need to dress up. Dr. Carolyn didn’t care about such things. Brody insisted she had said so while offering the invitation.

As a result, Dirk, Savannah, and Brody were riding along in Dirk’s vintage Buick Skylark, heading north on the Pacific Coast Highway. It was a lovely drive with gently sloping, California-beige hills to their right, pristine beaches to their left, and the mighty ocean in all its grandeur filling the western horizon. The sun hung low in the turquoise sky, setting the clouds ablaze with shades of golden and coral.

As pleasant as the trip had been so far, they were hoping to arrive soon at the small community of Joya del Mar, jewel of the sea. While officially part of San Carmelita, an expanse of undeveloped beach separated it from . . .