Killer Honeymoon Part 11

"I'm sure. I was polishing his shoes. I always polish his shoes in the morning, after I iron his shirt and his jeans. Burt likes to look sharp when he goes out drinking with his buddies at night."

Savannah reached for her arm and pulled her toward the door.

"Well, darlin', you've polished his shoes for the last time," she told her. "Where ol' Burt's going, he'll be wearing rubber slippers. If he figures they need a shine, maybe he can get his cellmates, Rocco the Rat or the Southside Stabber, to do it."

Chapter 10.

"We have good news and bad news," Savannah told Tammy on the phone as she and Dirk traveled from Luna Bonita toward the Pacific coast on Interstate 10. "First of all, Burt Ferris didn't kill Amelia. He was too busy beating up his girlfriend."

"Is that the good news or the bad?" Tammy asked.

"Both. We have to rule him out for Amelia's murder, but his girlfriend is pressing charges against him, and it'll be his third strike."

"Three times, he's out!" Tammy said.

"That's right."

"That is awesome!"

Savannah decided not to remind Tammy of all the conversations they'd had about the pros and cons of California's controversial three-strikes law, where three felonies sent the offender to prison for life.

"I can't pretend I'm not happy about that," Tammy said. "He won't abuse anybody else."

"Not girlfriends anyway. I don't know how he'll do with the other dudes in jail."

"Well, it just so happens, I'm at your house. While Waycross and I are waiting for Granny to pack for the island, we've been doing some more research. We've got some news for you," Tammy said. "Don't know if it's good or bad, but it's interesting."

"Okay, let 'er rip, kiddo. I'm putting you on speakerphone so Dirk can hear."

Savannah punched some b.u.t.tons, then laid the phone on the Buick's dash.

"Hey, airhead," Dirk said.

"Hey, doody face," came the reply.

"Stop it!" Savannah nudged Dirk with her elbow. "Act your ages, you couple of pee-pee puddles. Tams, tell us your news."

After the giggling subsided on the other end, Tammy said, "I ran a check on William Northrop."

"Yes," Savannah replied. "And . . . ?"

"He's loaded."

"We knew that already," Dirk said as he pa.s.sed a female driver, who was undeniably driving far too slow.

He gave her the obligatory glare as he went around her, but she didn't notice. She was too busy texting.

"Northrop's a land developer," Savannah said. "If a guy's gonna go around buying huge tracts of land, clearing them off, and building office complexes, strip malls, and luxury apartment buildings, he's gotta have at least a few shekels in his pocket."

They heard Tammy sigh. "Well, if you two are such smarty-pants," she said, "you tell me where Mr. William Northrop has been for the past two weeks. And think 'interesting.' "

Savannah took the bait. "Okay, Miss Tamitha Hart, font of all knowledge. Where?"

"The hospital."

"Hmmm." Savannah turned and looked at Dirk. "I suppose that could be interesting."

Dirk said, "What was he there for? Let me guess. Getting his tonsils taken out? A hangnail-ectomy?"

"No. It's better than that. Way better." She paused far longer than she needed to for effect.

Everything but the d.a.m.ned drumroll and twenty-one gun salute, Savannah thought as she waited and fantasized about holding Tammy up by the heels and shaking the information out of her.

"No, it wasn't hangnail surgery. No liposuction or Botox treatments," Tammy said finally. "Nothing fun like that. And he wasn't getting his tonsils taken out either." Another interminable pause, and then, "He was getting the bullet taken out."

" 'Bullet'?" Savannah and Dirk said in unison.

"That's right." Tammy sounded insufferably self-satisfied. "Someone shot him in the abdomen area. Nearly killed him."

"Oh, wow!" Savannah said. "No wonder you were so smug. That was actually worth your annoyingly long, pregnant pause that had me wanting to throttle you."

"He's still in the hospital?" Dirk asked.

"Nope. He was released day before yesterday."

"Do they know who shot him or why?" Savannah wanted to know.

"Awww, come on. I'm good, but I'm not that good! I know they haven't made any arrests for it. That's as far as I got."

"Ya did good, kid," Dirk told her.

Tammy giggled. "You know, I could be arrested for what I do for you guys. Hacking personal medical files like that."

"Shhh," Dirk said. "You can tell Savannah the nitty-gritty details, but not me. I'm still a law enforcement officer and-"

"And if they stretched him on a torture rack to get it out of him," Savannah interjected, "he'd fold like a cheap lawn chair."

He shot her a dirty look. "I was thinking more along the lines of me flunking a lie detector test. Sheez."

"You guys are going by your house on your way to the island, aren't you?" Tammy asked.

"Yes," Savannah said. "I want to pick up a few things to take to the cottage. Why?"

"Because Granny just told me to tell you that she filled up a cooler with stuff from the refrigerator for you. It's on the table."

"Tell her, 'Thank you,' and give her a hug for me."

"Will do."

Up ahead, Savannah could see one of her favorite landmarks in the world, the McClure Tunnel.

"If that's all, puddin', we're gonna go for now," she told Tammy. "We're about an hour and change away from San Carmelita. I'll check back with you later, once we're on the island."

"Okay."

"Thank you for all your good work. Waycross too."

"I'll tell him you said so. And we'll see if we can figure out who shot Mr. Northrop."

"You do that. Toodle-oo."

Savannah hung up the phone, stuck it back in her purse, and got ready for a pleasure that never grew old for her, no matter how many times she experienced it.

"Here comes your tunnel, baby," Dirk said as the cement walls, asphalt roadway, and metal railings all fed into a dark pa.s.sageway, leading to Paradise on earth.

"I love this," she said.

"I know you do," he replied. "That's why I always come this way instead of taking the 101."

They and their fellow interstate travelers were being funneled into Santa Monica's McClure Tunnel, a delicious gateway from inland California to the Pacific coastline.

Dirk honked halfway through for Savannah's benefit, as he always did. It made her feel about five years old, but in a good way.

"Is it just this tunnel that turns you on," he asked, "or will any tunnel do?"

A few seconds later, they emerged from the other end, and it was like plunging from the darkness into a pool of sunlight.

"It's this one," she said, drinking in the sight of the sparkling blue ocean to their left and the picturesque Santa Monica Pier. To their right, blue mountains edged the ocean, stretching far into the distance, dotted with mansions of every style imaginable.

"It's so special to me," she told him, "because this is where I first saw the ocean."

"The Pacific Ocean?"

"Any ocean. I came through that tunnel and saw this and I knew my spirit was at home. It was when I first came from Georgia to California . . . before I met you." She reached over and took his hand. "It took all the courage I could muster to leave everyone and everything I knew back there and move out here," she said. "But I had no choice. I just had to follow my dream. I'm so thankful I did."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. "Me too, baby. Me too."

When Savannah and Dirk boarded the San CarmelitaSanta Tesla Ferry, Dirk and the hefty cooler he was carrying got a few weird looks from his fellow pa.s.sengers.

But those weren't the looks that bothered Savannah.

"Did you get a load of that guy who checked our tickets?" Savannah said as Dirk stowed the cooler in the luggage compartment.

He pointed to a couple of empty seats nearby. "Yeah. Something tells me he wasn't just checking out the contents of the cooler when he told us to step aside and get inspected there."

They settled into the chairs, which were only a bit bigger and slightly less comfortable than airline seats. Savannah shoved her carry-on bag beneath her. Since it appeared their honeymoon was going to be a bit more practical and less romantic than she had expected, she figured she'd need a few more slacks and shirts and less of the beachwear she had waiting for her at the lightkeeper's cottage.

She leaned close to Dirk so their fellow pa.s.sengers couldn't hear and whispered in his ear. "That other deckhand, the one standing behind the guy who checked the cooler-I'm pretty sure I saw him take our picture with his cell phone."

"Yeah, I saw that, too," Dirk replied. "And the two of them said something about us, once they'd let us on. People talk about me behind my back all the time. I know the signs."

Savannah chuckled. It was true. While she loved the curmudgeon sitting beside her, she had to admit that much of the rest of the world didn't. Dirk Coulter was an acquired taste. And where he was concerned, most people didn't bother to come back to the buffet for seconds.

Long ago, Granny Reid had taught Savannah to differentiate between someone's personality and their character. "Personality is what a body shows to the world," Gran said. "Salesmen have great personalities. They have to, or n.o.body'll buy what they've got to sell. But not all of 'em will give you your money's worth. Not all of 'em have good character."

Granny had also told her grandchildren, "There are a lot of charming people out there with bad characters, and there are cranky people with hearts of gold. You can see a body's personality in a heartbeat. Might take years of seeing how they conduct their lives to know their character."

For years, Savannah had watched Dirk alienate most of the people around him with his impatience, his bluntness, and, at times, his downright rudeness. He was, without a doubt, the biggest grumbler, the crabbiest grouser, and all-around pain-in-the-b.u.t.t curmudgeon she had ever known.

But while he didn't suffer fools gladly, Dirk had infinite patience with the few people he loved most in the world. And he was always kind and supportive of those who were trying their best to reach a mark, even when they fell short. He would gladly put his life on the line to save another person, simply because he considered it the right thing to do as a human being and because it was his duty as a cop.

Savannah loved him. Because-rotten personality aside-Dirk had good character. She knew she could count on him. And besides, salesmen with sparkling personalities were a dime a dozen.

"I'm gonna get sick again," he said as the ferry pulled away from the dock. "In a few minutes, I'm gonna be spittin' chunks over the side, just like I was on the trip before. Man, oh man-this bites."

"Try not to think about it, darlin'," she told him as she gave a sickly smile to the pa.s.sengers sitting in their vicinity, who were all looking at Dirk with alarm and disgust.

He folded his arms across his belly and leaned forward. "Boy, that stew we had back at your house ain't gonna taste half as good comin' up as it did goin' down."

The couple sitting in front of them sprang to their feet and moved to seats that were much farther away.

"Uh-oh! That's it! I'm outta here." Dirk jumped up and headed for the back of the boat.

Savannah sat and considered her options. She could turn to everyone around her and say something like, "I don't actually know him. He just sorta followed me onto the boat." Or, "He's not usually like this. The rest of the time he's more like, um, Sean Connery or Cary Grant."

They kept staring at her. And it was going to be a long boat ride. She felt like she had to do something.

"Yeah, I know," she finally said to the woman sitting closest to her. "But if it was you who was sick, he's the kinda guy who'd hold your hair, pat you on the back, and then give you a stick of peppermint gum when it was all over with. Okay?"

The woman looked away. Eventually so did the rest of the pa.s.sengers.

Savannah settled back in her seat and glanced down at the sparkling wedding ring on her finger. Once again, she contemplated the true meaning of love. It occurred to her that part of loving Dirk Coulter was going to be, for the rest of her life, telling the world that he was a much better guy than they thought he was.

As Savannah and Dirk turned the key to the lightkeeper's cottage and stepped inside, she said, "It feels like a year since we were here."

"Two years," he said, following her toward the back of the cottage, lugging the cooler with many a grunt and a groan.

"That was a first for me," he said, "carting food on a ferry and then in a taxi." He set it on the table with a grunt. "Last time I lifted a cooler that heavy, it had a dismembered body inside it."

"That was definitely more information than I needed right before dinner." She removed the cooler's lid and looked inside. "This one's full of amazing food, guaranteed, 'cause my blessed granny packed it."

"I'm sure that it is. You Reid gals live in perpetual fear that someone in your presence might actually suffer a hunger pang."