Just Desserts (17 page)

Savannah seriously considered hanging up the phone without saying another word. But if she did, the kid would just call back again, and she didn’t think her system could stand hearing that shrill ring again so soon.

“Atlanta, I was asleep. I just had the
worst
day of my life, I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not even you.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. This is fantastic! You’re gonna love this; trust me.”

“No, Atlanta,
you
are the one who doesn’t understand. I
hate
chipper, happy, bouncy people who wake me up in the morning.
Hate
them. But
you
are waking me up in the middle of the night, and you’re chipper and bouncy. That’s much worse.”

“Savannah, guess what I’ve done? Come on, just try.”

“Good night, Atlanta.”

“No, wait! You’re going to be so surprised. Guess where I am?”

“Where you are?” Fatigue was muddling her brain again, and she could hardly concentrate. “I suppose you’re there. Right?”

“Wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Yeah ... Savannah, I’m here!”

“Like I said, you’re there in—”

“No, I’m here in California at LAX! I just flew in on the red-eye flight. Mom said I could come out here and live with you! She even paid for my ticket. Isn’t that just totally cool?”

Savannah lay, staring up at the ceiling, her mouth hanging open, her jaw slack. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. It was one shock too many. Her circuits had been completely blown.

“There’s just one thing ...” She could hear the voice, as though from far away. “... I bought some really neat clothes on my layover in Denver, you know, in those cute little gift shops, and I don’t have any more money on me, you know, for a cab. So ... could you come get me? Could you, Savannah? Savannah? Sava-a-a-a-annah!”

Fortunately, Savannah’s anger brought its accompanying shot of adrenaline, so she had no trouble staying awake while negotiating the maze known as Los Angeles International Airport.

She considered parking in one of the forbidden, sacred, “white” zones and sticking her police ID card in the window. But she was still far too bitter to want to affiliate herself with any police force at the moment, even for the convenience of free parking.

After stashing the Camaro in one of the quickie lots across the street from Atlanta’s terminal, she made her way through the parking structure to the elevator. Ordinarily she would have used the steps, but tonight she wanted to avoid as many challenges as possible.

Stepping through the sliding doors, she found herself inside the small enclosure with a couple of rough-looking teenaged boys. The color of their jackets and bandannas and the name of the football team on their caps identified them as members of one of the more violent L.A. gangs.

The older of the two flashed her a less-than-genuine smile, then began to look her up and down with predator’s eyes, taking in every detail from her watch to her purse and the gold chain around her neck.

She had been sized up before, while playing decoy in robbery stings. She knew the look.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said in a low, menacing tone as she slid her hand inside her jacket, where she kept the Beretta. She had no intention of drawing the gun unless she had to, but the gesture was one every street kid knew.

He took a step back from her and toward his friend. His expression and his body language told her that he had gotten the message, but she wanted to be sure.

“I’m not kidding,” she said. “If you knew how goddamned mad I am right now, you wouldn’t even want to be in this elevator with me.”

The doors opened, and they hurried out as quickly as they could without losing their cool.

She felt the letdown, the relief surge through her body, leaving her weak in the knees. Over the years she had been in similar situations many times. But she had never gotten to the point where it didn’t scare the shit out of her. Maybe now that she wasn’t a cop those experiences would become rarities, instead of the norm.

As she hurried into the terminal, she scanned the area for a dark-haired, blue-eyed Southern beauty, standing alone and forlorn ... one she wanted to hug, then strangle.

Instead she saw a teenager who had her sister’s eyes and face, but whose hair had been bleached and dyed an impossibly bright shade of red. Her figure had filled out considerably in the past six months, but unlike Savannah, it had been in all the right places.

And she was hardly alone or forlorn. Four guys in gaudy, pimp attire hovered around her, like buzzards over an old prospector on his last gasp. Damned vultures. They hung around the airport, trying to recruit any young kid who looked like she had just arrived via turnip truck.

But what distressed Savannah most was that Atlanta was giggling and mincing with them as though she was surrounded by a bevy of eligible gentlemen beaus. Her peals of laughter echoed all the way across the room, and Savannah watched in horror as the girl placed her hand on one of the guy’s shoulders and gave him a friendly nudge.

Good God!
she thought.
Can’t she just tell by looking at that guy that he’s got the creeping crud?

“Atlanta! Atlanta!” she shouted, not caring that a dozen people were staring.

“Savannah!” The girl let out an ear-piercing squeal of delight as she threw down her suitcases and ran to Savannah, arms outstretched.

Savannah gave her a hearty hug, keeping one eye on the luggage, lest it sprout feet and walk away.

“What were you doing, talking to those jerks?” she said as she walked across the room to retrieve the bags from the floor. She gave the guys her best evil eye. “You’ve got to be careful, kid. You’re in the big city now.”

Atlanta stood, her lip stuck out, pouting like a four-year-old who hadn’t gotten her favorite flavor Popsicle. “Gee, Savannah, the first thing you do is yell at me and start bossing me around. Why do you think I left Georgia?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, motioning her toward the large glass doors. “Why
did
you leave?”

“Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”

“I’m sure you will,” Savannah muttered as she anticipated the drive ahead, Atlanta nattering happily in her ear. She was too tired to breathe, let alone listen to worthless babbling and try to insert the proper “Oh, really? You don’t say. Hmm-mm-mm.”

This just wasn’t going to work; she could tell already. With a sinking feeling, she watched yet another streetworn guy in a garish white suit and hat saunter over in their direction.

“Hey, hey ... beautiful ladies,” he said, slathering the charm on thick. “Do you have a ride to where you’re going? Do you need a place to stay, a nice dinner maybe?”

Atlanta smiled and opened her mouth to respond; Savannah shoved the suitcase at him. “I’m a cop, asshole, and this is
my
little sister,” she told him. “Get the hell out of my face before I bust you.”

The guy seemed to evaporate before their eyes.

“God, Savannah, you are so rude!” Atlanta pursed her too-red lips petulantly, reminding Savannah of when she had been caught eating Mama’s lipstick. Somehow the expression had been a lot cuter then. “Why did you say that to him? He was just being nice.”

“Being nice, my hind end,” Savannah said, forging ahead and out the sliding glass doors.

“But he offered to buy us dinner.”

“Yeah, and do you know how you would have been expected to pay for it?”

She shrugged. “He acted like it was his treat.”

At the curb Savannah handed Atlanta the smaller of the two bags and punched the button on the pole to change the traffic light. “He’s a pimp, Atlanta. So were those other guys you were talking to. They were trying to pick you up, recruit you. Got it?”

Atlanta’s mouth opened wide; then she snapped it shut. “Well, I be ...”

She seemed surprised, but not exactly indignant. In fact, she didn’t look nearly as appalled as Savannah would have liked. Any decent Southern belle would have swooned at the very thought.

The girl reached up and fluffed her hair with one hand, in a gesture that looked like a bad impression of Mae West. She smiled coquettishly. “Gee, then they must have thought I was pretty cute or, you know, sexy.... I mean, if they wanted me to be one of their girls ...”

It was Savannah’s turn to be amazed. “No, ’Lanta,” she said, shaking her head, “you’ve got it all wrong. You don’t have to be cute to be a hooker. That’s just in the movies. In real life all you have to be is young and stupid.”

One look at her sister’s face told Savannah that she had been wrong about the ride home. She wasn’t going to have to listen to Atlanta’s chattering after all. No, the drive was going to be long, cold, and very silent.

A
s Savannah rounded the final corner to her house, she glanced down at her watch. Seven-thirty. There was hardly any point in going back to bed now. She had always found it next to impossible to sleep in the daytime, even with thick window-shades and a satin mask.

Glancing at Atlanta, who sat beside her, still pouting, Savannah could see that she was far from sleepy, too. The little booger had probably snoozed several hours on the flight. Atlanta had never had any problem sleeping, day or night, horizontal or vertical.

“This visit of yours is going to be pretty long and miserable,” Savannah said, “if you and I aren’t even speaking to each other.”

“Well you started it.” Atlanta crossed her arms over her chest and pushed out her chin. “You’re not any better than Mom. Neither one of you gives me any respect.”

Savannah whipped the car into the driveway and cut the key. Leaning her forearms wearily against the top of the steering wheel, she said, “In the first place, Atlanta, respect isn’t something that you are given on demand. Respect is something you earn. And—”

“But I
have
tried to earn your respect.”

“Yes, you have. And I do respect you a lot more than you realize. I think you’re an intelligent, funny, and kind person. You’re also an extremely talented singer.”

“And cute.”

Savannah smiled and nodded. “Yes, much too cute for your own good. It’s a problem all of us Reid gals have ... that and an overabundance of boobs.”

“And humility,” Atlanta added with a giggle. “We’re far too humble.”

“Ah, yes, of all our countless virtues, humility is the greatest of all.”

As Savannah climbed out of the Camaro, she experienced the first fleeting moment of happiness and levity she had felt for the past three days. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a burden after all, having the kid around for a while.

“So, how long do you intend to vacation here in the California sunshine?” she asked, helping Atlanta pull her bags from the trunk.

“Vacation? Oh, you thought this was a vacation?”

“Yes ...” Savannah felt her throat closing.

“Oh, no, it’s a lot better than that! Mama said I could actually
live
with you! She’s going to be sending all the rest of my stuff next week. Isn’t that great?”

“Wonderful,” Savannah replied, slamming the trunk closed with a bit more force than was required. “Did it occur to either you or Mama to call and discuss it with me first?”

“Sure. I told her we should phone you, but she said it would be better to surprise you.”

“Yes, I’ll bet she did.”

This wasn’t the first time Mama had gotten rid of one of the brood by shipping them off to her. Mama had a damned good reason for not calling first; she knew Savannah would say no.

Making a mental note to call her mother as soon as possible and delay the shipment of all the “stuff,” Savannah hefted two of the suitcases and led Atlanta up the walk to the house.

“Your place is kinda cute,” Atlanta observed, “like a little dollhouse. I was expecting something newer and bigger, but this will do.”

“Gee, I’m so relieved,” Savannah muttered, wondering how many times she could hear the adjective cute without barfing.

As they approached the porch, she was startled to see someone standing there in the shadow of the bougainvillea: Beverly Winston.

Savannah glanced back over her shoulder and saw the burgundy Volvo parked in front of her house. She had been so occupied with Atlanta that she hadn’t noticed it before.

“Mrs. Winston,” she said, setting the luggage on the porch. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Beverly Winston offered her hand and an apologetic half smile. “I have to talk to you, Detective Reid.” She glanced Atlanta’s way and looked uneasy. “It’s very important ... and private.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.”

Savannah turned to her sister. Like anyone who thinks they might get to hear something they shouldn’t, she looked eager and curious.

“Let’s go inside,” Savannah said, unlocking the door. “You and I can talk in the living room. Atlanta ... you can watch television in my bedroom ... you know ... for a while....”

“Sure, no problem.” Again the lip protruded, even farther this time. She stomped into the living room, where she pitched the suitcases onto the floor. “I can take a hint. I’ll get lost. Just like home,” she added under her breath as she disappeared up the stairs.

“Teenagers,” Savannah said, shaking her head. “I wish we could just put them on ice the day they turn thirteen, and not thaw them out until they’re ... oh ... about thirty.”

“The world would be a simpler place, to be sure,” Beverly replied. “But far less pleasant or exciting.”

Savannah offered her a chair and a cup of coffee. She accepted the seat but declined anything to drink.

“No, thank you. I want to get straight to the point and tell you why I’m here.”

Savannah sat on the sofa beside her, forcing herself not to sit on the edge of the cushion. But it wasn’t easy to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the past couple of days.

Why would Beverly Winston approach her? Hadn’t she been fired for going after the councilwoman? Savannah thought Beverly would have been relieved to be rid of her. A hundred possibilities were racing through her head, none of which made any sense.