Part 25 (1/2)
”No.” Opal shook her head. ”You didn't see her eyes. I'm telling you, when Amelia Northrop left here that day, she looked like a woman who had completely lost her mind.”
”That was the last time you saw her or communicated with her in any way?”
”Yes. After he was shot, I tried to phone her. Left her several messages. But she wouldn't return my calls. I was so relieved to hear that Mr. Northrop had survived his injuries. I was surprised when someone told me he had gone home from the hospital and she was still with him, nursing him even.”
She wiped her hand over her eyes, as though trying not to see the haunting images inside her mind. ”Then, just when I thought I was mistaken about the whole thing, just when I thought we were in the clear, I heard she was . . . that she'd been . . .”
Opal's voice broke, and she started to cry. Savannah got up from her chair, walked over to her and knelt beside her.
Taking the woman's hand, she patted it and said, ”It's okay. It's all right. Whatever happened, you didn't cause it.”
Opal choked in her tears and squeezed Savannah's fingers in a grip so tight it hurt. ”I just don't know what to think now. I don't know what happened. I can't go to the Santa Tesla police with my information. It would just get me in that much more trouble.”
”No, I don't believe it would,” Savannah said. ”From what you just told us, I can't think of any law you've broken. You didn't cause William Northrop to cheat on his wife. She came to you for a service, and you rendered it according to her desires. You didn't shoot anybody. I think you're okay.”
”No, you don't understand,” Opal told her, tears streaming down through the dust on her cheeks. ”I can't go to the cops because the other woman, the one William Northrop was seeing, is Chief La Cross.”
Chapter 20.
”When did you just know the other woman was gonna be La Cross,” Dirk asked as they drove away from Opal Parson's home.
”The minute Betty Sue told me Opal specialized in cheater catching,” Savannah replied smugly.
”You did not.”
”Did too. You saw the way she was looking at him across the table there at the Lobster Bisque. Goo-goo eyes all the way. I can't believe you missed it.”
He shuddered. ”I didn't consider it a real possibility. I mean, did you see that woman? I hate to say it, but she's one unattractive chick, and she's got a lousy personality, to boot. You wouldn't catch me within a ten-mile radius of her, if I could help it.”
” 'Unattractive chick'?” Savannah shook her head. ”Boy, you could use some enlightenment cla.s.ses.”
He laughed. ”If you haven't been able to change me in all these years, do you really think cla.s.ses are gonna help?”
”Good point.”
They had arrived at the Santa Tesla police station, and Dirk found a parking spot for the Jaguar.
As they got out and went inside the building, Savannah couldn't help wondering when they'd be able to leave again. If things went badly with Chief La Cross, they might be looking at cement and iron bars for quite a while.
”Ryan and John are up to date on all this, right?” Dirk asked, his hand protectively on her waist. ”They know that if we don't come up for air in an hour or so-”
”They'll be calling the FBI, the coast guard, the cavalry, and Batman and Robin.”
”Good. And Granny'll take care of the cats if-”
”Shus.h.!.+ I'm nervous enough without you catastrophizing.”
”And Granny'll bring us food if-”
She slapped him on the back of the head.
He laughed. ”Okay, okay. Just making sure all bases are covered.”
They entered the front door, and-just as Savannah had dreaded-there was her nemesis again. Or at least his carbon copy.
He lit up at the sight of her.
”No!” she said. ”Do not even start with me. If you do, I swear, I'll s.n.a.t.c.h that ugly rug thing off your head and ram it down your throat.”
The l.u.s.t faded from his eyes as he donned a distinctly ”p.i.s.sy” look.
”We need to talk to the chief,” Dirk said, ”and don't give us any c.r.a.p about her not being here. We saw that big black sedan of hers in the parking lot.”
”We're not leaving until we talk to her,” Savannah added.
The desk attendant reluctantly picked up his phone and punched a couple of numbers. ”Yes, Chief,” he said. ”You got a couple out here insisting they wanna see you.” He glanced them over, head to toe, taking in their attire and general appearance. ”Yeah, ratty-lookin' big guy in a beat-up bomber jacket. Tall, husky girl, dark hair. It's them. Okay.”
Dirk looked down at his jacket. ” 'Beat-up'? What are you talking about, 'beat-up'?”
” 'Husky'?” Savannah said. ”Catch up on the latest PC terms, boy. It's full-figured or plus-sized these days. Sheez!”
The receptionist gave her a curt wave toward the hallway behind him. ”Second door on the right.”
”By the way,” she said as they pa.s.sed his desk, ”you are follicle-free and comb unenc.u.mbered. And n.o.body gives a hoot. So take that dead-squirrel skin off your head and enjoy the fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne on your head for a change.”
As they walked down the hall toward the chief's office, Dirk nudged her. ”Did you mean what you said back there? Is it true that n.o.body cares if a guy's bald or not?”
Savannah stifled a grin. She knew Dirk was deadly serious about this topic. What he had on top was thinning year by year, and she wouldn't be surprised to find out that he literally counted the hairs on a regular basis.
”No one cares, but the guy. And he shouldn't,” she said. ”Really. Believe me. Women couldn't care less about that.”
He smiled. ”Good to know.”
”But stop grinnin' like a goat chewin' b.u.mblebees. You can't be in a good mood when we're fixing to do battle.”
”That's true.” He put on his best Clint Eastwood scowl and knocked, a bit harder than necessary, on the door with CHIEF CHARLOTTE LA CROSS lettered in gold on the textured gla.s.s.
”Come in” was the less-than-friendly reply.
They entered the office and found it as austere as the woman in black who was seated behind a desk that was equally black. Savannah wondered if anyone had ever mentioned to Charlotte La Cross that a splash of color in one's surroundings or in a body's wardrobe could do wonders for depression and a sour disposition.
And Chief La Cross looked like she was feeling even more tart than usual.
”What do you two want?” she snapped as she rifled through a stack of papers on her desk without making eye contact with them. ”Say what you've got to say and then get the h.e.l.l out of my office. I'm busy.”
”Yes, you do look busy, shuffling your papers around like that,” Savannah said. ”In fact, you look about as busy as a cat coverin' up c.r.a.p on a marble floor. Is that what you're doing, Chief? Making sure all the c.r.a.p's covered?”