Free Sugar and Spite by G. A. McKevett Page A

drawer, are you?”
    Once they were inside and had the door closed and locked behind them, Dirk turned to Savannah. “You did say you were going to ‘whop’ him ‘upside the head.’ That is what you said, isn’t it?”
    “Yep. That’s what I said.”
    “And you called them mangy-assed hyenas. That’s several words.”
    “And what’s your point?”
    “You said we were going to walk in here, head high, dignified, and not saying a word.”
    “I did not. I said
you
had to do that. I didn’t say a word about me.”
    They walked in silence down the hall, past family court, municipal court, and traffic court, heading for the police department hotshots’ offices.
    As they approached the main door, Dirk said, “I guess you realize… it’s going to be
you
, mouthing off on the eleven o’clock news.”
    She shrugged. “Oh, well, it won’t be the first time.”
    “Or, knowing you, the last.”
    She smiled up at him and nudged him toward the door. “Stop your carryin’ on and get in there. The principal’s waiting.”
    Dirk gulped and stared at the closed door several seconds, took a deep breath, and said, “Are you coming with me?”
    “All the way, buddy. All the way.”
     
    * * *
     
    But Savannah didn’t go with Dirk all the way… or, for that matter, even part of the way. The moment they walked through the door into the reception room—which didn’t make visitors feel all that welcome with its cold gray walls and even colder metal folding chairs—they were met by a less than jovial party of department brass. An impatient, cheerless Lieutenant Jeffries was there to greet him, along with the newly promoted Detective Jake McMurtry and Police Chief Norman Hillquist, one of Savannah’s least favorite people on God’s green earth.
    In a more honest, less emotionally charged moment, Savannah might have admitted, at least to herself, that Norman Hillquist was one of those classic, tall, dark, and handsome types. But, hating him as she did, for kicking her off the force some years back, she preferred to think of him as the creep in the black designer suit and unimaginative white shirt with the generic maroon tie.
    Oh, yes… and she liked to picture him and his mundane clothing tumbling head over heels down a long flight of concrete steps… with a pit full of hungry Mississippi gators at the bottom. Somehow, she found the image comforting.
    She shot Hillquist a dark look and received one in return. Mentally, she sent him the silent message, “Up yours, sideways, with a poison ivy bush.” She saw the curse register behind his eyes. But old Norman was cool. He looked away as though she no longer existed… too inconsequential to warrant any further attention.
    Jeffries, on the other hand, wasn’t about to ignore her. “What are
you
here for?” he demanded of her. “Coulter doesn’t need a baby-sitter.”
    She took a step toward him, and she could see that he had to fight the urge to step back. She grinned. “You were the one who ordered me to bring him over here, if I recollect our telephone conversation. And you asked so nicely, with the pretty please and all, that I just couldn’t resist your charms.”
    Jeffries glanced at his expensive scuba watch and scowled. “You’re more than an hour late.”
    “Really?” She looked genuinely surprised, batting her blue eyes and giving him a coquettish grin. “I thought we were twenty-three hours early. You did say tomorrow, didn’t you?”
    “Don’t get on her case about nothin’,” Dirk interjected. “It was me chat held up the works.”
    “What matters is that you’re here now,” Hillquist said in the flat monotone that gave Savannah the creeps. The last time she had heard him use that tone, she had lost her job and one of the most vital parts of her life.
    The chief walked over to Dirk, and Savannah saw the glint of a pair of cuffs in his hand. No, he wasn’t going to…
    “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Polly Coulter,”