Free Wicked Craving by G. A. McKevett Page B

Dirk. “This is like pulling hen’s teeth here. Why don’t you have a go at it?”
    He took over. “I actually came here to ask you about Terry Somers.”
    A look of fear washed over Roxanne. “Oh, I don’t like him. He’s a bad guy, for sure…but please don’t tell him I said that. He’s not somebody I want for an enemy, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œNo, I don’t know what you mean.” Dirk leaned back in his chair. “Tell me.”
    â€œHe’s, like, in the mob or something. He’s big and mean-looking, and I’m pretty sure I saw a gun stuck in the back of his pants one day in the waiting room when he leaned over to get a new magazine.”
    â€œWe hear,” Dirk said, “that there’s bad blood between him and your boss.”
    â€œOh, big time. He hates Dr. Wellman! Right there in the office he threatened to kill him!”
    â€œBecause…?”
    â€œBecause the doctor told him he could cure his gambling problem, but when it didn’t work—like, duh, he really thought it would?—he blamed Dr. Wellman for it.”
    â€œDo you think Terry Somers would hurt Mrs. Wellman?” Savannah said.
    â€œI don’t know if he even knew her…had ever met her. But if he came out to the house to hurt the doctor, and he found her there alone, and she did her usual routine on him, he might have. Anybody might have.”
    â€œHer usual routine?” Dirk asked.
    â€œYeah, you know, the raving lunatic routine.”
    Savannah and Dirk both stared at her for several seconds; then Savannah said, “Maria Wellman was a raving lunatic?”
    â€œOh,” Roxanne nodded vigorously, “everybody who knew Maria knew that. It’s not like it was a secret. That gal was a maniac bitch on wheels. It’s really no wonder somebody killed her.”
    Â 
    Savannah had already unfastened the retention snap on her holster and had her hand on her Beretta’s grip before Dirk even knocked on Terry Somers’s front door.
    Anyone who had been described as big, mean, armed, and as having at least an association with organized crime, wasn’t somebody who you wanted to mess with. And knocking on their door at 11:30 at night, when they had recently been assaulted by mob debt collectors—some people might construe that as being “messed with.”
    Feeling Dirk tense beside her, she knew he was thinking the same thing.
    When Somers didn’t answer, she said, “Maybe we should’ve waited till morning when he’d be less irritable.”
    â€œI’m more irritable in the morning.”
    â€œThat’s true.”
    â€œAnd he’s awake. I can hear the TV.”
    â€œMe, too.” She listened more closely and heard a familiar theme song. “Hey,” she said, “he’s watching Cops . Good one.”
    â€œYeah. Really. You’d be surprised how many times—”
    The front door opened about a foot, and Savannah’s hand tightened around her gun.
    But the guy on the other side of the screened door peeking through the narrow opening didn’t look all that menacing. He was several inches shorter than Savannah and would have to run around in a rainstorm to get wet.
    And, even though the door was less than half open, she could see that his right leg was in a cast, and he was holding a fluffy, orange tabby cat in his arms.
    â€œAre you Terry Somers?” Dirk asked.
    Savannah could tell by his tone that he was as surprised as she was.
    â€œYeah, who are you?” He peered at them through thick-lensed glasses.
    Dirk presented his badge. “Sergeant Dirk Coulter, San Carmelita Police Department. This is Savannah Reid. Could we come in and talk with you?”
    When Somers hesitated, Dirk added, “I realize it’s late, but it’s very important.”
    â€œI was just getting ready to go to bed, but…yeah…okay. I guess so.” He