Poisoned Tarts. G. A. McKevett

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СКАЧАТЬ worry, buddy,” she said. “I won’t ever ask you to do that again. I have to draw a line somewhere at how much humiliation I heap on a body. Even you.”

      “Gee, thanks.” He followed her past the jack-o’-lantern display and into the produce aisle. “So, what do I have to do to earn all the good food you’re going to feed us at this party you’re giving?”

      “Just help me shop,” she said. When he grinned brightly, she decided to push her luck. “…and help me carve a couple of pumpkins.” His face fell until she added, “…you know, scoop out the guts—the gross stuff that us girls don’t like to do.” He perked up again.

      She chuckled, reminding herself that manly men like Coulter needed special handling. “Why don’t you take the cart to the other side of the store and load up on some beer? And on the way back, hit the chip aisle and get whatever you think we need.”

      “Really? Wow. Okay. Cool.”

      In seconds, she was watching him retreat with far more vigor in his step as he headed across the front of the store to the refrigerated beer coolers on the opposite side. And not for the first time in the many years she had known him, it occurred to Savannah that watching Dirk walk away wasn’t totally without its rewards. He might be over forty and not the hard body he’d been when they had met nearly twenty years ago, but he still filled out his Levi’s quite nicely.

      And among his other nice assets was the fact that after all these years, she could still feel him watch her walk away with the same rapt attention. And since she had gained two decades and thirty pounds since they’d met, she couldn’t help being grateful.

      You just really had to love a guy who sincerely liked his women well-rounded.

      Once he disappeared around the corner, she focused on the task at hand. It wasn’t easy putting on a successful Halloween party. The devil was, indeed, in the details…or the vampire, or zombie, or whatever ghoulish creature one chose to be. No fairies, butterflies, or ballerina princesses in pink tutus at her extravaganza! Nope, a Reid Halloween party was not for the squeamish. She had been present at enough crime scenes to know what real gore looked like…unfortunately.

      And now, there were decisions to make. In a dimly lit room, which would feel the most like real eyeballs, olives or peeled grapes? Grapes were best, and she could probably pawn the tedious task of peeling them off on her best friend and codetective, Tammy Hart. So—

      “Sit down, you stupid little shit, before I knock you in the head!”

      Savannah jumped, nearly dropping the bag of grapes in her hand, and whirled around to face the angry male standing about ten feet behind her. He wasn’t a particularly large man, but he towered over the tiny toddler sitting in the shopping cart. The child, a little boy no more than two, stared up at the enraged adult with terror on his innocent, baby face.

      Not for the first time when witnessing something like this, Savannah longed for the old days when she could walk up to a bully like this, flash a badge, and have a serious talk with him. When she and Dirk had been on patrol, they had done it at least five times a night.

      She knew better than most that domestic abuse, in all its hideous forms, kept law enforcement employed.

      Beside the man’s cart stood a woman with a bag of potatoes in her hand, a guarded, pained look on her face. In spite of the fact that she was well-dressed and wearing expensive jewelry, she had an air of defeat about her. The hang of her head, the slump of her shoulders betrayed a wounded, heavy spirit.

      She started to put the potatoes into the cart, but the man snatched them out of her hand. “Baking potatoes?” he snapped. “I told you to get red potatoes. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you do anything right?”

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she took the bag of potatoes from him and replaced them in a bin. “I forgot.”

      She picked up a bag of red potatoes, and as she put them into the cart, the child strained in his seat, reaching for his mother. The father raised his hand as though to strike the boy, and the child cringed in a move that was obviously well-practiced.

      “You try to get out of that cart one more time,” the man said, “and I swear I’m gonna bash you.”

      “Honey, please, don’t…” the mother whispered, casting a quick look around. She saw Savannah watching, and a look of pain and embarrassment swept over her face.

      “Yeah, well,” he said, “you don’t discipline the little brat. Somebody’s got to, so shut up already.”

      The man looked in Savannah’s direction and realized that she was not only watching but also disapproving of his words and actions. But instead of sharing his wife’s embarrassment, he actually smiled. The self-satisfied, cocky smirk that appeared on his face was one she had seen many times before. Far too many times.

      Savannah could feel her pulse rate soaring, her face growing hotter by the second.

      Yeah, yeah, you’re the big man, she thought. Gotta show everybody how in control you are. You keep your woman and your kid in their place—under you where they belong. Way under you.

      She gave him a sweeping, disgusted look up and down and added, What you need is somebody to jerk you down a notch or two.

      Another voice in her head whispered a word of warning. It’s not yours, Savannah. It’s not your situation. Stay out of it. Mind your own business.

      “I thought you said you were coming in here for a couple of things,” he told his wife. “I’ve got better things to do than hang around in a damned grocery store all day. Get your lazy ass in gear, and let’s get out of here.”

      Again, he shot Savannah that arrogant grin that set her teeth on edge. She thought of all the times she had heard the myth, “Abusers have low self-esteem. That’s why they abuse.”

      I know your nasty little secret, she thought as their eyes locked in an unspoken challenge. You don’t have an insecure bone in your body. You truly think you’re better, smarter, stronger, more valuable than your wife and kid. You think the world revolves around you.

      Savannah had seen the end results of such an attitude: broken homes, broken women, broken children. She despised the attitude. And she tried very hard not to despise the men who harbored it. She tried desperately to give them a break, remembering that a rotten attitude was often handed down generation to generation, a sickening heritage, like some sort of decomposing corpse in the family cellar.

      But she seldom succeeded. Too many years of too many visions of too many victims haunted her in the wee hours of the morning when she woke up from a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep.

      Some people were good enough, highly evolved enough, to forgive and feel compassion toward abusers.

      Long ago, Savannah had come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t one of them.

      The wife walked away from her husband and baby and began to sort through some bananas. Savannah could see her hands shaking as she reached for a bunch and tried to shove them into a plastic bag as quickly as she could. But her fear made her clumsy, and her husband glared at her as she fumbled and nearly dropped the bag.

      Shaking his head with disgust, he said, “I’m gonna go up front and get in line. You better be up there in two СКАЧАТЬ