Cooked Goose (32 page)

“We can’t have breakfast yet!” Jillian started to cry. “It’s still dark out.”

“That’s when you’re supposed to eat ice cream for breakfast.” She pulled them out the door and said over her shoulder, “I’ll get them settled, then I’ll come right back.”

Savannah nodded, without looking up. “When you do, bring me those warm towels from the dryer. Pile them in the wicker laundry basket next to the dryer.”

“What are the towels for?” Butch asked, looking like he was about to start crying himself.

“For the baby,” Savannah said. “If it is coming early, it’ll need to be kept nice and warm.”

“Early, you mean premature, like the twins were?”

Savannah recalled how touch-and-go it had been with the twins those first few weeks. They had nearly lost little Jillian.

Her stress level went through the roof as she felt the baby’s head pushing against the palm of her hand.

“It’ll be okay, Butch,” she said. “Just get up there by your wife’s head and try to comfort her.”

Butch moved into position and began stroking Vidalia’s hair. “Don’t worry, sugar,” he told her as she panted, sweated and strained. “Don’t worry about it being premature and all that. It probably won’t be near as bad as it was with the twins.”

Vidalia’s eyes widened, and she began to cry even louder.
 

“Thanks, Butch,” Savannah murmured, listening for the blessed sound of sirens above her sister’s wails—and hearing nothing. “Thanks a lot.”

Halfway up the staircase, laundry basket and warm towels in hand, Margie heard something that sounded like a puppy’s yelp or kitten’s mew. Could it be?

Yes!

She ran into the bedroom just in time to see Savannah gently suctioning a tiny baby’s mouth and nose with the turkey baster.

“Wow! It’s here already!” Margie said, rushing to the bed.

“And you’re just in time with those towels,” Savannah said. “How hot are they?”

“Just nice and warm.”

Savannah checked with her hand before grabbing one and winding it snugly around the wriggling infant. Vidalia was still huffing; Butch looked ecstatic.

“It’s okay,” he said proudly. "It’s another boy, and he’s little, but he’s breathing okay.”

“You did it,” Margie told Savannah proudly.

She wondered why Savannah didn’t look so relieved.

Margie moved closer to the bed. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. The baby’s fine,” Savannah said. “It’s just that—I reckon maybe....”

Vidalia bore down again, her face purple, pushing, straining.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Savannah said. “We did it. But now we get to do it all over again.”

* * *

7:12 a.m.

Unable to sleep, Dirk had driven to the hospital at dawn to check on Bloss’s condition.

Weak. Stable. Still unconscious.

So, other than making sure that Officer Morton O’Leary was stationed at the door of the I.C.U., Dirk couldn’t do much about arresting him yet.

As he was leaving through the emergency entrance, he heard the news and promptly headed for the maternity ward on the third floor.

That was where he found Savannah, sprawled across five seats in the waiting room, looking like a semi truck had run over her.

“Hey, Auntie!” he said, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Uh, huh,” she mumbled without moving or even turning her head to look at him. She was staring at the ceiling, for all practical appearances, brain dead.

“I hear it’s twins, a boy and a girl, and you delivered them.”

“Uh, huh.”

“So, are they checking mom and the kids in? They’ll be here for a few days, I guess.”

“Huh, uh.”

He leaned closer. “Was that a ‘no?’”

“The babies were born outside the sterile environment of the hospital,” she said, so low he could hardly hear her. “They’re contaminated. They can’t stay in the nursery with the other newborns.”

“And?”

“And Vidalia won’t stay in the hospital without her babies. So, they’re all coming home with me. All. Home. My home. With me.”

“But they’re premature, right?”

“Apparently, not. Vi must’ve had her dates wrong. They’re perfectly fine, ready to go home.”

“Oh, Van. I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Me, too. So, so sorry.”

* * *

December 25—2:15 p.m.

Eighty degrees. Not a cloud in the sky. Just your typical Christmas Day
, Savannah thought as she watched her friends and family celebrating the holiday in her backyard. The twins were running around in bathing suits, squirting each other with the garden hose, screaming like miniature banshees.

Tammy was catching some rays in her polka-dotted bikini, stretched out on a Betty Boop beach towel. Why, Savannah wasn’t sure, because she’d seen her slathering on a heavy-duty sunscreen just before lying down. Go figure.

Maybe it was because Ryan Stone was sitting beneath the arbor, sipping a champagne cocktail, looking incredible in charcoal slacks and a navy blue shirt. Tammy had never fully surrendered the fantasy of catching Ryan’s attention.

Dirk sat in a chaise lounge beneath the magnolia tree, holding one of the newest arrivals, Noel. Dirk didn’t look especially at ease with his role as Honorary Uncle, but they were all taking turns keeping the newborns occupied, and it was his shift, so he wasn’t complaining.

Butch sat next to him on another lounge, jostling Noel’s sister, Merry, who wasn’t happy and was intent upon the entire neighborhood knowing it. Like a typical Reid girl, she was cute beyond words, ate constantly, and was quite mouthy when things didn’t go her way.

Vidalia was asleep in the hammock next to the house, Cleopatra curled into a ball on her now fairly flat tummy. She looked great in the dressy slacks set Savannah had bought for her. As one of her Christmas gifts, Savannah had treated her to a “Day of Beauty” at a local salon. The hair and facial makeover, along with massages and herbal steams had brought back her usual, lovely, vain self.

Yes
, Savannah thought,
just your typical California Christmas
. She walked back into the house where it was ninety-three degrees, thanks to the turkey roasting in the oven. The kitchen smelled of pumpkin and mince pies, mashed potatoes and gravy, freshly baked rolls, and the fragrance of sage, thanks to Savannah’s aunt’s wonderful dressing recipe. Aunt Gondi made the best dressing south of the Mason-Dixon line, and Savannah had been able to get it only by swapping her own famous onion roll recipe.

She found Margie arranging pickles, olives, radish roses, and cherry tomatoes in decorative patterns on a platter.

“That looked great, kiddo,” she told her as she stole an olive and popped it into her mouth. “How are you doing?"

A look of sadness crossed the girl’s face, then she smiled. “Okay. The hospital says my dad’s doing fine. He’ll be able to leave tomorrow. Not that it makes much difference. He’ll be going right to jail.”

“I’m really sorry things turned out this way for you.” Standing beside her, Savannah gave her a hug around the waist. Margie laid her head briefly on Savannah’s shoulder, then returned the embrace.

“It’s all right. When I talked to my mom on the phone today, she said she thinks it’ll work out for me to stay at home with them. She says if I’ll behave myself, she’ll tell her old man to lighten up on me.”

“Are you going to? Behave, that is.”

“I guess. Mostly, he just didn’t like the hair. He shouldn’t mind this, huh?”

She pointed to her new do, which was now red, a red that a few women in the world might actually have naturally. Also, she had removed the ring from her eyebrow, the studs from her nose and tongue, and had exchanged her black and blue makeup for shades of dark red.

“You look beautiful,” Savannah told her. “You were beautiful before, but I was so busy looking at all the ‘stuff’ that I didn’t notice you as much.”

“Thanks.” She blushed and, for a moment, looked incredibly sweet and vulnerable.

“Are you about ready to eat?”

“I’ve been ready for hours. The smell of that turkey is making me crazy. But I think we’re going to have a visitor first.”

“A visitor? Who?” Savannah said.

“Just don’t be scared when you see him,” Margie replied. “John asked me if I thought it was okay under the circumstances, and I said sure, because it’s for the kids, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. I have no idea what you’re talking about."

“She’s talking about a visit from old Father Christmas—or Saint Nicholas, as you Yanks call him,” said a deep, deliciously refined, British voice behind her.

Savannah turned and got the start of her life. There was Santa, standing in her living room, a large bag of loot slung over his shoulder, a broad smile between his mustache and beard.

A few dozen images flooded her mind. All of them frightening and sad.

That was yet another evil Titus Dunn had committed. An entire community had lost its innocence, had lost a beloved icon and symbol of love and generosity.

But there was no time like the present to reclaim it.

Savannah strolled over to Santa, tweaked his rosy cheek and said, “Mr. Claus, I want you to know I’ve been far more nice than naughty this year. Not that I wouldn’t have welcomed the opportunity to be naughty, but my social life being what it isn’t—”

He threw back his head and gave a rather theatrical, “Ho, ho, ho. I understand completely. That’s why Santa has brought you something special.”

Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a bright red envelope with her name written on it.

She tore it open and found airline tickets and prepaid vouchers for a deluxe, two-week vacation at a singles club in the Bahamas.

“Oh, John—I mean, Santa—you shouldn’t have,” she said, “But I’m so glad you did!”

Santa tossed his bag over his shoulder once again and gave Margie a nod. “Come along with me, young lady,” he told her. “I’ve given my elves the afternoon off, and I find myself in desperate need of a Santa’s helper.”

Savannah followed the two of them into the backyard and watched the twins go crazy with delight at the sight of him.

She looked over at Dirk and Tammy and saw that their reactions were similar to hers. They would all need some time to heal.

But as she watched Jillian and Jack scampering around “Father Christmas,” opening their own gifts and joyfully distributing more to the adults, and their new brother and sister beneath the magnolia tree, she knew that the children were the balm that would aid in that healing.

Once again, she felt seven years old, and Christmas was the happiest, most magical, time of the year. At least for the moment, there was peace on this little bit of earth that was her backyard. And there was goodwill galore.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Nobody can write a novel alone. Well, this author can’t. So I’d like to say a special thanks to some special people who have helped me “cook” this “goose.” Thanks, guys and ladies. I appreciate you more than I can say.

Bruce Hald

Mary Phelan, C.N.M.

Officer Dave Birkenhead

Monique Broz

Alan Broz

Desiree Davis

Ravanna Donnely Barber

Shonda Graham

and

Officer Bob Costello (ret.) a great cop, a wonderful husband and father, and the best neighbor on Long Island

Also, I want to thank all the fans who write to me, sharing their thoughts and offering endless encouragement. I enjoy your letters more than you know. I can be reached at:

sonjamassie.com

or

on Facebook at

“Gwendolynn Arden McKevett”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Since publication of her first novel in 1986, Sonja Massie has authored over fifty published works, including the highly popular and critically acclaimed SAVANNAH REID MYSTERIES under the pseudonym G. A. McKevett.

Sonja's novels range from Irish historicals to contemporary thrillers. Her earthy humor and fast-paced plots delight her fans, while critics applaud her offbeat characterizations and incisive observations on human nature.

Irish by ancestry, Sonja has authored two non-fiction books on the history of Ireland: THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO IRISH HISTORY AND CULTURE and IRISH PRIDE: 101 REASONS TO BE PROUD YOU'RE IRISH. Both books impart detailed knowledge of the complex and controversial Irish story with a light hand and plenty of humor. Her Irish novels include: DREAM CARVER, CAROUSEL, DAUGHTER OF IRELAND and the best-selling FAR AND AWAY - the novelization of the Ron Howard movie starring Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.