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the white, ivy-draped structure. “Hi,” she
said softly.
    The child looked up her
with enormous eyes full of sadness that went straight to Savannah’s heart.
Being the oldest of nine siblings, Savannah had seen more than her share of
pouting and whining, but this youngster’s sorrow was obviously genuine and
deep.
    “What’s the matter,
sweetpea?” she asked in her best big-sister voice as she sat across from the
girl on the circular padded bench that surrounded the interior of the gazebo.
    Shrugging her shoulders,
the child sniffed and wiped her hand across her nose. Savannah reached into her
slacks pocket, pulled out a clean tissue, and offered it to her. The girl took
the tissue and blew heartily into it before tucking it into her own pocket.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked
again. “Did something bad or sad happen? Did one of those terrible terriers
down there take a bite out of your shorts?”
    The child shook her head, but
Savannah saw a trace of a smile cross her face. “Naw. Hitler’s the only one who
ever really bit me, and he doesn’t do it anymore, ‘cause I smacked him on the
butt with a flyswatter.” Savannah chuckled. “Well, I can’t say that I think
hitting innocent animals is a good idea, but”—she held up her bandaged
forefinger—“I do understand. I have to admit that if I’d been holding a
flyswatter or a rolled-up newspaper this afternoon when I met Hitler, I would
have whalloped him, too. Self-defense and all that.”
    “I know. They’re mean,
those little dogs. Mommy says that Grandma spoils them rotten and that’s why
they’re bad. Doggies are supposed to be nice, not going around biting people
for no reason at all. I told Mommy I wanted a good dog, like a golden retriever,
but she said that Satan and Hitler would eat another dog alive. So I can't have
one until all three of them die. Maybe a coyote will come down out of the hills
and eat them some night. I hope so.
     
    The wicked gleam in the little girl’s
eyes took Savannah aback for a moment. She had seen that particular light in
the eyes of criminals she had arrested on the force, and it seemed
inappropriate on one so young.
    “My name’s Savannah,” she told the
girl. “And you are...?”
    “Gilly. Gilly Sarah-Jane Maxwell.” The
child reached into her pocket, pulled out the tissue, and blew into it again.
    “And Lady Eleanor is your
grandmother?”
    “Yeah, but we don’t call her ‘lady.’
Just people who don’t know her call her that, because of television, you know.
My mommy calls her a bitch.”
    Savannah cringed. After her own Granny
Reid’s strict Southern upbringing, she couldn’t get used to a child cursing...
or being cursed around.
    “I’m sorry,” was all she could think
to reply.
    “Yeah, me too. I like my grandma okay...
except for when she drinks booze and smells bad and talks bad. Then she’s no
fun to be around.”
    Glancing across the lawns to the
mansion, which was now mostly dark except for the kitchen lights, Savannah
said, “Like tonight?”
    Gilly sniffed and nodded. “Yeah. I
went down to visit her, but she was already, you know, weird. She told me to
get lost. She doesn’t usually do that. Sometimes she lets me watch her cook.
I’m the only one who can.”
    So much for gleaning any chocolate
secrets, Savannah thought. “Do you live in the mansion with your parents?”
    “No. I live in the gatekeeper’s
cottage with my mom. Her name is Louise. I never saw my daddy. Mommy says he
was rich and very, very handsome, but she didn’t want to marry him, ’cause she
didn’t really like him that much. She says I’m ill’jitmutt. And the kids at
school say I’m a bastard.”
    Again, Savannah’s heart
ached.... and her fingers itched to wrap themselves around any mother’s throat
who would say something like that to a child.
    “Those are ugly words for
such a pretty girl,” she said softly as she reached over to brush Gilly’s long,
stringy hair out of her eyes. The child