Savannah Reid 06 - Sour Grapes

by Mckevett, G A

  "You mean. besides me and Atlanta?" She shook her

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  head. "I don't really know the girl, only talked to her a few minutes."

  "And that was enough to make you hate her?" "Absolutely. I'm sure you'd agree if you'd had the displeasure of making her acquaintance."

  Dirk glanced around the room at the scattered

  clothes, makeup, jewelry, hair dryers, and towels. "But this was Atlanta's bed, -not the other kid's, right?" he asked.

  "Yes, but this one had been assigned to Barbie. She bullied Atlanta into changing with her. So we don't know whose benefit it was done for." Savannah pointed to the writing on the wall. "Why do you suppose they wrote that upside down? It's not easy, writing while standing on your head."

  Dirk walked closer to the bed and shined his flashlight

  along the window sill. "The lighting really sucks in here. Can we turn those lamps up?"

  "No," she told him. "I think they were going for cozy ambience when they decorated, not crime-scene processing. What are you looking for?"

  "With a little luck, bloody fingerprints," he replied. "I think the reason the word was written upside down is

  because the person who dumped the blood. . . and the other g-uck . . . on the bed was outside, leaning in through the window."

  Savannah thought that one over for a second and

  grunted her approval of his theory. "Good. Yeah, that makes sense. And hey, look, the screen is off."

  "How much do you want to bet it's layin' on the

  ground outside?" "Let's

  go look."

  "Naw, you stay here and wait for Dr. Liu. Me and Ryan'll check outside."

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  Savannah didn't have long to wait. No sooner had Dirk left than Catherine Villa appeared, escorting Dr. Eennifer Liu.

  "This lady says she's the county medical examiner," Catherine said, her voice shaky. "She says you sent for her."

  "I did. Don't worry, Mrs. Villa, it's just. . . in case . . . really, don't worry."

  "Don't worry? You call the coroner to come to my hroperty, and you tell me not to worry?"

  Savannah grabbed Dr. Liu by the arm and pulled her nto the room. "Excuse me," she said to Catherine, "but we have to do a little work in here. I think I'll close this or now. See you later."

  She slammed the door in Catherine's extremely con:erned

  face and turned to Dr. Liu.

  Medical examiner Dr. Jennifer Liu looked like anyhing but what she was. Tiny, petite, deceptively fragile

  appearance, she hardly seemed like someone who rut up dead bodies for a living. But she claimed to love her work and frequently regaled crowds at cocktail paries

  and the local Irish pubs with her vast repertoire of

  'stiff" jokes.

  "Don't worry? You told her not to worry?" Dr. Liu isked. "Somebody somewhere had better be worried, if I vas called out in the middle of a very hot date."

  Savannah looked her up and down, noting the blackeather pants, the four-inch high-heeled boots, and the )lack, sequined, angora sweater. It must have been a rery hot date, indeed.

  "Oh yes, I'm worried. I'm very worried." She pointed

  the bed.

  Jennifer took a look. "Yuck."

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  "Yuck? I didn't know that word was in a medical examiner's vocabulary," Savannah said.

  "Sure it is. I get grossed out as quickly as anybody." She set the case she was carrying on the floor and

  walked closer to the bed.

  'Then how do you do what you do?"

  The M.E. produced a flashlight and leaned over the stain, studying it closely. "Easy," she said. "My curiosity is greater than my yuck-factor."

  Savannah allowed her a couple of minutes to think

  and scrutinize the area, until her own curiosity got the best of her. "Well, what do you think? Any ideas about what that fleshy stuff is there in the middle?"

  Dr. Liu opened her case and removed several items: a large cotton swab, a glass vial, and a small bottle of fluid.

  "I have an idea what it is," she said. "Or at least what it isn't. Hang on a minute and let me check."

  With one of the swabs she collected some of the

  blood that lay, congealing, near the unidentified tissue, and stuck it into the glass vial. She unscrewed the lid of the bottle and poured a small amount of the fluid into

  the vial. After swirling it around for a moment, she held it up to the light and nodded. "Yes, that's what I thought."

  "What? What did you thought . . . . . . think. What the hell is it?"

  Dr. Liu sealed the vial with a stopper and began to write on its identification label. "It's blood, but it isn't human. And neither are those." She pointed to the glob in the center.

  "Not human?" Savannah released a sigh of relief. "Well, what kind is it?"

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  Dr. Liu laughed. "You detectives don't expect much

  us medical examiners, do you? I can't tell. These kid tests aren't that sophisticated. Although once I get back in the lab, I'll be able to identify the source."

  She placed the vial in a small, padded pouch and dpped it closed. Then she removed a Polaroid camera Yom her case and took a couple of photos of the bed, he wall and its writing, the window and surrounding irea.

  "Those organs are too small to be human," she said. don't even think they're mammal. If I'm not misaken, I think that mass on the right is a gizzard. Probably from a chicken."

  Savannah looked closely at the area she was indicatng.

  "It does look that way, doesn't it? I remember 3rarmy Reid used to fry up a batch of those when we

  muldn't afford wings and drumsticks."

  Dr. Liu gave her a funny look, and she quickly idded, "Hey, they weren't so bad. Anything's good if roll slap enough gravy on it."

  "Ah-h huh. Whatever you say."

  "I say, 'Thank God, this isn't a homicide scene.' It nust be somebody's idea of a sick joke. But when I hink of how scared my baby sister was, I want to shove hese chicken guts up their nose sideways."

  "I understand completely. I'll take these back to the ab and identify them for sure. And then if you find Four culprit, you can have them back and do just that."

  Dr. Liu finished scraping the entrails into another evdence container. Then she knelt on the floor, packed werything away, and snapped her case closed. Standng, she brushed off the knees of her leather pants. "So, you don't mind if I go back to my hot date? I left

  him in a Tahitian bar, sipping daiquiris from a pineapple. If I'm lucky, he'll still be there when I get back."

  Savannah grinned and slapped her on the back. "Don't worry, Doc. He'll be there. As good as you look tonight . . . believe me. . . he'll be there."

  "He'd better be," she said as she opened the door. "If he isn't, you owe me a ten-pound box of Godiva." "You've got it. Have a good time."

  Savannah saw that Catherine Villa was still there, standing in the hall outside the doorway with that distraught

  look on her face.

  "Mrs. Villa, good news," Savannah said, motioning her to come closer. Then she added under her breath, "If you consider having chicken blood and guts on your

  bedspread good news." She patted the woman's shoulder comfortingly and said, "Now I'm not nearly so worried about Barbie Matthews, and you shouldn't be either. She's probably ju-u-ust fine."

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  Savannah stood in the shower and allowed the of water to flow over her weary body, she wished that she could just melt and slide down the drain along

  with the shampoo suds.

  She was sure that she had been this exhausted and

  discouraged at some point in her life, but at the moment she could
n't remember when.

  The night hours spent looking for Barbie Matthews

  in every nook and crook of Villa Rosa had rendered absolutely

  zip, and in spite of what Savannah had been telling everyone associated with the winery and the

  beauty pageant, she was worried about the missing teenager. She was worried sick.

  Having missed an entire day's worth of food, and a whole night of sleep, Savannah had already decided that when they found the kid, she had better be dead, or she would kill her for having caused such a ruckus.

  But she was afraid someone might have beaten her to it, or at least done the girl some major harm.

  Stepping out of the shower and drying off with one

  of Villa Rosa's lush towels, she silently thanked Catherine Villa for furnishing her guests with quality appointments.

  One nice thing about most snobs, Savannah had noticed: They tended to have good taste in clothing, furnishings, and cocktail-party guests.

  She pulled her robe around her and stepped into the

  room where her younger sister lay sleeping on a twin

  bed. This second-story room was similar to the one downstairs that Atlanta had shared with Barbie, only a bit larger and more lavishly furnished. Catherine had offered it to Savannah, making it clear that she hoped she would remain on the property until Barbie had

  been found. And Savannah had insisted that Atlanta sleep there, where she could keep an eye on her.

  "Van? What are you doing?" Atlanta asked, stirring beneath the covers. One foot emerged, then a hand and finally a tousled, platinum blond head.

  "Getting ready to go to work."

  "Work? Have you been to bed yet?"

  "No, but I'm not a contestant; I don't need that much beauty sleep."

  Atlanta yawned, stretched, and opened one eye. "Did you guys find Barbie?"

  "No. That's why I'm heading back out. It's dawn now, and we're going to check the grounds again. Hopefully, we'll find something we missed, now that it's daylight."

  "Dawn?" Her other eye blinked and opened. "It's dawn? No wonder I'm still dog-tired. You can get up with the chickens if you want to, but I'm lyin' here and relaxin' for a couple more hours at least."

  "How lovely for you," Savannah replied dryly as she

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  slipped into a silk tank, linen slacks, and loafers. "Catch a few winks for me, and don't let anybody in here except members of the Moonlight Magnolia gang. Do you hear me?"

  There was no reply.

  Savannah strapped on her shoulder holster and

  Beretta and pulled a light jacket on over it. "You've gotta rise and shine, at least long enough to bolt this door behind me."

  A grunt was all she heard from beneath the rumpled

  covers.

  "Shake a leg, gal. You're holding me up here."

  Finally, Atlanta rolled out of bed, a drowsy figure in pajamas with big, yellow roosters crowing on bright red flannel. She followed Savannah to the door, where she accepted a kiss on the cheek from her older sister.

  "Be careful, Atlanta. Stay in here by yourself with the door locked or out there in a crowd of people. Okay?"

  "Okay. Okay. Okay. Don't worry, Mom."

  "It's my job. Throw the bolt and then go back to bed, Sleeping Snoozie."

  In the twenty-five minutes it had taken Savannah to

  run upstairs and shower, reinforcements had arrived. As she entered the gallery she saw Ryan standing near

  the door, talking to Dirk, Tammy, and John.

  Tammy was holding a small, pink, paper bag in her hand, that Savannah didn't dare to hope was . . .

  "Tammy, you darlin' girl! Did you bring me donuts from the Patty Cake Bakery?"

  Smiling, Tammy held out the bag to her and gave her a hug. "Better than that. I bought you two chocolate-covered, custard-filled Long Johns and an apple fritter."

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  "I love you. I truly do. I'll give you a nickel-an-hour raise."

  "Gee, after a month or so, I'll be reimbursed for the ionuts."

  Savannah attacked the bag with a fury born of acute

  marvation. And while she was filling her face with creamy custard and chocolate, Dirk presented her with super-sized Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  "Ah, Dirk. Bless your little heart. You dropped by the [ava Nut House and bummed them out of a free coffee. You shouldn't have."

  "An extra big one, too."

  "What a guy! When you panhandle, you beg for only he best. You're a class act, Coulter."

  Dirk beamed, and Savannah wondered whether the Fact that insults frequently flew over his head made the

  ;ame more fun or a source of frustration. She decided was a bit of both.

  Savannah looked over at Ryan and noticed, for the irst time, that he looked almost as tired as she felt. His isual, outdoorsy tan was more pale than golden, and ae, too, had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. kpparently, he had gotten the same amount of sleep hat she had . . . none. And Savannah knew how serimisly Ryan took his work, especially when it involved roung people and their safety.

  In a fit of self-sacrifice, she offered him her precious ipple fritter.

  Realizing the depth of her generosity, he gave her a warm smile and shook his head. "No thanks. You need more than I do; John brought me fresh bagels with ox, cream cheese, and capers."

  Savannah sighed. "Ahhh, lox and bagels. . . John

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  Gibson, would you do me the honor of being my husband?"

  John took her hand and lifted it to his lips, tickling her with his mustache as he kissed her knuckles that

  were dusted with powdered sugar. "My dear Savannah, I assure you . . . should I decide to take a bride, you would be the first lady on my short and exclusive list."

  Ryan laughed, Tammy giggled, and Dirk snorted, but for once he kept his comments to himself "So," he said, "what's the game plan?"

  "We're here to help," John told him. "Put us to work wherever you like."

  Tammy began to practically hop up and down in her

  well-worn running shoes, so eager that Savannah had to resist the temptation to do her bodily harm; it was that "morning person" thing again. "I've already talked to Mrs. Lippincott," she said. "And she specifically asked me if I would go along with some of the girls who want

  to take a morning jog around the property, look at the vineyards and all that."

  'That's good, and I need to call Barbie's parents again," Savannah said. "When I spoke to them last night on the phone, her mother didn't seem terribly concerned that her daughter was missing. I got the idea this disappearing act might be Barbie's standard MO."

  "Did you tell Mrs. Matthews about the blood on the bed?" Ryan asked.

  "I just told her that the room had been vandalized. She didn't ask for details, so I didn't elaborate."

  Dirk grabbed Savannah's coffee and took a long

  drink of it. "Yeah, you don't want the old lady thinking that her daughter got nabbed by some voodoo cult. She'll start worryin' that the kid might be stretched out

  naked on some sacrificial altar somewhere with her

  throat cut, a big, upside-down pentacle painted on her chest in blood."

  Savannah nearly choked on her fritter. "Well, thank you very much, Detective Coulter, for that lovely visual. Personally, the worst I had imagined was the girl lying, raped and murdered, out among the grapevines."

  Wearily, Ryan ran his fingers through his hair. Savannah was fairly sure it was the first time she had

  ever seen it mussed. She hated to think what her own dripping-wet mop must look like. "So, this is what we're going to do," he said. "Savannah, you call the parents. Tammy, take the girls for their run. John and I will search the grounds again. Now that it's light out, maybe we'll see something we missed earlier."

  "I'll go with you," Dirk said, returning Savannah's coffee and snatching one of the Long Johns out of her

  bag. "
I wanna check that parking lot again. It was so dark out there last night, you couldn't see squat"

  As Savannah watched the team disperse, she felt a wave of sadness. Mostly, she felt that way because with every hour that passed, the hope grew dimmer that this disappearance would have a happy outcome. And partly because Dirk was walking away with the rest of

  her breakfast Two pastries and half a cup of coffee just

  didn't contain enough chemical stimuli to make up for

  a day's fasting and a night without sleep. She decided to hit the kitchen on her way to the telephone. What the heck--the Matthews clan wouldn't want to be awakened this early anyway.

  "I think you might want to come out to Villa Rosa," Savannah had told Mrs. Matthews on the telephone. "I

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  really do. We'd like to ask you and your husband a few questions about Barbie's . . . habits. . . and we don't want to interrupt our search here."

  This time, Mom Matthews had seemed more concerned and assured Savannah that she and Pop Matthews

  and Sis Matthews were on their way.

  And they were--promptly. Less than twenty minutes after Savannah called them, they came screeching up to the front door of the complex in their late-model Volvo

  and ran inside.

  Savannah had been on her way up to Frande's room, to see if the girl was awake yet, but she was intercepted in the gallery.

  "Where's my daughter?" Mrs. Matthews demanded. "I was told you had excellent security here. How could you morons lose one of the girls?"

  Savannah checked the family out with a quick once

  over. Middle-aged dad was deeply tanned, muscular, and dressed in a stained T-shirt and jeans decorated

  with splotches of paint and bits of dried cement. A builder of some sort, no doubt.

  Dressed in a calico-print dress with a white-lace collar

  and white sandals, Mom looked as though the extent of her physical labor might be lifting the gavel at a PTA

  meeting. From the bossy, take-charge look on her face, Savannah was sure she would be president. She could also see where Barbie had gotten her penchant for