SOUK GRAPES 173
"Since when are you drinking on the job, Van?" Dirk asked, reaching for his own glass of iced tea.
"Yeah, right. . . like you wouldn't be guzzling beer this minute if they'd offered it to you. Besides, I'm only having half a glass. If I drank the whole thing I'd go right to sleep, sitting here in my chair."
"By the way"--he stuffed another forkful into his mouth--"Dr. Liu told me she examined that muck that was on the Matthews kid's bed. It was chicken guts, all right."
Savannah glanced down at her salad and silently
cursed Dirk for his lack of timing., "Gee, thanks for letting me know."
"No problem."
"How did it go with informing the Matthews family?"
"Rotten, just like always. Dad cried, Mom cussed me out, then she cried, too. There just ain't no easy way to inform next of kin."
Savannah nodded. "It's the worst. I don't mind leaving that part of the job behind. Did they give you any ideas who might have had it in for her?"
"Mom said she's sure it's the boyfriend, a kid from the east end. And Dad said, 'No way. He's a good boy . . . even if he is from the east end.'"
"Yah, when I interviewed them earlier, Mrs. Matthews didn't strike me as very liberal when it comes
to embracing those of another economic status."
"No joke. She's ready to jab the needle in him herself, right now, trial be damned."
"Did you run the boy?"
"Yeap, a couple of misdemeanors, nothing major. I dropped by his place, but his mom said he was gone for the day. I'll try again tonight. It's not exactly APB time
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11,./VA XL, VV.
. .
until Dr. Liu's done with the autopsy and we know for sure she was murdered."
"When is she doing it?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, I think."
"That's quick."
"Yeah, only one other stiff in the morgue. Lucky for as, it's a slow weekend."
"And even luckier for the would-be stiffs who ain't." "Huh?'
"Never mind."
Dirk settled into serious eating, which meant he had no time for mundane conversation, as he polished off his first plate and sweet-talked a waitress out of a sec-
Savannah finished her lunch and used the remainng
minutes of the meal to relax and watch the crowd. :latherine and Anthony Villa were moving among their
;nests, the perfect host and hostess, cool and calm, with no hint of trouble. No one would have guessed that 3nly hours ago, someone had been murdered on their 3roperty.
Savannah also kept an eye on the press members, vino had been given a prominent table in the center of
he room. While the pageant was hardly the most newsworthy event of the season, several of the local papers lad sent reporters, and Savannah recognized the anchorwoman of the local cable channel.
She wondered if any of them knew about Barbie
datthews. From their casual demeanor, she assumed lot. But no sooner had she come to that conclusion han she saw Rosemary Hulse, a newspaper reporter for he San Cartnelita Stan talking on her cell phone. She tad listened to her caller only a few seconds when her
!xpression changed from laid-back to serious. Rose
JJ Urnt11-r...s3 1 /3
mary's forte was crime reporting, and she always seemed to show up when Savannah least wanted a public informer
on the scene.
The moment Rosemary put her phone away, she stood and excused herself.
Elbowing Dirk, Savannah said, "Hey, buddy. Rosemary Hulse just got a phone call. She knows."
"Dandy."
"How long do you suppose it'll take her to corner
Catherine or Anthony Villa?"
"About two seconds."
His prediction was dead center; Catherine had left her table and walked to the back of the room to speak
to the headwaiter, and that was where Rosemary nailed her.
Watching the two women converse, Savannah saw Catherine Villa's struggle to remain the poised politician's
wife. And she had to give the lady major points for "cool." As she answered Rosemary's questions, she wore the appropriate, sad, terribly concerned expression, although Savannah could imagine her agitation.
Rosemary had pulled a small tape recorder out of
her purse and was holding it under Catherine's nose, taking the "quote," no doubt that would be on the headline of tomorrow morning's edition of the Star Any homicide was big news in the small, quiet community of San Carmelita. But one involving a beautiful young woman, on the posh estate of Villa Rosa, whose owner just happened to be running for senator? That was too juicy for second-page news.
The conversation didn't last long; Catherine Villa was pretty good at wriggling out of an unpleasant situation,
Savannah observed. She seemed to notice some urgent situation on the opposite side of the room that
demanded her immediate attention. In a wink, Rosemary was standing alone, recorder in her hand and a frustrated look on her face.
The reporter glanced around the room, and her eyes met Savannah's. "Uh-oh." Savannah tossed her napkin onto the table and stood. "I'm outta here before she snags me, too."
"Me, three." Dirk gulped down the last of his tea and followed Savannah as they made their escape from the
pool area and through a door that led back into the
courtyard.
Catherine Villa was there, and so was Marion Lippincott. Savannah and Dirk could hear them arguing even before they saw them.
"That's it. This beauty contest is over. We can't take responsibility for your young ladies' safety," Catherine was saying. "You have to send them all home immediately."
"But, Mrs. Villa, we mustn't interrupt the pageant The girls have been preparing for this for months. It's very important to them. . . the scholarship and--"
"We'll set up some sort of scholarship, whatever you like, but we have to end this pageant and get the girls out of here before something else awful happens."
Catherine glanced over and saw Savannah and Dirk. "You! Come here!"
"Us?" Dirk said.
"Yes, you. Please tell Mrs. Lippincott how important it is that we send the young ladies home right away. You of all people should know that You saw that poor girl
and . .
Catherine's facade of composure cracked, and she began to cry. Savannah walked over to her and put her
arm around her shoulders. 'There, there. Do you have an office, Catherine?"
"Yes."
"Does it have a lock on the door?"
She sniffed and nodded.
"Then I would suggest that we go there right away, because Rosemary Hulse is right on our heels, and I don't want a picture of you in tears to appear in the
paper. . . and I'm sure you don't either."
Catherine wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, lifted her chin, and patted her French twist. "Follow me."
As Savannah, Dirk, and Marion Lippincott left Catherine WhitestoneVilla's office, 'The Lip" was having a difficult time hiding her glee. "I can't believe you talked her into allowing us to continue!" she told them. "You were wonderful in there. . . both of you. Though I'm a little confused. To be honest, I'm surprised that you were on my side."
They paused at the end of the hallway, at the door leading to the gallery. "It isn't a matter of taking sides," Savannah told her. "It's an issue of keeping the status quo."
"What do you mean?"
"Easy," Dirk replied. "If we have everybody here in one place, it's easier to keep an eye on them. And chances are, we'll keep the murderer here, too."
The unflappable Mrs. Lippincott gave him a startled look. "Are you telling me that you think the killer is here at the pageant?"
"Better than even odds."
Mrs. Lippincott turned to Savannah. "Do you think so, too?"
"Whatever he says. He's the dude with the badge." Marion thought that one over for a moment, then nodded.
"I guess that makes sense. You will let me know as soon as you have a suspect, won't you?" "Absolutely," Dirk assured her.
As she walked away, Savannah said, "You're not going to tell her squat."
"I know."
"So, you shouldn't lie to people. Your nose will grow longer."
"My nose? That's not what I heard. I thought it was--" "Oh, shut up. What'd you do, rent one of those stupid, X-rated cartoons again?"
"Lie to me, Blue Fairy. . . lie to me."
Chapter
rrhe girls were gorgeous; Savannah had to admit it as
she watched them glide, as graceful as princesses at a coronation, past the judges' table in their evening gowns.
The lawns behind the Villa Rosa guest center had
been converted into a fantasyland with a million white
sparkling lights winking in the olive trees and rose topiaries
lining the path where the contestants passed, while their admirers watched in rows of chairs that had
been assembled for the event.
A Maypole had been raised in the center of a
makeshift stage, its ribbons stretching to the ground, the pole itself wreathed in garlands of roses and twining
vines heavy with grapes.
The girls were dressed in every hue, from the most delicate pastel to deep, intense jewel tones. And they all
VV.
sparkled. . . with either rhinestones or sequins, as their budgets had allowed.
Savannah was pleased to see that Atlanta had made a
lovely selection, a simple but classy dress of dark blue satin, accented with rhinestones across the bodice. She had admitted to Savannah that she had stuck them on
with a hot-glue gun herself the night before coming to
California, but the effect was no less stunning in the subdued, romantic lighting.
No one would have guessed that Atlanta Reid wasn't
a pampered Southern socialite, but the daughter of a sometimes--truck stop waitress who was also known as the town's "loose woman."
But Atlanta was also Granny Reid's granddaughter. She had been taught to sit, walk, and talk like a lady since she was old enough to do all three. And as Savannah watched her cross the stage with the bearing
of a queen, she wished that Gran were there to see her. She would have been busting with pride.
"Your sister looks lovely tonight," Ryan said. He stood at her shoulder, watching, as she was, from the sidelines. "I've seen you wear that color. . . sapphire blue, isn't it? It complements your eyes and hers, too."
Savannah batted her lashes at him. "Why, sir. . . I didn't think you'd noticed."
"Of course I've noticed. John and I were just saying the other day how beautiful you looked the last time we
took you to dinner at Chez Antoine."
"You're only saying that because you're 'safe,' immune to my feminine wiles. Straight guys never say cool things like that."
"Some do. Just not that barbarian you spend most of your time with."
"No, but I like him anyway."
Ryan laughed. "I understand."
"You do?"
"No, but I'll take your word for it."
They watched a while longer as the remainder of the
contestants made their appearances. The number of participants had dwindled since the noon swimsuit
showing. Some of the parents had gotten wind of Barbie Matthews's demise and had come to collect their
daughters. A few of the girls had been frightened and eager to leave, but most chose to remain and finish the competition.
Savannah's threats to send Atlanta packing had
fallen by the wayside. Everyone seemed convinced that Barbie's bad luck had been of her own making and was
unlikely to be repeated with anyone else.
Except Francie.
Savannah had been keeping a close eye on her, and the girl seemed just as troubled and nervous as she had
that morning, maybe more. She tripped on the hem of her gown while walking up onto the stage, and when it was her turn to speak a few words at the microphone, she stammered and choked on her own words.
"I wish I'd been able to get her to open up to me," she told Ryan. "I'm sure she knows exactly what happened to Barbie and why. But she's too scared to talk."
"I know. I tried, too, but she was terrified to even have anyone see her speaking to me."
"Did you hear from John? Did he check her out?"
"Yes, he says she's had it rough, been in and out of foster homes her entire life, through no fault of her own. She's a good kid, no drugs, no record, very good grades. She's living at home now. Apparently, mom's got it together for the moment. Her last foster parents want to adopt her."
"Why don't they?"
"There's some problem with the mom giving up
complete custody. Dad isn't on the scene."
"Any brothers or sisters?"
Ryan gave her a quizzical look. "Yes, I thought you knew."
"Knew what?"
"She's Trent's sister."
'Trent Gorton? The east end boy that Barbie dated?" "The very one. That's how Trent and Barbie met. He was dropping his sister off at a pageant."
Savannah thought that one over as Mrs. Lippincott went to the microphone, thanked everyone for coming, and wished them a safe trip home.
Trent's sister, huh?
Now, that was a horse of a different feather.
Back in her room for the night, Savannah took a two-minute shower--a cleaning that Gran would have :alled, "a lick and a promise."
She didn't want to waste a moment on bathing that
:ould be spent sleeping. Having agreed to meet Ryan or breakfast at 7:00 A.M., she was already dreading the 3rospect of hauling her weary bones out of bed. It would come all too soon.
Besides, Atlanta was pacing in the bedroom, impaient to begin her "beauty bath," which she said would nclude special moisturizers and exfoliates, the mixture wing her own carefully guarded secret
She had halfheartedly apologized to Savannah for
.efiising to share her "fountain of youth," until Sayaniah told her bluntly, "'Lanta, don't take this wrong, but don't give a tinker's damn about beauty treatments
right now. I don't have to look good to catch bad guys. Just don't stand between me and the shower or the
bed."
In less than five minutes she had completed all the
minimalist toiletries and
was blissfully horizontal. And ninety seconds later, she was drifting in a pea green, dreamland boat with Winken, Blinken, and Nod.
But then, a bony hand reached out and rocked the boat. It was the Wicked Witch of the East. . . or was she from the South? She had a really heavy Southern accent and--
"Savannah, wake up."
"No, go away."
"Really, Van, wake up," Witchy Poo said. "It's important."
"I swear, if you touch me again, I'll hurt you."
More shaking, the bony fingers biting into her shoulder. "You've gotta hear this. Wake up."
Savannah came fully conscious and realized that
Atlanta was serious . . . not like this morning. Whatever the reason for her waking her, it wasn't something as frivolous as snoring.
"The girls in the room next to us," Atlanta whispered. "You should come in here and listen. I was taking my bath when I heard them, and I thought I should wake you up."
Savannah squinted up at her sister and realized she
was wet and shivering, a towel twisted around her torso, her sudsy hair dripping on the floor.
"Okay, okay." Savannah swung her legs out of bed and sat up. Her head spun, as though both tablespoons of her blood had raced to her feet, giving her a blood pressure of minus zero.
She followed Atlanta into the bathroom where she,
too, could hear a conversation going on in the next room. Apparently the plumbing provided an excellent conduit for eavesdropping.
Atlanta stood to one
side of the toilet and pressed
her ear to the tiled wall. Savannah took a position on the other side.
"You never liked Barbie anyway," one of their neighbors said. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who pushed her off that cliff"
"Yeah, well, I don't like you either, Eileen, but I haven't done anything to you. . . yet."
"Don't threaten me. I'll go straight to Mrs. Lippincott and tell her how you ripped Barbie's evening
gown and put drain cleaner in her shampoo."
Savannah looked at Atlanta and waggled her right
eyebrow. Atlanta stifled a giggle.
"I don't know what you're talking about," came the reply.
"Okay, then you won't mind if they check her gown and her shampoo bottle, right?"
"I don't care what you say or what they da. I'm glad that Barbie Matthews is dead. She was a bitch, and I hated her guts. I hope somebody did murder her. It would serve her right."
"I think you killed her, because you were tired of her beating you in contests. Everybody knows you threatened to hurt her after she took the Miss California
Sunshine crown and you were first runner-up."
"She fixed that pageant! She slept with two of the judges. That's the only reason she won."
"And you only slept with one of them, right, Desiree?"
Both Savannah and Atlanta cringed, expecting to
hear some indication of physical violence. Instead, they heard the voice, identified as "Desiree," reply with deadly calm, "I'll bet I won the evening gown tonight, and if I did, it's because I'm the only pro here. The rest of you are stupid little girls who couldn't win a pageant
if you slept with every judge on the panel. And as far as whether I hurt Barbie or not . . ."
Savannah shoved her ear as tight against the wall as
she could and held her breath.
". . . that's for me to know and you to think about. Think about it anytime you're going to say something
stupid to me. . . or about me. You'd better think hard, Eileen. Your life might depend on it."
Savannah Reid 06 - Sour Grapes Page 14
