“High-heeled, strappy sandals?”
“The four-inchers.” Hey, Savannah thought, somebody has to wear them and better her than me. One advantage of not being in your twenties and thirties anymore.
“How many nights should I pack for?”
She was giddy to the point of panting and breathless. Savannah was afraid she might hyperventilate and pass out while driving over. “Just for a couple of nights,” she said, reining her in just a little.
“Oh?”
The disappointment in that one syllable was too much for Savannah to stand. Better she die of a case of the vapors than a broken heart. “That’s all I packed for,” she added quickly. “We’ll run back to the house to get clean stuff when we need it. Okay?”
“Okay? Okay? Ohmigawd! This is just awesome.”
Savannah laughed and was about to say good-bye when a vision of manliness like she hadn’t seen in years came around the end of the house and began walking toward her. A young man in his mid-to late twenties, carrying a rake over his shoulder—his extremely broad shoulder—his extremely broad, tanned and muscular shoulder—and wearing only a pair of well-worn cutoff jeans shorts, was walking toward her. The mid-morning sunlight was shining on his long dark hair, giving him an almost unearthly beauty. He spotted her sitting on the chaise, and gave her a breathtaking grin that made her knees go weak in an instant.
“Lord have mercy,” she whispered, as every “hunky handyman gets handy with the mistress of the house” fantasy she’d ever had came rushing to her mind…and other regions of her anatomy.
“What?” Tammy—poor, forgotten Tammy—asked on the other end of the phone. “What did you say?”
Savannah shook her head. “Uh, nothing. Just get over here as soon as you can.”
“Thank you,” Tammy said. “I owe you one.”
“Oh, sugar, you have no idea. No-o-o-o idea!”
A few minutes later, when Savannah passed through the kitchen, scouting out the possibility of a fresh cup of coffee, she heard someone close the front door. The click-click of high heels on the marble tiles announced the arrival of the mistress of the house.
Savannah quickly forgot the coffee and hurried into the entryway. Dona was pulling off a scarf and hat that were the same creamy ivory wool as the impeccable suit she was wearing. Savannah couldn’t help noticing that the hat was adorned with one of those deliciously glamorous nets that covered the wearer’s eyes. Yes, Dona knew how to do “old Hollywood” to perfection.
She seemed surprised to see Savannah in her home, then a bit irritated. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you. I forgot you were coming.”
“And I didn’t realize you were going out,” Savannah returned, “without protection.”
Dona sighed. She looked weary, her beautiful red eyes swollen, her face puffy, as though she’d spent the night crying. “I have a life to live,” she said. “And a very busy schedule. I don’t expect you to keep up with me every minute of the day.”
“I don’t mind. That’s what you pay me for. If you’ll just let me know, even a little ahead of time, I’ll be ready to accompany you anywhere, day or night.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to want accompaniment day and night.”
“That’s your choice, certainly,” Savannah said softly, “but until Detective Coulter finds out a bit more about what’s happened here, it might be a good idea if you had an escort when you go out.” She walked over to the alarm-control panel. “And you should keep this system activated when you’re here. If it isn’t on, it’s just an ugly piece of wall décor.”
Savannah studied the panel for a moment, then asked, “What is your code?”
Dona had to think for a minute. “If I remember right, it’s my birthday. Oh-six-one-five.”
“That’s pretty predictable. We should change it right away.” She punched in the numbers and watched the display come to life with its assorted red, gold, and green lights. “My assistant is very good with these things. I’ll have her change it when she gets here.”
Dona headed for the library with Savannah only a few steps behind. “When she gets here?” Dona asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. “Someone else is coming, too?”
“Oh, when you hire me, you get the whole Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency,” Savannah returned brightly.
“Lucky me.” Dona sank into a big leather chair behind a heavy mahogany desk and tossed her scarf, hat, and purse onto a nearby side chair.
“Actually, you might be luckier than you think right now,” Savannah said, trying not to sound as miffed as she was. “We’re pretty darned good at what we do.”
“I’m sure you are, Savannah. It’s just that…well…privacy is such a precious commodity in my life. I’ve always tried to keep my in-house staff and houseguests as few as possible. Otherwise you never have that feeling of…”
“Coming home?”
“Exactly. No one wants to be ‘on’ all day and night.”
Savannah nodded. “I can really understand that. I love my assistant but I also look forward to her going home in the evenings and leaving me alone. Unless one of my crazy relatives is visiting. Then there’s just no rest for the wicked.”
Dona seemed to bristle a bit less, hearing Savannah’s words of empathy. She even chuckled a little. “Where are you from? With an accent like that, I’d say Alabama or Georgia.”
“McGill, Georgia. Population four thousand, seven hundred and eight-two. And four thousand, seven hundred of them are related to me.”
“But apparently you escaped.”
“They follow me here. Right now I have one sister and her newlywed husband at my house. They met in Vegas a few days ago, got married lickety-split, and are now honeymooning at my place.”
Dona grinned. “No wonder you want to hang out with me night and day.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Dona began to rummage through some papers on her desk. “Do you really think I need your protection, Ms. Reid? Or is your friend, Detective Coulter, overreacting?”
Savannah considered her answer carefully, then said, “Dirk doesn’t usually overreact to anything. In fact, he tends to err on the side of apathy and indifference. Doesn’t really give a hoot about much but cold beer and heavyweight boxing. If he says he thinks you need me, you probably do.”
“So, he thinks the killer intended to kill me, not Kim. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’m telling you that it’s too early to tell. But if someone is after you, I intend to make it as hard for him to get to you as possible.”
“Does that mean you’re going to be escorting me everywhere? Are you going to sit on the edge of the tub when I take my bath in a few minutes?”
“No, just right outside your bathroom door.”
Dona looked appalled.
“Just kidding,” Savannah was quick to add. “As long as you’re inside the house and the alarm system is on, I’m not going to worry about you too much.” Just don’t stand for long periods of time in front of big windows, she added silently, but decided to keep it to herself. No point in scaring the daylights out of the woman.
Dona grabbed a note card and began to write on it. “Then you’re in luck. I’m in for the rest of the day, so you can spend the afternoon by the pool if you want.”
“Actually,” Savannah said, her mental wheels turning, “if you’re going to be home, I may just leave my assistant, Tammy, here with you, and I may go do some fieldwork with Detective Coulter.”
“Fieldwork?”
“Check out what leads we have. Kim’s house, friends, family, and neighbors. Your former agent and old boyfriend. That sort of thing.”
“Whatever you think best.” Suddenly, Dona’s already white skin blanched even paler. A sheen of sweat appeared across her upper lip, and her hand was shaking as she laid down her pen. She stood abruptly and hurried toward a door on the far side of the room. “Excuse me,” she said. “I just…”
She jerked t
he door open, hurried into what appeared to be a small powder room and slammed the door closed behind her.
A moment later, Savannah could hear the sound of violent retching.
She wasn’t sure what to do. Something told her that Dona Papalardo would not welcome any sort of intrusion at a moment like this, even in the form of sympathetic assistance.
But when she heard the woman crying, she couldn’t resist at least an offer of help. She walked to the door of the bathroom and said softly, “Dona, are you okay? Can I do anything for you?”
“No, go away,” was the curt reply.
Then another round of sickness, and more crying.
Savannah laid her palm on the door, wishing she could help, wondering what was wrong. Could the woman on the other side be pregnant? Food poisoning maybe? It seemed to have come on very quickly. Only a few moments ago, she had seemed tired and sad, but healthy.
“If you need anything, let me know,” she said softly. “I have eight younger brothers and sisters. Barfing is nothing to me. Can I get you a glass of water or—”
“You can get the hell away from me and leave me alone,” was the sobbing reply.
“Okay. I understand.”
Savannah walked away. If she couldn’t offer Dona Papalardo help in her time of misery, she could at least give her the one thing she seemed to crave most.
Her privacy.
Chapter 8
A s she left the library and passed through the foyer, Savannah found Dirk studying the security system’s control panel. “Good,” he said. “She’s got it turned on now. I warned her last night that she needs to keep it on all the time. But by this morning she’d forgot.”
“I engaged it,” she said. “How did you get in?”
“I was in the backyard. The maid let me in.”
“Well, as soon as Tammy gets here, she’s going to reset the code. Right now it’s Dona’s birthday.”
Dirk shook his head. “People think they’re being so subtle. Their birthdays and their pets’ names…real sneaky.” He glanced over her shoulder toward the library. “She in there?”
“In the bathroom.”
He snickered. “I guess even movie stars have to do it sometimes.”
“She’s sick,” she whispered. “Upchucking.”
“Oh, that’s nasty. Did you upset her, talking about the killing?”
“Not really. She seemed okay, maybe just a little tired. Then all of a sudden, she’s heading for the bathroom.”
“Hm-m-m. Well, delayed reaction maybe. It happens even to us cops, let alone the people who know the victims.”
Savannah saw a flash of hot pink through the etched glass beside the door, a car pulling into the driveway in front of the house.
“Tammy’s VW bug,” she said. “The queen of sleuths has arrived.”
“Good. Then you’ll have help here if you need it. I’m outta here.”
“Out of here? Where are you going?”
“To check out Kim Dylan’s house. I got the keys from Dr. Liu this morning.” He took a key ring with a large, rhinestone-studded K on it from his pocket and dangled the keys in front of her face. “Wanna come?”
Her mouth practically watered. “Of course I want to come. You’re cruel. You know I have to stay here and ‘guard.’”
“Let Nancy Drew guard her. She’d be thrilled to death.”
Through the glass, Savannah could see Tammy approaching, miniskirted, as requested, an overnight bag in hand and a water bottle in the other. Her face shone with the light of a thousand suns…or a contented heart, doing what it loved best in the world.
Dirk was right. She would be thrilled.
“Well,” Savannah said. “Dona did say she’d be in all day.” She bit her bottom lip, thinking, considering the possibility. “How far away is Kim’s house from here?”
“Four minutes. Five, tops.”
More lip biting, more soul-searching…“Will you wait for me in your car? I’ll just show her around and—”
“Sure. Just make it snappy. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
She punched him in the arm. “Don’t get smart with me, boy. You’ll wait and you’ll like it.”
He gave her a grin and flicked the end of her nose with his finger. “Take your time,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll just be sitting there, feeling sorry for myself…chewing on that friggin’ cinnamon stick.”
“I’m very proud of you, you know,” Savannah told him as she rolled down the Buick’s passenger window and allowed the fresh air and California sunshine to fill her senses. “I can’t even imagine how hard it must be to stop smoking.”
“No, you can’t imagine it,” he grumbled. “You don’t have a clue. It’s miserable. I feel like I’m about to explode at the seams.”
“Sorta like I’d be if I swore off chocolate for twenty-four hours?”
“Maybe…if you swore off chocolate, ice cream, and bubble baths.
“Life wouldn’t be worth living.”
“Exactly.”
“Sorry, buddy. But you know it’s the right thing.”
“Yeah, it’s a matter of life and death.”
Savannah gave him a quick sideways glance. She was shocked by his candor. Heaven knows, she had lectured him for years about the potentially lethal effects of tar and nicotine, but she’d never dreamed that her words had been heeded. She smothered a smile and turned to look out the window to her right.
She was a good person! She did deserve her space here on earth! She genuinely helped people! She made a difference in the world!
“Yep,” he continued. “I’ve gotta hang in there this time and really quit. Otherwise I’d have to kill myself for throwing my Harley lighter away like that.”
Okay, she thought as her bubble popped, so much for the power of a woman’s nagging. Granny Reid had always told her girls: There’s no point in nagging men. In the end they always do exactly what they want to do anyway…being the freewilled creatures that God created them to be.
More than once she had said, “You nag a good guy, he just keeps doing whatever he’s doing, only he’s cranky while he’s doing it. And if you nag a bad guy, he’ll do whatever it is twice as much…and be cranky doing it.”
But Savannah couldn’t help herself. Gran had forgotten to mention that women simply couldn’t stop themselves. Nagging was in the genes, along with chocolate cravings and an illogical obsession with shoes.
“I suppose you ran a check on Kim Dylan,” she said, hoping he hadn’t so that she could feel at least a little superior for a minute or two.
“Of course, I did. Nothing. Clean as a whistle. Not even the proverbial parking ticket. I never trust anybody that clean.”
“Or anybody who has a couple of offenses.”
He nodded. “True. You just gotta know that a couple of convictions is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Or a rap sheet a mile long.”
“Of course not. They’re scummers.”
Savannah sat, quietly waiting for a ray of self-awareness to shine into the top of his ever-more-balding head.
Nope. Nada. Self-awareness, self-enlightenment, or self-improvement weren’t high on Dirk’s list of priorities.
He pulled the Buick off the main road and headed down a dirt road through a grove of orange trees.
“Oh, no,” she said, “not another nature call. Didn’t you go back there before we left?”
“Get off my back, woman. The gal lives down here. Or lived, as the case might be.”
“In an orange grove?”
“In a ranch house, they say, at the end down here somewhere.”
“Who says?”
“The new chickie-poo at the station desk. She drops a lot of calls and forgets to give you your messages but she’s nice.”
Translation: Looks good in a sweater, Savannah added mentally. After all these years, she knew how to speak Dirk-ese.
“And you trust her directions?”
“Yeah, she looked it up
on the computer and printed it out for me. The house oughta be about…right there.” He pointed to a clearing down the road and to the right, where a small white cottage sat, surrounded by a picket fence and neatly kept patch of green lawn.
On one side of the yard, a stone wall was partially constructed from a pile of natural stone nearby. A stack of pipes that looked like some sort of irrigation system lay on the other side of the yard.
“Looks like she was in the middle of sprucing the place up a bit,” Savannah said as Dirk parked the car in the shade provided by some avocado trees.
They got out of the car and walked toward the house, raising dust with every step as they walked down the dirt road. The midday sun was hot and warmed the orange trees, enhancing their sweet fragrance. Bees buzzed in nearby bottlebrush bushes, and in the distance a dog barked furiously at some intruder, real or imagined.
“I wonder what it would be like to live out here on a ranch like this,” Dirk said, a sentimental tone in his voice. “Sometimes I think I’d like to buy a piece of land like this and move my trailer out on it. No neighbors to have to mess with.”
“No free coffee-ground–stained tabloids. But you could enjoy the occasional drop-in visit from a coyote or mountain lion.”
He shuddered. Dirk wasn’t big on four-legged critters period, let alone wild ones. “Well,” he said, “it was just a thought.”
When they reached the front door of the cottage, he pulled out the key chain with its gaudy K and sorted automobile keys from house keys. After two tries, he found the right one and the door opened.
He ushered Savannah inside, and they both entered warily.
While Savannah had never really considered herself a nosy person, she did find the insides of other people’s houses interesting. Especially if no one was home. It never failed to amaze her how much you could tell about a person just looking around at their belongings: the never-ending combinations of furnishings and ways to decorate, the items they chose to display prominently, whether the house was clean and tidy or filthy and disorganized. It all said so much about the people who lived within those walls.
Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal Page 8
