Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal

by G. A. McKevett

  “Well, if you insist,” Savannah said. “But only if you let us pay for the ingredients.”

  “No one is paying for anything they eat in my home,” said a voice from the doorway.

  All three of them jumped and turned around to see Dona Papalardo standing there, still wearing her marabou-trimmed gown. Savannah worried for a moment that she might have overheard something incriminating, but she had a softer, gentler look on her face than Savannah had seen so far.

  She swept into the kitchen with all of the grace and aplomb of a silver-screen goddess. She walked over to a cupboard and took out a fine cut-crystal wineglass, and walked over to the refrigerator.

  Savannah noticed that Juanita watched her mistress with a look of concern on her face as she saw Dona pour herself a tiny amount of Chardonnay.

  Dona glanced up to see Juanita looking at her, and she gave a wry chuckle. “Ah, Juanita, you have your worried face on. Don’t fret. I’ll only have a sip every fifteen minutes, okay?”

  Juanita didn’t reply, but busied herself at the dishwasher again, avoiding eye contact with her lady.

  Dona took a tiny taste from the glass and closed her eyes, as though savoring every drop. Then she opened them and gave Savannah a cold, stern look that might have withered a lesser soul. “I have to tell you,” she said, “I’m not at all happy with you for allowing that man into my home. I thought you were here to keep me safe.”

  “I was and I still am. I looked him over good before I let him inside.”

  “You shouldn’t have allowed someone I’m angry with into my home.”

  Savannah nodded. “I understand your anger, and ordinarily, I might agree with you. But part of me protecting you is also finding out what happened to Kim. The sooner we find her killer, the safer you’ll be. And part of conducting an investigation is me talking to everybody I can who knew her, who knows you. I’m sorry if you’re upset that Mark was here. And I’ll respect your wishes in the future and not allow him in. But—”

  The doorbell rang, cutting off her speech. They all stood, frozen, for a moment, then Juanita made a move toward the door.

  Savannah held up one hand. “Let me get it.” Then to Dona, she said, “Is there anyone else other than Mark and your former agent that you don’t want inside your home?”

  Dona took another sip as the doorbell sounded again. “There’s a list a mile long,” she replied, “but for now, the two of them will do.”

  Savannah hurried into the foyer and looked through the glass at three people—two men and a woman, who were trying hard to appear friendly, open, and charming…without looking like reporters. But their perfect hairdos gave them away, not to mention the large video camera the second fellow was trying to hide behind his back.

  She yanked the door open and donned her best battle face.

  “Ye-e-es?” she asked, as though daring them to identify themselves.

  “Hello,” the impeccably dressed red-haired woman said, her voice dripping with all of the sexy professionalism that a Los Angeles six-week journalism class could teach a gal. “I’m Candy Diamond, and we’re from News to You on channel—”

  “No, thank you,” Savannah said, holding up her hand. “I’m sorry, but no one here has any statement to give you at this time.”

  “But we just want to ask Ms. Papalardo one or two simple questions,” the redhead continued. “I’m sure she will want to go on record with—”

  “Stop talking. You need to listen. I understand that you’re professionals and only doing your job. I respect that. I really do. Ms. Papalardo is deeply distressed at what happened here yesterday, and she is unavailable for comment.”

  The redhead turned to the guy behind her with the camera. “Paul, get that.” She turned to Savannah. “Say that once more on camera, would you?”

  “No, not at all. You have your statement. You need to leave now, because, as of this moment, you are trespassing and subject to being arrested. Good…bye.”

  She shut the door with just enough force to punctuate her statement and yet just short of breaking Dona’s fancy etched-glass inserts.

  When she turned around, she saw Dona standing just around the corner in the library, watching her, a big grin on her face.

  “Okay,” Dona said, “That was awesome. I forgive you for Mark. I guess you’re not altogether worthless after all.”

  Savannah locked eyes with her, and for a moment, they were simply two women, connecting and bonding.

  “Gee, thanks,” Savannah said. “That’s mighty big of you.”

  Dona laughed. “I thought so, too.”

  Savannah turned back to the door and peered through the glass, just in time to see the white van with the station’s logo and call letters on its side disappear down the street.

  “They’re gone,” she told Dona.

  “They’ll come back. Them or others like them.”

  “Well, we’ll just get rid of them, too.”

  “Are you that good with termites? Juanita swears she saw some in the pantry the other day.”

  “Nope, we don’t do termites,” Savannah replied. “Our specialty is cockroaches…of the two-legged variety.”

  Chapter 12

  “W ow,” Savannah said after she had tasted the first spoon-ful of Juanita’s soup. “This is beautiful. That’s the perfect word for it!”

  “It’s exquisite!” Tammy said. “I’ve never eaten anything like this in my whole life!”

  Savannah and Tammy had been seated at a table beneath an awning, near the back door, and Juanita had placed an arrangement of assorted candles in the center of the table that gave the setting a fanciful glow.

  Nearby the pool was lit by floating iridescent orbs that looked like perpetual bubbles, skimming along the surface. The fountain in the center of the pool danced in the blue spotlights trained on it, looking like a million fairy gems spraying into the night sky.

  Savannah could smell the sweet fragrance of some nearby jasmine, along with the exotic aroma of the soup set before her. If ever she had been in a fairy land, surely this was it.

  Juanita hovered over her two guests, beaming with pleasure at their praise. “I am so glad you like it,” she said. “It is my family’s favorite. We make it for special holidays in Ecuador.”

  Savannah pushed the various ingredients around in the white broth in her bowl. She saw every type of seafood she could imagine: bits of fish, shrimp, scallops, and even a couple of small lobster tails. The broth itself was savory, spiced with chives and black pepper. She guessed it was made with a chicken stock. And yet, there was an exotic sweetness to it that she couldn’t quite place.

  “What is that strange, wonderful flavor?” she asked. “And what gives the broth its white appearance?”

  “Coconut milk,” Juanita told her proudly. “Unsweetened coconut milk.”

  “You never would have told me that you could put coconut milk into a fish soup,” Tammy said, “but this really works.”

  “These are all foods that are found in my country. The place where I lived there, where my family still lives, is much like here, on the ocean, beautiful.”

  “And what are these things?” Tammy lifted a circular beige object out of the broth with her spoon.

  “Plantains,” Juanita said.

  “What is that?”

  “A type of banana,” Savannah told Tammy. “They aren’t as sweet as the ones we usually eat.” She turned to Juanita. “This is just amazing. I’ve never had anything like this in my life. Thank you for sharing your soup and your culture with us.”

  “It makes me happy to do so,” Juanita said, bowing her head modestly.

  Savannah took a piece of bread to soak up some of the broth. She wished that she could share this with Granny Reid. But she couldn’t imagine Gran being willing to eat fish with coconut and bananas. Gran was open-minded in most ways, especially for an octogenarian. But Savannah was pretty sure she’d draw a line at bananas and fish.

  Savannah was about to take anoth
er bite when she saw a movement on the other side of the pool. A movement in the shadows.

  Instantly, she stood and put her hand on the butt of the Beretta that was in her holster beneath her sweater.

  Tammy jumped to her feet, as well. “What is it?” she asked, breathless.

  Juanita took several steps backward toward the house.

  “Hey, you over there,” Savannah shouted, pulling the weapon and pointing it toward the palms. “Come out of there and let me see your hands! Let me see your hands now!”

  A man moved from behind the palm trees into plain view.

  Instantly, Savannah recognized him. It was the gardener. His hands were high over his head in full surrender, but he had a cocky grin on his calendar-boy face.

  She lifted the end of the Beretta’s barrel, but she didn’t immediately holster it. “What were you doing back there?” she demanded.

  He took several steps toward them, hands still raised. “Don’t shoot,” he said. “It’s me, Jack, the gardener.” His voice sounded more mocking than frightened. And that didn’t sit well with Savannah. If she pulled a gun on a guy, or a gal either for that matter, she expected a little respect, if not good ol’ knee-knocking fear, from them.

  He walked right up to them, then slowly lowered his hands. “Really,” he said, “everybody knows the gardener’s a good guy. It’s always the butler who did it, right?”

  Savannah gave him a cold, nasty look. In light of the crime that had just been committed on these premises, she didn’t find his little joke all that humorous.

  She glanced over at Tammy and Juanita and saw that they weren’t laughing either.

  “I asked you,” she said, “what you were doing over there in the dark.”

  Gingerly, with thumb and forefinger, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans. “I got home and remembered that I’d left my MP3 player over there in the flower bed next to the palms when I was weeding today. And a guy can’t do without his tunes, you know? See?” He pulled out the tiny device and showed it to her, complete with dangling earphones.

  She didn’t believe him. She was convinced that he was hiding there for the simple reason of eavesdropping on their conversation. At least, that was the most innocent explanation she could come up with.

  Slowly, she slipped her gun back into its holster, then she walked back to her chair at the table and sat down. “Join us,” she said, pushing out the chair across from her with her foot. “Have something to eat.”

  “Naw, thanks anyway.” He gave her another little smirk that made her want to rearrange his dental work…up his nose.

  “I insist,” she said, pushing the chair out even further. “Really, I do.”

  He sighed and walked over to the table. Picking up the chair, he spun it around backward and straddled it, laying his thickly muscled arms across the top of the chair’s back and resting his chin on his forearms.

  Savannah was never fooled by the “pseudo-casual” posture. In her experience, she had seen more guilty guys lean back in chairs and prop their feet on desks than innocent ones. No one was truly at ease after a murder had been committed. And anyone who pretended to be had something to hide.

  She glanced over at Tammy and saw that her assistant, in spite of this man’s extreme attractiveness, was put off by him. She was giving him as suspicious and nasty a look as Savannah had ever seen her give anyone.

  And Juanita seemed just as disapproving. She stood where she was, several steps away from the table, closer to the house, her arms folded across her chest. To say the least, Jack’s snooping had put a damper on her party.

  “Have some dinner,” Savannah said with a less than hospitable tone. “Juanita made us a beautiful dinner, and it’s getting cold while we’re messing around here with you.”

  He peered into the soup tureen and made an ugly face. “Ick, what is that stuff? I thought you said Juanita cooked. Where are the tacos and burritos?”

  Juanita swelled up and marched over to the table. She snatched the tureen out from under his nose, put the lid on it, and moved it to the opposite side of the table near Savannah. “You,” she told him, “are a stupid man. Not every person who speaks español is from Mexico. And not everyone from Mexico eats only tacos and burritos. When you say such things you show how little you know to the world.”

  “Well said,” Tammy added. “You just missed out on an amazing culinary experience.”

  “I don’t eat that stuff anyway,” he replied with a slight lift to his chin.

  “What stuff?” Tammy asked.

  “What you just said. Culin…something. I’m a hamburger, hot dog, beer man myself.”

  “Gee, what a surprise,” Savannah mumbled under her breath.

  He looked from Savannah to Tammy and back again, flashing the smile that Savannah had previously thought was so very charming, but now seemed more smarmy. Obviously, Jack the gardener figured that he could sail through life, and probably more than his share of women, with a smile and a flex of biceps.

  “So, you girls are the security team, bodyguards or whatever, huh?” he said, not even bothering to hide the contempt in his voice.

  “Something like that,” Savannah replied. “I’m Savannah Reid and this is Tammy Hart. And you are…?”

  “Jack.”

  “I’ve heard ‘Jack’ before. Jack what?”

  “Roland.”

  “How long have you been working here, Jack Roland?”

  He fixed her with a look that went beyond cocky or rude. She had seen sweeter expressions on felons who had served thirty years of hard time.

  “I don’t have to answer your questions,” he said.

  She matched his acid look and cranked it up a notch. “Yes, you do,” she said evenly. “Trust me, you do not want to get on my bad side. The last thing you should do is come across as a jerk who doesn’t care that someone has been murdered here, someone who isn’t willing to cooperate in the investigation.”

  “You’re investigators, too?”

  “Oh, that’s what we do best,” Tammy said brightly. A little too brightly. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were nearly as cold as Savannah’s. “We do background checks on people, find out all sorts of things about them. Stuff that goes back, years and years ago. And almost everyone has something if you just dig deep enough. Isn’t that true, Savannah?”

  “That’s right.” Savannah nodded. “Remember when you found out that one guy had spit on a girl who lived next door? It was there, right on his police record, plain as day.”

  “And he’d only been five years old when he did it,” Tammy replied solemnly. “You’d be surprised what you can uncover if you just keep digging and digging and—”

  “What do you wanna know?” he asked.

  “That’s better,” Savannah said as she continued to eat her soup. “I want you to tell us about Kim.”

  “What about her?”

  “What did you think of her?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think much about her at all. She worked here. She was sort of quiet, a little stuck-up maybe. We didn’t talk much.”

  He reached up and ran his fingers through his thick, long hair. And Savannah was pretty sure that she saw his hand shaking slightly. Suddenly, he wasn’t meeting her eyes and his ever-present, mocking smile was momentarily replaced by something that seemed a little like fear.

  What did Pretty Boy Pain in the Hindquarters have to be afraid of?

  “Can you think of any reason why anybody would want to kill her?” Savannah asked him.

  “Sure, if they thought she was Dona. Dona pisses everybody off lately now that she’s lost all that weight and is looking good again. Have you spent any time around her? If you have, then I don’t have to explain what I’m talking about to you. She’s sick all the time, and she takes it out on everybody. Maybe somebody just got fed up and decided to do something about it. And Kim…Kim just got in the way.” His voice broke and for just a second, Savannah thought she could see the real person behind that i
rritating facade. She also saw a young man who had more than a casual interest in a victim that he claimed to have barely known.

  They sat quietly for a moment as he appeared to struggle with his emotions.

  Finally, Savannah said, “Did you see Kim die, Jack? Were you here when she was murdered?”

  He laced his fingers together and stared down at his hands. Savannah noticed that his grip was so strong that his fingers were turning white.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I was.”

  “Will you tell us what you saw?” she asked gently.

  A shudder ran through him and he closed his eyes. Then he said, “I was here in the backyard, testing the pool water and adding the chemicals. I heard a pop. It seemed to come from up there.” He nodded toward the hill high above them and to the side of the property. “Then I heard a guy yell.”

  “What did he yell?” Savannah asked.

  “Just a yell, like he was hurt or upset. I found out later it was the limo driver. He’d just seen Kim…realized she was down.”

  “Okay. What happened next?”

  “I heard a woman scream. And then another one started, too.”

  “That was Senorita Dona, and Senorita Mary Jo,” Juanita said. “I ran outside, too, and saw her…Kim…on the road in front of the house. We all started to cry.”

  Savannah turned back to Jack. “And what did you do then?”

  “I could tell that the yelling and crying was coming from the front of the house, so I ran around there to see what was going on. It still hadn’t dawned on me that somebody had been shot. The noise, it had sounded like a firecracker, not a gun.”

  “People often say that gunshots sound like firecrackers,” Tammy said.

  “So much so, that if you hear what you think are firecrackers in a public place,” Savannah said, “you should probably hit the dirt and worry about how stupid you looked later.” To Jack she said, “What did you see when you reached the front of the house?”

  “I saw Kim on the ground. She was all bloody, and she wasn’t moving. And Dona was sitting next to her on the road, holding Kim’s head on her lap. She was crying and talking to her. The driver was on his cell phone, calling for an ambulance, I guess.” He looked over at Juanita. “I saw you standing in the door. You looked like you were about to faint.”