Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal

by G. A. McKevett

  Being a hopeless romantic herself, Savannah could understand the diva’s love affair with the silver screen. The glamour created by those old-time stars and those bigger-than-life sets had no equal in contemporary filmmaking.

  “Nice digs, huh?” Dirk said, nodding toward the mansion.

  “Eh, put some iron rails on my balconies, my house could be its twin.”

  They walked slowly, arm in arm, up the steep trail that curved along one side of the property. The path had a relatively steep pitch, and they had to lean into it as they climbed.

  “How sure are you that the shooter was up here?” she asked.

  “Pretty sure. I questioned the limo driver today. He was actually helping Kim into the vehicle when she was shot. He had hold of her arm.”

  “Wow, close call for him.”

  “And he knows it, too. He’s really mad and wants us to catch the dude.”

  “And he was pretty helpful?”

  “He was. He was very clear about the position she was in when she was shot. And when Dr. Liu showed me the trajectory of the bullet into the body, it was clear that the shooter was high, shooting from above and behind her. That would have put him up here.”

  “And,” she said, “we had a long talk with Jack the gardener at dinner tonight, and he said he heard the gunshot. He placed it up here, too.

  “Any luck on running down that footprint, the hiking boot?”

  He shook his head and looked disgusted. “I left it up to that bimbo at the front desk to check it out on the Internet, and she didn’t get to first base.”

  “I’ll put Tammy on it tomorrow. She’s going to bring her laptop computer here so that she can work from it.”

  “The kid is good at that stuff. Way better than anybody at the station.”

  “She’ll be glad to hear it.”

  “Don’t tell her I said anything good about her. Next thing, she’ll want to be my friend or something.”

  “Not that! Lord help us.”

  “Exactly.”

  Savannah scanned the thick sagebushes that lined the path on either side. Most of them were low-lying, but one patch, about twenty feet away from her, was slightly taller than her waist. “If I were going to take a shot from up here, I’d do it over there,” she told him.

  He took a penlight from his pocket, turned it on, and pointed it to the dirt beneath the bushes she had indicated. “Good guess,” he said. “That’s where they found one of the hiking boot prints. The other one was about thirty feet away.”

  “This direction, right?” she said.

  “Yeah, right over there. Lucky guess.”

  “Educated guess.”

  “Hey, it’s fifty-fifty. This way, down the hill, or that way, up the hill.”

  She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. If you were the killer, which way would you go to make your exit? Down the hill, where the sagebrush is lower and thinner? In clear view of the house? Where the people you just shot at can get a long, good look at you? I don’t think so.”

  She pointed up the hill. “Or you could go up the hill, under cover of this dense, high sage and disappear on any one of those trails that interlace behind these fancy properties. All you’d need is a trail bike stashed somewhere up there and you could skedaddle before anybody says a ‘hi-de-ho’ to you.”

  “Skedaddle? Hi-de-ho?”

  “Oh, come on boy. Don’t act like you don’t understand me. You should speak fluent Southern by now.”

  But Dirk was already halfway up the hill. Savannah caught up to him just as they crested the top.

  In the moonlight, they could see the softly undulating foothills, spread out around them, looking as lush as silver velveteen. This area had burned in a massive brush fire a couple of years before, but nature had replenished the native growth until it was even thicker than before.

  Savannah loved these hills. When life’s cares overwhelmed her, a hike up here, breathing in the rich aroma of the sage, listening to the wildlife rustling in the underbrush, feeling the Santa Ana breezes hot and dry on her skin, all worked together to restore her soul.

  “I like it up here,” she said simply. “It’s good for me.”

  “Yeah, well…do the nature girl routine some other time. We’re workin’ a case here.”

  She turned to him, an instant scowl on her face. “I’m well aware of that, turkey butt,” she said. “I was just communing with the universe for a second there. If you’d do a little more of that, you wouldn’t have to have a crutch like tobacco to calm your antsy, impatient, nervous self down.”

  He winced. “That’s a low blow to a suffering man.”

  “Then don’t get smart with me when I’m enjoying a spiritual moment here. I’m recharging my batteries. And you’ll be one of the first ones to reap the benefits of having a newly energized me.”

  He sniffed. “Don’t think much of ourselves, do we?”

  She reached over and snatched the penlight from his hand. “Get out of my way, boy, and lemme show you how it’s done.”

  “How what’s done?”

  “I don’t know yet. But when I’ve done it, you’ll know.”

  He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and began to tap his foot.

  Ignoring him, she continued up the path, sweeping the penlight from side to side as she went.

  The beam was fairly feeble, but combined with the bright light of the full moon, it was enough. Reaching a fork in the path, she chose the one that would lead away from the mansion and turned to the right, going deeper into the foothills.

  Dirk lagged behind, then came rushing up behind her, radiating impatience. “The CSI techs already went over this,” he told her. “You’re just wasting your time.”

  “How far?”

  “How far what?”

  “How far did they search along this path?”

  He shrugged, thought, then pointed to a curve in the trail ahead. “Maybe up to about there.”

  “Okay.”

  She continued to sweep, but more quickly than before, until she reached the curve in the path. Then she slowed her pace and made sure she missed nothing before she took another step.

  About thirty feet from the bend in the trail, she saw something and dropped to her knees in the dirt.

  Dirk was beside her in an instant. “What is it?” he asked. “What do you see? What did you find?”

  “Oh, suddenly he’s curious. Suddenly he’s no longer bored and grousing.”

  He knelt in the dirt beside her. “Don’t make me have to hurt you, woman,” he said.

  She gave him a disgusted look. “Oh, right. That just happens all the time.”

  “What is it?”

  “Looks a heck of a lot like a tire print to me,” she said, pointing out the lines in the dirt. “A two-wheeler.”

  He sniffed. “Big friggin’ deal. A trail-bike tire print on a trail. Who would have predicted such a thing? Whoopie-do.”

  She turned and gave him a glare that could have started a fire in a pile of wet straw. “Watch it,” she said. “Don’t get smart with me, buddy, or I won’t tell you why this track is so special.”

  “Sure you will,” he said. “Because you’re grinnin’ like you do when you’ve got something really good. And you’ve never been able to keep it in, not for a minute, when it’s good. You’re already just bustin’ to tell me.”

  “Oh, shush and ask. Ask me why this simple, routine track is special.”

  “No, ’cause you’ll tell me. You’ll tell me because you have no willpower and you can’t help yourself.”

  She stood, dusted the dirt off her knees and reached into her pocket. Pulling out a tissue, she walked over to the side of the path and tied the tissue around the branch of a sturdy bush. “There,” she said. “That’ll mark the spot.”

  “What spot?”

  “The spot where your evidence is. You can come back tomorrow when it’s daylight and if you look hard enough, maybe you’ll find it.”

  With that, she started
back down the hill.

  He followed at her heels until they were nearly halfway back to the mansion. She suppressed a laugh as she listened to him snort and mumble expletives under his breath.

  But as they approached the midway point, he suddenly darted around her and blocked her path.

  “Listen, you,” he said. “If you think you’re going one more step before you tell me what you saw back there, you’re wrong…just wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  She took not only one step, but two, until she was nose to nose with him. “Oh yeah?” she said, grinning at him. Then, in a breathy and bad Marilyn Monroe impression, she said, “Whatcha gonna do to stop me? Huh?” She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “Whatcha gonna do, you big, bad po-o-lice man?”

  He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, then pulled her against him. She put her hands on his chest to push away, but he held her tight.

  For a moment, a fleeting moment, Savannah was acutely aware of the moonlight flowing soft and silvery around them, his face so close to hers that she could smell the cinnamon on his breath, mixed with a hint of his Old Spice shave lotion. With her hands on his chest, she could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. And she was all too aware of how broad and hard his chest felt beneath her palms.

  She took half a step back and tried to get away from him, but he only tightened his grasp.

  “Let go of me, boy,” she said, her voice low and husky.

  “Not until you tell me what it was.”

  “I could get away from you if I really wanted to,” she said.

  He grinned, and even though she didn’t want to even think such things, she remembered what a really sexy smile Dirk had when he was happy—an event that happened only a time or two a year, but it was worth the wait.

  “No you couldn’t,” he said. “You and I have never really gotten into it physically, but if we did, you know I’d win.”

  She wanted to argue, but there was no point in lying. She was a very sturdy woman and a fierce fighter when she had to be. But she could feel the male power in his arms, hands, and chest. And there was no denying who would win in an all-out affray between the two of them.

  “Okay,” she said. “You’d win. But you’d be bitten and scratched and kicked and gouged and bloody as hell, boy. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

  He laughed and abruptly let her go. “What was it? What was so special about that stupid trail-bike track back there?”

  Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her hands from his chest. “That track was special,” she said, “because of what was beside it.”

  He was instantly, fully alert. “And that was…?”

  “A boot print. A boot print with a PM on the heel.”

  “A Porter-Marceau hiking boot.”

  She grinned, stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You got it, babycakes, a Porter-Marceau hiking boot.”

  They continued on down the hill, and as they reached the bottom, Savannah decided to share the rest.

  “One more thing,” she said. “That print in the dirt didn’t look to me like a track from a trail bike.”

  He looked confused. “Well, it was too thick for any kind of bicycle, like a mountain bike or even a moped.”

  “That’s right. I think it was wider than any of those. I think it’s a motorcycle tire. Not a big cycle, but a street bike of some sort.”

  They stopped in the middle of the path and turned to look at each other.

  “Like the one that Kim’s mystery man rides?” Savannah said.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “Just may-be.”

  “We’ve just got to lay eyes on that guy. We really do.”

  “Lay eyes on him?” Dirk gave a little growl deep in his throat. “To hell with laying eyes on him. I wanna lay hands on him. And I want to lay them on him really, really hard. Several times if necessary. We need some answers here.”

  “Amen, Brother Dirk. Amen!”

  Chapter 14

  S avannah knocked softly on Tammy’s bedroom door, trying not to disturb Mary Jo Livermore across the hall. A little bit of a drunk Mary Jo went a long way, and Savannah wasn’t interested in shooting the breeze with her twice in one evening.

  She was about to knock a second time when she heard, “Who is it?”

  Good girl, Savannah thought. Caution. An excellent quality in a private detective—or their assistant.

  Then she heard the lock turning, and a couple of seconds later the door opened a crack and Tammy peered out, wearing her pink Minnie Mouse pajamas and looking a bit tousled.

  “Is everything okay?” Tammy asked, instantly awake and concerned.

  “Everything is fine. Just fine.” She glanced up and down the hallway, but the rest of the house appeared to be fast asleep. “Let me in for a minute. I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “Sure, come on in.” She swung the door open wide, and Savannah hurried inside. “Sorry if I woke you.”

  “You didn’t. I was just lying there in that beautiful bed, enjoying the room.”

  Savannah felt a tiny pang of conscience. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d mind coming downstairs and doing library sofa duty for an hour or so. Dirk’s waiting for me outside. We thought we might go back to Kim’s house tonight and see if we can catch the guy who’s been living with her.”

  “Tonight? It’s after midnight.”

  “I know. We’re thinking if he spends the nights there he might be around.”

  Tammy nodded, walked over to the foot of the bed and picked up her robe, which was spangled with Tinkerbells. “Could be. But why doesn’t Dirk go by himself? Not that I mind coming downstairs, but…?”

  “We were walking around outside. We went up the hill and found more of those boot prints, the ones we think the killer left. And right beside another set of them was a motorcycle track.”

  “Ah, and you think since Kim’s live-in rides a bike—”

  “You got it.”

  “And if the guy really is the killer, ol’ Dirko could use some backup.”

  “He’d never admit it in a hundred years, but yes.”

  Tammy grabbed a scrunchy, spangled with hot pink sparklies off the nightstand and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Then she slipped on a pair of penguin house slippers. “Should I bring my gun down with me, too?” she asked, reaching for her Dora the Explorer backpack on a nearby chair.

  Savannah looked her over from head to toe, shook her head, and said, “Yes, the one that shoots bullets, not the Donald Duck water squirt gun.”

  “What?”

  Sigh. “Never mind.”

  They walked downstairs and Savannah led her into the library. “I appreciate you doing this,” she said. “If the guy’s not there, we’ll be back directly. And if he is—”

  “If he is, none of us are going to mind because the case will probably be solved,” Tammy said brightly.

  Savannah looked at her with sweet affection for a long moment. “That’s right, kiddo. And then it’s pop the cork on a bottle of champagne time.”

  Tammy settled herself on the leather sofa, then carefully laid her weapon, a Glock 9mm, on the coffee table.

  Tammy carrying a gun was a new and big event in the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency. Previously, all of them, from Savannah and Dirk to Ryan and John, were routinely armed. Their experience in law enforcement caused old habits to die hard, and they all felt safer, considering their line of work if they kept their weapons close by at all times.

  But Savannah, like a watchful mother hen, had been reluctant to arm Tammy. And it was only after months of Savannah training her at the local shooting range that the four other members had presented Tammy with her own weapon.

  Savannah had given it to her on her birthday, along with a fervent, big-sister wish that she never even had to draw it, let alone fire it.

  Savannah stood there, looking down on the weapon and, not for the first time, shuddered at the very thought of Tammy having to use it. But i
f there was anything worse than being in a situation where you would have to fire a gun, it was being in that same predicament and not having one to fire.

  “Remember, Tams,” she said, nodding toward the pistol. “Don’t ever—”

  “I know, I know,” Tammy interjected. “Don’t ever pull your weapon and point it at somebody unless you’re willing to shoot them.”

  “Or else…?” Savannah prompted.

  “Or else you’re just handing them the means to kill you.”

  “And if you do shoot?”

  Tammy stared Savannah straight in the eye with a look that was far colder and more determined than Miss Minnie Mouse Jammies ever exhibited otherwise. “If you shoot,” she said firmly, “aim for center mass. Double tap. Two shots in rapid succession. Then two more if you need to. Then two more—”

  “Until?”

  “The threat is neutralized.”

  Savannah nodded somberly, closed her eyes for a second and whispered, “God forbid.”

  “Well, if this gets any more exciting I just might pee my bloomers.” Savannah yawned and sank lower in the passenger seat.

  “Oh, stop your griping. If you weren’t here with me—”

  “I’d be sleeping on a cushy leather sofa in a gorgeous mansion with a down pillow under my head and a soft, luxurious throw over me.”

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t be with me.”

  “O-o-okay. And your point is?”

  He gave her a sideways grin. “And you’d rather be with me than anywhere on earth.”

  “Uh, we don’t think much of ourselves, now do we?”

  He shrugged and snickered. “Just telling the truth.”

  She rolled the window down and stuck her arm out, feeling the moist night air on her skin. They were parked behind an old outbuilding, among some trees and brush. They could see the house well, but wouldn’t be obvious to anyone coming down the road.