G.A. McKevett

by Poisoned Tarts (lit)

  “Deputy?” Dirk was incensed. “I’m a detective sergeant, you big-haired bimbo! Get it right!”

  “She was questioned by the deputy in connection with the disappearance of one of her closest friends, Daisy O’Neil, a member of Tiffany’s exclusive Skeleton Key Club.”

  “How about a picture of the missing girl instead of that idiot bimbo?” Savannah said. Then to Dirk, she said, “Didn’t you guys get a picture to them of Daisy? I gave you the one her mother—”

  “Yes. I gave it to Shelly. She scanned it in and sent it to the LA stations and asked them to cover the story.”

  “Well, looks like they are all over it,” she replied sarcastically.

  Tammy and Gran joined them, and all four watched the footage of Savannah, Dirk, and their captive making their getaway, Buick tires squealing.

  Dirk cleared his throat. “Um . . . did I really peel out like that? Hm-m-m.”

  “Video doesn’t lie,” Savannah said. “Jurors just love videotape.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Dirk headed for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked him.

  “To the Dantes’. I’m going to wave Tammy’s phone records under their noses and scare the sh—” He looked over at Gran.

  “—the crap out of them.”

  He disappeared out the door.

  After a couple of profoundly silent seconds, Tammy said, “It might take a little more than a telephone bill to terrify Andrew Dante.”

  “True,” Savannah replied. “So true. I’ll go with him.”

  When Savannah and Dirk pulled up in front of the Dante estate, they had to fight their way through a crowd of paparazzi that made the Pasadena Rose Parade look poorly attended.

  And they realized it was a mistake to be arriving in Dirk’s Buick, which was now a celebrity in its own right. The moment the camera-toting professional stalkers spotted them, they were swarmed.

  But neither Savannah nor Dirk had a problem with the press.

  “Get the hell out of my face, or I’ll arrest every one of you for obstruction of justice!” Dirk roared, holding his badge above his head.

  A tiny bubble of camera-free space appeared around him. But twice as many tightened around Savannah until she thought she was going to suffocate.

  After sleeping with at least three or four siblings at a time growing up, she had developed a bit of claustrophobia. And finding herself besieged by shouting people, her eyes blinded by their flashes, the phobia exploded inside her.

  “Get off me!” she yelled. “The next person who touches me gets clobbered. Back off! I mean it!”

  To her surprise, they actually complied, and miraculously, a narrow path opened between them and the house. Dirk plowed through the crowd like an offensive lineman, with Savannah following in his wake.

  This is one of those moments for the mental scrapbook, Savannah thought as she worked her way through the bizarre scene of photographers, coffins, dismembered bodies, and monsters, all illuminated by the surreal flashes of their cameras.

  “Are you here to arrest Tiffany Dante?” one reporter shouted.

  “Did she murder Daisy O’Neil?” another cried out, a note of hysteria in her voice.

  “Nobody’s dead that we know of,” Dirk yelled. “Just settle down. There’s nothing to report here. Really.”

  “Sheezzz,” Savannah added, “don’t you people have homes to go to?”

  When they reached the front door, fortunately, it was ajar, so they darted inside and closed it behind them.

  “Holy cow,” Savannah said, checking herself to make sure she still had everything she’d come with: a full set of clothing, all of her limbs, her purse, her Beretta in its holster beneath her jacket. “If Tiffy has to run gauntlets like that all the time, maybe it isn’t much fun being her.”

  They glanced around, but the only one in sight was the Grim Reaper with his newly bloodied scythe. At least, he was the only one who was still intact. A few headless corpses were propped against one wall, and someone had tossed some dismembered body parts around Grim’s bony feet.

  “A nice touch,” Savannah said.

  For once, it was Dirk who decided to be a bit cautious. “I don’t think we should just go walking around in here,” he said, “until we see somebody and get invited, or at least tolerated. Dante’s gotta be really pissed. I don’t want to give him any good reasons for those lawsuits he’s talking about with his attorneys.”

  “No kidding.” Savannah listened, but the house seemed strangely quiet without all of the chaos that had been swirling through it only a few hours before. Apparently, the Murder and Mayhem Crew had gone home, and only the inhabitants of the house remained... along with their ghoulish rubber and plaster “visitors.”

  “Can you imagine sleeping in a house with all this mess tonight?” she said, looking around and shuddering.

  “Not really. I actually avoid sleeping in the middle of gory crime scenes. And to think of the money that must have been paid for all this.”

  “More than you can imagine,” said a quiet female voice behind them.

  They turned to see Robyn Dante coming out of the great room, a sad but resigned look on her pretty face. She was wearing loose gauzy pants and a simple crocheted top, the picture of delicate feminine beauty.

  “None of Tiffy’s parties are cheap,” she said as she walked over to them. She looked up at the Grim Reaper, who was more than a foot taller than she was, and shuddered.

  “It’s amazing,” she continued, “how much you can pay for tasteless garbage. But that’s what my stepdaughter loves . . . demands. Expensive, tasteless garbage.”

  Savannah was a bit surprised that she would say anything so blatantly critical of Tiffany. That sort of talk couldn’t go over well around Daddy Dante.

  “You’re the ones who took Tiffany out of here today,” she said, looking them up and down. “I saw your story on TV.” A small grin lit up her tiny face, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Andrew’s not going to be happy about this when he gets home.”

  “Gets home?” Dirk said, a bit of relief in his voice.

  “He left tonight for London...a business trip.”

  Savannah resisted the urge to dance an Irish jig. This was good news, no matter how it was told. ‘No Andrew’ might mean better access to the Dante mansion and the people in it.

  Especially if they were on the good side of the mistress of the manse.

  Moving a few steps closer to Robyn, Savannah glanced around and said softly, “It couldn’t be much fun for you having to deal with...well ... all of this.”

  “You have no idea. You marry for better or for worse, but when you’re saying those words, you think it’s your mate’s better and worst. You don’t count on his family’s worst.”

  “That’s true, very true. And you two haven’t been married that long, right?”

  “We’ll be celebrating our second anniversary on New Year’s Eve.”

  Savannah looked into Robyn’s big blue eyes and saw some doubt there. Apparently, Mrs. Dante wasn’t that sure she’d even make it to the end of her second year.

  “I hear you were his travel agent,” Savannah said.

  “Yes.” For a moment, the young woman smiled a sweet, reminiscent smile. “I was working for World Travel International, and he walked in and . . .” Her smile disappeared. “And the rest, as they say, is history. It was splashed all over the tabloids how I took him away from his wife, Tiffy’s mom. They didn’t bother to report that she had left him and had been living in Switzerland with a lover for two years before I ever met him.”

  “Well, that’s not as juicy,” Dirk said. “Wouldn’t sell as many papers.”

  “That’s right.” Robyn looked grateful for a sympathetic ear. “And the truth doesn’t play as well for Tiffy, either. It’s to her advantage to think of me as the evil stepmother who tore her family apart.”

  “I can imagine,” Savannah said.

  “Andrew’s a sucker for guilt wher
e she’s concerned,” Robyn continued. “He’s always spent a fortune on her, but now...it’s crazy how she works on him.”

  “Like this party?” Dirk said, waving a hand to indicate the room and all its gruesome props.

  “Oh, this party is only one of many, many of her extravagances. And it isn’t just the material stuff. It’s what he lets her get away with. She’s wild! She does exactly what she wants, with whom she wants, to whom she wants. She has no accountability whatsoever.”

  “Which brings me to why we’re here,” Dirk interjected. “We still haven’t found Daisy O’Neil, and we have concrete evidence that Tiffany was involved in her disappearance.”

  Robyn didn’t look surprised. “I figured that’s why you came and got her today. I assume you had a good reason for wanting to question her.”

  “We did.”

  “And I’m equally sure that she never would have gone with you without you forcing her to,” she added.

  “We’re committed to finding Daisy O’Neil,” Dirk said “No matter what we have to do.”

  “Good. She’s a sweet kid. I hope you do.”

  Savannah glanced around again and asked, “Is Tiffany here?”

  “She’s out back by the pool, inspecting the new cemetery we have back there now.” She sighed. “It’s just lovely.”

  “I’ll bet it is.” Savannah pushed aside the mental images of “bodies” floating in the pool. “And how about the other Key girls? Are they here, too?”

  “Oh, they’ve been here all day, helping her... which means waiting on her hand and foot. Those girls are nothing but slaves to Tiffany. She uses them terribly. Uses us all, for that matter.”

  Savannah turned to Dirk. “I’d love to have a few minutes alone with Bunny or Kiki, if that’s possible.”

  “I could probably arrange that,” Robyn said. “Which one would you like to talk to first?”

  Carefully, Savannah considered her answer. Bunny, the cocky, self-assured brunette who was obviously trying to be a Tiffy clone? Or Kiki, the black-haired, exotic beauty with the haunted almond eyes?

  “Kiki,” she said. “I’d love to have some one-on-one time with Kiki.”

  Robyn crooked a finger, beckoning them to follow her, and led them to the rear of the house and the kitchen. “Go in there,” she told Savannah, motioning to the glassed-in breakfast nook. “I’ll see if I can get her to join you.”

  Turning to Dirk, Robyn said, “And how can I help you?”

  Dirk smiled a nasty little smile. “Oh, I want to talk to Miss Tiff again. And since Mr. Dante isn’t at home, all I need is your permission to be here on the property.”

  Robyn laughed an equally nasty little laugh. “Oh, you have my permission to stay as long as you want.” She waved an arm wide. “Search if you want. Search everything and anything. In fact, I believe that Tiffany’s bedroom, the one with the bright pink door on the second floor, is my property.”

  “I like how you think,” Dirk told her.

  “Go for it. As far as I’m concerned, you can search her lingerie drawers if you want.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said, “but it’s nice to have your blessing. In fact, maybe I’ll put off talking to Tiffany for a little while.”

  “How long do you figure it’ll take you to toss her room?” Savannah asked.

  But Dirk was already on his way upstairs.

  Not a lot of opportunities passed by Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter. He was a grab the moment sort of guy.

  “Go,” Robyn said. “Sit down in there behind that big fern so they won’t see you from the pool. I’ll see if I can get her to come in alone.”

  Savannah did as she was told. She went into the breakfast nook and took a seat at the table behind a giant fern, making sure she was well-hidden from anyone outside.

  Robyn left her, and Savannah could hear her shout from the back door, “Kiki! Ki-ki! Could you come help me a minute?”

  “She can’t. She’s busy helping me!” came the indignant reply.

  “Just for a minute,” Robyn said. “The workers left some boxes here in the kitchen, and I need somebody to help me move them so that I can make myself some dinner.”

  Savannah smiled. Robyn was no dummy. With the threat of physical labor looming on the horizon, what were the chances that Tiffy herself would come rather than sending of one her flunkies?

  A few minutes later, she heard Kiki come inside and say, “Okay, where are they?”

  “The boxes? Yeah... well, come in here with me.”

  When Kiki entered the breakfast nook and saw Savannah, she looked startled and not at all happy she was there.

  She whirled around to Robyn, who was behind her, and said, “What is this? What is she doing here?”

  “She just got here and asked to speak to you for a moment. I’m sure you’d like to help her find Daisy.”

  “So there aren’t any boxes to move?”

  Robyn shrugged. “Oh, I can move those myself. You go ahead and talk to Ms. Reid.” She gave the girl a long, hard look. “After all,” she added, “it’s the very least you can do for your friend, right?”

  Kiki looked back at Savannah, a look of pure misery in her beautiful almond eyes. “Sure,” she said with absolutely no enthusiasm whatsoever. “Why not?”

  Chapter 11

  Ten minutes later, Savannah realized that, even though Kiki gave the appearance of at least pretending to cooperate, she was no more informative than her friend Tiffany. “So, you’re saying that you didn’t even see Daisy at all on Tuesday, the day she went missing.” The girl sat across the table from Savannah, staring down at her hands, which were demurely folded in her lap. Her long black hair hung like a dark privacy curtain around her, concealing much of her beautiful face.

  “That’s right,” she said softly. “I didn’t see her. I wasn’t here.”

  “Where were you?”

  “When?”

  “All day but specifically, Tuesday afternoon, say between five and six.”

  “I was driving around, doing some errands for Tiffany.”

  “What kind of errands?”

  Kiki shrugged. “Oh, I dropped some clothes at the cleaners for her, and I picked up her party costume from the seamstress in Twin Oaks and stuff like that.”

  “Then why did other people tell me that they saw you here Tuesday afternoon?”

  “Who said that? Who told you that?”

  Savannah decided not to cause Robyn any trouble since she had become her newest best friend. “It doesn’t matter who. But you were here. So why are you lying to me about it?”

  To Savannah’s surprise, the girl burst into tears and covered her face with both of her hands, sobbing into them.

  Quickly, Savannah rose from her chair and knelt beside Kiki. She put her hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face her. “Kiki, honey,” she said in her most comforting, maternal voice, “I don’t want to upset you. I want to help you. Please talk to me.”

  Instead of replying, the girl continued to cry, her face covered.

  “You know what happened to Daisy, and I think you feel really, really bad about it. If you tell me what happened, I can help you get through this awful thing. Really, I can.”

  “I can’t,” was the muffled, tearful response. “I can’t tell you anything. Please don’t ask me.”

  Savannah reached up and gently pulled Kiki’s hands from her face. “Look at me, sugar. And listen to me. Whatever it is, I’ll just bet that you’re not the one responsible for it. Someone else is, and we know who. We already know that it’s Tiffany.”

  Kiki’s eyes widened, and she gasped. “You do?”

  “Yes. We have solid physical proof. We know most of it already. We just need you to fill in the blanks.”

  “Please, ask somebody else. Ask Tiffany or Bunny.”

  “We already questioned Tiffany. She told Detective Coulter that it was you and Bunny who did it.”

  Another gasp. “She did not!”


  “She did. She didn’t say exactly what was done to Daisy, but she implied very strongly that it was you two, not her, who did it.”

  Okay, so my tongue will turn black and fall out from lying, she thought. The end justifies the means and all that. Not that Gran would agree with the fine points of my theology, but...

  “Tiffany said that Bunny and I did it?” Kiki was saying, her hair and her hands away from her eyes as she searched Savannah’s face. “Are you kidding me? She said it was us?”