“Gilly’s the nicest part about being here,” he said. “She’s a sweet kid. Louise needs to take better care of her.”
Savannah bit her tongue and simply nodded her agreement.
As he wiped down the marble counters with a wad of paper towels, he gave her a list of his assorted duties. “I’m supposed to be Eleanor’s driver—I live in the chauffeur’s apartment over the garage and have for years— but I don’t take her out much, because she’s agora.... agro.... something that makes you afraid to leave home.”
“Agoraphobic?”
“Yeah, that’s it. She hardly ever leaves the property. Has everybody and everything brought to her. So, I keep the cars in good shape, plant her precious lilies, prune her roses, string gobs of lights all over the house at Christmas until it looks like a Las Vegas casino. But I don’t know why we bother. She doesn’t throw parties anymore. She doesn’t like having anybody in the house but us—you know, people she knows really well.”
Savannah locked eyes with him. “And does she know all of you... really well?”
He returned her pointed look, then threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh that filled the house. It echoed eerily, as though the sound were foreign within those walls. “No, I don’t suppose she does,” he said. “If she knew half of what any of us say or think about her, she’d send us all packing.”
Savannah laughed with him. Then she decided to let him have it, verbally, in the diaphragm, just to see what he would do.
“Who’s sending Eleanor those hate letters, Sydney? Do you know?”
He stopped laughing abruptly and stared at her, slightly openmouthed for a moment. Then he walked over to the garbage compactor and tossed his handful of paper towels into it. “Could be anybody, right?” he finally said, “Like a crazy fan or....”
“She thinks it’s somebody she knows. Somebody here.”
He sighed and leaned against the butcher-block island. “Could be one of us.”
“Us?”
“Somebody who works for her: Marie, Kaitlin, Martin, a member of the film crew, one of the gardeners.”
“How about family?”
“She doesn’t have that much family. She and Burt are split up and now she’s just got Louise and Gilly... and her sister, Elizabeth.”
“Sister?”
He nodded. ‘Yeah, Liz and Eleanor are twins. But Elizabeth’s a lot nicer and better looking than Eleanor. Beauty is as beauty does and all that.”
Ah, Savannah thought, there’s something to my evil-twin theory after all.
“Are they close?”
“They’re identical twins, but Liz doesn’t come around here much. They’ve had a falling out. Eleanor’s pretty much on the outs with everybody.”
“So I gathered.” She paused, thinking of the woman locked inside this magnificent prison, with herself as the warden. “She must be terribly lonely.”
But Sydney didn’t seem to share her momentary pang of compassion. He shrugged and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “If Eleanor’s alone and lonely, she deserves to be. She’s worked really hard at it” Grabbing his tux jacket off the pantry doorknob, he said, “Sorry, but I have to change the oil in the Jag and then separate some lily bulbs. Catch you later.”
“Sure. Later.”
Savannah stood in the kitchen, thinking for a minute or two, evaluating their conversation. She liked Sydney, but she didn’t completely trust him. When she had asked him if he knew who was sending the letters, he hadn’t answered her directly. And she had learned long ago not to trust people who answered your questions with a question of their own.
Sydney knew more than he was telling her; she was sure of it. And why wouldn’t he? When you did things as intimate for someone as emptying their garbage and doing their dishes, you learned all sorts of things.
Of course, if you wanted to remain employed, you also learned to keep such things to yourself.
She took the list she had made for Eleanor out of her pocket and scanned it:
√ Reset security code on house alarm system and activate it every night.
√ Same with entry gates.
√ Make sure all doors and windows are secure before retiring.
√ Get the shotgun out of the broom closet and stow it someplace safe.
√ Install better lighting around house and some motion detectors.
√ Repair holes in property perimeter fencing.
As Savannah’s eyes scanned the page, she realized that Lady Eleanor wasn’t likely to do any of these things, let alone all of them.
Like many egocentric people, Eleanor didn’t really believe that she was mortal, that someone could actually do her harm.
For so long she had surrounded herself with people who only obeyed. It was beyond her mental grasp to think that someone might kill her without her express permission.
And Savannah herself didn’t really believe that the woman’s life was in danger. After all, many people wrote nasty letters to people they didn’t like, especially celebrities. An anonymous note was a coward’s way of venting hostility without taking any personal risk. If you didn’t have a personal standard that prevented you from acting like a jackass and a chickenshit, you could make an enemy crazy for the price of a stamp.
It was a long, long way from writing threatening words on a piece of paper to actually committing the act of murder.
But... when you were talking about the taking of human life, you didn’t think in terms of “What usually happens is....” You took all possibilities under consideration.
And dammit, Savannah thought, she’s got to be a little more careful. Queens have been assassinated for centuries. Some of them even deserved it.
But, of course, whether they derserved it or not didn’t matter. No queen—noble or wicked—died on her watch. No way. She wouldn’t allow it.
So why was a little voice in her head saying something nasty like, Famous last words, girl. Famous last words.
“Oh, shut up,” she told her inner demons as she headed upstairs to what would be certain rejection. “What do you know about anything?”
But she felt sort of sick inside, and it had nothing to do with the cold she was catching. It was a tightness in her stomach, and she knew the cause. It was because she had learned long ago.... those little devils were usually right.
Savannah stood in the shadows at the edge of the set, watching the evening taping of the Lady Eleanor, Queen of Chocolate, show. At her elbow stood a positively giddy Tammy, so excited that she was about to dance out of her cargo shorts.
What was it about TV shows, any TV show, that piqued people’s curiosity and inspired them to adore even the least adorable?
With her nose running like a faucet and her head throbbing like it was being hit by John Henry’s hammer, she wasn’t in the mood to idolize anybody, let alone Eleanor the Crab. The so-called lady had already snapped at two of her hapless crew and outright screamed at another one, and still, Tammy gazed at her as though she were true royalty.
“This is just too cool,” Tammy whispered. “I’m so psyched that you invited me to see it.”
“It wasn’t exactly an invitation. I need you. I want you to work.”
“Oh, I know. But it’s just so fun to see it all happening right before your eyes.”
Savannah felt another sneeze rising to the surface. She pressed her finger under her nose but half of it escaped. “Ach—”
“Sh-h-h,” Kaitiin warned them as she walked by, wearing her headphones and carrying her ubiquitous notebook.
“Sorry.” Savannah nudged Tammy and led her out of the converted barn with its hot lights and into the cool night air.
“Ah, it’s better out here anyway,” she said as they walked away from the crew’s parked cars and up the driveway toward the gates and the main road.
Savannah reached into her purse and pulled out several plastic bags that contained the letters Eleanor had received. “I want you to take these to Dirk and ask him to get somebody to du
st them for prints. They’re probably covered, because they’ve been passing them around here like hot potatoes, but it’s worth a try.”
“Okay, if I have to.”
Not a lot of love was lost between Dirk and Tammy, and Savannah didn’t have to question Tammy’s reluctance.
“Yes, you have to. And”—she pulled another list out of her purse—“here are the names of the people who work here and miscellaneous family members. Ask him to run them, see if anybody comes up with a record.”
“Oh, he’s going to just love that. Can’t I ask Ryan?” Like most females who weren’t dead, Tammy was madly infatuated with Ryan Stone and refused to believe he was a lost romantic cause. She never missed an opportunity to see, speak to, or touch him in hopes that his sexual orientation might be reversed by the sheer power of her feminine wiles.
“No, you can’t ask Ryan. He and John aren’t actually in the bureau anymore, and we ask them for enough favors as it is. Dirk owes me one.”
“Dirk owes you a million.”
“True, but we have to collect one at a time so as not to shock his system.” She looked back toward the studio and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
“What?”
“I could swear I smell chocolate. The recipe Eleanor’s doing tonight is a cake called Death by Chocolate. If we go in and keep quiet like good little girls, maybe they’ll give us a bite.”
When they reentered the studio, Savannah saw to her delight that their timing was perfect. Lady Eleanor was indeed dishing up pieces of a decadently rich dark chocolate cake to members of the crew.
At first Savannah was surprised with the grace and generosity she was displaying as she served up her creation. Then she saw that the cameras were still rolling. This “feeding of the hungry multitudes” was just part of the act.
Deciding to be one of those fed, Savannah jostled her way to the front and nabbed a plate.
In a display of utter selflessness, she offered it to Tammy, who was standing behind her. Tammy graciously declined, as Savannah had known she would—otherwise she never would have risked it.
This chance of a lifetime. This opportunity to sample, firsthand, the creation of a chocolate goddess. To sink her teeth into—
It was awful.
Savannah stood there, her mouth full of dry, bitter, nasty cake and nowhere to spit it, except back on the plate—which Granny Reid had distinctly taught her was a no-no under any circumstances. Repressing a shudder, she swallowed and wished in vain for a glass of anything—even quinine—to rinse it down with.
She glanced around and saw that no one, except for Lady Eleanor herself, was actually eating any of theirs. Kaitlin Dover was watching her from the other side of the set, a knowing grin on her face.
Apparently the crew had wised up long ago and knew a secret that the world had yet to learn: Lady Eleanor, Queen of Chocolate, was a rotten cook.
No wonder the recipes Savannah had tried at home had failed miserably. They were lousy recipes!
Following the lead of those around her, she discretely stashed her still-full plate on top of a piece of equipment.... any equipment... and casually watched the rest of Eleanor’s performance.
“Now, dear viewers, be sure not to overbake this delicate confection,” she was saying to the camera, “or you’ll lose its subtle flavor.”
Overbake it? Savannah thought. You couldn’t burn that brickbat with a blowtorch.
And as for the subtle flavor, she had never personally chewed on a burned truck tire, but she would expect it to have the same delicate piquant.
“Good?” Tammy whispered in her ear.
“Delicious,” she replied dryly.
“Yeah, I had a feeling.”
Tammy chuckled and Savannah elbowed her in the ribs. “Shush, or they’ll kick us out again and—”
The words left Savannah’s brain as she turned to see why Lady Eleanor had abruptly stopped speaking. The cameras were still rolling, but the star of the show was frozen, standing still, eyes and mouth wide open, her face turning an alarming shade of purple beneath her auburn wig.
“What’s wrong with her?” Tammy whispered. “Is she choking?”
Half a dozen possibilities raced through Savannah’s mind as she hurried toward her client, her heart pounding, no longer concerned about whether or not she interrupted the taping.
By the time she reached Eleanor’s side behind the faux kitchen counter, she had narrowed it down to a stroke or heart attack.
Eleanor was leaning on the range in front of her, sweat pouring down her face, her hands clutched over her chest.
Savannah grabbed her by the shoulders and eased her to a sitting position on the floor. Instantly they were surrounded by a tight circle of crew members, including Kaitlin.
“What is it?” the producer was shouting. “What’s wrong?”
“Back up and give us some air,” Savannah said as she loosened the buttons of Eleanor’s high-necked lace blouse. She glanced up and saw Tammy beside Kaitlin, her cell phone already in her hand. She was punching 911.
“Can you talk to me, Eleanor?” Savannah asked. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Eleanor shook her head, then gasped out the words, “Hurts... can’t breathe.”
“Are you choking?”
She shook her head no and pointed to her chest. Her purple complexion had changed to an ashen gray and rivulets of sweat streamed down her face.
“Just try to relax and take deep breaths,” Savannah told her as she continued to remove her upper clothes. Beneath the blouse was a tightly laced long-line bra—a constricting foundation for the genteel-lady costume.
Savannah fumbled with the laces for a moment, then had them free. ‘There you go, now breathe slowly. Like this—in.... fill up your tummy... and slowly out. Come on. You’ll be okay. An ambulance will be here in just a minute or two. Everything’s going to be okay.”
But Savannah knew it wasn’t going to be okay. More than once she had held a dying person in her arms. She knew the look.
Eleanor’s eyes locked with hers for a moment, and she saw that Eleanor knew, too.
“Tell Gilly....” she said, barely whispering the words. ‘Tell Louise....”
“Yes, of course.” Savannah lowered her back onto the floor. Someone handed her a bunch of towels and she shoved them under Eleanor’s head. Then she grasped both of her hands tightly. “What do you want me to tell Gilly and Louise?”
“That I love....” She gasped and shivered. Savannah squeezed her hands and prayed that an ambulance with paramedics might appear out of thin air. But although it seemed far longer, less than a minute had passed since Tammy had made the call.
“I understand, Eleanor,” she told her, leaning forward, her face close to the woman’s. “I’ll tell them you love them.”
Tears flooded Eleanor’s eyes and she choked back a sob. “I do. Really.”
“I know, sweetie, I know. I’ll tell them, I promise. You just rest now.”
Savannah’s words seemed to have a soothing effect, because the hands that were gripping hers relaxed, and Eleanor’s face took on a peaceful expression.
“Not.... so... bad,” the woman whispered. “Not so bad.... now.”
As though from far away, Savannah could hear someone—she thought it was Kaitlin—asking, “What can we do?”
“Send somebody out to the main road to make sure the ambulance gets in the gates,” Savannah replied. “Bring them in here as soon as they arrive.”
She looked up and saw that it was Kaitlin leaning over them, her face stricken as she stared down at Eleanor.
“Is she....?” Kaitlin nudged Savannah’s shoulder. “Is she going to....?”
Savannah didn’t want her to say the words aloud. Maybe if nobody actually said it—
“Just tell them to hurry.” Savannah emphasized the urgency of her message with her eyes and the gravity in her voice. Her own pulse was racing, her hands shaking. Her legs felt like jelly.
; Kaitlin nodded. “I will. I’ll make sure they understand.” Then she disappeared.
Savannah released one of Eleanor’s hands and placed her fingertips to the woman’s jugular vein. She felt a pulse there, but it was faint and erratic. Eleanor’s breaths were more even than before, but shallow. Her eyes were closing.
“Wake up, darlin’,” Savannah said, gently jostling her. “Keep those eyes open for me. Look right up here at me, okay? Help’s going to be here any second now. Just relax.”
Tammy knelt beside them on the floor and reached out to pull the hot, heavy wig off Eleanor’s head. Her own hair was matted to her scalp, and she looked like a ewe who had been badly shorn.
“Her pulse?” Tammy whispered.
“Thin. Thready.”
Savannah looked up at the crew members who stood around them, watching, saying absolutely nothing, frozen by fear and uncertainty. The silence in the studio was deadly, the air thick with dread.
“Did they give you an ETA?” Savannah asked.
“Seven minutes,” Tammy replied.
“Okay, that was about two minutes ago. Five more to g°-”
She reached down and wiped the sweat off Eleanor’s face, but Eleanor’s open eyes had ceased to focus. She stared over Savannah’s shoulder, seeing nothing.
Savannah put her fingertips to her throat again. “No pulse,” she said.
Tammy bent over and placed her ear to her nose. “No breath.”
“CPR,” Savannah said, positioning herself over Eleanor, her hands on her chest. “Let’s go.”
“Savannah,” Tammy said, “she’s dead.”
“No. She’s not dead.... not until she’s pronounced. Do what I tell you, girl! Tilt her head back, pinch off her nose and blow after five! Here we go: one, two three, four...”
Chapter
6
Death by Chocolate Page 7
