Death by Chocolate

by G. A. McKevett

  “No.”

  She went ahead and produced her investigator’s license, flipping it open in Elizabeth’s face. “My name is Savannah Reid and I’m a private investigator. I’m working on—”

  “Oh, I know who you are. I heard about you on the news, and Louise told me about you when she called me about Eleanor. Some bodyguard you turned out to be. Not exactly Johnny-on-the-Spot, were you?”

  Savannah’s blue eyes went cold, and her recently summoned charm evaporated. In a voice that wasn’t exactly oozing with sympathy, she said, “I’m very sorry for your loss. I attended your sister’s funeral this afternoon and—”

  “And you were wondering why I wasn’t there.” Savannah took a deep breath. “I figured you had your reasons.”

  “You’re damned right I did! Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a famous sister.... a rich sister.... a famous, rich, twin sister.... when you work in a frig-gin’ restaurant, slinging hash for lousy tips?”

  Savannah thought about suggesting that if she weren’t such a vile person, she might get better tips, but she decided to say nothing except, “Nope. I guess I don’t.”

  “Well, it’s the pits.”

  “I’ll bet it is.”

  “Do you know how many times a day somebody walks into this place and says, ‘Hey, you know who you look like? No, really... you look just like....’ It sucks. Especially when they say stupid things like, ‘If your sister’s so rich, what are you doing waiting tables?’ Boy, that’s the one that really irks my butt big time.”

  “Yeah. I imagine that’s pretty irritating.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Sounds like you weren’t very fond of your sister,” Savannah observed.

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. But I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Me? Getting at? Naw, I’m just sitting here shooting the breeze with you.”

  “If you want to investigate anybody, take a good, hard look at that lousy niece of mine, Louise. Now there’s one who’d do about anything to get her hands on her mother’s money. Eleanor spoiled her rotten, and look what she got: a daughter that wouldn’t even talk to her. Did she come to the funeral?”

  “Yes, she was there with her little girl.”

  Elizabeth’s hard face softened. “Gilly’s a little sweetheart. I miss her since I stopped going over there a few months ago.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you estrange yourself from your sister?”

  “You spent time with Eleanor and you ask me a question like that?”

  “I just meant... was there some reason in particular a few months ago?”

  “My sister and I had a blowout, okay? I offered her my opinion about... somebody.... and she told me to leave. I did. And I didn’t bother to go back.”

  Savannah leaned forward, her eyes locked with Elizabeth’s. She could tell the woman wanted to say more. If she could just nudge her over the edge...

  “Did it have anything to do with Louise?” Savannah asked, taking a stab in the dark.

  She had hit a bull’s-eye. Elizabeth’s face flushed with anger at the memory. “Yes. Louise and that snake accountant of Eleanor’s— Martin something. It was a disgusting situation for that child to be growing up around.”

  “Louise and Martin?”

  Unpleasant pictures floated through Savannah’s brain. If there was anything more unappealing than Louise or Martin, it was the thought of the two of them together.

  “Yeah, they were like a couple of dogs in heat, all over each other right in front of that little girl. Of course, Martin’s just one in a long line for Louise, but with Gilly getting older, she needed to cut down on her shenanigans a bit, or at least keep it behind closed doors.” Louise and Martin. This opened up all sorts of possibilities, Savannah mused, sordid though they might be.

  “And Eleanor didn’t agree with you? About their relationship, I mean.”

  “Oh, I think she did. She couldn’t have been happy about it either. But she didn’t want to hear anything bad concerning Louise. Eleanor could talk trash about her own daughter, but heaven help you if you said a word about her.”

  “How long do you think it was going on—this affair?” Elizabeth shrugged. “At least six months before I confronted Eleanor about it. I don’t know if they ever broke it off. Could still be going on for all I know.” Savannah flashed back to earlier in the afternoon at the cemetery—Martin standing behind Louise, his hand on her shoulder. Had there been chemistry between them? In retrospect, very likely.

  Savannah stood up and laid a three-dollar tip on the bar. She hadn’t touched the smoothie. Even if she had wanted it before, the thought of Louise and Martin doing the grizzly bear hump had put her off her feed.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth, for speaking with me. I’m really trying to do what I can for your sister, even if it is.... after the fact, so to speak.”

  “Yeah, okay. No problem.” Elizabeth gave her a grudging smile and quickly covered the dollar bills with her palm. “Thanks.”

  Savannah found Cordele sitting, as requested, on a bench beside the fountain in the center of the mall. Palmettos surrounded a blue-tiled pool where goldfish swam among myriad coins tossed there by well-wishers. A plume of water shot upward toward a skylight and fell, a spray of glittering iridescence, back into the pond.

  Savannah steeled herself for another war of the words, but when Cordele looked her way, she smiled. Just a half-smile, really, but Savannah was happy even for that. Apparently she was over their last argument.

  “Sorry—that took a little longer than I’d hoped,” she said as she sat down on the bench beside her.

  “It’s okay. I was just sitting here, watching people go by.” Cordele waved her hand, indicating the dozens of shoppers hurrying past them. “Folks sure do come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, don’t they?”

  “They certainly do. Sometimes I just sit in a public place and look at the passersby and think, not one out of fifty of these people is thin enough and young enough and attractive enough to be on the front cover of a fashion magazine. But they’re all beautiful in their own way.”

  About that time, a woman in her seventies strolled by, wearing a turquoise pants suit, white patent leather shoes and purse, and large dangling earrings that nearly brushed her shoulders.

  “Look at her,” Savannah said. “A spring in her step and a sparkle in her eyes. You can just tell she’s full of vinegar. She’s lovely.”

  “That’s because she’s happy,” Cordele observed. “And that’s why I want to be a psychologist. I want to help people. I want them all to be happy. Or at least as many as possible.”

  Savannah reached over and put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “And that’s why you’re going to make a great psychologist. You’ll make a real difference in the world, Cordele.”

  Savannah’s sister looked at her with little-girl eyes. “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely. No doubt about it. You’ll be an instrument of healing and comfort to many, many people in the course of your career. You mark my words, darlin’.” Cordele blushed with pleasure, and Savannah gave her a squeeze. “How about that French manicure now? Maybe we’ll splurge and get gorgeous toesies while we’re at it.”

  “Okay.” Cordele glanced around, as though afraid the Diet Police might be listening. “And then.... if you still want to.... a Mrs. Fields chocolate chip with maca-damia nuts would be great, too.”

  “You got it.”

  As the two sisters walked down the mall to the beauty salon, Savannah was grateful for this peaceful interlude with her sibling. But she doubted whether even the sensual pleasures of a manicure, a pedicure, and a sugar fix could erase the thoughts of Eleanor Maxwell lying in her coffin, her supposed loved ones gathered around her. And among them, a killer—or killers—wi th evil secrets.

  Yes, Savannah decided, she was very grateful for her own family. And at the moment, she was
especially grateful for Cordele, warts and all.

  Chapter

  15

  “Where’s Miss Sunshine and Light?” Dirk asked Savannah as they sat together on the sofa, her largest mixing bowl full of popcorn between them. On the coffee table was his half-empty bottle of beer and her cup of Bailey’s-enhanced coffee, along with a dozen folders, notebooks, and files pertaining to the case.

  “Upstairs in the bathroom,” Savannah replied. “I bought her a bottle of Victoria’s Secret’s new bath gel. She’s blissfully soaking in a mountain of bubbles, just like I intend to do after you leave.”

  “Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry?”

  “Something like that.” She gave him a smile that diluted the insult. Not that he would have cared one way or the other. Dirk didn’t really care what anyone thought of him and that made him difficult to offend.

  “Tell me something,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Exactly what is Victoria’s secret anyway?” ‘That’s for women to know, and men to find out only on very special occasions.”

  He gave her a sideways glance up and down her figure. “I guess you and I haven’t had any occasions that were... special enough.”

  She sniffed and blew her nose on a tissue. “Nor are we likely to.”

  “Isn’t that cold of yours getting any better?” he said with more genuine concern that she would have expected him to muster.

  “Well... yes.... actually I’ve noticed an improvement just today. Thanks for asking.”

  “Good. The sooner you get over it, the less likely you are to give it to me.”

  “Right.” Picking up her notebook from the coffee table, she glanced over her list. “Did you go by the lab today?”

  “Yeah. Eileen had taken the day off.”

  “A lot of people do that on Sunday. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Anyway. That Mexican dude that works there on the weekends—”

  “I believe her assistant is Honduran.”

  “Whatever. He said they didn’t get any prints off the letter except for Eleanor’s and one from Martin Streck.”

  Savannah took a handful of popcorn. “That doesn’t surprise me. I already told you I caught him looking at one of the letters in her office. Was it that one—the most recent one?”

  “Yep. That was it.”

  “And I don’t suppose the county wants to spend the big bucks for a DNA test on the envelope seal unless we’ve got something substantial on somebody.”

  “Exactly. And it wouldn’t be enough to just test the envelope. At this point, we’d have to swab and run tests on everybody there except maybe the dogs, and I haven’t even ruled them out yet.”

  “Why do I have the feeling it would match either Louise or Martin? Maybe both.”

  “On the same envelope? Yuck.”

  “I’m kidding. Although, from what Eleanor’s twin sister said, Louise and Martin have swapped more than just slobber.”

  “He’s a lot older than she is. And not nearly as good-looking.”

  “Do you think she’s good-looking?”

  He shrugged and took a swig of his beer. “She’s not exactly a dog. But a little skinny for my taste.” He turned and gave her a quick but searching glance. “Why? Do you think he’s good-looking?”

  “Eh, not particularly.” She decided not to mention that Streck had nice thick hair. Dirk was particularly touchy on the topic of hair thickness or the lack thereof. It was his only form of vanity.

  “Maybe the two of them are in cahoots,” he suggested, stretching out his legs and propping his sneakers on the coffee table.

  She reached over and swatted his leg. He lifted his feet as she slid one of the folders under his shoes. “Maybe so,” she said. “Perhaps he robs Eleanor blind, and when he’s finished draining the coffers, Louise knocks off Mommy Dearest.”

  “And if they’re a couple, they get to share the money.”

  “Or maybe Martin’s doing everything on his own.”

  “Or maybe Louise is. Or maybe it’s somebody else.”

  “Did you get anything out of Burt Maxwell this afternoon?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

  “Absolutely nada. I followed him to his house in Hollywood, where he told me in no uncertain terms that I was out of line trying to question him on the day that they buried his ex-wife. Slammed the door in my face.”

  “Well, he sorta had a point there. Not exactly great timing, but what can you do?”

  “I’ll go after him again tomorrow; that’s what. And if he gives me any lip, I’ll haul his butt to the station and stick him in the sweat box. See how he likes that.”

  The “sweat box” was the drab, gray interrogation room where the thermostat was always set at a comfortable 85, no matter what the weather was outside. About eight by ten feet with no windows, one door, one table, and two chairs, it was claustrophobic to say the least. Dirk swore by the sweat box—claimed he could get anybody to confess anything just to get out of there.

  Savannah thought it was best used as a last resort, not a first line of offense. But then, she and Dirk had disagreed on a lot of things in the rocky course of their relationship.

  “Maybe he’d talk to me,” she suggested. “I mean... you’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, running down Streck. After all, he’s our hottest lead at the moment. It’ll probably take you most of the day doing a background on him, huh?”

  Dirk gave her a dubious look—the one he used when he had a feeling he was being worked. “Yeah, I guess.” ‘You don’t mind if I take a shot at him, then?”

  “No harm in trying,” he replied. “But weren’t you going to talk to Louise, too?”

  “Yeah, I’ll drop by there tomorrow morning. Mention to her that there’s nothing left of the family fortune. That she’s getting zippo as an inheritance. I should be able to tell by the look on her face whether that’s news to her or not.”

  “But if you can’t tell.... and if Burt won’t talk to you either... where does that leave us?”

  Good old Dirk, she thought. Always walking on the sunny side of the street. She considered mentioning that if the sky fell in and the world came to an end during the night, they’d pretty much be out of luck, too. So why bother to live?

  But she had spent too much of her life trying to teach Dirk the value of optimism. He was a lost cause. Instead, she thought for several long moments, then sighed and said, “If you don’t find anything on Martin, and I don’t get anything out of either Burt Maxwell or Louise, I’d say it pretty much leaves us where we are right now—up the proverbial, waste-polluted creek, paddle-free. Things can only get better.”

  An hour later, with Dirk gone and Cordele in bed, Savannah found the time to soak away some of the day’s stress in her own jasmine-scented bubble bath. Having placed two votive candles on the edge of the tub by her feet and another two on top of the hamper nearby, she was savoring the simple pleasure of watching iridescent bubbles sparkle in the candlelight. They tickled deliciously as she scooped up mounds of the glistening, fragrant froth and let it glide down her arms and legs.

  Savannah had always thoroughly enjoyed being female... but never so much as when she was taking a bath. Guys could have their showers; they didn’t know what they were missing.

  It was almost worth having to shave your legs.

  Just as she was drifting into a delicious trancelike state, she heard—as though from far away—an unwelcome buzzing. It was coming from the cordless phone that she had left on the hamper next to the candles.

  “I knew I shouldn’t bring you in here,” she told the phone as she dried her hands on a nearby towel and picked it up. “You seem to always know just when I— Hello.”

  A woman’s voice with a sweet Southern drawl replied, “Hello yourself, Savannah girl.”

  “Gran.” She smiled and settled back into the bath, the phone cradled against her shoulder. “You are the only one in the world I want to talk to right now.”

  “You must be taking one of your
famous bubble baths.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You sound relaxed and drowsy.”

  “Maybe I was in bed asleep.”

  A chuckle on the other end. “No, if I’d woke you up, you’d have been crabby and drowsy.”

  “That’s true. I reckon you know me. How are you and everybody and everything back there?”

  “Probably better than you.” Gran laughed again, and the sound went through Savannah, more warming and comforting than any luxury bath. “How’s it going with Cordele being there?”

  “Oh, okay. We went to the mall today, did a little shopping.”

  “She didn’t talk you into buying her a dog, did she?”

  “We had the discussion, but no, I didn’t.”

  “Good, ‘cause I’d be the one who’d wind up taking care of it.”

  “You? Why would you....?” Savannah thought it over, then the lightbulb came on in her head. “Gran, did Cordele move back in with you?”

  “Sure she did. About a month ago. Didn’t you know that?”

  “No-o-o. She failed to mention that she’s living with you again. Is she contributing any money for food or utilities or anything?”

  The silence on the other end told Savannah more than she wanted to know. Granny Reid was, once again, allowing her grandchildren to take advantage of her.

  “Cordele’s awful busy,” Gran finally said. “She’s always on the go. I hate to ask her to get a job while she’s going to college and all.”

  “She’s been going to college for the past ten years. She’s making a career of it. The only problem is it doesn’t pay. And speaking of money, are you footing the school bills, too?”

  Again a heavy silence. Then, “Well, you know she got a scholarship, and that helped some. Cordele makes really good grades. She always has.”

  Savannah thought of her octogenarian grandmother struggling to make ends meet in that tiny, rural Georgia town. Her ramshackle, shotgun house that was cozy, but far too small for the Reid clan, especially now that some of the nine kids had acquired spouses and children of their own.