Death by Chocolate

by G. A. McKevett

  But she didn’t have long to reminisce. In only a few seconds, Tammy returned. “It was Dirko looking for you; says call him on his cell.”

  “Gotcha. Tell Cordele I’ll see her for dinner. You can join us if you want.”

  A hesitation, then no answer.

  Savannah laughed. “I was kidding. Go home as soon as you finish checking out Elizabeth. Just leave your notes on the desk. I’ll call you if I have any questions.” ‘Thank you,” Tammy gushed, as though she’d been spared from a lethal injection.

  “No problem. I understand.”

  Savannah drained the rest of her tea while she called Dirk. “Where are you?” she asked unceremoniously. They had long ago abandoned the common courtesies of “hello” and “good-bye.”

  “On my way to the Maxwell place,” was the curt reply.

  “Want company?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I'll be there in ten.”

  Traffic was light, and Savannah arrived at the Maxwell gates in only six minutes, beating Dirk. Once again she punched the security code on the pad and let herself inside, wondering how long she could get away with what was little better than breaking and entering. If Louise were to really make a stink about her trespassing, she could probably get her arrested, but what Louise didn’t know... couldn’t cause Savannah any problems.

  The thought occurred to her that she should just wait for Dirk before doing any sort of exploring on her own. But then, waiting had never been one of her favorite pastimes. If nothing else, maybe she could find Gilly and keep her company for a few minutes. The child should be in school in the early afternoon on a weekday, but experience had taught Savannah that “shoulds” weren’t always the case.

  When Savannah parked her car in the front of the house and got out, she quickly forgot about the little girl. Loud, very adult voices were coming from the chauffeur’s apartment over the garage. A man and a woman were having a heated argument about something. And although Savannah wasn’t close enough to hear any details, she decided to remedy the situation right away.

  Hurrying to the garage, she got as far as the bottom of the stairs that led up to the apartment’s door when the screen door banged open and a red-faced, furious Louise stomped out. “I’ll call the cops if I have to,” she was shouting over her shoulder. “You get your shit together and clear out of here by the time I get back from L.A., or I swear I’ll throw it all in the Dumpster and change the locks on you!”

  “This isn’t right, Louise,” a male voice shouted back. “You know it, too. You never think about anybody but yourself. You’re just like your mother, you selfish bitch!”

  Rather than loiter around, waiting for Louise to see her, Savannah ducked behind a tall wooden fence that enclosed several recycle garbage cans and a small Dumpster. No point in making her presence obvious at what was, obviously, an emotionally charged moment.

  Let the two of them have their privacy; she was perfectly content to eavesdrop.

  From between the fence slats, she watched as Louise marched past the cars parked along the driveway and up the road to her gatekeeper’s cottage. She was so angry she didn’t even seem to notice Savannah’s bright red Mustang sitting among them.

  As soon as Louise reached her place, Savannah heard a car engine roar to life, and a black Lexus shot out from behind the cottage and up the road, then through the front gates. Louise must be on her way to L.A., Savannah surmised.

  She wasted no time leaving her hiding place among the refuse and making her way to the staircase. Above, she could hear the slamming and banging of somebody who was grandly ticked off.

  She smiled, happy to be exactly where she was at the moment. There was nothing like getting somebody when they were riled. Irate people often said all sorts of interesting things that they wouldn’t have divulged under more serene circumstances.

  Of course, they also tended to throw things and occasionally strike out at or shoot others... so she assumed a cautious posture as she crept up the staircase to the door.

  Through the screen she could see Sydney ripping pictures off the wall and tossing them onto the sofa. He was muttering to himself, and although she listened closely, she couldn’t distinguish any particular words. And his handsome face looked as stricken as he was angry.

  “Sydney,” she said, softly knocking on the door frame. “It’s me, Savannah Reid. May I come in?”

  He turned to the door and stared vacantly at her for several long seconds before recognition dawned in his eyes. At first, she thought he was going to burst into tears, but he seemed to gather himself and his volatile feelings together and walked over to the door. She stepped back as he pushed it open and allowed her inside.

  Dressed in a grease-stained T-shirt and jeans that had seen better days, he looked the part of a handyman more than that of an elegant, tea-serving butler.

  His dark hair with its silver sideburns was mussed and his eyes bloodshot. She thought she could smell booze on his breath.

  He looked terribly unhappy.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I saw Louise leaving and...”

  “She fired me,” he said. “I’ve worked for her family for eight years, and she comes in here and says, ‘Get out. I don’t want you around anymore.’ She fired Marie, too.”

  Savannah thought of Marie and her cozy apartment that she had made into a comfortable home. She looked around Sydney Linton’s place and, even though it wasn’t as quaint as Marie’s, it looked comfortable, as if he had been settled in for a long time.

  One entire wall was covered with a giant state-of-the-art entertainment center with a big-screen television and high-tech stereo system. The other walls were adorned with posters of vintage automobiles.

  In a place of prominence over the gray leather sofa hung a childish crayon drawing done on a piece of cardboard and framed with red construction paper. The picture was of three people: a man, a woman in a black and white uniform with a white cap, and a little girl. All three were holding hands, the girl in the middle. Behind them, suspended beneath a beaming sun and a slightly crooked rainbow, was a long black automobile that must have been the classic Jaguar in the garage.

  Savannah thought of what Louise had said about throwing his belongings into the Dumpster, and she winced.

  Everybody lost a job from time to time. But these people were losing more than a place of employment; they were being torn out of their homes, as well. It was a lot for anyone to handle on top of the previous week’s stresses.

  “I’m so sorry,” Savannah said, “for you and for Marie, too. But, you know, you have certain rights as a tenant, and Louise can’t demand that you vacate the premises in a matter of hours. As much as she likes to think she’s in charge, she has to play by the rules, too.”

  He gave a wry chuckle. “Since when? When you’ve got the money—or your parents do—you’ve got the power. That’s the way of the world.”

  “Not always. You and Marie should stand up for your rights. Don’t take it lying down.”

  He shrugged and moved some of the pictures off the sofa. “I guess I’m folding, but I don’t really want to be around here anymore. I’ve had enough. The only reason why I was staying was because of little Gilly. With Marie and me gone—and her grandmother, too—I hate to think what life’s going to be like for her. That pup is cute, but it doesn’t take the place of a human being who cares about you. And we all know that Louise doesn’t give a damn about the kid.”

  Savannah opened her mouth to say something about the legal system stepping in on Gilly’s behalf, but decided to keep it to herself. What could she tell him anyway? According to Angela, there wasn’t much anyone could do at the moment.

  “Maybe Gilly’s situation will improve,” she said. “Either way, you and Marie aren’t responsible for her. I’m sure you’ve already given her all you can in the way of love and support.” She nodded to the picture on the wall. “Looks like it made an impression on her. She’ll keep that sense of having been loved, even a
fter you’re gone.” Sydney glanced at the picture, and Savannah was pretty sure she saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

  “How’s Marie taking it... being let go, that is?” she asked.

  “Better than I am. At least she didn’t get into a screaming match with Louise.” Having moved most of the pictures from the sofa, he plopped down on it. Motioning to the other end, he added, “Have a seat if you want. I’m not in the mood to start packing yet.”

  “Listen, Detective Coulter is on his way here—I just spoke to him on the phone—and you can explain your situation to him. He can put the fear o’ God into Louise, make her go through the proper procedures to evict you, buy you some time.”

  “I only need a couple of days to find another place and pack up.”

  “I understand.”

  Savannah heard a car in the driveway, and she was pretty sure she recognized the wheeze and sputter as the driver killed the engine. “Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear,” she said, going over to the screen door and looking out. “Yes, it’s Coulter all right.”

  She opened the door and leaned out. “Dirk. Up here,” she called.

  Dirk quickly climbed the stairs and entered the apartment. He looked tired and aggravated, but Savannah didn’t read much into that. Dirk was frequently both. “What’s up?” he asked, looking from her to Sydney. “Louise is cleaning house, so to speak,” she told him. “She just canned both Sydney here and Marie, the housekeeper.”

  “Why? She’ll still need help with this place.... assuming she inherits it,” Dirk said. “I can’t imagine her mowing the grass and washing the windows.”

  “That’ll be the day, when that spoiled brat does any kind of real work,” Sydney said. He was still sitting on the sofa, looking dejected, his head in his hands.

  Dirk took a couple of steps toward him. “I was going to talk to Marie about this, but you might know as well as her.”

  “What’s that?” Sydney looked up, mildly interested.

  “I was wondering what pharmacy you guys used. Not Eleanor; I know she got her prescriptions from Sav-Mor on Nelson Highway. But how about everybody else around here?”

  “You mean me.... and Marie?” Sydney asked.

  “And Louise.”

  Sydney shrugged. “I’m not sure about Marie. She’s asked me to pick up aspirin for her at the grocery store a few times when she had a headache. I don’t take any kind of prescription medications.” He thought for a moment, then perked up. “I’ve seen a little white delivery car from The Rx Shop parked up at Louise’s—for a long time, too. In fact, I was wondering if...”

  His voice trailed away and he looked uncomfortable. Dirk and Savannah both leaned forward a bit.

  “Yes?” Dirk asked.

  “Well, I don’t know for sure, so I hate to say anything.”

  “Say it,” Savannah prodded. “Louise just canned you and threatened to dump your stuff in the trash. Now’s not the time to be worrying about discretion.”

  “Okay,” he said. “A few times last month I saw that car up there for a long time, like more than an hour each time—longer than you need to make a delivery. And then I saw this young, skinny kid come out of Louise’s with a big, sappy grin on his face. I wondered at the time if maybe.... you know…”

  “Louise was gettin’ a little extra-special attention with her deliveries?” Dirk supplied.

  “Yeah. It wouldn’t be the first time,” Sydney admitted. “Louise gets around.”

  “So I gather.” Savannah thought of the various affairs she had learned about in the past few days and decided that the inhabitants and visitors to the Maxwell estate weren’t exactly hard up in the hanky-panky department. “So, where is this Rx Shop?” Dirk asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Sydney gave a vague wave of his hand. “Down the road a ways, I think, in one of those strip malls north of here on the highway.”

  “Thanks,” Dirk said. “I owe you one.”

  Savannah walked over and laced her arm through Dirk’s. “And we know exactly how you can repay him,” she said. ‘You see, somebody needs to have a little talk with Miss Louise about what she can and can’t do with…”

  Chapter

  20

  Rx Shop in the Sunset View Mall was a member of an endangered species: a privately owned pharmacy that still served ice cream cones, sundaes, and malted shakes at a marble-topped counter. The place reminded Savannah of the tiny drugstore in McGill, Georgia, where she had been treated to a one-scoop cone on Saturday afternoons while running errands for Gran. It had been a rare treat and one that she had savored deep in her soul.

  Over the years Savannah had become quite the connoisseur of ice cream, having sampled all the Baskin Robbins flavors as well as the Ben & Jerry’s assortment and Breyer’s best. But no ice cream had ever tasted as good as that single scoop of strawberry served at a cold marble counter, in an air-conditioned store on a hot and humid Georgia afternoon.

  It was a simpler, sweeter time, when five cents could buy complete happiness.

  Like that store, this one had that distinctive drugstore smell, a mixture of ice cream and candies, perfumes and soaps, mothballs and an underlying, clinical scent of pharmaceuticals.

  She followed Dirk to the back of the store where the wall bore one sign that said prescription drop-off and another that said prescription pick-up. There was a grim determination in his walk and a grouchier than usual frown on his face, so she decided to just coast along in his wake, to watch and listen.

  Behind the counter stood a large, stout, elderly woman in a white smock who made Grouchy Dirk look like Mr. Smiley Face. A small plastic name tag on her lapel identified her simply as mildred. Her steel gray hair matched the color of her eyes, as she glared at Dirk over the wire-rimmed glasses that rested on her long, narrow nose.

  “What?” she snapped.

  Standing behind Dirk, Savannah wondered if she was this crabby with her paying customers, or if she could sense that Dirk wasn’t there to fork over money. But Dirk wasn’t the sort to be deterred by a chilly greeting. He flipped out his badge and shoved it so close to the end of her nose that she had to take a step backward just to see it. “SCPD,” he barked back, just as curtly.

  “I’m busy,” she said, turning away from him and occupying herself with her pills and bottles on the other side of the counter.

  “So am I,” he said. “I’m investigating a murder. You wanna talk here or down at the station?”

  Savannah grinned to herself. Dirk wasn’t likely to haul any hardworking pharmacist off to the station house just to answer a few simple questions. Unless, of course, she really pissed him off.

  The druggist didn’t reply, but she laid down the bottle she was filling and gave him her undivided glare.

  Dirk reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I need to know if you have any”—he consulted his note—“phenylprophedrine in stock.”

  “No,” she said. ‘That’s been pulled off the shelves.”

  “And after you pulled whatever you had off the shelves,” he said with exaggerated patience, “what did you do with it?”

  “We usually send recalled drugs back to the manufacturer for a refund.”

  “And is that what you did with your phenylprophedrine?”

  Savannah saw a flicker of doubt in those gray eyes before she said, “I believe so.”

  Dirk gave her a smile that looked more like a snarl. “Would you please check your records? I need to know for sure.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a curious sort of guy. That’s what you— the hardworking taxpayer—pay me the big bucks for. Please check. I’ll wait.”

  Meanwhile, a female customer had approached and was waiting and watching at the counter.

  The druggist returned his acrid smile and said, “I’ll check for you.... as soon as I’m finished with this lady.” The instant she turned to wait on the woman, Mildred’s whole demeanor changed to one of complete courtesy and cheer. “Good
afternoon, Mrs. Simington,” she gushed. “And how can I help you today?”

  Dirk turned to Savannah. “You know, when punk gangster kids give me no respect, I take it in stride. But this gal is your average Jane Q. Public. What’s she got against me to give me a hard time like that?”

  “I don’t know, darlin’,” Savannah replied, squeezing his arm at the elbow. “Cordele would probably say your pharmacist here has authority issues.... or maybe she has a problem with tall, dark, handsome men. Maybe your mere presence stirs deeply buried desires that are simmering below the surface of her id or ego, or something, threatening to—”

  “Oh, shut up,” he said, yanking his arm away. “I know when you’re messin’ with me.”

  “Tall, dark, handsome—and sharp as a basketball! No wonder she’s intimidated!”

  Mildred took her good, easy time while waiting on her customer, then sauntered over to a counter where a computer displayed a kaleidoscope screensaver pattern. She began to type, and a blue screen with a detailed list appeared. Eventually, she returned to the counter where Dirk and Savannah were waiting.

  “We had thirty-six bottles in stock. We pulled them off the shelves,” she recited in a monotone completely void of enthusiasm.

  “And did you send them back?” Dirk asked with an equally flat affect.

  “Not yet.”

  His face lit up with a genuine smile, and Savannah could feel her own pulse quicken just a tad.

  “Good. Let me see the boxes.”

  The steely eyes narrowed. “Do you have a search warrant?”