Murder à la Mode

by G. A. McKevett

  She laughed and laced her arm through Dirk’s. Yes, life was good. Very good, indeed.

  By the next afternoon, Savannah’s pleasant “catch-the-bad-guys buzz” had worn off and things were back to their mundane humdrum. She sat in her overstuffed, rose chintz easy chair, her feet on an equally overstuffed ottoman, with an enormous black cat in her lap. The feline was as cushy as the chair and footstool, but not nearly as comfortable.

  “Ow!” Savannah yelped as needle-sharp teeth sank into her thumb. “Dang it, Cleopatra! You’ve got to take this medicine! Now open up those jaws before I skin you alive!”

  Another black cat, as well-fed as the one being dosed on her lap, sat on a sunlit window perch nearby, grooming itself and oblivious to the drama in the chair. Savannah gave it a nasty look. “Yeah, Diamante, just wash your face like nothing’s happening. But you’re next.”

  Across the living room, a slender young woman sat at a rolltop desk, a computer screen in front of her. With her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked like a teenager, but the expression on her face as she studied the screen was all business. Tammy Hart took her job as Savannah’s assistant in the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency far too seriously, much to Savannah’s amusement. Savannah was convinced that the kid had read too many Nancy Drew books in her lackluster childhood. Tammy was the only person Savannah had ever known in law enforcement or private detection who actually referred to themselves as a “sleuth.”

  As Tammy pecked at the keyboard, she said, “Too bad you don’t want to expand the agency’s horizons a little, try something new. We could make a bundle.”

  “I’ve told you before,” Savannah said, grimacing at the drop of blood appearing on her thumb, “the day I have to resort to taking dirty pictures of wayward wives, I’ll go get a job cleaning hotel toilets.” To the cat, she said, “Look at that! You hurt Mommy. And if it gets infected, Mommy’s gonna take you to the pound and tell them she doesn’t know you, that you’re a good-for-nothing varmint that she found rummaging in her garbage can.”

  The cat growled and laid back her ears.

  “Don’t you sass me, young lady!” Savannah told her. “There are plenty of good cats in the world who don’t bite their owners. You’ll find yourself walking that long green mile yet.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tammy muttered. “Like you don’t threaten those panthers of yours every day. Yesterday, if they didn’t stop scratching the sofa, you were going to stretch their hides out to dry on the barn wall. And you don’t even have a barn.”

  “Well, they don’t know that, and the garage would do in a pinch.” Having successfully shoved the pill down the cat’s throat, she gave it a kiss on its glossy black head. “There you go, sweet pea. That wasn’t so bad, huh?”

  “Really, Savannah,” Tammy said, “you should try to think outside the box with this business if you’re ever really going to succeed. I’ve been researching all morning, and I’ve found something that would be a lot of fun.”

  Savannah placed the cat on the rug beside her chair, rose and walked over to the window perch. “I’m afraid to ask,” she said, “but what is it?”

  “Well, like I said, it would be fun. We’d get to role-play, dress up, and go to fancy bars and clubs and—”

  “I’m getting too old to play hooker. Those four-inch heels kill me, and I swore that once my leather miniskirt didn’t fit anymore I’d find a new undercover persona.”

  “No, we wouldn’t be posing as hookers, just really hot chicks. And we’d be doing the community a great service.”

  Savannah raised one eyebrow. “The community? A service? What are you talking about, girl? Spit it out.”

  Taking a deep breath, Tammy launched into her spiel. “Some detective agencies are making handfuls of money by sending out females to…well…sorta ‘test’ certain men…to see if they’re faithful husbands and boyfriends. They come on to the guys in bars and see if they’ll go for the bait. And, of course, the whole thing is being taped so that the wife can hear what her man says when he’s presented with a temptation that—”

  “No!” Savannah reached out and snatched the preening cat off the perch, grabbing her in mid-lick. “I’d rather hose out the dog cages at the pound. I’d rather test urine and stool samples at a local lab. I’d rather—”

  “Okay, okay. You don’t have to be gross. I get the point. Sheez, try to suggest something novel around here and you get shot down every time.”

  “We catch bad guys,” Savannah told her. “We don’t use our God-given feminine wiles to turn good guys—or even morally mediocre guys—into bad guys.”

  “It wouldn’t bother me,” Tammy said. “If they weren’t already bad, they wouldn’t go for it.”

  Savannah grinned. “Hey, with legs like yours, and boobs like mine, no man could resist, good or bad. With the way you and I look, darlin’, it would be pure entrapment.”

  Laughing, Tammy said, “So true, so true.”

  Savannah had just settled down in her chair, Diamante tucked tightly in the crook of her left arm, a pill in her right hand, when the doorbell rang.

  “Tarnation!” she said. “Would you get that, Tammy?”

  “Sure!” With a high degree of energy and enthusiasm that frequently irritated Savannah, Tammy bounded from the desk, across the living room, and into the foyer, leading to the front door.

  Savannah’s grumpiness evaporated instantly at the sound of a couple of familiar, deep voices.

  “Hi, Tammy,” said the first, decidedly male, visitor. “How’s it going?”

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” added the second man, his voice dripping with a deliciously classy British accent. “We were in your neighborhood and thought we’d call on Savannah. Is the lady at home?”

  “Ryan! John!” Savannah heard Tammy say, followed by an embarrassing amount of adolescent giggling.

  Tammy was a sucker for handsome hunks. Unlike Savannah, who was cool, calm, and collected no matter the circumstance.

  Savannah jumped out of her chair, spilling Diamante onto the floor, and shoved the pill into her jeans pocket. Running her fingers through her hair and tucking in her T-shirt, she hurried to the door, nearly stumbling over the indignant cat.

  “Hey, fellas! What a great surprise!” she said as she rounded the corner and soaked in the sight that always made her a bit weak in the knees. To say that Ryan Stone and his life partner, John Gibson, were easy on the eyes, was a monumental understatement.

  Long ago, she had decided that one look at Ryan, the quintessential “tall, dark, and handsome” romantic leading man type, could set her world right. And John, though older than Ryan, was no less debonair with his mane of thick silver hair, lush mustache, and aristocratic, English manners.

  The gorgeous twosome was always dressed impeccably. Today they apparently intended to play tennis and were smartly attired in white shorts and polo shirts that set off their tans to perfection.

  “Come in,” Savannah cried, throwing the door open and ushering them inside. “When did you get back from New York?”

  “This morning,” Ryan said, his shoulder brushing Savannah and giving her a thrill that—she hated to admit—was so intense as to be pathetic. “We caught a red-eye and got into LAX about three.”

  “You must be exhausted! We’re just so honored that you’d rush over here right away like this. Let me make you a pot of coffee…a cup of Earl Grey for you, John…and I’ve got some chocolate pecan pie that I baked last night. I could—”

  “No, no, love,” John said, taking her hand and ushering her like a princess to the sofa. “We didn’t drop by to have you entertain us.”

  “Or feed us either,” Ryan added, “although I can’t believe I’m turning down anything you baked!”

  “We have a birthday gift for you.” John pulled a small box from behind his back. It was white and tied with a lavender ribbon.

  Savannah sat on the sofa, and they settled on either side of her. Tammy perched herself on the edge of th
e ottoman, an excited grin on her face.

  “But it isn’t my birthday,” Savannah said, grabbing the box with an eagerness that could hardly be considered ladylike. “Not for another eight months.”

  “We know,” Ryan said, “but some presents can’t wait, so consider it a harbinger of gifts to come.”

  She studied the label affixed to the box. The silver lettering read: Li-Lac’s Chocolate, Greenwich Village, NY.

  “I think I’m going to like this. A lot!” she said as she untied the ribbon and opened the lid.

  “They’re truffles,” Ryan said. “The French creams and amarettos are our favorites.”

  “Yes, we’ve long been admirers of Li-Lac’s,” John told her. “When we lived in New York, years ago, I must admit we became shamefully addicted to them.”

  “And now you’re sharing your vices. How generous of you!” Savannah took a long, deep smell and felt herself ascending to chocolate heaven.

  “But are you intending to share?” Tammy asked her. “That’s what I want to know.”

  Ryan laughed. “We bought twice as many, figuring she would.”

  Holding the box close to her chest, Savannah said, “Since when do you eat junk food, Miss Celery Sticks for Breakfast and Carrot Sticks for Lunch?”

  “I make an exception for gourmet candies…or any other kind of food that these two recommend.”

  “It’s my birthday present,” Savannah said, “but maybe I’ll share. We’ll see how good they are first.”

  “Actually, the candy is for both of you.” John grinned mischievously. “And your real gift, Savannah, is tucked there, under the candies.”

  “There’s more?” Savannah peered inside and shuffled the chocolates around until she saw a small white envelope underneath.

  “Much more,” Ryan told her. “And when you open it, you’ll see why we had to rush over here this morning.”

  “Oh, this is fun.” Savannah recognized the fine white linen stationery as one of Ryan’s standard notecards. And her name was written across the front in his stylish handwriting.

  She opened the wax seal on the back, reached inside, and pulled out what looked like a formal invitation, also penned in Ryan’s calligraphy.

  Her eyes quickly scanned it, and she frowned as she tried to make sense of what she was reading.

  “Well, what is it?” Tammy asked breathlessly. “What does it say?”

  “It’s an invitation to…some sort of audition,” Savannah said, still reading. “Tomorrow…here in town…for a…Is it a television show?”

  John smiled, terribly pleased with himself. “It is, indeed. I’m afraid it’s nothing so highbrow as an educational program, but it promises to be fun, if you’re game.”

  Savannah squinted at the paper. “The name of it is Man of My Dreams, and I can audition to be some sort of contestant?”

  “It’s one of those reality shows,” Ryan told her, “like The Bachelorette or Joe Millionaire. You can be one of the ladies who’s competing to win a hunk’s heart.”

  Savannah’s expression went from confused to shrewd in a half second. “What’s the prize?”

  “A diamond tiara and a two-week spa vacation with the guy,” Ryan said, “to see if, well, you know…true love can really blossom.”

  “To heck with romance blooming and all that rigmarole. I could use a diamond tiara.”

  “What for?” Tammy giggled. “Are you going to wear it on a stakeout with old Dirko?”

  “No, I’ll sell the sucker and use the money to patch the holes in my roof before rainy season starts.”

  “Rainy season?” Tammy looked confused. “This is Southern California.”

  “Yeah, where it rains like cats and dogs for a couple of weeks every March. And I’m getting tired of climbing around in my dusty old attic on my hands and knees, setting out pans and bowls to catch the drips. I’m telling you, I need that diamond tiara. I’m going to go to this audition, and I’m going to win the contest, too. You wait and see.”

  “And maybe you’ll fall in love, find your true soul mate,” Tammy said, a sappy grin on her face.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

  Ryan chuckled and nudged Savannah’s arm. “You haven’t asked who he is.”

  “Who who is?”

  “The star of the show, the man of your dreams, the guy whose heart you have to win.”

  She shrugged. “Eh, who cares. If I set my cap for him, I’ll get him. I just turn on the old Southern charm spigot and he’s a dead duck. He’ll—”

  “Lance Roman.”

  Savannah sat, stunned, not believing her ears. “No,” she whispered.

  Ryan nodded. “Yep. Lance Roman, the model, the guy on the covers of those books you like to—”

  That was when Savannah started screaming, shrieking incoherently—emitting cries that sounded like exclamations of ecstasy one moment and wails of agony the next.

  It would only be much later, when she was reliving the moment in her memory, that she would recall somebody saying, “Uh, oh! Is she all right?” and someone replying, “I don’t think so. I’m afraid she’s gone. What should we do? Somebody throw water on her! Or maybe slap her!”

  Chapter

  2

  As Savannah left her house the next day, suitcases in hand and a joy born of greed and lust in her heart, she paused beside Tammy’s classic Volkswagen bug. Looking back at the modest Spanish-style house with its white stucco walls draped in flowering bougainvillea and its crumbling red tile roof, she said, “I’m doing this for you, you know. I’ve got every piece of sexy lingerie I own in those suitcases. I’m going to prostitute myself by going on a television show and pretending to fall madly in love, just so that you can have a new roof. I hope you appreciate it.”

  Tammy popped the trunk on the front of the bug and motioned for her to hurry. “You and I and your house know exactly why you’re doing this,” she told Savannah as she helped her place the suitcases inside. “And it’s got a lot more to do with lechery than a diamond tiara.”

  Savannah grinned. “Whatever are you implying, young lady? You know full well that my intentions are completely mercenary in nature.”

  “Baloney. You’re hoping to lock lips with Lance Roman, and you know it, so don’t try to pretend you’re doing it for a roof. I’ve seen how you look at those book covers with his picture on them.”

  “How?”

  Instantly, Tammy arranged her face into a dreamy, sappy, brainless grin that made Savannah slightly nauseous.

  “I do not!”

  “Do, too!”

  “Huh-uh. Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  “Oh, well, since you argue your point so intelligently….” Tammy opened the driver’s door and said, “Get in. You’re going to be late for your audition.”

  A few minutes later, they were following a winding road along the foothills that bordered San Carmelita on the east. Below them and to the west, they could see the little town spread along the coastline, five times as long as it was wide. The ocean was mostly obscured by a haze of winter fog, created by the warm, inland air meeting the cooler sea breezes. As usual, the overcast would burn off by the afternoon, giving way to the famous Southern California golden sunshine.

  “Are you nervous?” Tammy asked as they left the city limits and headed east into a long, deep valley that ran perpendicular to the coast.

  “A little, but not much,” Savannah replied. She reached into her purse and pulled out a compact. Applying a third layer of powder to her nose, she said, “John and Ryan said this audition is more of a formality than anything. Apparently one of the five contestants dropped out at the last minute, and they’re supposed to start filming tonight. John recommended me so highly that they said they’d take me sight unseen.”

  “He and Ryan are friends of the producers, right?”

  “Yes. It’s a husband-and-wife team, Alexander and Tess Jarvis.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Tammy said. “Aren’t they the head honchos of
the Romance Network, that cable channel?”

  “They’re the ones. This show is going to play on their network, which isn’t like being on HBO or Showtime, but still….”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  “It will. Especially with John and Ryan part of the party. John is going to play the butler—or manservant, as they called them back in the olden days. The show has some sort of medieval theme. And Ryan will be the head coachman.”

  Tammy’s lower lip protruded slightly. “I wish I could play some part and hang out with you guys. All I get to do is stay at your house and feed the cats.”

  “Ah, don’t pout. You’ll have fun. Don’t forget; you have to give them their medicine, too.”

  “Gee, I can’t wait. Better check to make sure my tetanus shot is current.”

  Savannah reached over and gave her a sisterly pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. As soon as my foot’s firmly in the door, I’ll see if we can get you in, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Maybe you can be my scullery maid. You can play Cinderella, and I’ll be one of the ill-tempered stepsisters who’s got all the cool clothes.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Tammy said as she turned off the main highway and drove into a small canyon. The road ran beside a meandering, rock-strewn creek that was lined with ancient, gnarled oaks. Several miles from the ocean, there was no sign of morning haze, only brilliant sunlight that streamed through the oak leaves, dappling the ground beneath the trees in a thousand shades of brown and green. The breeze flowing through the car’s open windows smelled of dust, wild sage, and eucalyptus.

  “We should be just about there,” Savannah said, studying a piece of paper with the map that Tammy had downloaded for her on the Internet. “Right after the curve up there, we should see a road on our right. Ryan says the entrance gates are distinctive.”

  “A distinctive entrance? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Savannah shrugged. “He wouldn’t elaborate, said we’ll know it when we see it. The place has a name: Blackmoor Castle. Sort of romantic, don’t you think?”