She stood, pulling Brandy out of her chair, then hurried around the table to the other side where Lance sat. With not-so-gentle pressure, she placed one hand around Roxy’s upper arm and pulled her to her feet. “You’re outta here,” she told her. “Our turn. Same with you, Carina or Catrisa or whatever your name is. You’ve been hogging the spotlight long enough. Brandy, sit down there in her place. Leila, scootch closer over here, and let’s get this show on the road.”
Other than a couple of soft gasps, nobody objected. Even Carisa and Roxy cooperated, surrendering their chairs and retreating to the other end of the table.
Savannah patted her hair, adjusted her bodice and its contents for the maximum effect, licked her lips and turned to the cameraman. “Let her roll, Leonard.”
Leonard looked at Tess and Alex; they nodded. The camera started to purr.
Savannah scooted her chair next to Lance’s and leaned against him, making sure he had an unobstructed view of her décolletage. Placing one hand on his sleeve, she ran her fingertips over his world-famous biceps and said in a hushed, breathy voice, “So, Lance…I have a lot of fantasies about you, but my favorite is from Pirate of Wolf Cove…that steamy scene in the lighthouse where you…ah…pillage the heroine’s treasure chest.”
Lance’s blue eyes widened, then he gave her a suggestive smile.
Our cover boy’s wide awake now, she thought a moment later when she glanced down at his lap.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Alex and Tess Jarvis cheer up instantly. Even Kit and Pete the soundman looked acutely interested.
So far, so good. She trailed her hand up to Lance’s throat, where the deep vee of his shirt revealed a sprinkling of dark chest hair. “Tell me, darlin’,” she breathed, “what’s your favorite fantasy?”
When Savannah woke at one-thirty in the morning, she wasn’t sure where she was. The canopy hanging over the bed confused her, as did the unfamiliar shadows cast by the moonlight shining through a stained glass window to her left. The mattress beneath her felt like wooden planking compared to her cushy feather bed at home—courtesy of Granny Reid. And the pillow under her head was twice the size of her usual one, causing a major knot in her neck muscles.
But those were only small discomforts compared to the major rumblings and grumblings of her near-empty stomach. Although she was known for her larger-than-life appetite, she couldn’t recall when she had been so ravenously hungry.
I wonder if there’s the makings of a bologna sandwich in that kitchen downstairs, she thought. Or maybe a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich, some macaroni and cheese, and a big bowl of ice cream and some chocolate chip cookies.
Just a little something to take the edge off her hunger—that was all she asked.
The two measly pizzas that Tess’s assistant had ordered earlier in the evening hadn’t gone far with the famished girls and crew. One and a half slices of a thin-crust pepperoni pie wasn’t Savannah’s idea of a meal…not unless it was chased by a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.
She threw back the lace-trimmed sheet and the pink satin duvet and got out of bed. After fishing around in the dark for her slippers, she stubbed her toe on an accent table and decided to turn on a light. It took her a while to remember that she hadn’t yet unpacked her robe. Pulling it out of her suitcase, she again congratulated herself for having at least a few nice pieces of sleepwear.
Although she operated on a cotton and rayon budget, she had treated herself to a few silk gowns and matching robes. This set was a particularly becoming shade of sapphire, a rich brocade that set off her dark hair and accented her blue eyes.
She didn’t really think she would happen to see Lance Roman during this next two weeks when she was dressed in her nightclothes, but it never hurt to be prepared.
Slipping the robe on over her gown, she tied the sash with its satin fringed end and glanced at her reflection in the dresser mirror.
“You look fine, darlin’,” she told the woman looking back at her with soft eyes and hair that was just bed-tousled enough to be moderately sexy. “Yep, just fine and dandy. That’s you!”
Her morale bolstered, but her stomach still empty, she left the bedroom.
Although she generally had a keen sense of direction, Savannah wandered around the dark halls of the keep’s third floor quite a while before she finally located the staircase that led to the lower levels. And, although she didn’t usually spook easily, she had to keep a tight rein on her imagination as she passed the castle’s creepy props. A suit of armor made her jump as she hurried by it on the stair landing, and a panther’s skin stretched on the wall of the second set of stairs gave her the shivers.
“I wouldn’t want to try to shove a pill between your teeth,” she told the trophy as she stared at the bared yellow fangs and golden taxidermy eyes.
As well as its eccentric décor, the keep had a thick, heavy silence about it that was broken only by the occasional creak of Savannah’s footsteps on the wooden stairs and the far-off yelping of some coyotes in the distant hills.
But that was fine with Savannah, who wanted complete solitude on this little excursion. If she could just find her way to the kitchen, score a triple-decker sandwich and a dessert of some sort, and return to her room undetected, she would be a happy wench, indeed. The last thing she needed right now was to run into one of those other—
“Roxy!” she said as she reached the bottom of the staircase and nearly ran headlong into the blonde, who was headed up, an apple in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
Like Savannah, Roxy was in her nightclothes, but as Savannah might have expected of a professional lingerie model, her gown and robe were a cut above anything in Savannah’s wardrobe. Upon closer inspection of Roxy’s plunging neckline, Savannah decided that the black silk gown with its strategically placed lace inserts was definitely a few cuts below anything she would wear…even on a hooker stakeout.
For a moment Roxy looked flustered to be running into anyone, even a bit guilty as she stammered out an explanation. “I, um, was still a little hungry, and I’m on this ten-day, apple-and-water-only diet and didn’t eat any of the pizza tonight and….”
Savannah shook her head in disgust. “Shoot, girl, you don’t have to apologize to me for what you eat. If you want an apple, have one. But you need a big hunk of cheese and a glass of wine to go with it, and maybe a handful of cashews, too.”
Roxy’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped, as though she had just heard a string of blasphemy. “Why…why…no! I couldn’t. I…oh….” Then Roxy took a long look up and down Savannah’s figure and a nasty smirk appeared on her face. “But, I guess you could,” she said, “and do…quite often.”
Savannah gave her a too-sweet smile in return. “I do,” she said, “and I highly recommend it. How do you think I got this divine cleavage? It sure wasn’t from eating apples and drinking water. I have better things to do than spend my life in a bathroom.”
Leaving Roxy to ponder the possible disadvantages of her apple diet, Savannah made her way through the dark maze of the downstairs hallways to the back of the building, where she had caught a glimpse of a kitchen during their brief tour.
As she approached the kitchen’s open door, she heard the murmur of lowered voices coming from inside. And her heart skipped a beat as she got closer because, even though she couldn’t hear their distinct words, she recognized the male voice as his.
Apparently Lance himself couldn’t sleep tonight either.
When she entered the room, she saw Lance and Mary Branigan sitting on high stools at the center island. A large stained glass lamp shade, suspended over the marble-topped counter, lit Lance’s dark hair and bronzed skin, giving him an aura that was almost other-worldly. Savannah had to fight the urge to just stop dead in her tracks and stare at him for an hour or two.
The fact that he was wearing a simple gray UCLA sweatshirt and a pair of well-worn jeans did nothing to detract from his appeal. In fact, Savannah conside
red it all the more amazing that this Grecian god of gorgeousness would deign to walk among them, dressed like a mere mortal.
He and Mary didn’t seem to notice her at first, so intent were they on their conversation. When, finally, Mary looked her way, she jumped and said, “Oh, hi.” She nudged Lance’s forearm. “Look, Lance; it’s Savannah.”
He turned his head and locked eyes with Savannah. Again, her knees weakened, and the thought passed through her head that if she were to just fall down on the floor for no apparent reason, it would be most embarrassing, indeed. How could you gracefully explain how you tripped over your own feet when you weren’t even walking? It was about as difficult as trying to look cool while choking on your own spit during an important and tense conversation—something she had done more often than she cared to admit.
Legs, don’t fail me now, she thought as she walked across the flagstone floor to the island where they sat. She noticed that Mary was also in her nightclothes, a simple white gown with a cheap purple velour robe. Her hair was mussed, as though she, too, had just rolled out of bed.
A heavy silence hung in the air, along with a whiff of tension. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” she said, looking from one to the other.
Mary and Lance glanced at each other, then Mary giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. “Just some gossip,” she said.
“Something juicy?” Savannah asked.
Lance shrugged. “Just your standard, on-set rumor mongering.”
More interested in food than gossip, Savannah looked around the kitchen with single-minded purpose. Ordinarily she might have taken time to admire the rustic ambiance: the giant, stone fireplace with its iron spit, the stained glass-fronted cabinets, the marble counters and copper sinks. But not with her stomach growling and her blood sugar level dropping by the moment.
It was only when she had stuck her head into the double-wide refrigerator that she realized—this was the perfect moment to score some contest points.
She looked over her shoulder and gave Lance one of her most beguiling, deep-dimpled smiles. “So, tell me, big boy,” she said, “are you as hungry as I am? If you are, I’d be happy to dish you up something tasty.”
He grinned, and his blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll just bet you could. What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I have an extensive repertoire.” She waggled one eyebrow. “But judging from the contents of this ice box, I’d say you’re lookin’ at steak and eggs. Maybe some home fries….”
“You can do that?” He looked highly impressed…just the way she wanted him to be.
“Darlin’, you’d be surprised what I can do.” She turned to Mary. “And how about you, Miss Mary? I’d be glad to scare up some for you, too, while I’m at it.”
Mary shook her head. “Not for me, thanks. I think I’ll head back to bed…if I can get some sleep, that is,” she added, giving Lance a sideways look.
“Am I missing something here?” Savannah asked as she assembled the ingredients for their late night breakfast on the counter. “If I’m willing to slave over a hot stove, the least you two could do is share your gossip with me.”
Mary cleared her throat and glanced toward the kitchen’s front and rear doors. Seeing no one else about, she said, “Lance and I both heard Alex and Tess arguing earlier. Woke us up from a sound sleep, in fact.”
Savannah grabbed a copper skillet from an overhead rack and plopped it onto the eight-burner gas stove. “Oh? What were they fighting about?”
Lance looked uncomfortable with the topic as he shifted on his stool. “Who knows?” he said. “Something about the way the taping’s going so far. I think Alex is happier with the results than Tess. But that’s nothing new.”
“Tess is a bit harder to please?” Savannah asked.
Mary gave a sniff. “Tess is impossible to please. And I should know. I’ve been her personal assistant for five years. I have the battle scars to prove it.”
“I hope you’re speaking figuratively, not literally,” Savannah said as she hauled some potatoes and onions out of the pantry.
“Sure,” Mary replied dryly. “Not all scars are on the outside.”
Lance nodded. “Tess knows how to hit you so that the cuts and bruises don’t show.”
“Sounds like you have a history with the Jarvises, too,” Savannah observed.
“Even longer than Mary’s,” he said. “Tess got me my first book cover ten years ago. You might say she ‘discovered’ me.”
“Working a soda fountain in Hollywood?”
“No, nothing so glamorous.” A shadow crossed Lance’s face. Savannah noted the brief sadness in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure how to interpret it. He didn’t elaborate.
“Well, like I said, I’m going back to bed.” Mary slid off her stool and patted Lance’s shoulder as she walked away. “You two have a nice breakfast and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be worse than today.”
“Ah, something to look forward to,” Savannah said as she began to scrub the potatoes in the sink.
“By the way,” Mary said, pausing in the doorway. “I don’t suppose you’ll have room for dessert after all that, but if you do…”
“Yes?” Savannah perked up. “There’s always room for dessert.”
“Then you might want to raid the big walk-in freezer downstairs, next to the wine cellar. Tess always has a big bowl of gourmet ice cream after dinner. She’s bound to have some stashed down there. Just don’t let her know I told you about it.”
“Mary, you’re a gem of a woman!” Savannah said. “I owe you one.”
“You’ll owe me more than that before this is all over.” With that, Mary disappeared, leaving Savannah deliciously alone with Lance.
“Sounds ominous,” Savannah told him.
“She’s just been on locations before with Tess and Alex. She knows the score.”
“Sounds like you do, too.”
“Let’s just say it’s been a long ten years.” He watched her quietly for a few moments as she popped the potatoes into the skillet and the steaks under the broiler. “What do you do, Savannah? Are you a chef?”
She laughed. “Not even close. Although sometimes I feel like a greasy spoon short-order cook when I’m feeding a batch of my friends. Actually, I’m a private investigator.”
“A private detective? Really? Wow!”
She was accustomed to a bit of surprise when she told people her occupation, but not shock. Lance looked like she had just told him she was an international spy and then socked him in the solar plexus.
“Yep,” she said. “That’s how I earn the cat food and potatoes around my house. It’s a living…most of the time.”
“How did you get into that line of work?”
“Well, a million years ago I was a cop, and then—”
“A cop? You? Really?”
She gave him a sly grin. “Handcuffs and everything.”
Before he could respond, someone walked into the kitchen, and Savannah silently cursed them before even turning to see who it was.
“What’s going on down here?” asked an abrasive voice that Savannah instantly recognized. Carisa swept across the room, wearing a marabou-trimmed, hot pink negligee with matching high-heeled slides.
“Savannah’s making us some breakfast,” Lance told her. “Would you like to join us?”
Savannah didn’t particularly like the gleam of interest in Lance’s eyes as he watched Carisa sashay over to the stool where he sat. And she certainly didn’t appreciate him offering her services to someone she didn’t even like. Cooking for Mary was one thing, but Miss Priss Carisa could rustle up her own grub.
“Breakfast?” Carisa said, instantly interested. “What are we having?”
“We are having steak and eggs,” Savannah replied coolly.
“Oh, good.” Carisa sat on the stool next to Lance and began to play with a strand of her long, black hair. “I’m on a high-protein diet. I can have steak and eggs, but no toast.”
�
�Then you’re in luck,” Savannah told her, “because there are at least three more steaks and a dozen eggs there in the refrigerator. Help yourself.”
Carisa flipped her hair to the right, then the left, while batting her eyelashes at Lance. “But I don’t cook,” she said in a breathy tone that Savannah had only heard in cheap porn films.
“Then you’ll be eating your steak raw,” Savannah said, “because I’m starving, and these suckers are about ready to eat.”
Lance appeared to take pity on the starving actress. “Mary said that there’s some ice cream in the freezer downstairs,” he told her. “It’s Tess’s, but I won’t tell.”
“That’s so-o-o not on my diet,” Carisa said. Then she reconsidered. “But I’m really hungry, so….”
She glided across the kitchen, a pink cloud of feathers and billowing chiffon. After searching several cabinets and drawers, she found a bowl and spoon and disappeared through the rear door.
Savannah grabbed a couple of plates and began to dish up their meal, while Lance looked on with acute interest. As she slid it under his nose with the panache of a diner waitress, she said, “There ya go. Sink your choppers into that, Sir Lance, and tell me if it hits the spot.”
He cut off a large chunk of steak, and when he bit into it, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “Ah…oh…Savannah this is absolutely—”
A terrible shriek split the air, cutting off his words, followed by another and another, coming from the direction of the rear door.
“What the hell?” Savannah said.
Lance jumped off his stool. “Carisa?”
Another scream seemed to answer his question.
Savannah dropped her plate onto the counter and raced to the door with Lance right behind her.
They opened the door and saw a long flight of stairs that led down to the cellar. Another scream echoed upward from the darkness below.
Instinctively, Savannah reached to her side for her Beretta and realized she was unarmed.
Don’t enter a dark room and face a threat unarmed, she told herself.
But the cries below were too horrible to hesitate. Someone was in trouble. Savannah took only a few seconds to make her decision…and run down the stairs into the castle’s dank, gloomy cellar.
Murder à la Mode Page 5
