Murder à la Mode

by G. A. McKevett

  Chapter

  4

  One small, bare lightbulb suspended from the ceiling halfway down the staircase did little to illuminate their path as Savannah and Lance hurried down the steps into the cellar. Savannah reached the bottom first where she stopped and raised her hand, signaling Lance to wait. She leaned forward and ducked her head quickly around the edge of the wall to get a fast look and to evaluate the situation.

  She got only the briefest glance and only a limited impression of a large, dark room with strange equipment hanging from the walls.

  “Carisa?” Lance called out. “Are you okay?” When there was no response, he said, “I’ve got to go help her. She could be—”

  “I know. I know. Hold on just a second.” Savannah stuck her head around again, this time taking a slightly longer look.

  About thirty feet to her left she could see an open door and a dim light shining from it. Beside the door stood Carisa, her pink peignoir glowing even in the semi-darkness. Carisa had her hands clamped over her mouth, but she was whimpering and shaking.

  Seeing no one and nothing else, Savannah hurried toward her. But Lance rushed ahead and reached her first. Carisa threw herself into his arms, crying hysterically.

  “Were you the one screaming?” Savannah asked her.

  Carisa nodded, still sobbing against Lance’s chest.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, gently shaking her by the shoulders. “Carisa, what’s the matter with you?”

  “In…in there,” Carisa stammered, pointing to the door of what they could now clearly see was a walk-in freezer. “I was going to get some ice cream, but I opened the door and saw…that!”

  Savannah left Lance to comfort the weeping Carisa and walked over to the freezer door.

  At first, all she saw were shelves stacked over more shelves holding boxes and plastic bags full of all types of meats, vegetables, fruits, pastries, and miscellaneous snacks. For half a second she wondered if the tycoon who owned Blackmoor was a Southerner. Surely no Yankee would stock this much food.

  Then she remembered he was a Texan. Mystery solved. If anybody could put away more food than a Georgia girl, it was a Texas cowboy.

  She stepped inside the freezer and instantly felt a chill that made her shiver inside her silk nightclothes. But her shudder had nothing to do with the temperature inside the walk-in.

  On the floor to her left lay a body, sprawled on its back, staring with glazed eyes at the ceiling.

  “Lance, take a look at this,” she called.

  “But,” he replied, “but Carisa….”

  “She’ll be all right. Come here.”

  A few seconds later, Lance appeared at her side. He gasped when he saw the body. “Oh, my god. What…what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Savannah replied, but the mental computer inside her head was already clicking away, processing the possibilities.

  “Should we…?” Lance said, reaching a hand toward the body, then withdrawing it. “I’ll go call 9-1-1, have them send an ambulance.”

  “No point in that,” Savannah said.

  “You mean…?”

  “Yes.” Savannah had seen enough corpses in her life to know this person was no longer among the living. And while the head was covered with blood and the face contorted with whatever pain the victim had felt when exiting the world, the orange hair and tangerine suit were unmistakable.

  “Tess is dead,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do for her now…except call the coroner.”

  Savannah had always thought of medical examiner Jennifer Liu as a cheerful person, especially considering her occupation, but Dr. Liu wasn’t her customary sunny self after being called to a scene at two-thirty in the morning. Usually pristine in a crisp lab coat and a dress short enough to show off an impressive expanse of legs, her long black hair pulled back and tied with a colorful scarf, this pre-dawn M.E. wasn’t someone Savannah would have immediately recognized.

  Wearing a rumpled pair of jeans and a T-shirt that bore the words “Born to Rock,” her hair hanging limp around her face, this grumpy version of the professional doctor was kneeling beside the body, gently examining the head. With gloved hands she was carefully parting the bloody hair, trying to locate the wound that had caused the bleeding.

  Savannah stood patiently behind her, wearing a pair of slacks, an Aran sweater, and loafers, having changed before the coroner arrived.

  Next to her was an even less cordial Dirk. Savannah had phoned him before her call to Jennifer Liu, and he was no happier about having been hauled from a warm bed than anyone else.

  But once he had arrived and looked at the body in the walk-in, he had stopped complaining and was now as engrossed in the scene as Savannah. Human drama was a more powerful stimulant than the most potent cup of espresso.

  “This isn’t right,” he said, keeping his voice low so that the others standing behind them just outside the freezer couldn’t hear.

  “I know,” Savannah whispered. “That’s why I wanted you to get here as soon as you could.”

  In her peripheral vision she watched the threesome behind them as Ryan Stone and John Gibson attempted to comfort the distraught husband. Savannah had gone upstairs to give Alexander Jarvis the bad news about his wife just before the M.E. had arrived, and from the moment he’d heard, he had been crying and asking questions.

  “But what happened to her?” he said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Why is her face all bloody? Did she fall? Did she hit her head on something? She was just coming downstairs for some ice cream before she went to bed like she always does! Damn it, what happened to my wife?”

  “We don’t know yet, Alex,” Ryan replied, as he had again and again. “That’s why we called the coroner. She’s checking right now, and she’ll be able to tell you something soon, I’m sure.”

  “Won’t you please come upstairs with us?” John asked, his hand at the man’s elbow. “I’ll pour you a spot of brandy to calm your nerves.”

  “No! I don’t want anything to drink.” He shook John’s hand away. “I want to know what happened to my wife!”

  “Yeah,” Dirk grumbled under his breath. “That’s what we all want to know.”

  He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from a packet in his coat pocket and handed them to Savannah. Then he put on a second pair himself.

  While Dr. Liu continued to examine the corpse, he knelt on the floor nearby and reached out to touch a large, round, cardboard container that lay on its side about a yard from the body. Beside the container lay a silver spoon and some broken pieces of white china that looked like a shattered bowl.

  But Savannah was more interested in the cardboard carton. She had seen that sort of container before, but it took her a moment to recall where…at her local mall ice cream shop. “Is that one of those giant tubs of ice cream?” Savannah asked.

  Dirk studied the writing on the opposite side of the carton. “Seems so. It says, ‘Gourmet Ice Cream.’”

  With one finger he carefully rolled the container over. “Looks like one side here is bashed in.”

  Savannah knelt beside him and took a look herself. “Not only that,” she said, “but this has to be blood.” She pointed to a thick smear of a dark red substance on the lower metal rim of the tub. A couple of orange hairs and what appeared to be a small patch of skin were congealed in the gore.

  “I think we’ve found what hit her,” Dirk told Dr. Liu. “We’ve got blood and tissue on this ice cream carton.”

  Dr. Liu simply nodded in reply without looking up from her own work.

  Savannah read the writing on the crushed side of the tub and nearly laughed. Though she felt a bit ghoulish, she couldn’t resist chuckling at the irony. “Check out the flavor,” she whispered to Dirk. “Can you believe it?”

  Dirk read aloud, “‘Killer Fudge.’Yikes, that’s creepy.”

  Savannah stood and studied the interior of the freezer. “But how could something like that hit her on the head…un-less….”
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  “Somebody whacked her with it,” Dirk whispered.

  “Or…” Savannah studied an empty spot among the frozen goods on a high shelf directly above them. “Or maybe she was reaching up to get it off this top shelf and it fell on her.”

  Dirk stood and glanced up at the shelf, then down at the body and the tub. “Maybe.”

  They turned and looked at each other for a long, long moment. Then, Savannah said, “Not likely, though.”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m thinking that’s what somebody intended for us to think.”

  Dirk glanced out at the others in the cellar. “Yeah. I suspect that’s exactly right.”

  Savannah took a step closer to the body. “What do you think, Doc? Did she die from getting smacked on the head by a big carton of ice cream?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still looking for the wound.” She glanced up at Dirk. “Did you take your pictures yet?”

  “Yeah, already took them before you got here,” he said, patting the small camera in his jacket pocket.

  “Then help me roll her onto her side.”

  As Dirk leaned over and assisted the doctor in repositioning the body, Alexander called out, “What’s going on in there? I have a right to know what’s happened to my wife.”

  Savannah stuck her head out of the freezer and said, “Yes, you certainly do, Mr. Jarvis. I know this is a terrible time for you, and I’m so sorry you have to go through it, but we’ll tell you something just as soon as the doctor has completed her examination. Really, we will.”

  Ryan slipped his arm around the man’s shoulders. “Please, Alex, come upstairs with us. There’s nothing we can do down here, and we’re interfering with their work.”

  This time Alex acquiesced and allowed Ryan to lead him away.

  John stayed behind just long enough to tell Savannah, “If we can assist you in any way, my dear, you need only ask.”

  “Of course, John. I’ll bring you two up to speed when we’re done.”

  Turning back to the body, Savannah asked Dr. Liu, “See anything yet?”

  “Yes, cause of death,” the M.E. replied. “The back of her skull is crushed. And there’s a gaping wound over the fractures.”

  “Crescent-shaped?” Dirk asked, looking at the curved bottom edge of the round ice cream container.

  “No,” Dr. Liu replied. “Straight, wide open, and bloody. That tub of ice cream didn’t cause this wound. The weapon had to be a lot more substantial—heavier and straight.”

  “Weapon,” Savannah repeated under her breath. By speaking the word, Dr. Liu had changed the investigation. Now they all knew for certain what they had suspected all along. This was no accident; although someone had tried to make it appear so.

  Tess Jarvis had been murdered.

  Dirk straightened a kink out of his back. Sighing, he said, “Well, good doctor, you’d better call in your C.S.U.”

  Dr. Liu stripped off her gloves, reached into her pocket and retrieved her cell phone. As she was calling the crime scene unit, Dirk and Savannah walked out of the freezer and into the dark, musty cellar.

  For the first time she had a chance to look at the weird contraptions hanging from the walls. It was a strange and ominous assortment with a distinctive medieval flavor: manacles and bondage mechanisms, rusty metal objects with spikes and chains—all sorts of devilish devices that appeared to be designed for warfare and torture.

  In spite of her thick Aran sweater, Savannah shivered.

  “Cold?” Dirk asked.

  She nodded. “And creeped out by this room, not to mention exhausted.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly four, and I’m feeling my lack of sleep.”

  “You hungry?”

  “Nope. Funny how the sight of that much blood and a crushed skull can take the edge off your appetite.”

  “Let’s go talk to Jarvis,” Dirk said. “Get it over with.”

  Savannah felt for Dirk. It was never easy delivering terrible news to a family member. And if there was anything worse than telling someone that their loved one had died, it was having to inform them that the deceased had been murdered. In fact, it was the one part of being a cop that she had always hated the most.

  Nevertheless, she said, “I can do it if you want. He sort of knows me. It might be easier coming from me.”

  Dirk shook his head. “No. It’s miserable no matter who informs you. And I’m the one getting paid to do the dirty work.” He slipped his arm around Savannah’s waist as they headed for the stairs. “Thanks though. You’re a good gal, Van…no matter what anybody says.”

  “Thanks,” she replied. “I guess.”

  When they reached the top of the stairs and entered the kitchen, Savannah and Dirk found the entire cast and crew of Man of My Dreams standing around, looking at each other with an awkward, heavy silence. They jerked to attention as Dirk took out his badge and showed it to them.

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter, San Carmelita Police Department, and I’m investigating a…situation…that’s happened here tonight. I’d appreciate your cooperation, and—”

  “Is Tess dead?” Roxy Strauss demanded as she elbowed her way through the group to stand in front of Dirk. “Carisa says she saw her down there in the cellar, and she’s dead.”

  The blonde was still wearing her black nightgown with its deeply cut front, and with her hands on her hips, the edges were spread wide, revealing even more. Savannah noted with a bit of humor how deftly Dirk averted his eyes. She knew he was as warm-blooded and as boob-obsessed as any other adolescent/middle-aged American male, but he was, above all, a professional. Dirk knew when to look away.

  “Well,” he told Roxy, while staring at the top of her head, “I would have put it a bit more delicately than that, but yes, Mrs. Jarvis has…passed away.”

  Gasps and exclamations of astonishment and dismay rippled through the group. Some clamped their hands over their mouths; others turned to their neighbors, their eyes wide with shock.

  Pete, the soundman, stepped forward and pushed Roxy aside. “What do you mean, passed away? Did she have a heart attack?”

  “Yeah, what happened?” his partner, Leonard, demanded. “Did the ol’ gal fall down a flight of stairs?”

  Savannah couldn’t help noticing the lack of respect and the almost gleeful light in the cameraman’s eyes. He didn’t exactly look broken up over the news…unlike Carisa, whose wails could still be heard in the distance, coming from somewhere in an adjoining room.

  Dirk ignored the pointed questions as he looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Mr. Jarvis?” he asked.

  “I think he’s upstairs,” Brandy said, her voice soft and tremulous. “I saw the butler and the carriage driver—I mean, the guys who are playing those parts, you know—take him upstairs. He was really upset, and….”

  Tears were brimming in her eyes as her voice trailed away. Savannah reached over and placed her hand on her shoulder. She could feel the woman shaking beneath her terry bathrobe.

  “Thanks, Brandy,” she told her. “You can go back to your room if you want to. There’s nothing to see down here.” Savannah thought of the fact that the coroner’s team would eventually be bringing Tess’s body up from the cellar, and she silently added, Nothing that you’d want to see, anyway.

  “Yeah, you can all go back to your rooms,” Dirk told them gruffly. “But nobody goes down into the cellar and nobody leaves the property, at least until I get a chance to talk to you.”

  Ignoring the indignant mutterings around them, Dirk and Savannah left the kitchen and proceeded through the hallways on their way upstairs. In the foyer they passed Carisa, who was standing at the base of the main staircase, still shrieking and clinging to Lance.

  Savannah resisted the urge to tell her, “Aw-w, hush your bawling,” because she realized her own annoyance wasn’t wholly because the woman seemed to be milking the drama from the situation. It had a lot to do with the fact that Carisa was having her prolonged hysterics against Lance Roman
’s burly chest.

  When Savannah and Dirk reached the second floor, she said, “I think the Jarvises’ rooms are here. I overheard somebody say that they have a whole suite to themselves.”

  “How did you read Jarvis downstairs?” Dirk asked as they walked down a hallway past one closed door after another.

  Savannah shrugged. “Couldn’t really tell. But you know what they say….”

  “It’s always the husband or the boyfriend or the ex.”

  “Well, at least we know this time the butler didn’t do it. Or manservant, as John prefers to be called.”

  Dirk paused beside one of the doors and cocked an ear that way. “Speaking of John, I think I hear him and Ryan in there.”

  He rapped sharply on the door, using his best “Open up, police!” knock.

  It was promptly answered by Ryan Stone, who ushered them inside.

  “We were just talking to Alex,” he whispered.

  “Anything?” Savannah asked.

  “Nothing remarkable,” he replied.

  Once inside the suite, Savannah looked around and couldn’t help noticing that Tess and Alex had definitely chosen the best accommodations for themselves—or at least the most ostentatious.

  The canopy bed in the middle of the far wall looked as big as a football field—a field spread with blue and gold damask. Bed curtains of the same flashy fabric enclosed the antique bed and still more of the heavy material hung at the windows. In the center of the floor an enormous medallion rug displayed the same colors and a similar design. Much of the other furniture and accessories were covered in gold leaf, giving the room a certain Las Vegas panache.

  Savannah quickly decided she liked her own smaller room that was more tastefully decorated with its ungilded antiques.

  To their right, John and Alex Jarvis sat on a diamond-tucked sofa that looked more Victorian than medieval to Savannah. Alex held a snifter with a large amount of brandy in it. As soon as Alex saw them, he jumped to his feet and hurried across the room to intercept them.