Murder à la Mode

by G. A. McKevett

  “Well?” he wanted to know. “Have you found out what happened to my wife yet?”

  “Not yet,” Dirk replied.

  Savannah could hear the forced patience in his voice. A few years back, he might have snapped at Jarvis, something about needing more than half an hour to solve a homicide case. But the years had mellowed him, and Savannah liked to think her constant harping on his shortcomings had, too. She didn’t mind at all taking credit for his personal growth.

  “But you’re sure she’s dead? She couldn’t just be….”

  His words trailed away, and Savannah searched for a delicate way to speak the ugly truth. But there was no way. Dead was dead. “She’s gone, Alex. The doctor pronounced her at the scene.”

  “So, they won’t be taking her to the hospital, just to see if they could maybe—”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Savannah reached out to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss. If there’s anything we can do, just ask.”

  Alex shook his head as though still unable to grasp the thought, and said, “You can tell me what happened to her. How does somebody die just getting a bowl of ice cream? Did she have a heart attack and fall down or…Where did all that blood come from?”

  “A wound on the back of her head,” Dirk told him, his investigator’s eyes narrowing as he studied the husband for any reaction that might be considered out of the ordinary. “She suffered a devastating, fatal blow.”

  “Blow? Are you saying that somebody hit her? Somebody murdered her?”

  “We don’t know anything for sure yet,” Savannah said. “The M.E. will have to conduct an autopsy to determine the exact cause and manner of death.”

  Alex gripped his brandy glass with both hands and stumbled back to the sofa, where he collapsed, spilling part of it onto the floor. John quietly rose and went into an adjoining bathroom. He returned with a towel and wiped the floor clean.

  “This is all so…unreal,” Alex said. “She and I were here in this room talking not that long ago, and everything was fine. And now she’s dead. I can’t believe it.”

  Savannah sat down on the sofa beside him and donned her most innocent, benign mask, the one she used to interrogate suspects who weren’t yet on her bad side. “Forgive me for having to ask this, Alex,” she said, “but were you and Tess on good terms just before her death?”

  “What?” he said, bristling. “Why would you even ask me something like that?”

  In her peripheral vision Savannah could see Dirk, John, and Ryan all perk up at the question, obviously curious as well.

  “Because,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “several people said they heard you and your wife arguing earlier this evening. So loudly, in fact, that you woke them from a sound sleep.”

  She glanced over at Dirk and saw he was all ears as he took a couple of steps closer to them.

  “We didn’t argue about anything tonight,” Alex said, swiping his hand over his perspiration-damp, bald head. “We were getting along just fine. Tess and I had a good marriage. The best. Who said we were fighting?”

  Savannah hesitated, having no intention of revealing confidences, and Dirk quickly filled in the blank. “I notice you’re dressed, Mr. Jarvis,” he said as he pointed to the husband’s tropical print shirt and shorts. “Had you gone to bed yet?”

  “No. Tess and I are both night owls. We would have worked well into the night except for, well…you know…what happened to her.”

  “You said she was going downstairs to have some ice cream just before she went to bed,” Dirk told him. “Like she usually did. That was what you said earlier.”

  “I didn’t say that!” Alex’s eyes darted from Dirk to Savannah, then to John and Ryan. “I didn’t say anything like that.”

  “Well, actually, Alex,” Ryan interjected. “That’s exactly what you said down in the cellar tonight.”

  “So, what is this? You’re all questioning me now? You think I did something to my wife? You know us, Ryan. So do you, John. You know I’d never do anything to hurt Tess.” The sweat on his head began to roll in rivulets down his forehead and into his eyes. His already ruddy complexion turned a couple of shades redder.

  “We don’t know who did what to who,” Dirk said evenly. “We’re just trying to find out what happened here tonight. Everything that happened. I’ll be questioning everybody.”

  “Well, I want to know, too!” Alex assured him. “I want you to stay on this until you find out what happened to Tess.” Tears flooded his eyes again as he choked over his words. “Tess wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea, because she always said what she thought. But she was a good person, and she sure didn’t deserve to have anybody hurt her…if somebody did, that is.”

  “I absolutely agree,” Dirk replied. “And we’ll get to the bottom of things. I suppose you’ll want to cancel this show you’re doing, what with—”

  “Hell no!” Alex jumped up from the couch so suddenly that they were all surprised. “Tess would have wanted the show to go on. And it will.”

  “But…” Savannah stammered. “But under the circumstances—”

  “If my wife was murdered, I want the killer caught. And since that person is probably someone on the show, the best way to catch them is to keep everybody right here under our noses, right?”

  They couldn’t argue with him. That would be ideal, if everyone were willing to cooperate. Savannah’s mind began to whir, thinking of strategies to accomplish that. Having one’s main suspects under one roof was a luxury she was unaccustomed to. And besides, that meant she still had a chance at a diamond tiara.

  Of course, she told herself, it didn’t matter that she would also still have access to Lance Roman. Naw, she thought. Continued contact with the man of my dreams, an easygoing, rather pleasant and conversational hunk of burning love like that…nope…never crossed my mind.

  “Savannah, I know that you’re a private investigator,” she could hear Alex saying as though from afar as her mind spun its webs. “You and Ryan and John here, you’re all members of a detective agency, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Savannah had a feeling something was coming. Something to add a star to the top of her Christmas tree of delights.

  “I’d like to hire you, all of you,” he continued, “to help Detective Coulter here. I’ll pay you to help him find out who killed Tess. You do your detective routine and report everything you find out back to me. Okay?”

  Okay? Okay? Savannah thought. Okay to do what I love to do and would do for free…for pay? Whoa, howdy!

  But she fixed him with blue eyes as calm as the Pacific and said in her peach-sweet Georgian drawl, “Well, I reckon we could work out something, Mr. Jarvis. We don’t work cheap, the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency, but for you…”

  Chapter

  5

  Ten minutes later, Dirk and Savannah had a quick huddle with Ryan and John in the hallway outside Alex’s suite.

  “This could work out very nicely,” Savannah said. “I get a paying gig, which I could really use right now, and you”—she turned to Dirk—“could profit from our collective expertise.” She waved a hand, indicating herself, Ryan, and John.

  “Eh, get over yourself,” Dirk grumbled.

  Savannah lifted one eyebrow. “Oh? You don’t need our help? The department has finally assigned you a partner that you can actually work with without coming to blows?”

  “Well, no. With the budget cuts and all that…”

  “Ah, then you’re a one-man wonder who wants to go downstairs and canvass…let’s see…no less than nine potential suspects in what’s bound to be a high-profile case, what with Lance Roman involved and all.”

  “Yeah, yeah. All right. I guess you can help. But don’t screw nothin’ up.”

  She batted her eyelashes at him. “Why, kind sir. Your generosity is surpassed only by your boundless optimism.”

  “Watch it.”

  Ryan held up his hand like a cop directing a traffic j
am. “Uh…if you two are finished, I’d like to add my two cents’ worth.”

  Savannah nodded. “The voice of reason speaks. Spit it out.”

  “You’re probably going to have to ‘out’ yourself right away, Savannah, as an active investigator to the rest of the cast and crew. And once it’s common knowledge here that you’re a P.I., they’ll be expecting you to be snooping around, in some sort of official or unofficial capacity.”

  Dirk gave a little sniff and said to Ryan, “Well, you’re the expert on the finer points of ‘outing’ oneself.”

  Savannah gouged him in the ribs with her elbow.

  Ignoring Dirk, Ryan continued, “But as for John and myself, we’ve been represented to the ladies and crew as nothing more than elite bodyguards. They don’t know about our FBI backgrounds, and they don’t need to. We’ll probably learn more if we ask our questions in an unofficial capacity.”

  John smiled, his silver mustache tipping upward at the ends. “Gossips and snoops, as it were, plain and simple.”

  Dirk gave a derisive little chuckle. “So, you two will remain ‘in the closet’ for now? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Savannah reached for Ryan’s arm with one hand and John’s with the other. “Come on, guys. Let’s go downstairs and get to work. As soon as we get this case solved, we can put a certain somebody back in the attic where he won’t embarrass the family.”

  “Hey, what’s all this?” Savannah asked when they found a mob in the foyer at the bottom of the main staircase. From the mountain of luggage piled in front of the door, it appeared that everyone was leaving en masse.

  “We’re getting out of here,” Roxy said, tossing a garment bag onto the heap. “Tess is dead, the contest is over, and there’s no point in the rest of us hanging around until something happens to us, too.”

  “The show isn’t over,” Ryan told her and the others who were standing around, some with suitcases in hand. “We just talked to Alex, and he says the taping will continue.”

  Mary gasped and shook her head. “No! It can’t. It would be disrespectful to Tess!” Tears flooded her eyes. “Someone has died. We can’t just continue as if nothing’s happened.”

  “Oh, I don’t know….” Leila stepped forward. “It’s a shame about Tess and all, but we’re here, we’ve started taping, and if Alex wants to go on, why shouldn’t we?”

  “But what if it turns out that Tess didn’t have an accident?” Leila said. “What if she was…you know….”

  “Murdered?” Pete said.

  Savannah couldn’t help noticing the lack of revulsion in his expression as he spoke the word. In fact, he looked ghoulishly delighted at the idea. And, for that matter, so did his partner, Leonard.

  “It’s possible,” Leila said. “Carisa told me she looked pretty murdered to her, lying there on the floor with blood around her head.”

  “I thought you said there was a big thing of ice cream right beside her,” Brandy said. “Maybe it just dropped on her head accidentally when she was pulling it off the shelf.”

  “Or somebody smacked her on the head with it,” Pete said, again beaming with macabre delight. “Maybe Tess died…murder à la mode.”

  Several unpleasant snickers circulated in the group. Savannah held up her hand. “We don’t know what happened yet,” she told them, “but I can tell you right now that Detective Coulter will be down in a few minutes, once he’s finished with Alex. He’ll want to interview Carisa, and then he’ll want to talk to every one of you before you traipse off to parts unknown. So, we might as well go on as usual, the best we can. For the time being, we’re all stuck with each other…as unpleasant a prospect as that might be.”

  Savannah looked around the room. “Where is Carisa? Anybody seen her?”

  “Last time I saw her,” Brandy said, “she was with Lance, still crying. He said he was taking her upstairs to her room so that she could lie down.”

  “Hey, the show’s going to go on!” Leila shouted, practically jumping up and down. Turning to Roxy, she lowered her voice and added, “Meanwhile, let’s find a crowbar and go upstairs and pry that crybaby Carisa off Lance’s chest.”

  “Yes, for sure,” Roxy whispered. “Enough with the drama queen routine. Sheez! Like…how long does it take to get over finding a dead body?”

  Sighing, Savannah turned to Ryan and John. “I think I’ll go down to the cellar,” she said discreetly, “and see how the crime scene techs are doing. If you see Dirk, tell him Carisa’s in her room. I’m afraid it’s up to you two to deal with the grieving masses here.”

  “I think they’re beyond consolation,” Ryan replied dryly, “but we’ll do all we can.”

  Leila followed Savannah as she made her way down the hall to the kitchen and on to the door leading to the cellar. “What do you think happened to Tess?” she asked, prodding her in the back with her forefinger as they walked. “I hear you’re some sort of private detective or whatever. Do you think it was an accident, or did one of us kill her?”

  Savannah stopped at the cellar door, where Dirk had strung yellow police barricade tape across the entrance and turned to the woman, a scowl on her face. She didn’t like being poked, and she didn’t like pushy contestants who were competing against her for the hunk of her dreams and the possibility of a new roof.

  “I am a private investigator…or whatever…” she replied evenly. “At the moment, I have no idea what happened to Tess. But I aim to find out.”

  Savannah ducked under the tape and started down the stairs.

  “Hey!” Leila called to her. “You’re not supposed to cross the line. It says so right on that ribbon-thing there.”

  “That’s absolutely right,” Savannah called back. “So, make sure you don’t! You could wind up in a whole mess o’ trouble.”

  “Hi, Savannah! You’re looking better every time I see you!” Sam Ruston looked up from his work long enough to give her a once-over, then returned to dusting for latent fingerprints on the freezer door handle.

  “You’re only saying that ’cause it’s true,” she replied.

  “How’s it going upstairs?” he asked as he expertly twirled the brush with its black dust across the stainless steel handle.

  “Don’t ask,” she said, bending over to watch. “They’re a bunch of cold-hearted hyenas. I’ve seen deeper grief over a road-killed skunk.”

  Sam chuckled. “I’ve heard the deceased was a bit of a stinker. Maybe there’s a reason why they aren’t exactly mourning her passing.”

  “Tess was okay,” Savannah replied. “She was a tough gal, but that didn’t make her an altogether bad person. There’s plenty of room in the world for another lady with some grit in her craw.”

  “Grit in her craw?”

  Savannah shrugged. “A Southern poultry reference. Don’t trouble your mind about it.” She pointed to the handle. “Anything?”

  “Yeah. Looks like we’ve got something.” He reached into his kit and pulled out a square of clear plastic sheeting. After peeling off the backing, he pressed the adhesive side onto the dusted handle. Carefully, he pulled it off and replaced it on the white backing. He held it close to his face and peered at his results. “Yep. It’s just a partial, but it’s clear. Looks like a thumb.”

  “Good.” Then she added, “Although I don’t know how much help it’ll be. A gal named Carisa, the one who found the body, she was the last person to open the door before we came down here. Chances are, it’s hers.”

  Savannah knelt beside a broken crystal bowl and spoon that lay on the floor just outside the freezer door. She recognized it as the kind of bowl that Carisa had taken from the kitchen cupboard before coming downstairs earlier. “That’s probably hers, too,” she said, pointing to the broken glass. “Must have dropped it after she opened the door and saw the body.”

  Photo flashes inside the freezer told Savannah that one of her favorite crime scene investigators was at work. Eileen wasn’t all that good at her job, but she was friendlier than most.

>   Savannah poked her head inside the freezer. “Hey, Eileen, how’s it shakin’, sugar?”

  “Shaking, rocking, and rolling,” came the reply. Eileen stood on tiptoe and focused her camera on a place on the freezer wall, high and near the door.

  “What ’cha got? Anything juicy?” Savannah asked.

  “Blood splatter. Juicy enough for you?”

  Savannah couldn’t resist the temptation to step inside. What the heck? she told herself. She’d already contaminated the scene to some degree by going in earlier. Her hair and fibers were probably all over the place. Some transfer was inevitable.

  “I’ve got to see,” she said as she studied the spots on the wall near the ceiling.

  Eileen handed her a flashlight, and Savannah pointed the intense beam onto the tiny red dots. “We’ve got a couple of dozen spots here that are a millimeter or larger,” she said. “Medium-velocity blood splatter with tails. Looks like castoff to me. There and on the ceiling, too.”

  “Where?” Eileen asked.

  “Up there.” Savannah trained the light on several more spots almost directly over their heads.

  “Oh, yes. I saw those,” Eileen said, clearing her throat. “I was going to shoot those next.”

  Sure you were, Savannah thought. She had learned long ago to double-check a scene when Eileen was on duty. The woman was good with a camera and pretty thorough when it came to swabbing blood evidence. But unfortunately, she had an active social life and had been known to rush a job in order to return to the arms of her dearly beloved soul mate…whom she might have met that night at a local club.

  As Eileen took more photographs of the wall and then proceeded to the ceiling, affixing reference numbers and rulers next to the drops, Savannah watched and thought. And she didn’t like the images that were flashing in her mind. Violent, cruel pictures of a woman being murdered…the old-fashioned way…bludgeoned to death.

  “More than one blow was struck,” she said, thinking aloud.

  “What?” Eileen asked.