Standing there, looking at the pain and anger on his face, she wanted to just walk over and slap him upside the head and tell him to grow up.
She also wanted to go hug him and tell him not to worry; she was just enjoying a hot kiss with a handsome hunk because…because…well…hell, why shouldn’t she?
Instead, she lifted her chin, turned to Lance and said, “That was lovely, Lance. Enjoy the rest of the sunrise. I have to get back to work.” Then, to Dirk she said, “I’d be happy to talk to Carisa. She was next on my list anyway.”
With that, she left them both and made her way carefully over the cobblestone path back toward the keep. Her legs were still wobbly and her head spinning from the unexpected romantic encounter. She really preferred not to fall on her face.
She didn’t want to spoil her dignified exit. And nothing could ruin a graceful departure like doing a dive, face-first, into a bed of English lavender or wrestling with a rosebush and losing.
It wasn’t until she was well out of their sight that she paused in the middle of the garden walkway and closed her eyes. She could still taste him on her lips, smell the faint scent of him on her clothes, and feel his touch as he had pulled her close against him. Warm. Hard. And deliciously close.
“Nice,” she whispered. “Very, very nice.”
But no sooner had she summoned the memory and felt the joy of it wash over her than she recalled a second mental picture: Dirk, her dearest friend in the world, standing there looking jealous and wounded.
Jealous. That didn’t bother her. He’d get over jealous.
Wounded. That was another story.
Promising herself a phone call to her Granny Reid to get her head straight later in the day, she shook off both memories.
Dad-burn men anyway, she thought. They’re always messing things up. Who needs ’em?
Me, she added as she continued to walk the rest of the way on lust-weakened legs. Oh, mercy! Me-e-e!
Chapter
6
When Savannah entered the keep, she tried to leave the garden behind, along with her jumbled emotions. A murder investigation conjured plenty of unpleasant feelings on its own; she didn’t need to add a false sense of betrayal or a dash of adolescent infatuation to its already potent cocktail.
And as she passed through the gloomy hallways of Blackmoor Castle, she reminded herself that—in spite of the show’s hype—she didn’t need a romantic entanglement to complicate her life right now.
No matter how good a kisser Lance Roman might be.
The situation was depressing enough already without adding an irked, hurt Dirk to the mix. And in the garden he had looked about as irked as she’d ever seen him.
He’ll get over it, she told herself. Like he wouldn’t lock lips with one of those contestant beauties if he had a chance.
Although she had to admit that the very thought of him smooching someone like, say, Roxy, caused her hackles to rise just a tad.
Okay, a little more than a tad, she had to admit. And why that might be, she didn’t even want to hazard a guess. Some places the mind shouldn’t even go.
As she negotiated the maze of hallways, trying to find the main staircase that led to the upper floors, she rounded a corner and heard a female voice speaking in a tone that caused her to stop and listen. The woman, whoever she was, was trying to whisper, but she was loud enough for Savannah to hear her clearly. Her pauses between sentences told Savannah that she was probably speaking on a phone.
“Yeah, she’s dead. This morning. Your freezer. The coroner took her body out. Yes, the medical examiner. No, I didn’t hear anything yet. Sure, I’ll let you know when I do. Love you. Miss you. This is a lot harder to do than I thought it would be. No, I’m not complaining. Just saying.”
Savannah sneaked a quick look around the corner and saw Brandy Thomas sitting on a monk’s bench in a dark alcove beneath the staircase. She was wearing a dainty, floral sundress and was talking into a hot-pink cell phone. Her thick auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she looked as sweet and innocent as a society debutante. But there was something in her voice, an underlying harshness that belied her soft exterior.
And her words, while not exactly incriminating, didn’t exactly have the ring of mundane gossip either.
“Okay, baby. I have to go upstairs now and put on my face. Oh, come on. I’m not interested in him. I’m not. You wanted me here. So, I’m here. Yeah, I will. Bye.”
Savannah listened to Brandy’s retreating footsteps until they died away completely before following her up the stairs. She heard a door open and close at the end of the hallway as the redhead went into her room.
Hm-m, interesting, Savannah thought as she filed the telephone conversation away for future consideration. Something told her that Brandy hadn’t been talking to her sister or mother about the morning’s events. And more than anything else that had been said, the phrase “your freezer” had caught Savannah’s attention.
Was she speaking to the owner of the castle, the crazy Texan who had built this monstrosity? And if so, why did he put his own girlfriend into the contest?
When Savannah reached the top of the stairs she turned left and proceeded down the hall to the third door on the right. Yesterday, she had seen Carisa entering that door, and she was fairly certain it was her room.
She knocked gently on the door, then harder when no one answered. After her third knock, it opened an inch, and Carisa stuck her nose out through the crack.
“What do you want?” she asked Savannah. “I’m busy, and I want to be left alone.”
Savannah was a bit surprised at the woman’s appearance. Amazing what a few hours of crying, mussed hair, and copious lines of mascara streaking one’s face could do toward turning a pretty person into a plain, ugly one. The massive Rudolph nose didn’t help either.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Savannah said. “I know you had an awful night. But I really need to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“I mind,” she replied. “I mind a lot. I’ve been talking to that police detective friend of yours for the past hour. I don’t know what he thinks I can tell him. I went downstairs for ice cream, I opened the freezer door, and there she was. I screamed my head off, and Lance came down to rescue me. That’s it, that’s all.”
“When you went downstairs, was the freezer door open or closed?”
“I don’t know! Why are you asking me this stuff? Why are you bothering me? You and that detective have no—”
“Because a woman died last night,” Savannah said. “And she was murdered. If you were the one who’d been killed, I’d be asking Tess about you. As unhappy as you are right now, aren’t you glad it’s the other way around?”
Carisa blinked her swollen eyes and swallowed hard. “Yeah…okay. Let me think.” She bit her lower lip, concentrating. “I think it was closed. Yes, closed. I remember opening it.”
“Did you step into the freezer?”
“I think so. Maybe a step or two until I saw her. Then I ran out.”
“Did you touch the body?”
She shuddered. “Heavens, no!”
“I didn’t think so, but we needed to know for sure.”
“Is that all? I want to get back to my packing.”
“Packing? You’re leaving?”
Carisa’s face twisted into a grimace, then she started to cry again. “Of course I’m leaving. I mean, isn’t everybody? It’s over.”
“Actually, it isn’t. Mr. Jarvis says we’re going to continue.”
Carisa brightened instantly, her face a wreath of smiles. She threw the door open wide. “Really? You mean the contest is still on?”
“That’s right. He said it’s what Tess would have wanted. We’re going to do the show in her honor.”
“Cool! That’s great! That’s fantastic!”
Savannah had never seen such a transformation, from grief-stricken and traumatized to positively giddy in an instant.
Carisa left the
doorway and practically danced over to the bed where her suitcases were open and half-filled. She started pulling the clothes out and shaking them to get rid of the wrinkles. “It’s back on again!” she said as she hung them in a giant armoire. “And here I thought it was all over because of that”—she glanced over at Savannah and with an effort, dampened her enthusiasm just a little. “You know. Because of that awful thing that happened downstairs.”
“Yes, it was pretty awful, someone we know getting murdered like that. And then you being the one to find the body. But we’ll all just have to bear up as best we can,” she added dryly.
“Yes, as best we can.”
“And you can be thankful that Lance came downstairs to rescue you like that. And that he was there to comfort you…for so-o-o long.”
“Um, yes, that was nice. Nice of him.”
“Yeah, right.”
Savannah left Carisa to handle her own sorrow in her own way—gleefully unpacking.
Hey, everybody expresses their heartfelt grief differently, she thought as she walked away. And something told her that, devastated though she was, Miss Carisa was going to be fine. In fact…just peachy.
If the Man of My Dreams production team had an office at all, Savannah figured it must be in the dining hall. The day before, she noticed that Tess and Alex had set up a table at one end that appeared to function as a desk, with a telephone, some stacks of papers, and a couple of notebook computers. When she didn’t find Alex in his suite, she decided to look for him there.
Instead, she found a tearful Mary Branigan sitting at the desk, talking on the phone and typing on one of the computers.
Savannah sat on a nearby bench and waited while she spoke to someone, saying things about “the bird” and “making sure our girls don’t get hurt” and “make sure it’s safe.”
Savannah couldn’t resist speculating as to what the conversation might be about. Another artificial dinner like last night’s perhaps? A plastic turkey that they might break their teeth on if they weren’t careful?
When Mary finally ended the call, she turned to Savannah and said, “Hi. Sorry about that. I’m having a little problem with…well…never mind. I’m not supposed to tell you ladies yet.”
Mary sighed and rubbed her hand across her face as though she were simply too weary to function any further.
“Have you had any sleep?” Savannah asked, using her kindest, big-sister voice.
“I got about an hour last night, before…”
Savannah nodded. “Yes, if anybody got any rest, it was before. Certainly not afterward.” She glanced around to make certain they were alone, then stood and walked over to the desk. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mary, how did you find out about Tess?”
“Roxy told me. I was sound asleep and woke up to her pounding on my door. When I opened it, she told me.”
“What did she say, exactly?”
“The truth, ugly as it was.” Mary closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head as though trying to escape the grim reality. “She said, ‘Tess is dead. Somebody killed her.’”
“Those were her exact words? ‘Somebody killed her’?”
“Yes. I’ll never forget it. You know how you remember every little thing at a time like that, when you’re hearing terrible news? You’ll always remember everything, like even hearing the clock ticking in the background. The exact look on the person’s face who told you.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. What was the look on Roxy’s face?”
Mary hesitated, giving her answer some thought. “I’d say excited. She seemed more excited than scared or upset. But then”—her words were cut short by a sob. She grabbed a piece of tissue from a box on the table and blew her nose. “But then Roxy wasn’t a big fan of Tess’s. She didn’t really see her as a person with feelings and….”
“And?” Savannah prompted, trying to hide her own excitement.
But Mary seemed to sense she was saying too much. She wadded up the tissue and tossed it into a wastebasket under the table. “And, nothing. Roxy just didn’t know her as well as I did. Tess was a tough gal when she needed to be. Maybe even sometimes when she didn’t need to be. But she had a good heart.”
After taking a few moments to compose herself, Mary said, “I’m sorry. You must have come down here to see me. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, I was hoping to find Alex. He wasn’t in his suite, and I wanted to check on him, see if he’s okay.” And squeeze him for a little more info while I’m at it, she added silently.
“I think he went for a walk,” Mary said. “I saw him heading out toward the garage…I mean, the stables. He may be around there somewhere.”
“Thanks, Mary.”
“No problem. Oh, by the way,” she called after Savannah, “breakfast will be served at a table in the garden. If you see any of the other girls, let them know, would you?”
“Sure. Is it real food this time?”
“Bread, cheese, and wine.”
“For breakfast?”
“Yes. We have to stay in character. Everyone has to come in costume, too. We’ll be shooting it.”
“Oh, goody,” she mumbled as she walked away. “If I’m going to squeeze into a corset, I want something better than cheese and bread—like a slab of Virginia bacon and a tall stack of flapjacks.”
As Savannah made her way across the courtyard toward the stables, she ran into Ryan and John, who were headed toward the keep. They were each carrying a box full of strange things that looked like giant gardening gloves.
“What have you got there?” she asked. “Rose-pruning gloves?”
“Nope. It’s a surprise,” Ryan said, turning his back so that she couldn’t see into the box.
John did the same, so she stood on tiptoe, trying to see over their shoulders. “Come on. What is it? I just lo-o-ove surprises.”
“Then you’re going to continue to love this one,” John said, “because we’ve been sworn to secrecy. And, honorable knights that we are, we will guard this secret with our very lives.”
“Aw, don’t get up in arms. I’m not curious enough for bloodshed.”
She nodded toward the white van with the crime scene investigation team’s logo on the side. “So, they’re still here?”
“Oh, I think they’re going to be here until the cows come home—as you would say,” Ryan told her. “They’re still dusting and taking blood splatter pictures, not to mention checking the floor for footprints.”
“So, what brings you out here, love?” John asked. “Other than spying on us, that is.”
“Ah, I’ve got more important people to spy on than you two.”
“Like Alex Jarvis maybe?” Ryan said.
“How did you know?”
“Just a guess,” Ryan replied, “since Dirk came by thirty seconds ago asking for him. You two seem to travel in pairs.”
“Mm-m, maybe not anymore,” Savannah mumbled.
“What’s that?” John said.
“Nothing. Never mind. How did Dirk look?”
“Look?” Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know, sort of grumpy, I’d say. What would you say, John?”
“Without a doubt. Quite out of sorts, indeed. In other words, he looked quite like himself.”
“Oh, goody. That bad, huh?” she said. “And which way was he headed—Dirk, that is?”
Ryan shifted his box to the other arm and pointed toward the stable area. “We sent him that way to find Alex. But after we’d sent him on his way, we saw Alex heading toward that other building; I think it’s the hawk house.”
“A hawk house. Like with real hawks? Birds with sharp teeth and talons and—”
“Beaks, dear,” John said. “Beaks, not teeth. And I don’t know if there are any actual birds in there. I’m afraid on this estate it’s a bit much to expect the authenticity of a real hawk in the hawk house.”
Savannah remembered the plastic pig served at the banquet the night before, and she agreed wholeheartedly. “Thanks a lo
t, guys. Although you really could have shared your secret with me.”
“But that would have spoiled the surprise,” Ryan said.
“It better be a good one,” Savannah called over her shoulder as she walked away.
“Oh, it is,” John replied. “I’m sure it will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for you.”
“Unless she’s had an encounter with a chicken hawk in Georgia,” she heard Ryan say as they entered the keep.
“True, how true,” John replied.
At first, Savannah was reluctant to open the door of the small building, for fear of releasing a flock of rabid raptors. But after pressing her ear to the door for awhile and hearing nothing, she decided to take a risk and open it an inch or so.
Once the door was open, she stuck her head in and breathed a smell that took her back to her childhood, the warm, cozy, dusty scent of birds. For a few seconds she was back in Georgia, a ten-year old child, collecting eggs in her grandmother’s henhouse.
Certainly, birds had been kept in this building, and judging from the freshness of the droppings that littered the floor, they had been here recently. But other than some black, white, and gray feathers here and there, she saw none of the hawk house’s former inhabitants.
And she saw even less of Alex Jarvis.
It was when she was re-closing the door and fastening the latch that she heard the voices, a man’s and a woman’s, coming from behind the building.
Recognizing Alex’s distinctive nasal twang, she decided to investigate.
But halfway around the building she heard Alex say, “…can’t be seen together. It wouldn’t look right. Not now. Not this soon.” And she decided not to investigate after all. She would snoop.
She tiptoed a few more feet to the corner of the building. Plastering her back against the wall, she listened, hardly daring to breathe, because she could tell by the sound of their voices that they were only a few feet away.
“Okay,” a woman replied. “If not this soon, when? After all, you’re free now, aren’t you? We shouldn’t have to sneak anymore.”
Murder à la Mode Page 9
