“Say that again, Lance,” Alex told him.
“I said…I feel the need to dance with an especially beautiful lady right now.”
Intuitively, Savannah knew what was coming next. So she wasn’t surprised when he walked over to her chair and held out his hands to her. “Would you dance with me, Lady Savannah?” he said, smiling down at her, his blue eyes warm and inviting.
“Why, kind sir,” she said in her most sultry Southern drawl as she slipped her hand into his. “It would be my pleasure.”
Chapter
9
This is one of those moments that I’m going to remember for the rest of my life, Savannah thought as she glided across the floor of the dining hall, Lance’s arms around her, moving to the beautiful, ageless song. “Greensleeves” would never be the same for her again. And that was just fine.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as he pulled her a bit closer to him, so close that she could feel the heat of his body. She was surprised to find that his warmth was not only delicious on a sensual level, but it was somehow comforting, too.
And considering that the camera was on them and everyone in the room was watching their every move, she wondered at the fact that she could feel anything intimate toward him.
She glanced over at Pete and saw that he had his microphone boom over the musicians, for once, not trying to record everything she said. Perhaps she could have some sort of “real” exchange with Lance after all.
“I was thinking,” she said. “That this is a rocking-chair moment.”
He looked confused and shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t get it.”
“A rocking-chair moment…one of those particularly lovely moments that I’ll remember someday when I’m ninety years old, sitting in a rocking chair, recalling the amazing life I’ve led. I’ll take my favorite memories out of my mental scrapbook and relive them one by one.”
“And this is one of those?”
“Absolutely. How many women get to live a fairy tale, complete with a castle and Prince Charming?”
He had the modesty to blush, and she found that terribly appealing. “It’s pretty nice for me, too,” he said.
“What? Having all these women fighting over you?”
“No. That sucks. Having a private conversation with you.” He smiled down at her in a way that made her weak. “Like this morning in the garden. Now that was a rocking-chair moment.”
She returned the smile. “Oh, that one’s going to make it into the top ten. No doubt.”
Glancing over to the table where the other four women sat, she saw that they were all shooting visual darts at her. Poison-tipped darts. She felt a bit like a monkey in a jungle full of jealous Amazons.
And of the foursome, the most evil looks were coming from Carisa, whose jovial mood had gone south the instant Lance had asked Savannah to dance.
“Carisa says she had a lot of fun with you this afternoon,” she said, testing the waters.
He sighed and frowned. “Well, I guess that’s good. Somebody needed to.”
She tried to hide a smirk. “Oh? You didn’t have a perfectly lovely afternoon on the moat?”
“Please. What do you think? Would you enjoy an afternoon with Carisa? Any afternoon? Anywhere? She’s a bimbo. And believe me, as a guy who’s been accused of being a ‘himbo’ often enough, I know one when I see one.”
“Hm-m-m.” Savannah decided to test the waters at the deep end. “So…might she be the one going home this evening?”
A flicker of irritation crossed his face and something else that she couldn’t quite read. Maybe frustration?
“Not necessarily.”
“But if you obviously don’t like her…”
“Unfortunately, not everything is so obvious.”
Savannah lifted one eyebrow. “Are you saying this contest is fixed? That your choices aren’t your own?”
She had waded in too deep. Instantly his expression became guarded. “Let’s just say that this whole thing is about as ‘real’ as that pig over there on the table. Don’t invest any of your heart into it, Savannah. It’s a game. A TV show. That’s all.”
She looked up into his eyes and saw a deep sadness there, reflecting far more than just his disgust with a badly produced television program.
“It’s all a big game, a big fake,” he continued. “This show, the book covers, the image…just part of the big fantasy factory.”
“What you do is real, Lance,” she offered, her voice soft and low. “Creating fantasy is real work, important work. It’s a hard, cold world we live in, and sometimes we need to escape. Sometimes we need that more than food or water or a roof over our heads. You help us do that.”
He said nothing, but looked down at her with an intensity that told her he had heard what she’d said. Really heard her. And her words had affected him on a deep level.
The song ended, but he didn’t release her. In fact, he pulled her tightly against him and laid his cheek alongside hers. “Thank you, Savannah,” he said, his lips against her ear, his voice husky. “For a rocking-chair memory.”
“You’re welcome, milord,” she replied, allowing herself the luxury of melting against him for a moment. “The pleasure was mine.”
“Who do you think is going to get the axe tonight?” Brandy asked Savannah as they stood at the craft table at the opposite end of the dining hall and munched on bits of cheese, crackers, grapes and strawberries.
“Don’t know, but we should find out pretty soon.” She scooped a bit of brie onto a savory herb cracker and popped it into her mouth. She washed it down with a swig of passion fruit-flavored iced tea.
At that moment, Mary walked by, and Savannah motioned her over. “Thanks for the layout,” Savannah said, motioning toward the table of goodies.
“Why are you thanking me?” Mary asked with a sly grin.
“It was either you or Alex.” Savannah pointed to the brie and fruit. “And this isn’t guy food; it’s lady food.”
Mary laughed. “He was going to order some pastrami heroes and barbecue-flavored chips. I thought an intervention was in order.”
“Bless you. Bless you.”
“Who do you think Lance will send home tonight?” Brandy asked, toying with a strand of her copper-red hair.
Mary shrugged, but a gleam in her eye told Savannah that she might have some insider information. “Don’t ask me,” she said. “I’m just the secretary/hostess/mistress of ceremonies/food gofer around here. They don’t tell me anything.”
“When is Lance going to announce the winner…I mean…loser?” Brandy wanted to know.
Mary looked over her shoulder at the center of the room where Lance was dancing with Leila.
He had been dancing with her for a while…nine minutes to be exact. Savannah had been keeping track.
“Pretty soon,” Mary said. “Leonard should have about enough footage of him dancing with everyone by now. Then we’ll meet outside for the ‘fare thee well’ scene.”
“Fare thee well?” Savannah asked. “Really? That’s what we’re calling it?”
“That’s it,” Mary replied dryly. “Don’t blame me. Mr. Jarvis runs the show. I just do as I’m told.”
“I think it’s cute,” Brandy piped up. “I like everything around here. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Eh, pucker up, Buttercup, Savannah thought.
As though on cue, Alex yelled, “Cut! We’ve got enough. Everybody get outside. We’ve got to wrap this up before the sun sets. Move it!”
“Mr. Scorsese wants us to ‘move it.’ I guess we’d better,” she muttered under her breath.
But Brandy heard her. “I like Alex!” she gushed. “I like him a lot. I think he’s neat. I think everybody here is neat.”
“Well, ain’t that nice,” Savannah said, much too kindly. “How very sweet of you.”
“Why, thank you.” Brandy’s big eyes were wide with sincerity—and pure naïveté, undiluted by common sense or a modicum of insight.
> “Gr-r-r-r, God save us from Pollyannas,” Savannah mumbled as she walked away, following the crew out the door. “Butt-kissin’ fluff-heads who don’t even know when they’ve been dissed. How much fun are they?”
When the ladies, Lance, and the crew walked outside the keep, they found Ryan and John standing in the middle of the courtyard, next to the carriage with its black horses. On the ground in front of them, sitting end to end, were five old travel chests, complete with leather straps and brass fittings.
Alex quickly had everyone arranged: Mary in front of the chests, the ladies shoulder-to-shoulder behind her, Lance standing to the side, and the cameraman and soundman in their usual positions—under everyone’s noses, in their hair, and on their nerves.
At Alex’s prompt, Mary began her spiel. “Ladies, the time has come that you’ve all been dreading…when one of you will have to say good-bye forever to Blackmoor Castle, and more importantly, to the man of her dreams.
“Lance is going to give each of you a key and tell you which trunk is yours to open. Inside four of these trunks, you may find a gift, specially chosen for you by Sir Lance, himself. But, inside the fifth trunk there is no gift. It contains one lady’s clothing and belongings, because as soon as the trunks are opened, that lady will be helped into the carriage by our coachman, and taken home. If you—”
“Wait a minute!” Leila said. “You packed somebody’s clothes and put them in there without our permission? You touched our stuff?”
“Cut!” Alex threw up both hands in exasperation. “Cut, cut, cut! What’s the matter with you? We’re trying to work here! You can’t just shout something out like that and interrupt what we’re doing!”
“And you can’t just pack up our personal belongings without us even knowing about it! I don’t want you handling my lingerie, my jewelry!”
“It’s not your junk!” Alex’s face was an impressive shade of purple. Savannah wondered if that vein protruding from his forehead was actually going to pop.
Suddenly, Leila’s face was all smiles. “Really? It’s not mine, so I get to stay, right?”
Alex ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “What I mean is, it isn’t anybody’s real clothes. We just threw some junk in there for the shoot, okay?”
“Then nobody’s really going to have to leave?” asked Brandy. “That’s so nice!”
“No, no, no.” Alex shook his head. “Somebody’s going to get the boot, but they can come back and get their real crap out of their room, later tonight after we’re done.”
“Oh.” Brandy wilted.
“Let’s try this again,” Alex said, “and this time, everybody shut up. Don’t say anything until you’re supposed to.”
“What are we supposed to say…when it’s our time to say something?” Brandy wanted to know.
“Just use your common sense,” he said. “If Lance says something to you, say something back, but don’t stop the works to ask questions. Sheez….”
Again, Mary delivered her speech, and this time she finished without interruption. Then it was Lance’s turn.
He walked over to the women, holding five golden keys that dangled from chains draped over his hand. Stopping at Carisa, he handed her one. “Will you accept this key from me, milady?” he asked.
“I will, milord,” she said, gazing up at him with lovesick eyes.
Savannah hoped to God she didn’t look like that. She’d seen more sophisticated expressions on cocker spaniel puppies.
Next he handed a key to Leila. “Will you accept this key, milady?” he repeated.
“Sure.” She snatched it out of his hand.
He gave the third one to Brandy, the fourth to Roxy, and finally, he came to Savannah. “Will you accept a key from me, Lady Savannah?” he said, giving her that half-sweet and half-naughty smile that she was beginning to adore.
Okay, she told herself, it’s the same smile he uses for all the book covers. But she didn’t care. He doesn’t seem to be giving it to any of the other girls, so that makes me special, right? Well, maybe?
“I accept your key with pleasure, sir,” she replied, slipping the chain off his hand and allowing her fingers to brush over the inside of his wrist, briefly touching his pulse spot.
Mary stepped forward again. “And now, ladies, Lance will point you to your trunk. You will go to it, open it, and see what you find inside. Good fortune to you all.”
Lance started with Savannah, leading her to the trunk on the left. She knelt in front of it, fit the key into the lock and turned. The lid sprang open and she saw a glint of metal inside. No clothes, just something that shone like finely polished brass. She reached inside and retrieved her gift. It was an antique magnifying glass, the type used by all of the old traditional sleuths. Tammy would have loved it.
The handle was decorated with an ornate filigree and set with a few cabochons that looked like lavender jade. It was very simply beautiful. She was so pleased that before she even thought about it, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Lance,” she said. “I love it!”
He looked genuinely pleased. “I hoped you would. I picked it out myself,” he said, his voice too low for the others to hear. “I chose it because you’re a detective, and I think that’s really unique and special. You’re the only one I’ve ever known.”
Alex motioned for Savannah to return to her place. She did, holding the magnifying glass against her chest. She got to stay! She got to stay, and she had a cool present, too! Not a bad turn of events.
But she watched with acute interest as the other girls opened their trunks one by one and found their own gifts, none of which she thought compared to hers.
Brandy received a decorative hair comb, which Lance told her had been chosen for her because of her long, beautiful red hair. Savannah noticed that he didn’t tell her that he had chosen it. She preferred to think that Mary had picked it up at a discount store’s jewelry counter.
Roxy was given a hot pink paisley scarf with an orange fringe. She seemed moderately pleased with it. Again, Savannah couldn’t imagine Lance buying it.
Mary stepped into camera range and said, “Now, there are only two trunks and two ladies remaining. Lance will lead you to your trunks and together you will unlock them to see who will remain with these other three and who will be sent home.”
She moved aside and Lance walked over to Carisa and Leila. He led them to the remaining two trunks, and they followed him with subdued enthusiasm.
Together, while the camera rolled and everyone watched with bated breath—or at least pretended to have bated breath—they walked over to the closed trunks and knelt before them.
“Open the remaining trunks,” Mary said.
Savannah stood on tiptoe, trying to see inside the chests the moment they were open. But she didn’t have to see the interiors to know who had found a gift and who had discovered that she had been sent packing.
“Oh, a mirror!” Carisa shouted, pulling a pretty, silver hand mirror from inside her chest. “I got a mirror! I don’t have to go home! Yayyy! It’s you, Leila! You’re the one who’s outta here!”
And she was absolutely right. Leila was kneeling in front of her trunk, which was piled high with medieval costumes. She simply stared at the contents for a long time, looking as if she might cry, scream, or faint. In the end she did neither, but stood and turned toward the rest of the contestants.
“I didn’t want to win anyway,” she said, slamming the lid closed. “This is a lame, stupid contest and it’s keeping me away from my work. I can’t believe I turned down a Victoria’s Secret shoot for this!”
“Cut!” Alex yelled. “Is it too much to ask that you people remain in character for five minutes? I can’t take this! I can’t stand it!”
Ryan stepped up to Alex and put a calming hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Alex,” he told him. “You can edit out anything you don’t want. Really. Let’s finish this next part, us getting her and her trunk into the carriage and me driving away.
Ten minutes tops. Okay?”
“I have a lovely cognac to offer you,” John Gibson added. “As soon as we’re finished here, I’ll pour you a nice snifter and—”
“A snifter of cognac?” Alex didn’t look impressed. “How about a fifth of Jack Daniels?”
John smiled and stroked his mustache. “That could be arranged as well.”
Alex seemed to rally at the thought of booze. He took charge with renewed spirit. “Let’s get you into that carriage and out of here,” he said to the disgruntled Leila. “And then I don’t want to look at any of you again until tomorrow.”
Savannah stood and watched quietly as they finished loading the trunk and Leila into the coach, camera rolling, recording the “Fare Thee Well” for posterity. The other girls had left the scene already, gloating over their victories and their gifts.
She had to agree with Alex; she had her can full of these people. She just wanted to go to her room, take a leisurely bubble bath, hit the sheets, read a few pages of a romance novel, and get the night’s sleep that she had been denied for what seemed like a couple of dog years.
One glance over at the garage told her that even Dirk had left for the time being—probably gone to the station house to file his reports.
Tammy had gone back to her house to feed the cats but would return to spend the night in her own room, adjoining Ryan and John’s quarters in the gatehouse.
A little time to herself. That was all Savannah needed. And a jasmine-scented bubble bath. And about twelve hours of dead-to-the-world sleep. And while she was wishing…how about the answer to who killed Tess Jarvis? That would be nice, too.
“What are you thinking?” said a distinctly male voice. She turned to see that Lance was standing beside her, watching her. She hadn’t noticed. She decided she must be even more tired than she thought.
“I was thinking that I’m exhausted and that I wished to hell I knew who committed that murder in the cellar.”
“Is that all you were thinking?”
She smiled up at him. “And that I’m glad I’m not leaving in that carriage right now.”
Murder à la Mode Page 13
