Murder à la Mode

by G. A. McKevett

  Tammy moved a step closer.

  Mary’s arm was trembling so hard that Savannah was afraid she would drop the axe on her, even if she didn’t strike with it.

  “Don’t,” Savannah said, still not daring to look at Tammy. “Not yet.” Then, locking eyes with Mary she said, “Mary, if you hurt me, that’s only going to add to your prison sentence. It’s that much longer you’ll spend in jail, away from Lance. They’re going to figure it out. It’s just a matter of time until Detective Coulter comes to get you. He’s probably on his way here right now. But if you turn yourself in, if you confess and explain why you did it, I know Lance will understand. Everyone will understand. Nobody liked Tess…or Carisa or Brandy either, for that matter. Everything will work out, if you just end it here. Put the axe down, Mary. Put it down and I’ll help you figure out what to tell the police so that they’ll understand.”

  The axe wavered in the air for a moment that seemed like a year.

  Finally, Mary lowered it a few inches and said, “Do you really think they would understand why I did it?”

  “Of course. We’ve all been in love. We’ve all had to deal with people like those women. We’ve all had to step in from time to time to protect someone we care about. You were doing it for Lance. Everyone will understand that. And most importantly, Lance will understand it. He’ll be so grateful.”

  Mary lowered the ugly weapon, inch by inch, then laid it on the floor, close enough that Savannah got her first good look at the blade’s edge. It was extremely sharp. If she had been struck with it, she would have been instantly dismembered.

  A moment later, there was a flurry of activity, and before Savannah knew what was happening, Mary was on the floor, her hands pinned behind her, and Tammy sitting on her back.

  “I got her!” Tammy shouted. “I got her, got her, got her! Are you okay, Savannah?”

  “Not really,” Savannah said, feeling the darkness closing around her again. “Now that you’ve got things under control, I think I’ll just….”

  She passed out.

  Chapter

  20

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Van?” Dirk asked Savannah as he adjusted the rose-print chintz cushion under her leg. “Anything at all?”

  She had her injured leg propped on the cushy footstool, her lower calf and ankle surrounded by an impressive brace with lots of Velcro straps and buckles.

  Although she was sitting in her favorite chair in her own comfortable living room, Cleopatra and Diamante in her lap, and Dirk and Tammy waiting on her, hand and foot, Savannah was almost inconsolable.

  “Oh,” she moaned. “This is the most painful injury I’ve ever had. This hurts even more than when I got shot in the butt that time.”

  Tammy looked confused. “You got shot in the butt?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Dirk said. “She’s delirious from that pain medication she’s taking.”

  “I almost got shot in the butt once,” she murmured, her head lolling on the back of the chair. Another groan of pure misery. “Don’t you remember me almost getting shot, Dirk?”

  “Yeah, I think I do. Here, have another piece of candy.” He shoved a box of Godiva chocolates under her nose.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think I could. It just hurts so bad. I still don’t have any appetite at all.”

  Dirk turned to Tammy, a look of deep concern on his face. “Do you think this is normal?” he asked her. “It’s been two weeks now. Shouldn’t she be healing quicker than this?”

  Tammy shrugged. “You know what they said. Sometimes those torn tendons take longer to heal even than broken bones.”

  “I know, but wow…she usually snaps back faster than this. She’s not even digging into those chocolates I brought her! That’s not like her at all. I’m worried.”

  He leaned over Savannah and brushed her hair back from her forehead. “Savannah, honey, do you need anything else? Some more flowers maybe? Those that I brought you the other day look sorta wilted.”

  “Sweet…of you,” she managed between gasps of pain. “You don’t…have to…oh-h-h!”

  Dirk shook his head and turned back to Tammy. “I just feel so guilty about all this. If I’d just taken the time to question Pretty Boy there at the castle instead of waiting until I got him to the station house, this never would have happened. But I was just so hot to drag him in.”

  Tammy placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I know. But you did what you could. As soon as he told you about Mary, you called to warn Savannah.”

  “Too late.”

  “Well, yes. By then she had already left her room. She was on her way downstairs with Mary, unaware of the horrors that awaited her.”

  “Oh, God!” He clapped his hands over his eyes. “I can’t stand to think about it.”

  “But at least you had the presence of mind to call me and Ryan and John and let us know.”

  “And you found her in time. I owe you big for that one, kiddo.”

  “Hey, when I saw her bedroom door open and her gun lying there on the nightstand, I knew something was wrong. She never would have left it out like that.”

  “And you were the one who found her down in that cellar with that maniac. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you. If anything more had happened…I don’t think I ever would have forgiven myself.”

  “Ah, it was nothing. Ryan and John were searching elsewhere. I just lucked out, going into the kitchen and seeing the cellar door open. The rest is history.”

  “Well, I’ve put you in for some sort of civilian service award. The brass doesn’t like me that much, so I don’t know if it’ll do any good, but….”

  “Don’t you worry about it. Everything worked out in the end, and that’s all that matters.”

  They both cast sympathetic looks at Savannah, but she seemed unaware of them…of everything but her own personal world of pain and suffering.

  “I have to go now,” Dirk said. “I’ve got an appointment with the district attorney. They’re deciding whether to charge Pretty Boy with ‘accessory to murder’ or just ‘obstruction of justice.’ Like it matters. If there’s even one woman on the jury, he’ll walk.”

  “Probably,” Tammy said. “As long as Mary gets put away, that’s what really matters.”

  “Oh, she’s going away for life. No doubt about that one.”

  “Come on, or you’ll be late. I’ll walk you to the door,” Tammy said.

  He leaned over Savannah and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  She answered with a moan.

  “I’ll be back to see you again tomorrow, sweetheart. And I’ll bring you some fresh flowers and maybe some ice cream. Is Chunky Monkey all right?”

  She gave a weak nod. “And…” she murmured. “And…”

  “And what, honey? What else do you need?”

  “Some…books…if you don’t…mind.”

  “What kind of books?”

  With a shaking hand, she pointed to a stack of romance novels on the end table next to her chair.

  “Those kind?” He scowled. “You want me to go into a store and buy you some of those stupid, pansy romance things?”

  She nodded weakly. “If it’s not too much trou—”

  “No, no, it’s no trouble. It’s fine.”

  “And…” She reached for his hand. “One more…little thing.”

  “What’s that?” he said gruffly. His enthusiasm and willingness to serve and protect seemed to be waning a tad.

  “Blondes…only…blondes. Cover…”

  “What?”

  “I think,” Tammy interjected, “that she only wants books with blond guys on the covers. You know, nothing to remind her of—”

  “Oh, yeah. Gotcha.”

  Tammy walked him to the door where they said goodbye.

  She stood at the door and watched through the peephole until he had driven away. “Okay, he’s gone,” she called out.

  By the time she reentered the living room, Savannah had ripped off
the brace, had her face buried in the box of Godiva, and was happily munching away.

  “How much longer do you think you can keep this up?” Tammy asked.

  Savannah looked up at her with wickedly innocent eyes. “What?”

  “When are you going to let the poor guy off the hook and tell him you’re really fine.”

  She picked up a dark chocolate walnut cluster, looked it over with a judicious eye, and popped it into her mouth. “He’s a friggin’ detective, gold shield and everything. I ain’t gonna tell him squat. Let him figure it out on his own.”

  “You’re just using his guilt to get an endless supply of Godiva, Ben and Jerry’s, flowers, and now, romance novels. You’re going to go to hell for this.”

  “Nope,” she said, closing her eyes and savoring the treat. “I’ve bought that man snacks and fast food on stakeouts and fed him homemade dinners for years and years and years. The good Lord above knows that I soo-o-o deserve anything that I can milk out of this situation.”

  Tammy laughed. “Well, then, I guess I can go home for the evening.”

  “Sure. You skedaddle and have a nice night. I’ll be fine.”

  Tammy looked around at the bounty of junk food. “Yes, you will. And I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thanks for everything, sweet pea.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  A few minutes later, when Savannah was certain that she was alone and would remain so for a while, she reached beneath her chair cushion and pulled out her copy of Love’s Tempestuous Tempest.

  Opening the book, she shook out a one-page letter, opened it on her lap and read it…for the twentieth time.

  Dear Savannah,

  I don’t even know how to begin this letter. But I want you to know that I’m actually relieved that you figured out the truth about me. Even though I’m in terrible trouble right now, the nightmare is over, if you know what I mean. I’ll do what I have to do, and get through this. I don’t know what the future will bring. Maybe, when I’ve paid whatever debt society deems fit, I’ll wind up back at my father’s dairy. There are worse lives to be lived. That’s for sure.

  But I wanted to thank you for some of the things you said. They meant more to me than you know. And, of course, for the rocking-chair moments. I’ll always remember you.

  Affectionately,

  Lance

  Savannah’s cats shifted in her lap, one of them sniffing the letter, the other one trying to chew on the corner.

  “What do you think, girls?” she said.

  She listened for a moment to their synchronized purring. “Yes, I agree,” she said, wadding the letter into a tight ball. She tossed it into the wastepaper basket next to her chair.

  “How about another piece of chocolate, Diamante? No? Okay. I’ll eat yours for you. How about you, Cleopatra? No? You girls are no help at all. I’ll have to eat this whole box by myself. The only thing is…I need an Irish coffee to wash it down with.”

  She dumped the cats on the floor and started toward the kitchen.

  But halfway across the floor, she stopped, turned, and walked back to the wastebasket. Reaching inside it, she retrieved the crinkled ball of paper and carefully smoothed it out on her lap.

  Then she gently placed it back inside the book cover.

  “You’re right,” she told the cats as she tucked the novel back under her chair cushion. “We could sell it on eBay. Now, how about that coffee?”

  Despite New Year’s resolutions to avoid irritating houseguests and nerve-wracking cases, California P.I. Savannah Reid finds herself playing host to her assistant’s cranky cousin—in town for an unwanted makeover at a local spa—before the Christmas fudge is even gone. But when the spa’s renowned plastic surgeon goes missing, murder’s on the menu. And for Savannah, it’s in for a penny, in for a pound…

  Voluptuous and proud of it, Savannah can’t understand why any woman would diet in pursuit of beauty, never mind go under the knife. She likes herself just fine the way she is…and so does her detective buddy, Dirk. Too bad her houseguest isn’t as content. Abigail is livid that her cousin, Tammy, won an extreme makeover, complete with plastic surgery, at Emerge, San Carmelita’s new luxury spa. Abigail’s daunting enough when she’s ranting about social pressures and medical butchery, but when she suddenly puts on a cooperative smile Savannah gets really nervous…

  There’s barely time to worry about it when Dirk brings her in on his latest case. One of Emerge’s owners, renowned plastic surgeon Suzette Du Bois, is missing. And quicker than you can say Botox, Sergio D’Allessandro, Suzette’s business partner and ex-husband, hires Savannah to find Suzette before the cops do.

  As she broadens her search, Savannah begins to realize that some of the employees at this temple of perfection harbor serious inner flaws. There’s Myrna Cooper, Emerge’s receptionist, whose permanently surprised expression proves she fears aging almost as much as she despises her bosses. And publicist Devon Wright, Sergio’s not-so-secret lover, was overheard threatening Suzette just before the doc disappeared. Add to the mix Jeremy Lawrence, Emerge’s disgruntled and aggressively ambitious style consultant, and the picture is far from pretty.

  When one of the suspects turns up dead, Savannah’s had enough. She’d love nothing more than to wrap up this case, kick out her guest, and make friends with a nice strawberry margarita—or three. But first, she’ll have to stitch up a killer who cuts to the bone…

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek at

  CORPSE SUZETTE

  coming next month in hardcover!

  Chapter

  1

  “Wanna go watch Loco Roco?”

  “Sure.”

  “Same place?”

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  “There” was the Patty Cake Donut Shop, which frequently served as a meeting spot for Savannah Reid and her old buddy, Dirk. Police work could be lonely when nobody in the department was willing to be your partner. And Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter was frequently a lonely man.

  But generally not for long.

  Now a private detective, Savannah had once been his partner in another lifetime…before she and the San Carmelita PD had parted ways under less than amiable circumstances. And once in a while, when she “got a yen,” as her Southern granny would say, for an old-fashioned stakeout, she accepted one of his invitations.

  He invited her constantly. He enjoyed her company and the homemade snacks she frequently brought along to fuel the long, tedious hours. She accepted once in a while…when there were no good forensic shows on TV and no unread romance novels on her nightstand.

  But she always accepted when the subject was Loco Roco.

  She was every bit as determined as Dirk to catch that lowlife doing something illegal, immoral, or fattening and put him back in the joint where he belonged. Roco had made a lifelong career of robbing convenience stores and on his last job had pistol-whipped a clerk into a coma. With Savannah’s help, Dirk had arrested him, only to have the most serious charge thrown out on a technicality: prosecutorial error.

  They’d never gotten over the disappointment that Roco was back on the street after only eighteen months. They knew it was just a matter of time until he lapsed into his old pattern, and they intended to be there when he fell off the wagon and violated his parole.

  They had been watching Loco Roco for weeks. So far, he hadn’t even jaywalked or spit on the sidewalk. To their consternation, he was Mr. Law-Abiding Citizen, while his latest victim was still in physical therapy, relearning how to walk. But Savannah and Dirk weren’t the sort to give up easily.

  And that was why Savannah arrived at their rendezvous spot in eight minutes rather than the estimated ten.

  When she pulled into Patty Cake’s parking lot, she found Dirk sitting in his old battered Buick Skylark in the rear near the alley. She knew the drill. He was waiting to see if she had brought any cookies, pie, brownies, or cake before he went into Patty’s. Cheapskate that he was, he was ho
ping he’d only have to buy coffee. His mood—which usually wavered between morose and sullen—would plummet when she emerged from her classic Mustang, bagless.

  Tough.

  Her company didn’t come cheap. The scintillating conversation, the benefit of her vast law-enforcement experience, the occasional slap upside his head to keep him awake…it all had a price. And the cost was two maple bars…or a giant chocolate-frosted Boston cream if she was in the throes of PMS.

  He rolled down his window as she approached the Buick, a scowl on his face.

  “No fried apricot pies?”

  “You ate them all when you were over Saturday night,” she said as she opened the passenger’s door and brushed some Taco Bell wrappers off the seat and onto the floor.

  “That was two nights ago. You’ve had plenty of time to make some more.”

  She slid in next to him and fixed him with a baleful eye. In her thickest Georgia drawl, she said, “Ye-eah, buddy…and I’ve had time to go clean that filthy house trailer of yours, wash your pile of dirty laundry, and perform an unnatural sex act on you that I’m sure you’d just love. But we both know none of that’s ever gonna happen, so go get me some donuts, boy. Two maple bars and a Boston cream. And make it snappy!”

  Dirk’s jaw dropped. “And?”

  “And.”

  “Now you’re just bein’ spiteful.”

  She grinned and winked at him. “You think?”

  Half an hour later they were parked across the street from Burger Bonanza, watching the rear door of the fast food joint, waiting for a skinny, grungy thirty-year-old named Roco Tessitori to exit.

  “How sure was his parole officer that he’s going to get fired tonight?” Savannah asked as she licked the chocolate frosting off her fingertips.

  “Sure, sure. The manager here called the P.O. this morning and said he was gonna let Loco go as soon as his shift’s over. Said he’s been late every day, doing next to nothing on the job, and he threatened one of the girls who works here. The manager figures his public service obligation’s been fulfilled. He’s done hiring excons.”