“Yes, but it’s eleven at home, and my stomach’s operating on Georgia time,” came the answer from the living room.
“Too bad your butt doesn’t shift into gear on Georgia time,” Savannah grumbled as she poured a rich blend of chicory and French roast into the coffeemaker.
“What?”
“I said, what do you want for breakfast? Cereal? Fruit? I’ve got some bear claws and...”
“No, I want the works—eggs, sausage, biscuits. Grits, if you’ve got ’em. I believe that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And I’ve got a lot to do today so I need my energy.”
Savannah shuffled over to the refrigerator and rummaged through it, gathering the eggs, sausage, butter, and peach preserves. “Just for the record,” she shouted, “my home is your home and that includes the kitchen. You don’t need to wait for me. Next time, don’t sit around hungry. Just jump right in and help yourself to anything you want.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. That would be presumptuous.”
Savannah paused, egg in hand, and considered walking into the living room and cracking it on her sister’s perfectly coifed head. “No,” she muttered, “we wouldn’t want to be presumptuous, heaven forbid.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, do you mind then? I’m trying to watch this movie, and you keep interrupting. It’s at my favorite part where they kiss and make up.”
“Gr-r-r-r.”
By the time Savannah and Marietta had finished eating breakfast, Savannah was considering the pros and cons of skipping the country and not mentioning to her family where she had gone.
Brazil was nice this time of year, but not nearly far enough away. She had heard that the air was thin in the Himalayas, but she couldn’t see any of her siblings climbing the slopes after her, and she had recently bought a red ski parka from L.L. Bean, so...
“I’d help you with the dishes,” Marietta was saying as she sipped the last drop from her coffee cup, “but I have to get ready. I’m meeting my boyfriend at six o’clock at a fancy-dantly restaurant in Malibu, and I have to get all dolled up.”
Savannah tried to erase the scowl off her face, along with any other “disapproving, judgmental” expressions. Having been severely scolded yesterday for being controlling and condescending toward her younger sister, she was determined that today she would refrain from using such words as less than cautious, perhaps somewhat naive, or a tad too trusting. That also left out other prime choices like pee-pee head and shit-for-brains.
Today she would be the epitome of tact, trusting that her forty-one-year-old sister actually had good instincts when it came to evaluating people’s characters and intentions and used common sense in such matters.
“The restaurant is right on the water in Malibu, overlooking the ocean,” Marietta was saying. “I figure we’ll have a few drinks.”
“That’s nice.”
“And then dinner.”
“Hmmm…”
“And if he’s even half as cute in real life as he is in his picture, I’ll probably go ahead and spend the night at his place, so don’t expect me back here tonight. I’ll pack a little overnight bag and—”
“Are you crazy?” Savannah groaned, covered her face with her hands, and shook her head. “Have you even got the sense that the good God gave a goose?”
“Don’t you start that crap with me, Savannah Reid! Why, I oughta—”
Marietta jumped up from the table, but Savannah reached over and grabbed her arm, forcing her back down into her seat.
“Mari, I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have made the goose comment. But you’ve gotta be smart, girl, or it could wind up costing you, big time. Really, you don’t know this guy from Adam. I wasn’t kidding when I said he could be a criminal. The Internet is a major hunting ground for sex offenders. This meeting of yours could be a setup.”
Marietta sniffed and stuck out her chin. “My Bill is not a criminal. He’s a Sunday school teacher for Pete’s sake.”
“Says who?”
“He told me so himself. And he volunteers his spare time to Big Brothers and his local Boys & Girls Club, and he even works for Toys for Tots at Christmastime.”
“Well, you might be safe then,” Savannah mumbled into her coffee cup. “He’s probably a pedophile.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The back door opened, and Savannah was relieved to see Tammy walk in. Her sunny disposition was even more welcome than usual in the midst of a family thunderstorm.
“Hi!” Tammy said, radiating cheer and goodwill. Savannah silently blessed her.
Seeing Marietta at the table, Tammy looked confused for a moment, then beamed. “Marietta! How nice to see you again.”
Marietta said nothing, just stared at her blankly. Quickly, Tammy crossed the room, holding out her hand. “We met in Georgia, remember?” she said. “When you were going to get married and... Well, it didn’t work out that time, but... Anyway, it’s good to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Neither did I,” Savannah said under her breath.
“I got in last night,” Marietta said. “And my sister and I are already getting into it.”
“Getting into what?” Tammy asked.
“Tammy doesn’t speak Southern,” Savannah explained. “She’s a Yankee.” Turning to Tammy, she said, “Marietta means that she and I are having a disagreement about the wisdom of flying across the country to date somebody you met in an Internet chatroom.”
Savannah watched Tammy’s face as her fleeting expression of alarm was displaced by a poker smile. “I see,” she said evenly. “And when are you meeting this... gentleman, Marietta?”
“At six o’clock tonight in Malibu on the Pacific Coast Highway. Isn’t that romantic? We have a date for drinks and dinner and .. —she smiled coyly—“whatever.”
“It’s that ‘whatever’ crap that’s troubling me,” Savannah said.
Marietta tossed her head. “My big sister doesn’t trust my judgment. She’s afraid that I’m going to get myself raped.”
“Or murdered, or infected or impregnated or robbed or swindled....” Savannah sighed. “Gee, the possibilities just abound.”
Tammy glanced from sister to sister, then nodded. “Ah. Okay.”
Silence reigned for several long, long seconds.
“I have an idea,” Tammy volunteered.
Savannah jumped, like reaching for a lifeline. “What? What’s your idea?”
Tammy turned to Marietta. “You aren’t meeting your friend until six o’clock. So you’ll be here until five or so, right?”
‘Yeah.” Marietta looked suspicious.
“And it’s only about nine,” Tammy said, looking at her watch. “So that gives me eight hours to check him out for you. If you want me to, that is.”
Marietta shook her head and crossed her arms over her mostly exposed chest. “No way. Love means trust. How could I face my soul mate this evening, knowing that I’d had a private investigator probing into his private affairs all day long?”
“Tammy is very good at this,” Savannah said. “She’s discreet. She can do most of it over the Internet. He’ll never even know.”
“But I would know,” Marietta argued. “And I have to live with myself. My relationship with Bill is the real thing, and when it’s real, you don’t have to invade somebody’s privacy like that. It’s a violation, plain and simple, and I won’t stand for it.”
Savannah studied her sister thoughtfully across the table for a few moments, then she said, “Tammy can find out if he’s really single, like he says he is, and not married with five kids.”
Marietta’s face registered the struggle between good and evil... for less than three heartbeats. She turned to Tammy and said, “William Albert Donaldson. Born 5-27-61. Check ’im out. And while you’re at it, find out if he’s got a pot to piss in.”
Savannah met Dirk in the parking lot and walked with him up th
e sidewalk toward the county medical examiner’s center. In keeping with the rest of the city’s government structures, the ME’s buildings were pseudo-Spanish style with beige stucco walls and red tile roofing. Ice plants filled the flower beds along the walkway... drought-resistant plantings only, of course. The occasional dry spell, complete with water restrictions, was just one of the unpleasant realities of Southern California living, along with earthquakes, brush fires, and Santa Ana winds.
“Thanks for inviting me along,” Savannah told him, as he opened the door for her. “I needed to get away before I did Mari some serious harm.”
‘Yes, you sounded pretty stressed out when I called,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t know why you try to keep your dingbat sisters out of trouble all the time. It’s a waste of energy.”
“Ain’t it, though? As soon as anybody fishes them out of trouble and gets them hosed off, they find another dirty puddle to flounce around in. Sometimes I think they like the mud.”
“Now you’re figuring it out. What’s that your grandma says about singing pigs?”
“Don’t try to teach a pig to sing. It’s a waste of your time, and it irritates the pig.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Easier said than done when it’s your family.”
“I know. That’s why I don’t have one. Too much trouble.”
They approached the desk where they would have to sign in before proceeding to Dr. Liu’s autopsy suite in the rear of the building.
As a slovenly clerk in a badly fitting, wrinkled uniform sauntered around the partition, Savannah could feel her toes curl inside her loafers. Officer Kenny Bates. Her least favorite person on the planet.
“Hey, Savannah!” His pudgy face split with a wide, lecherous grin as he hurried over to her. “Long time no see. You’re lookin’ good, girl!”
Savannah ignored him and reached for the sign-in pad. With the pen that was attached to the clipboard by a piece of dirty twine, she wrote the name “Wilma Flint-stone” and shoved it over to Dirk. She had been using cartoon pseudonyms for years, and old Kenny had been too busy panting over her bustline to even notice.
“Back off, Bates,” Dirk growled as he scribbled his name. ‘You’re pollutin’ the air over here. Cheez, use some mouthwash, would ya?”
But Kenny didn’t even flinch. He leaned across the counter until his face was only inches from Savannah’s.
He smelled of something like egg salad and garlic, with the lingering note of eau de b.o.
“You never got back to me about when you’re coming over to my place,” he said in what he no doubt considered to be a deep, sexy voice.
She had received obscene phone calls with more appeal.
He glanced over at the glowering Dirk and whispered, “I just got some new black satin sheets. You oughta come check them out.”
“Trust me, Bates,” she said, fixing him with blue lasers. “I ain’t your type. I’m not inflatable.”
As she and Dirk walked away, Bates called after them, “One of these days, girl, I’m gonna tell the captain that you come in here with Coulter. He’d take exception to that, I bet. You and him never did get along. People around here say that’s why you got fired.”
Dirk spun on his heel and in less than a heartbeat had reached across the divider and grabbed Bates by the front of his too-tight shirt. He yanked him halfway over the counter, where he held him until Bates’s face went from red to purple.
“The day”—Dirk began with deadly emphasis on each word—“the day that you cause any trouble for Savannah or for me is the day that you suffer, Bates. You got that? And we’re talking more hurt than you’ve ever felt in your long, miserable life. Do you understand me?”
Kenny Bates nodded, gulped, choked, and then nodded again.
Dirk dropped him so abruptly that he smacked his chin on the counter.
Savannah couldn’t help giggling as they walked away from him and down the hall toward the back of the building. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” she said.
“Eh, numb-nuts like Bates are used to having to explain away suspicious bruises,” he replied. “He had a cast on his arm and a black eye when I was in here last month. Rumor had it that he tangled with some big Samoan chick that came in here to identify her old man’s body.”
“Oh, yes, I heard about her. Didn’t they figure out that she was the one who’d hacked him up with the machete?”
“Yep.”
“So Kenny boy got off easy.”
‘Yeah, but his luck’s bound to run out one of these days.”
“I’d like to be there when it happens.”
Dirk grinned his nastiest grin. “Maybe that could be arranged.”
“One can always dream.”
They rounded the corner and saw that the double swinging doors leading to the autopsy suite were wide open. Savannah was relieved to see that the only activity inside consisted of a janitor who was mopping the floor. The strong disinfectant smell of his cleaning fluid filled the hallway, but the odor of bleach was highly preferable to some of the other things she had smelled in there.
“County Medical Examiner” had never been high on Savannah’s list of things she wanted to be when she grew up. It was one of those jobs she was infinitely thankful that somebody did. But being a cop and a private investigator had required her to witness more than a few autopsies.
Viewing was as close to the reality as she ever wanted to get. And she didn’t even like that when she had known the person.
And while she hadn’t actually known Cait Connor personally, she was happy to be spared the experience of seeing her stretched out on Dr. Liu’s stainless steel table.
“She must be done with Connor,” Dirk said, echoing Savannah’s thoughts. “Good. Maybe she’ll have some results for us.”
“She’s probably in her office, doing the report,” Savannah replied as they turned down the hall to their right, heading toward the half dozen offices in that wing of the building.
The door was open to the last office at the end of the hall, and as predicted, they found Dr. Liu sitting at her desk, dictating into a small microphone.
She stopped what she was doing the moment she saw them and motioned them in, a smile on her face.
For years, Dr. Jennifer Liu had been one of Savannah’s favorite people. Tall, slender, and outrageously sexy, she looked more like a lingerie model than a coroner. In her autopsy suite, Jennifer wore her surgical scrubs, a disposable tissue cap over her long black hair, and paper booties over her shoes.
But once she had left the suite, tossed her scrubs into the laundry and the disposables into the biohazard trash can, she looked like she was ready for the local dance club.
She stood, walked around the side of her desk, and embraced Savannah with air kisses to both cheeks.
Out of the corner of her eye, Savannah saw Dirk do a quick once-over, taking in the ME’s black leather miniskirt, red cashmere sweater, and mile-long shapely legs.
Savannah couldn’t blame him. Dr. Liu was an eyeful.
On the other hand, Dr. Jen didn’t give Dirk much more than a curt nod in the way of a greeting.
“You done with Connor?” he asked with an equal lack of social grace.
“Yes, I’m done with Connor,” she replied as she motioned for them to take seats and returned to her own behind her desk. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’ll call you when I’m ready to discuss my findings with you on a case, Coulter?”
“We were in the neighborhood.” Dirk cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Savannah here asked me to drop by. She wanted to see you. Huh, Van?”
“Sure.”
Savannah gave Dr. Liu her brightest smile, and Jennifer pretended to buy it. “Well, since you’re here...” She picked up a stack of papers on her desk. Savannah and Dirk sat to attention in their chairs.
“The bottom line is,” Dr. Liu began, “she died of hyperthermia.”
“Hypothermia?” Dirk shook his head in disbe
lief. “How could that be? It was over eighty degrees yesterday, for Pete’s sake. How do you die from getting too cold in your own house in Southern California on a summer day? It’s not like she fell through the ice, skating in her backyard.”
“Hy-per-thermia,” Dr. Liu replied. “Heat stroke. Dehydration. Heat exhaustion.”
“Oh. That’s more like it.”
Savannah felt her heart sink. It was true then. Cait Connor had foolishly killed herself.
What a terrible waste.
“When you spoke to the husband yesterday,” Dr. Liu said, shuffling through her papers, “did he say anything about her being on some sort of crash diet and exercise program?”
Savannah and Dirk answered together, ‘Yes.”
“That’s what I figured.” She slipped on a pair of designer tortoise-rim glasses and read from one of her forms. “Systemic hyperthermia with extreme generalized dilation of capillaries and cerebral edema.”
“English, please,” Dirk said.
“She died of cardiovascular shock and brain swelling. I suspect she hadn’t eaten for days, hadn’t drunk anything for hours, and was exercising like a maniac. I found damage to her dental enamel and her esophagus consistent with bulimia. Why the hell do women torture and destroy themselves like this?”
Savannah was a bit surprised to see the anger in Dr. Liu’s eyes and to hear it in her voice. The ME was usually quite detached and clinical about her findings. Apparently the needless loss of young life affected her, too.
“She was under contract with an ad agency to lose a ridiculous amount of weight in a short time to promote a diet cereal,” Savannah replied.
“And her husband said she’d had problems with bulimia for years,” Dirk added.
“Well, that explains it.” Dr. Liu picked up another paper and glanced over it. “Except for the highly elevated body temperature. From my calculations, she was probably up around a hundred and eight degrees when she died. Usually you only see temperatures like that when people are exercising strenuously in very hot environs. It wasn’t that hot yesterday. Where was she doing her workout?”
Cereal Killer Page 6
