“Of course I remember. I remember World War II, for Pete’s sake.” She walked around the car and offered Savannah her hand. “I like you. I like a woman who catches a cold-blooded murderer and then takes her grandmother to Disneyland.”
“Hey, Gran’s a big fan of the Mouse. I didn’t have much choice.”
Helene smiled, and Savannah couldn’t help thinking she must have been a beauty in her day. For that matter, she still was. Her pale green eyes sparkled with wit and wisdom. Her smile was warm and inviting. Her blond hair had more silver than gold but framed her face in soft, thick curls. She was wearing a smoky pink, silk caftan with tiny pearls embroidered around the neckline. Though petite, she looked strong for her age. Not at all frail or fragile.
Minus the expensive garment and the diamond and pearl earrings, Helene Strauss reminded Savannah a lot of her own grandmother. They were both glowing examples of graceful aging, and Savannah wanted to be exactly like them when she “grew up someday.”
“Your grandmother is very lucky to have a granddaughter like you,” Helene said. She looked at Emma, and her green eyes went even softer. “And so am I.” Then she cleared her throat and assumed a businesslike tone. “You two want to come inside and have a cup of coffee and some apple strudel? I just took it out of the oven.”
Savannah’s face lit up. “If apple strudel is even a kissin’ cousin to apple pie, I’d be delighted.”
“But we just had brownies …” Emma said, “… for breakfast.”
“We live in Southern California,” Savannah replied. “We could have the ‘Big One’ any minute. And wouldn’t you feel stupid if you died right after you turned down a piece of warm strudel?”
Emma thought for a moment. “Well, if I were dead, I wouldn’t be thinking about anything. I’d be—”
“Girl, your rationalization skills need serious honing.” Savannah wrapped her arm around Emma’s shoulder as they followed Helene to the house. “Just stick with me, observe, and learn from a master.”
It wasn’t the intricately carved, hand-painted furniture, the delicate, lace curtains, or the brightly polished, teak floors that caught Savannah’s attention when she entered the Strauss mansion. The spacious rooms with their vaulted ceilings and mul-lioned windows were impressive, and the bookcases filled with antique books and fine porcelain vases were lovely. The nine-foot concert grand piano in the great room was breathtaking.
But Savannah only saw the dolls.
On either side of a giant, floor-to-ceiling, stone fireplace stood large wooden cabinets with glass doors. And displayed inside the lit cupboards were over one hundred of the most exquisite dolls Savannah had ever seen.
“What in the world …?” she said as she stared, spellbound.
Delicate lady dolls with bouffant hairdos, wearing silk and lace dresses, sat next to lifelike babies in flowing christening gowns. Boys in ragamuffin costumes stood beside princes in satin pantaloons. But most of the dolls were little girls … girls with a distinctive beauty: big, soulful eyes, rosy cheeks, glowing skin, and shimmering locks of long hair flowing over their shoulders.
Savannah caught her breath as she realized whose house she was standing in. She turned to her hostess. “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “You’re the Helene! Helene the doll maker!”
Helene Strauss simply nodded.
Emma’s eyes sparkled with pride as she said, “You know my grandmother’s dolls?”
“Know them? I have one of them! My granny gave her to me when I was twelve years old. She’s always been my most prized possession!”
Helene smiled. She seemed genuinely touched. “That’s lovely, dear. Which one do you have?”
“The Helene, of course, modeled after you, I believe.”
Walking over to one of the cabinets, Helene said, “Yes, she was one of our prettiest, if I do say so myself, designed after a painting that was done of me as a child.”
She opened the glass door, reached in, and took out one of the dolls. Offering it to Savannah, she said, “Is your doll like this one?”
Reverently, Savannah took the beautiful toy into her hands and, for a moment, just looked and enjoyed the plaything that was a work of art. The cherublike face, the golden waves of hair, the bright green eyes that matched its jade satin dress. “Yes, this is just like mine, except my doll has black hair and blue eyes and a blue dress. Granny Reid said she chose her because her coloring was the same as mine.”
“And you still have her?
“She’s in my cedar chest, along with my other most precious treasures. If the house ever catches on fire, that chest is the first thing going out … after the cats, that is.”
“You should take her out of the chest,” Helene said. “I can’t imagine she’s happy in there.”
Savannah chuckled and looked into the older woman’s eyes, expecting to see a teasing smile on her face. But Helene was completely serious.
“Yes,” Savannah said, “I suppose you’re right. I should take her out and display her.”
“What did you name your doll?” Emma asked.
“Valdosta.”
Emma made a face. “Valdosta?”
“I call her Val for short. I wanted to name her after a town in Georgia. My momma named all her younguns after Georgia cities, and she had a passel of ’em … didn’t leave me a lot of choices.”
“How many of you were there?” Helene asked.
“Nine, including me.”
Helene nodded somberly. “I’m not sure what a passel is, but that sounds like a passel, all right.”
She looked deeply into Savannah’s eyes, then added, “I guess a special doll would be precious to a little girl with eight siblings. I don’t suppose toys were very plentiful.”
“Nothing was plentiful, but love. Granny Reid raised us. She made sure we didn’t want for affection and attention. Even with nine of us.”
“Bless her.”
“I do every day.”
“I feel the same way about my grandmother,” Emma said, resting her hand lightly on Helene’s shoulder. “She raised me, too.”
Helene cleared her throat and abruptly took the doll from Savannah. Gently, she smoothed its hair. “You girls don’t have to be all that grateful,” she said with a touch of gruffness. “I’m sure your Granny Reid feels the same way I do; it isn’t work if you enjoy it.”
She set the doll back in the cupboard, fluffing its skirt and posing its arms just so. Closing the cabinet door, she said, “Let’s go have some of that strudel before it gets cold.”
Helene led them through the great room, down a hallway, and into a large, but cozy and quaint kitchen. As Savannah looked around at the cobalt blue and white tiles and the cabinets with their fanciful scrollwork and folk painting accents, she asked Emma, “Did you grow up in this house?”
“Yes, I did.”
With a wave of her hand, Helene invited them to sit in a breakfast nook in the corner.
Savannah slid into the booth and looked around the crisp, white curtains with their navy blue polka dots. Outside the window was an herb and vegetable garden brimming with savory goodies.
For a moment, Savannah imagined Gran in her own garden back home in Georgia, a hoe in her hand, a sunbonnet shading her skin from the hot summer sun.
“What a joy that must have been, being a child in a place like this,” Savannah said, as Emma sat in the booth across from her. “You must have felt like a fairy princess every day.”
Emma glanced over at Helene, who was busy pouring coffee and arranging the pastry on a plate. She leaned across the table and lowered her voice so only Savannah could hear. “Actually, it was rather sad at first. My mother died in a car accident when I was five. That’s when I came here to live with Oma.”
“I’m sorry,” Savannah said softly. “That must have been very difficult … for everyone.”
“How about you? Why did your grandmother raise you? Did your mother die, too?”
“No, she’s still living.” Savannah
mentally shoved aside the image of her mother sitting on a bar stool, under an eight-by-ten glossy, black-and-white picture of Elvis … a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other. “She was just better at making babies than taking care of them.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “That must have been difficult, too.”
“It had its moments.” Savannah shrugged. “But that was then, and this is now. And no matter how rough you had it, somebody in the world had it worse, so …”
Helene walked over to the table and set some exquisite china plates in front of them, rimmed with gold and hand painted with beautiful, pink cabbage roses.
“Those dishes are too pretty to eat off of,” Savannah said.
Helene sniffed. “When you get to be my age, you start using all your good stuff for every day. What’s the point in waiting for special occasions? Every day is special.”
She set matching saucers and delicate cups brimming with fragrant coffee next to the plates. “You girls should learn that now. Don’t waste a single day of your lives complaining about anything that happened yesterday or worrying about what’ll happen tomorrow. Life’s meant to be lived one day, one moment, at a time.”
“And when did you figure that out?” Savannah asked.
“Last week,” Helene replied with a half grin. “So, if you get it straight now, you’ll have a big jump on me.”
She placed the platter with the strudel in the center of the table and paused, obviously awaiting a positive critique from her guests.
“Gorgeous!” Savannah said, admiring the flaky crust, lightly sprinkled with a bit of powdered sugar. Through the slits in the pastry, she could see the golden apples and raisins shining through. The smell of cinnamon filled the air, mingling with the aroma of the coffee.
Helene slid into the booth next to her granddaughter. “My mother and grandmother used to serve their strudels cooled, with vanilla sauce,” she said, her voice tinged with nostalgia and a touch of sadness. “But I’ve always liked them right from the oven.”
“Everything’s best straight from the stove,” Savannah said as her hostess cut the pastry and laid a generous piece on the plate in front of her.
“So, you’re a good cook yourself, Savannah?” Helene gave Emma a slice, as well.
“Yes, ma’am, I am. I have to admit it,” Savannah replied. “I’m humble about some things, but my cookin’ ain’t one of ’em.”
“A woman should have an honest evaluation of herself, her gifts, her abilities.” Helene nodded toward Emma. “Now my granddaughter here, she’s a fine artist. She paints the most beautiful watercolors you ever saw, and she sculpts, too. She’s even designed some dolls for us, some exceptionally pretty ones.”
A look of sorrow passed over the older woman’s face. “Unfortunately, they’re the only pretty ones we’ve done for a long time, thanks to that stupid niece of mine.” She shook her head. “Oh well, as I was saying … Emma is a great artist. Not a great judge of men, but …”
“Don’t start, Oma.” Emma reached for the sugar bowl and added a liberal helping to her coffee. To Savannah, she said, “In case you haven’t surmised, she isn’t fond of my boyfriend.”
Savannah chuckled. “Yes, I picked up on that earlier, when I was staring down the barrel of her rifle. I’m not a private detective for nothing, you know.”
“He’s a punk, who’s only after my money … and whatever else he can get out of her along the way,” Helene added with an eye roll.
“I didn’t bring Savannah here to listen to your list of complaints about Kyd,” Emma said.
“Then why did you bring her?” Helene asked. “Not that I’m not happy to meet her, but …”
When Emma didn’t answer right away, Helene gave her a suspicious look.
“This isn’t about that hot chocolate mess, is it? Or the scooter incident?” Helene nudged her granddaughter. “Is it? You hired a private detective for me without even asking me whether I wanted one or not? Is that what this is all about?”
Savannah leaned forward, started to put her hand on the older woman’s arm, then thought better of it. A dangerous glint in those bright green eyes told her that Helene Strauss wasn’t someone she wanted as an enemy.
“Mrs. Strauss,” she said gently. “Emma loves you dearly, and she can’t help but be a little concerned about your welfare, considering …”
“I do not need a professional babysitter!”
“No, ma’am. I’m sure you don’t.
I’d never presume—”
“I’ve taken care of myself for over eighty years, and I’ve got the process down pat by now.”
“I’m sure you have. But please … Mrs. Strauss …”
“My name is Helene. My mother-in-law was Mrs. Strauss, and I didn’t like her one bit.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons, Helene, and—”
“You’re damned right I did. And … well … we don’t want to ruin today by thinking about yesterday. Otherwise I’d give you an earful about that one.”
“I’m sure you could at that,” Savannah said. She drew a deep breath. “But we really should talk about the business with the scooter accident and the hot chocolate.”
Helene jumped up from her seat, bumping the table and nearly spilling their coffee. “I will not talk about that! Hanging from a bush on the side of a cliff, screaming my lungs out for help … that was the most humiliating half hour of my life. Can you even imagine?”
Savannah stood, too. “Yes, ma’am, I can. When I was a kid, I got my backside stuck in an outhouse seat hole most of an afternoon, and nobody even came looking for me. If my sister, Vidalia, hadn’t eaten too many prunes the day before, heaven knows when they would have found me! I’d probably be sitting there still, crying and looking through the Sears and Roebuck catalogue.”
Helene stared at her, stunned. “Oh, dear. That is worse.”
“You’re darned tootin’ it’s worse. So, if you’d be so kind, please sit back down, and let’s talk about the scooter and the hot chocolate business, too. I don’t want to embarrass you, Mrs….Helene. I just want to make mighty sure that nobody around here is trying to do you harm.”
When Helene didn’t reply, but just continued to stare at her, Savannah added, “You can’t imagine how bad I’d feel if I heard that something terrible happened to you. I simply couldn’t bear it. So, please, for my sake and your granddaughter’s …”
Reluctantly, Helene sat back down, so Savannah did, too.
The older woman sighed, and for a moment, she looked her age. “Someone is trying to do me harm,” she said. “I have no doubt about that. But I’ll catch them myself, and when I do, I’ll deal with them … in my own way.”
The evil gleam that lit her green eyes sent a chill through Savannah. She’d seen that look many times before … being from the South, where sweet revenge was more popular and more frequently served than sweet tea.
“Let me catch them for you,” Savannah said with an equally wicked tone in her voice. “It’s what I do for a living, and—as a woman who knows her own talents—I can say, I’m very good at it. Once I’ve got them, I’ll hand them over to you. What you do with them … that’s up to you.”
Helene thought about it, then a smile crossed her face. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, sweet and warm, like her apple strudel. It was a cold, nasty smile, and for a heartbeat, Savannah felt half sorry for whoever was behind this skullduggery.
But only half sorry.
And only for one heartbeat.
Chapter 3
“Thank you for being willing to bring me here,” Savannah said as she, Emma, and Helene stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the scene of Helene’s humiliation. “I know it isn’t easy for you.”
“You have no idea,” Helene replied as she gingerly peeped over the precipice. “Just seeing this place again brings it all back. Me hanging there, my jacket caught on that branch.”
She pointed to a half-broken tree limb jutting out of the rocky cliff co
vered with sage scrub brush.
“I dangled there like an idiot, screaming bloody murder, waiting for that branch to crack any minute and send me straight into the hereafter.”
Emma shuddered. “Just thinking about it scares me to death.”
As Savannah studied the cliff, she saw numerous areas below the protruding limb where the sage bushes had been broken and the rocks dislodged.
“Your motor scooter went down the cliff with you?” she asked.
A Decadent Way to Die Page 3
