“Wow,” she said. “That was quite a spread. Something tells me that Blanca couldn’t have afforded a layout like that.”
“Like I said”—Ryan shook his head—“Victor—or Vern, as you call him—was good at seduction.”
Dirk walked closer to the bodies, took a flashlight from inside his jacket, and shined it slowly from one end of Vern’s body to the other, lifting the towel and looking beneath it as he searched. “I don’t see any signs of trauma at all,” he said. “The guy’s clean as a whistle.”
Savannah borrowed his light and did the same to Blanca’s. “I don’t see anything on her either. Did anybody look at their backs?”
“John and I both did, after we dragged them out and before we covered them,” Ryan replied. “Nothing at all.”
“What do you suppose killed them?” Savannah wondered aloud. “You hear all the time that you aren’t supposed to drink alcohol in a hot tub, for fear of heat stroke. But what’re the odds they’d both be overcome like that at the same time?”
She walked over to the whirlpool and looked in. There was nothing, not even a floating leaf or soap bubble in the crystalline water that gently swirled inside.
“The jets weren’t on when you found them?” she asked.
“No. It was just like that,” Ryan told her. “Both of them inside, completely submerged … except for her hair that was floating on the surface.”
Savannah pointed to the buttons on the side of the spa. “It’s on a timer. So, even if they’d been using the jets, it would have probably shut off on its own.”
Dirk put his flashlight back into his jacket. “Obviously, they were having a little hanky-panky out here. Romantic snacks, smokin’ a joint, having a moonlight skinny dip … Where’s the hubby, Tiago?”
“More importantly,” Savannah said, “where’s he been all night?”
“John and I asked Helene earlier where everyone was. She said that Waldo went out for a drive to some unknown destination … to ‘settle his nerves,’ she said. Apparently, he does that a lot.”
“Probably went to the bad part of town to score,” Savannah surmised.
“And,” Ryan continued, “she said the gardener and his wife had gone to La Rosita, like they do every Saturday night, to visit his brother and cousins.”
Savannah looked down at the young woman on the ground. “Blanca should have gone to La Rosita to visit her in-laws instead of staying behind to fool around with Vern the Skunk. She’d probably still be alive.”
“I checked their place, the gardener’s cottage, before you got here,” Dirk said. “The house was dark. Nobody was there.”
“Did you go inside … without a warrant?” Savannah asked.
“Of course.”
“My bad habits are rubbing off on you, boy.”
“Heaven forbid.”
They heard someone coming down the path and turned to see a disheveled Emma emerging from the woods. She was wearing a tank top with pajama bottoms, and she was dripping wet from head to toe.
“There you are,” she said. “I was looking all over for you guys. Oma said there’s been some sort of accident out here, and—oh, my God!”
She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, staring at the bodies.
Savannah hurried over to her and put her arm around her shoulders. Her skin was wet and clammy, and she was shivering violently.
“Girl, you’re cold as a cucumber,” Savannah told her. “Dirk, fetch us a couple of those towels over here.”
Dirk delivered the towels, and she wrapped one around Emma, like a shawl.
“How’d you get so wet?” she asked her. “You look like a drowned rat.”
“I took a shortcut across the lawn to get over here,” Emma said, teeth chattering. “The sprinklers came on when I was halfway across. I was drenched before I could get to the other side.”
Emma took the second towel and began to dry her hair with it. “I wasn’t expecting the sprinkler system to come on so early. It’s set for three in the morning.”
“You know when the sprinklers come on?” Dirk asked her.
“I grew up here. I was a teenager here. When you sneak into the house late, you keep track of things like that.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I guess you do.”
“Who is that over there?” she asked, nodding toward the bodies. “What happened to them?”
“It’s Blanca,” Savannah told her.
“Oh, no!”
“And Vern.”
“Vern? It can’t be! Blanca and Vern?” Her body sagged, and for a moment, Savannah thought she might faint. “Blanca would never go into a hot tub with Vern.”
Dirk sniffed. “I don’t wanna argue with you, ma’am, but it looks like she did more than just take a tub with him.”
Emma took one tentative step toward the bodies. “Are they … Are they both dead?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Ryan told her.
“Are you sure?”
“We’re sure, darlin’,” Savannah said. “Ryan here pulled them out of the water and tried to resuscitate them. They were already gone.”
“This is going to just kill my grandmother,” Emma said, starting to cry. “Because of Blanca. Not because of Vern.”
Savannah looked over at the gigolo’s body and thought of all the things she’d heard about him in the past twenty-four hours.
“It’s a cryin’ shame about Blanca,” Savannah agreed, “a young woman paying an awfully high price for her foolishness. But call it a hunch … I don’t think anybody’s gonna get all that tore up about ol’ Vern.”
Chapter 12
Savannah hadn’t even poured her first cup of morning coffee when there was a knock at the kitchen door. She opened it to a sunbeam of a gal who looked a lot like her assistant … only much happier than the last time she had seen her.
“Tamitha, get your butt in here,” she said, throwing the door wide and pulling her inside. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, girlie.”
And she was a sight.
With her long, silky blond hair, sun-kissed skin, and athletic, runner’s form, Tammy was a lovely girl on any day. But today she seemed her buoyant, vibrant self as she bounced into the house, all smiles.
“Want a cup of coffee?” Savannah asked her.
“You know I don’t drink that poison, and you shouldn’t either.” Tammy hurried to the refrigerator and opened it. “Got any wheatgrass juice?”
Yes, Savannah thought, our Tammy’s back and as annoying as ever.
“Oh, sure,” she said, shuffling in her fluffy slippers to the coffee pot. “I keep the wheatgrass juice right there in the door … next to the cabbage nectar and essence of broccoli. Help yourself.”
Tammy grabbed a bottle of apple juice and peered at the label. “Is this organic?”
“Are you a pain in the ass?” Savannah grinned at her. “You’re chipper as a chipmunk this morning … even more than usual. What’s up?”
“‘Who’s out’ is more like it.”
“Oh?”
“I broke up with Chad last night. Gave him his walking papers, sent him packing.”
It was all Savannah could do not to dance a wild backwoods Georgia jig right there in her Beauty and the Beast pajamas and fuzzy house slippers. But, instead, she pasted a totally false look of heartfelt concern on her face and said with all due gravity, “I’m so sorry it didn’t work out.”
Tammy snorted. “Oh, you are not. I saw the way you looked at him when you met him the other day. You hated him.”
“That’s true. I hated him.”
“Dirko, too.”
“Dirk loathed him.”
“And that’s enough for me. If you two don’t like him, he’s out.”
Savannah paused, the half-and-half carton in her hand. “Don’t tell me you got rid of him because Dirk and I didn’t approve of him. I mean, it had to be your decision and—”
“Pleeezzz. I love you two and trust your opinions of people. But I broke it off with
him because I overheard a dirty message some bimbo had left on his answering machine. We’d agreed to be exclusive, and he was messing around on me.”
“Then he’s lucky he’s alive.”
“Exactly.”
Savannah poured a generous portion of the half-and-half into her coffee. There was nothing quite like a good cup of cream with your coffee to get the day started. Except, of course, hearing that your girlfriend had dumped her jerk boyfriend.
Life was worth living after all.
The phone rang, and Tammy rushed to answer it.
“Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency,” she breathed. “Oh, it’s you. Just a minute.” She passed the phone to Savannah. “It’s Pee-Pee Brain,” she whispered.
“You really have to stop calling him that,” Savannah told her. “It’s just so … immature … so juvenile.”
“Poopy Pants.”
“That’s so much better.” Savannah walked into the living room and over to the windowsill, where Diamante and Cleopatra were sitting on their kitty perch, catching their morning rays.
“What did the ding-a-ling just call me?” Dirk wanted to know on the other end.
“Nothing. She was telling me that she dumped Turkey Butt.”
“Awesome! I take back everything I ever said about her. She’s got two brain cells to rub together after all.”
Savannah sighed and sipped her coffee. “Granny Reid would not approve. If she were here, we’d all be gnawing on bars of Ivory soap.”
“Have you had your coffee yet?” he wanted to know.
“Just started it. Why?”
“Dr. Liu called. She’s finished with the autopsies.”
“You’re kidding! Already?”
“Yeah. She stayed up all night. Says this is the most interesting case she’s ever had. Never seen anything like it. She wants to show me what she found.”
“Okay. Are you on your way to the morgue?”
“Soon as I get one cup in me. Wanna meet me there?”
“You bringing the donuts?”
“Uh … yeah, I guess.”
“Make mine maple bars. See ya in twenty.”
There was nothing whatsoever cozy or inviting about the county morgue. And Savannah thoroughly hated the place.
Though not as austere as the industrial complex where the forensic lab was housed, the plain stucco building was equally generic and dreary in its own way. Cutbacks in county funds had taken its toll on the place, which hadn’t been painted or re-roofed since the Carter administration … and even back in Jimmy’s heyday, the county had used cheap paint.
Utility, not style, continued to be the primary concern of the local officials. Whether the national economy was booming or taking a dive off the end of the pier, the politicians holding the county’s purse strings squeezed every nickel.
So, the morgue remained in need of a paint job, and the flower beds in front of the building remained empty, year after year.
But then, Savannah mused as she drove up to it, maybe a morgue shouldn’t be overly festive. Not a lot of happy things happened inside its walls.
And as Savannah parked her car and walked up to the front door, she recalled that some of the least happy occasions in her memory had occurred right inside that door, at the desk of Officer Kenny Bates.
Kenny had once been madly in lust with Savannah, though why, she had never been able to figure out.
Everyone, with the possible exception of Kenny, knew that she despised him. She had never given him any reason to think he had a strawberry ice cream cone’s chance in hell with her. But the more she abused him and made poignant suggestions about painful ways that he could exit this world, the more he adored her. For years, she had been unable to walk through those doors without receiving some lovely invitation to either watch X-rated movies at his rancid apartment or hit the sheets of the local no-tell motel with him.
Until the centerfold incident.
Since the day, not long ago, when she had beaten him half to death with his own rolled-up porn magazine, he had gone from perverted to pouting.
“Show me an ugly centerfold and tell me she reminds you of me,” Savannah muttered as she walked through the front door. “It’s a wonder you still have breath in your body.”
When she entered the reception area, and Bates looked up from his desk, he didn’t appear to be all that grateful to be among the living. In fact, he looked downright disgruntled to see her.
He grumbled under his breath as he managed to dislodge his girth from behind the desk, where his breakfast of sausage and egg burritos and a giant chocolate milk shake was spread.
As he trudged over to the counter and shoved a clipboard at her, Savannah caught the strong and most unpleasant odor of onions and sausage, mixed with an overpowering dose of his cheap cologne. She attempted to breathe through her ears until she could exit his personal space.
She glanced down and saw that Dirk had signed in only three minutes before her. Good. She’d rather not have to wait for him here in Hell’s Antechamber.
She signed in as “U. McMee Sik,” and shoved the clipboard back at him. As usual, he didn’t look at it what she’d written but returned to his desk, sat down, and buried his face in his burrito.
She headed toward the hallway that led to the coroner’s office. But as she left the room, she couldn’t help saying over her shoulder, “Hey, Bates … read any good magazines lately?”
When she was halfway down the hall, she could still hear him cursing her. Although, considering he had a mouthful of burrito, his ranting was pretty garbled.
She didn’t need to understand every word to catch his drift. And she didn’t stop giggling until she was at the end of the hallway and standing in front of the swinging double doors of the autopsy suite.
The sight of those doors always sobered her in an instant.
While the work inside those rooms was sacred, because it was a search for truth, it was sad work. And Savannah didn’t envy people who had to do it, day in and day out.
However, when she pushed one of the doors open a few inches and peeked inside, the woman standing next to Dirk, beside the long, stainless steel table, looked anything but unhappy.
In fact, Dr. Jennifer Liu looked far more cheerful than Savannah had ever seen her. Wearing surgical greens and disposable paper booties over her shoes, her long, glossy black hair tucked into a scrub cap, Dr. Jen wasn’t her usual hotsy-totsy self. Outside the autopsy suite she was far more likely to be wearing a black leather miniskirt and stilettos. But in this room, the county’s first female coroner was all business.
And today, apparently, business was good … or at least, interesting.
“There she is,” the doctor said as she looked up and saw Savannah at the door. “Come on in, Savannah. You arrived just in time.”
Dirk seemed excited, too. “Yeah. She was just starting to tell me what she found here.”
“Here” was the body of Vern Oldham, stretched out on the autopsy table.
It occurred to Savannah, as always, that the deceased always looked so vulnerable, lying on Dr. Liu’s table. Death reduced them to nothing more than what they had been at birth.
When expounding about the follies of materialism, Granny had often said, “Naked we enter the world, and naked we leave.”
Savannah thought about Vern’s expensive watches and diamonds and suits.
What good did they do him now, when all he was wearing was Dr. Liu’s stitched vee incision across his chest and down his abdomen?
“Whatcha got?” Savannah asked as she walked over to stand next to Dirk. Not too close to the body, for fear of contaminating the evidence—and getting yelled at by the meticulous doctor—but close enough to see whatever she was about to show them.
“I was just telling Dirk that there was no sign of trauma of any kind on either body.”
The doctor pointed to a gurney that had been wheeled against the far wall of the room. On it was a body bag, zipped closed. “I finished her earl
ier.”
Savannah felt a wave of sadness, thinking about the pretty young woman whose life had been wasted. But she pushed the feeling down and concentrated on what Dr. Liu was saying.
“Not a scratch or a bruise on either of them,” she continued. “Her internal exam showed no disease. His … some lung and liver damage, due to lifestyle, no doubt. But no natural cause of death.”
A Decadent Way to Die Page 12
