“Another caterer is doing the breakfast,” Daniel said. “And I’ve got the Guale van. I have to drop it off at the restaurant and pick up my truck there. So you’re on my way.”
“Do you have room?” I was thinking about the Alsatian milkmaid. Michelene.
Now he looked annoyed. “Did I just offer you a ride? Of course I have room. Now, yes or no?”
“All right. Yes. Thanks.”
“Good. Meet me out front in ten minutes. I just need to make sure everything’s been loaded into the van.”
I spent the next ten minutes back in the powder room, trying to rinse the champagne out of my hair and repair my makeup.
It was mostly a lost cause. I’d only brought along lipstick, and there hadn’t been room in the tiny evening bag for a comb or brush.
By eleven o’clock, I stood, huddled under my damp shawl, near the front steps to Beaulieu. I heard a mewing and looked down. A tiny black kitten brushed back and forth against my sandal. He’d probably mistaken me for a vat of Little Friskies.
I let the cat lick a bit of crab dip from my shoe. Don’t get yourself worked up, I cautioned myself. You’re a mess. He has a girlfriend. He’s just giving you a ride out of pity.
Who was I kidding here? The hell of it was, I’d take anything, even a dose of pity, from Daniel Stipanek.
He pulled around to the front door in the big white van with the words “Guale—A Southern Bistro” painted on the side. He hopped out, came around, and opened the passenger-side door for me. He might hate my guts, but he was still too polite to let a lady open her own door.
“Thanks,” I muttered, hoisting myself up and onto the seat. He got in behind the steering wheel, glanced over, and grinned wickedly. I looked down. My skirt was hiked up almost to my crotch.
“My pleasure,” he said, looking away quickly.
“What does your girlfriend think about your leaving the party early to give me a ride home?” I asked.
He gave me a blank look. “Girlfriend?”
I placed the shawl over my lap, draping it so it reached down to my knees.
“I thought you were dating a woman who works at the restaurant,” I said.
“Not any more.” He threw the van into gear and sped down the shell road in a cloud of dust.
I pursed my lips together tightly and clasped my hands in my lap. So much for my effort at polite conversation.
Daniel pulled out onto the pavement at Skidaway Road and barely slowed down for the stop sign. We were almost to Thunderbolt before he spoke again.
“You’re really something, aren’t you?”
I stared straight ahead.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He pounded the dashboard with his fist. “You know damn well what I mean. What was that crack about my girlfriend? Have you had BeBe checking up on me again?”
Well, duh. BeBe was my best friend. Of course I had her checking up on him.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said. “I happened to notice you talking to that blond waitress tonight. You looked pretty cozy. I just assumed…”
“You just assumed she’s a bimbo, because she’s blond and a waitress, and therefore I must be screwing her,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “Well, you’re not even half right. We dated a few times. Michelene is no bimbo. She’s really quite bright. She has a degree in art history. We just didn’t have much in common. My being a lowly cook and all.”
I bit my lip. It had been a mistake to think things could ever be right again between us. Daniel still had a chip the size of a two-by-four on his shoulder. Nothing would ever change that.
“I didn’t think that,” I said stiffly, and then stopped. I could feel tears welling up.
Before I could let out a sob, though, Daniel swerved the van hard left, across two lanes of oncoming traffic, and into the parking lot at the Skidaway Liquor Store. He slammed on the brakes, and I slid clear across the leather seat and nearly into his arms.
“Damn it, Weezie,” he said, his voice husky. He pulled me to him. “Let’s stop playing games. I’m lousy at this. I don’t give a damn about Michelene. Or anybody else. I dated her because I knew BeBe would run and tell you. I wanted to make you jealous.”
“Why?” I pulled away from him.
“I guess I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. But it’s no good.” He was kissing my neck. “You taste like champagne.”
I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. Something stuck to my thumb. It was fishy smelling. “I think you’ve got caviar in your hair.”
He laughed and kissed me hard, this time on the lips. “God, I missed you,” he said, framing my face with his hands.
“I missed you too,” I said. “I was stalking you for a while there. Driving past the house at Tybee.”
“I saw you once,” he said. “I almost called you that night, but I was too stubborn.”
His hands roamed over my body, and I didn’t make a move to stop him, even though we were parked right out in front of the liquor store, with people pulling up in their cars and walking right past us.
I heard another laugh, muzzled because his face was between my breasts.
“What is it now?” I asked.
He held up a tiny pea-shaped object between his thumb and forefinger. “Caper. We keep this up and we’ll have our own midnight buffet.”
“We keep this up and we’ll get arrested for public indecency,” I pointed out. “It’s not that I want you to stop, sweetheart. It’s just that I think there are better places to do this.”
“You’re right,” he said reluctantly. “My place or yours?”
“My place,” I said, without hesitation. “The townhouse.”
He looked surprised.
“I didn’t want to stay there alone,” I said haltingly. “I thought it was because of Caroline. But I think maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t her at all. Maybe it was me. I just wasn’t ready yet.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and drew me closer. Then he turned the key in the van’s ignition. “Is that something I could help with?”
“Would you?” I asked, a little shy. “Would you spend the night with me at my new house?”
“Depends,” Daniel said, pulling back onto Skidaway Road in the direction of town.
“On what?”
“On what you’re serving for dessert. I’ve already had my appetizer, you know.”
I reached over and started popping the tiny mother-of-pearl studs on his tuxedo shirt.
“Oh, it’ll be sweet,” I promised. “Very, very sweet.”
Acknowledgments
I ran away from home in the summer of 2000 to write and research this book. So, to those I left behind in Atlanta—Tom, Katie, and Andy—I send a thousand thanks and kisses and hugs. And to those who helped me find a temporary home in Savannah—more of the same. Jacky Blatner Yglesias and Polly Powers Stramm offered food, friendship, estate sales, and invaluable connections. Jan and Jay Bradley were the world’s most gracious landlords. Anne Landers and the Ardsley Park supper club gave me more than they’ll ever know—including the recipe for crawfish cakes with remoulade. And the Wednesday night “needlers” at Twiggs of Savannah kept me in stitches—literally. Thanks are also due to Chatham district attorney Spencer Lawton and the deputies of the Chatham correctional institute, who locked me up for authenticity’s sake. Any errors, misrepresentations, or outright mistakes are my own fault and not theirs.
About the Author
Mary Kay Andrews is a former journalist for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. She lives in Atlanta. Visit her at: www.marykayandrews.com.
To receive notice of author events and new books by Mary Kay Andrews, sign up at www.authortracker.com.
Books by Mary Kay Andrews
Little Bitty Lies
Savannah Blues
Credits
Cover design by Elizabeth Ackerman
Cover illustration by Leigh Wells
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. The
characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SAVANNAH BLUES. Copyright © 2002 by Whodunnit, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © MAY 2004 ISBN: 9780061827389
FIRST EDITION
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Mary Kay Andrews
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Savannah Blues Page 45
