It was the most excited Savannah had seen him in years.
“I’m in here,” called a voice from the bedroom, “changin’ clothes. Sit yerselves down and rest a spell. I’ll be right out.”
Reluctantly, Savannah and Dirk sat on the old school bus seat that had served as Dirk’s sofa for many years. Gran’s furniture was on its way from Georgia, but until it arrived she was compelled to use what he had left behind. TV trays functioned as end tables. Stacked plastic milk crates doubled as bookshelves, chests of drawers, and dressers.
Gran had borne it all with good humor, saying that everybody ought to have a school bus seat for a couch at least once in their lifetime. But she appeared to be in a far less cheerful mood when she emerged from the back of the trailer, a bundle of clothing under one arm and a highly disgruntled look on her face. Her cloud of silver hair, usually perfectly coiffed without one hair out of place, was a mess. She had a smudge of dirt on one cheek and a small scratch and slight bruise on the other.
Colonel Beauregard scrambled to get out of her way and slid under the bus seat. Once he was semihidden behind Savannah’s and Dirk’s legs, he poked his long nose out and gave Granny a sad, apprehensive look, his big brown eyes reflecting the guilt of a tormented soul that had committed some grievous sin.
“Yeah, you better hide, you flea-bitten varmint,” Gran barked at him. “You’re the one that started all this hooey, but I’m the one who’ll get blamed for it. You wait and see.”
As Gran passed them on her way to the door, Savannah smelled a pungent, acrid odor—one that was all too familiar to anyone associated with law enforcement.
“Wow, Granny!” Dirk said. “You smell like a—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I stink like one of those blamed meth labs. Even after a rose bubble bath and lavender bath spray, I can still smell that nastiness in my nose and taste it in my mouth. Here I thought I’d left that mess behind me in Georgia. Who’d a’ thought they’d be doin’ drugs in a place as nice as California with beaches and palm trees and all?”
Savannah stifled a grin. Drugs in California? Who’d a’ thought, indeed?
Gran opened the door and hurled the clothing outside—a tropical print housedress and some undergarments.
Savannah couldn’t help remembering one of the foremost and unbreakable Southern Belle Rules: If by necessity a lady’s lingerie must be outdoors—say, hanging on a clothesline to dry after laundering—it should be hung discreetly, with the row of sheets on one side and large, thick towels on the other, so as not to be visible to passersby. Especially male passersby who might find such a sight overly stimulating and get themselves in a sexually charged dither.
Savannah decided that, since Granny appeared to be perfectly fine with the entire San Carmelita fire department and hazmat team having an up-close view of her flying knickers, she must be pretty upset, indeed.
“Let me guess,” Dirk said with a smirk. “The Colonel sniffed out a meth lab here in the park, and all hell broke loose.”
“Reckon they didn’t give you that gold badge for nothin’.” Gran sniffed. “You got it all figured out. ’Cept the part where that hound, cowering there under your legs, decided to bite a plug outta that drug-bakin’ weasel.”
Savannah looked down between her legs at the woebegone face of her favorite canine—as sweet a dog as she had ever known. “But the Colonel has a history, a traumatic history, with meth labs,” she said, pleading his case. “Sheriff Stafford used him to sniff out that one there on Cooter Hill, and the perp threw ammonia in his face.”
Gran’s expression softened. “Yeah. I remember.”
“So does he, I’m sure. He probably thought he was biting the same guy. They all smell pretty much the same, you know.”
Wearily, Granny plopped herself onto the nearest accent chair—a folding, metal one. She sighed. “But you’ve only heard the first chapter of the story. After the Colonel nipped him—”
“You said, ‘bit a plug outta him,’” Savannah corrected her.
Gran shrugged. “Whatever. That numbskull kicked him hard right in the rear end. So, I had to—”
“Smack him upside the head,” Dirk supplied.
Granny turned to Savannah with a half grin. “Detective-wise, he ain’t half bad, you know.”
“It’s why they pay him the big bucks.” Savannah nudged Dirk in the side with her elbow.
He looked confused. “They pay me big bucks? I didn’t know that.”
“Well, they should.” Savannah turned back to Granny. “What did you hit him with? Hopefully not your Bible this time.”
“No. But it was what you people call a ‘weapon of opportunity. ’”
A sparkle of the devilment lit Gran’s blue eyes, and Savannah was afraid to ask. But she had to. “So? What was it? Confess. Get it off your chest and you’ll feel a lot better.”
Granny cleared her throat. “As it turns out, I was being a good citizen, taking my dog for a walk, letting him do his business, and picking up the . . . um . . . business after the fact. No sooner had the Colonel concluded his business than he got a big whiff of that meth lab, coming from that old, rusty, blue trailer on the end.”
“Let me guess,” Savannah said. “You were picking up the business with something, like maybe your little garden shovel?”
Granny laughed. “My respect for the two of you is growin’ by leaps and bounds.”
Dirk stood, sighed, and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket. “There’s just one more question I have to ask you, Mrs. Reid, before I arrest you for this heinous crime.”
Granny looked up at him, grinned, and batted her eyelashes like a coquette who was one-quarter her age. “What is that, Mr. Po-lease-man?”
“When you smacked that numbskull upside the head with the shovel, was it full of . . . business? Do I have to charge you with first-degree battery and assault with a biological substance?”
Granny looked confused and shrugged. “Why, of course. If you’re gonna whack somebody, especially somebody who just kicked your hound dog, you might as well make it worth your while.”
Chapter 2
“As jails go, this is what I’d call fine accommodations,” Granny said as Savannah walked with her to the door of her quaint Spanish cottage. Dirk followed behind, carrying Gran’s suitcase in one hand and Colonel Beauregard’s leash in the other.
Having scented the two cats that lived inside, the hound was in full bay, pulling with all his considerable might against the restraint.
Dirk could hardly keep his footing as he tried in vain to restrain him.
Gran glanced back over her shoulder. “You doin’ all right back there, Son?”
“Peachy,” Dirk huffed. “He’s sure eager to get inside.”
Savannah turned and took the suitcase from him, so he would have two free hands to corral the beast. Then she dropped to one knee in front of the Colonel. Grabbing him by the collar, she fixed him with her most baleful glare—the one she used to intimidate the worst of society’s evildoers.
“Stop!” she bellowed. “Knock it off, or you’ll be sleeping in the garage tonight instead of at the foot of Gran’s nice guest bed. You’ll be on a strict diet of dog food with not one bite of human leftovers to season them with.”
Instantly, the baying ceased, and the dog gazed up at her, brown, soulful eyes filled with fear and remorse.
“That’s better. I don’t want a repeat of that shameful cat-chasing behavior that occurred when we visited in Georgia. Understand?”
The dog’s head sank lower, until his chin was nearly on the ground. He whined pitifully, his tail tucked under his belly.
“Because if you harass those felines, I swear, I won’t intervene this time. I’ll let them have at you with tooth and claw until you look like you tangled with a herd of wild bobcats. You hear me?”
Another whine. The tail untucked and began to wag just a little. He took a step closer to her and licked the back of her hand.
“That’s
my good boy,” she told him, stroking the soft auburn head. “If you can deny every natural and inbred instinct in every cell of your body and ignore those silly ol’ cats, I’ll give you a big, juicy ham bone I’ve been saving in the freezer since Easter. Okay?”
She rose, dusted her knee, and noticed Dirk grinning at her.
He gave her a wink. “That’s tellin’ ’im.”
“You just watch. He’ll be the perfect gentleman.”
Granny chuckled. “Sure he will. At least until we get inside the house.”
As they continued up the walk, Dirk cleared his throat. “A herd of bobcats?”
“Shush.”
“O-o-o-kay.”
They ducked beneath the always-needing-a-trim bougainvillea vines that arched over the doorway and entered the house.
Savannah ushered Gran inside first, then followed and set the suitcase on the foyer floor. Dirk followed with the Colonel, who was attempting to ignore the two cats in black satin coats, who eyed him from a nearby windowsill. He gave them one quick, predatory glance, then cut a sideways look at Savannah and focused on the floor in front of him.
She wasn’t convinced. But she had to give him points for trying.
No sooner had she placed her purse and keys on the pie crust table by the door, than her assistant, Tammy Hart, came bounding out of the living room.
She didn’t bound with quite as much ease and agility as she had eight and a half months ago, due to her now-enormous baby bump. But her spirit was no less perky as she hurried to Savannah and whispered excitedly in her ear. “Did you get my text? Did you? Huh, huh? You didn’t answer so I figured your—”
“—phone was down. Yes. I forgot to charge it this morning,” Savannah told her. “Why? What’s up?”
“Then you don’t know who’s here!”
“No. I don’t. Who’s here?” Savannah asked, trying to see around her into the living room.
It took a bit more effort to look around Miss Tammy these days.
“Just come inside and see! You’re going to be so jazzed! Beyond jazzed!”
After the morning she’d had, Savannah wasn’t sure that anything would catapult her into the category of “jazzed,” but she was trying to stay open-minded.
“You take care of the Colonel here, and I’ll get Gran settled up in my man cave,” Dirk said as he handed Savannah the leash. “Er, I mean, the guest room.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a bother,” Granny said, placing her hand on Dirk’s broad shoulder. “I’d have been fine stayin’ there in the trailer if that bossy fire chief hadn’t gotten on his high horse about me makin’ myself scarce.”
“You’re never a bother, Gran,” Dirk told her, patting her affectionately on the head, smoothing down her ruffled hair. “We love you, and we’re glad to have you, no matter what the circumstances.”
As they continued up the stairs, Savannah heard him add under his breath, “This way I can keep an eye on you.”
Savannah watched them retreat up the stairs and thought how dearly she loved them both. Having her favorite people under her roof—how could that be anything but a joy?
But Tammy’s agenda didn’t include allowing Savannah time to count her blessings. She was about to jump out of her maternity yoga pants. “Come on!” she said, giving Savannah a nudge toward the living room. “Just see who’s here! Somebody who wants to hire you.”
Savannah brightened. Hire? Now that was something to get excited about! Clients had been few and far between for over a month, but the bills persisted in arriving. So this could be a fortunate turn of events.
“It’s someone you love!” Tammy was saying as she and her tummy wriggled about like a cocker spaniel with a new toy treat.
“Someone I love?”
Savannah had little time to consider which of her close friends or relatives might be in need of her services before she walked into the living room, keeping the meth-baker-bitin’ hound from hell on a tight leash.
Sitting on the far end of her sofa, nearest the kitchen, was a woman who did look vaguely familiar to Savannah. She had a full, round face that matched her figure and wore eyeglasses that were the exact pistachio green color as her tweed Chanel suit.
But it was her hair that Savannah recognized. Unusually long for a woman past fifty, it flowed in wild, tight ringlets down her shoulders, to her elbows. A particularly vibrant shade of glistening silver, her hair was the woman’s trademark, and Savannah instantly identified her visitor as her favorite mystery writer, Natasha Van Cleef.
Savannah had seen that face, and that hair, on the cover of some of her best-loved and most frequently reread books.
“Ms. Van Cleef!” she said. “What a wonderful surprise! I’ve read every book you’ve written, several times. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to meet you and to have you in my home.”
She reached to shake the author’s hand. But that was the moment when Diamante and Cleopatra decided to leave their window perch in search of a midmorning snack in the kitchen. Unfortunately, that required them to stroll within two feet of Colonel Beauregard’s nose.
Because Savannah was in prehandshake position, she didn’t have a firm grip on the leash.
So, all canine/feline hell broke loose.
Mercifully, for the humans who witnessed it, the next forty-five seconds were little more than a confusing flurry of black and auburn fur, a cacophony of baying, growling, snarling, and hissing . . . followed by a long, heartrending howl.
* * *
While conducting her duties as a police officer and then a private detective, Savannah had interviewed more than her share of celebrities. Two of her best friends, Ryan Stone and John Gibson, had solicited her help when providing security for Hollywood royalty. Not to mention the fact that she lived within easy driving distance of Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Malibu, and Santa Barbara—all towns that were home to more than their share of celebrities per capita.
So, even the richest and most famous held little mystery for the country girl from Georgia.
Long ago, she had come to realize that those whom society held in the highest esteem weren’t all that different than the common rabble who ate their dinners at local fast food joints and pulled on their well-worn jeans every morning one leg at a time.
Like everyone else, when the Wheel of Fortune took a turn for the worst, celebrities found themselves at the mercy of unpleasant, even tragic, circumstances beyond their control. Occasionally, fate could be unkind, and human beings, no matter their lifestyles, could be downright cruel.
As far as Savannah was concerned, it took a particularly cruel person to send Natasha Van Cleef the threatening letter that Savannah now held in her hand.
Although the two women were comfortably seated on soft, cushy patio chairs and were sipping Savannah’s best icy lemonade in the shade of her wisteria arbor, the serenity of her backyard flower garden did little to dispel the tension in the lilac- and star-jasmine-scented air.
Even the gentle sound of the Colonel’s snoring as he slept, peacefully curled at Savannah’s feet, beyond claw-reach of marauding felines, seemed at odds with the subject being discussed.
Once again, Savannah studied the words, written by what appeared to be a standard ink-jet printer on plain office copy paper. It read:
Be warned. Your time is short. Soon you will die a terrible death.
Savannah could see the fear in the author’s eyes as they searched hers. Natasha was waiting for an answer to her question, and Savannah wasn’t sure what to say.
“It’s never easy, Ms. Van Cleef,” Savannah began, “to determine how serious a threat like this is. There are a lot of nitwits out there who like to throw words around and scare the daylights out of innocent people. Some do it for kicks. Some because they’re just brimming with hate and feel the need to spread it around so that others can be as miserable as they are. Some because they’re bored and have nothing better to do. Then there are the others. . . .”
The author drew a deep
, shuddering breath. “The ones who mean it.”
“Yes. Those are the ones we have to look out for.”
For several tense moments, Natasha sat quietly, twirling the bracelet on her wrist. She was nervously fingering each of many book-shaped charms that dangled from it. Savannah recognized the charms as representing the books she had published. Savannah had read all of them. More than once.
Finally, Natasha asked, “How do you tell which is which? The meanies from the crazies from the psychos?”
Many times, Savannah had been asked this question. It was an honest one that haunted far too many people in the world.
Someone had threatened someone else’s life. Should they be afraid? Should they live every waking moment looking over their shoulders and sleep every night with a weapon under their pillow?
Or was it just some brutal bully trying to rob them of their peace?
It could be a question of life and death.
But Savannah had no answer.
Handling the letter as little as possible, so she could check it for fingerprints later, Savannah laid the paper on her lap and looked intently into her guest’s eyes. This was no time to glance away, to speak a semicomforting half-truth. It was the time for complete honesty, unsettling as it might be.
“I’ve had a lot of clients,” she began, “who came to me because someone had threatened their lives. I tell them all the same thing. Odds are in their favor. Most people who threaten others never actually follow through with it. It’s one thing to want to kill another person, even say you’re going to, but doing it . . . That’s a line very, very few people actually step over. Thankfully. But you can’t rely on that. You have to treat every single threat as though it’s the real thing and protect yourself accordingly.”
A hard glint of determination lit Natasha’s eyes as she said, “I’m not going to change my life for this nut job, whether he or she means it or not. I won’t give in to fear and intimidation. I’m going forward with exactly what I have scheduled.”
“What do you have planned?”
“In three days, I’m embarking on an Alaskan cruise. It’s a mystery-themed voyage, and I’m the star attraction. I won’t disappoint the ship line or my fans. They expect me to be there, and I will be.”
Every Body on Deck Page 2
