A Body To Die For (15 page)

And when she had found the gate by the main road not only unlocked but also wide open, she was sure the gods were smiling on her.

Oh, well. So much for that theory.

“Then may I ask,” Savannah said, “where she is?”

The look of fear that spread over the maid’s face went straight to Savannah’s heart. So did the barely suppressed fury on the man’s. She could tell they were hardworking people who sacrificed their dignity to work for someone like Clarissa Jardin, and she couldn’t help feeling indignant on their behalf.

It cost so little to be kind to your fellow man, especially those who served you.

“Please, Señora,” Maria said, looking as though she might start crying at any moment. “Please do not ask us. We need the jobs. We have families at home. We send the money to them, to feed our mothers, our sisters and brothers.”

“I understand,” Savannah said. “I won’t do anything to make you lose your job.”

“I’m sorry,” Maria replied, “but you do not understand. If Señora Clarissa sees us talk to you, we will be told to leave. Please go away now, before she comes back.”

“I will,” Savannah said. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for you. That’s the last thing I want to—”

The man threw down a handful of the plants and said, “We have trouble already, Maria. Much trouble. Someone killed Señor Bill and this lady is trying to help.”

He turned to Savannah. “The Señora is in the hills.” He pointed to the foothills edging the property. “She runs. She runs and runs and runs.” He smiled, but there was no humor on his lined, sun-darkened face. “She runs but she can not get away. She will never get away.”

“From whom?” Savannah asked. “What is she running from?”

“From herself,” he said. “She runs from herself, from the wolves inside her soul. But someday
los lobos
will catch her. They will destroy her.”

Savannah felt a chill run through her as, for a moment, she sensed her own wolf pack, nipping at her heels. Everyone had wolves—one kind or another. And there were so many breeds of wolves: unfulfilled dreams, broken relationships, poor health, financial problems, addictions and obsessions…not to mention difficult childhoods.

“Guardar silencio,
Hernando,” Maria whispered to him.

“It’s okay,” Savannah assured her. “I’m going. I won’t tell her that I talked to you. I promise. Thank you.”

She left them to their work and returned to her car.

Ordinarily, she would have driven up to the hills to see if she could find Clarissa, but there would be no way to do so without compromising Maria and Hernando. So, she decided to wait in her car.

The well-fortified adobe walls had been built in an age when security was a matter of life and death for the family who lived here. And, as the builders had intended it to do, the enclosure made sure that everyone entered and left the property through the bell gate.

It was just a matter of time until Clarissa Jardin came running home…with that pack of hungry wolves at her heels.

Savannah wondered if she had time to do a bit of snooping before she returned. And if she did, could she do so without Maria or Hernando catching her?

Something told her that, even if Hernando caught her stealing the family silver, he’d be more likely to help her cart it out of the house than prevent the burglary.

She glanced up the hill and saw no sign of any jogger on the dusty, dirt road. So, she reached into her purse, pulled out her penlight flashlight, and got ready to…as Tammy would say…“Go sleuthing.”

A
s Savannah walked around the outside of the adobe wall that protected the courtyard and hacienda, she felt as though she had stepped back in time. Antique, rusted farm equipment sat in the shade of eucalyptus trees and one area of the wall had aging leather harnesses hanging side by side next to a fenced area that appeared to be an old livestock corral.

The split-rail fence was missing a few planks here and there, but she could see places where horses had chewed on the wood. She thought of the men who rode those horses, and, of course, pictured them to look a heck of a lot like Clint Eastwood in his prime. She thought of the ladies who might have ridden sidesaddles, their skirts billowing around them.

But mostly, she thought about the fact that if Clarissa Jardin caught her snooping around her property, she’d probably stick Savannah’s head in one of those sinister-looking pieces of gym equipment she was so famous for.

Near the corral, Savannah saw a large outbuilding that looked as though it might have served as a barn in its previous life. Like the house, it had been restored, and its adobe plaster and paint were in near-perfect condition.

Glancing over her shoulder, she hurried to the building, bypassed the wide doors in the front and entered by way of a small door around the corner on the other side.

As she had suspected, the former barn was being used as a garage. Wide enough to accommodate two cars, it housed only one—a beautiful black Mercedes.

Usually, Savannah didn’t consider herself materialistic. But she had to admit that, as much as she loved her classic Mustang, she’d trade it for this ride in a heartbeat.

But, even though she would have loved to stand there and imagine herself stepping into that car, wearing a Christian Dior gown of billowing chiffon, bespangled with tiny crystals, driven by an expensive gigolo in an Armani tux, she had better things to do.

She glanced over the car, looking for anything that seemed out of place, suspicious, or extraordinary, and saw nothing. Some items from Clarissa’s tacky new sports line were tossed onto the back seat. A stack of brochures advertising her “Houses of Pain and Gain” lay on the dash.

Savannah tried not to be disappointed that there was no gun or bloody gloves lying in plain sight on the passenger’s seat. It was never that easy. At least, not if you were trying to nail a criminal with more than two brain cells to rub together. And even though she couldn’t stand Clarissa Jardin, Savannah had to admit the woman was no dummy.

Savannah squatted behind the car and shone her penlight’s beam on the rear tires. Then she walked around to both sides, checking the front tires.

There were bits of leaves and other assorted vegetation lodged between the treads, some sand, and a few small rocks, but no poultry droppings and nary a feather in sight.

No, it was never that easy.

“Dagnabbit,” she whispered. She had risked her neck for nothing.

Noticing that it was rapidly growing darker in the building, she glanced at the window and saw that the sun was, indeed setting. Clarissa was bound to be getting home soon. Savannah figured she should get back to her car, so that she could pretend she had just arrived when Clarissa did return.

But when she turned around to head for the door, she nearly walked headfirst into the indignant lady of the house.

Clarissa was standing there, wearing a camouflage-print, formfitting workout suit, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, perspiration pouring down her face.

“Ah! You really
do
practice what you preach,” Savannah said, far too brightly. “Look at you, workin’ up a sweat like that!”

“What the hell are you doing in my garage?” Clarissa asked, ice in her eyes and her voice.

“Um…looking for you?”

Hell, it’s worth a try
, Savannah thought.

“Under my car? You thought I was under my car?”

Okay, Plan B. When all else fails, disarm them with total honesty.

“I came by to talk to you, but when I realized you were gone, I figured I’d snoop around and see if I could find some sort of evidence.”

“Evidence against me?”

Savannah shrugged. “Evidence is evidence. It points where it will. I follow.”

“Am I going to have to get a restraining order against you?”

“Maybe you could; maybe you couldn’t. But I might be just the person to find out who killed your husband. You do want to know, don’t you? You were the one who was rantin’ and ravin’ about it being more than forty-eight hours, and how worried you were that we weren’t going to solve this case, yada, yada.”

Clarissa stood, staring at Savannah for the longest time, her arms crossed over her chest. Finally, she turned and headed out of the garage.

At the door, she paused and said over her shoulder, “Well, come on. Unless you want to question me in a garage. Maybe you’d like to climb under my car, check for transmission leaks, while you interrogate me?”

Savannah joined her at the door and together they headed around the wall toward the bell gate.

“Good one,” Savannah said, grudgingly, but with a smile.

“Thank you,” Clarissa replied.

A recently showered, remarkably relaxed Clarissa offered Savannah a glass of merlot as they settled into two of the comfortable wicker chairs under the pavilion in the middle of the courtyard.

“Not now,” Savannah told her. “Maybe some other time.”

Clarissa poured herself a generous glass, then leaned back and propped her feet on a cushy ottoman.

Savannah couldn’t help thinking that Clarissa’s yoga pants and hoodie top would be a lot more comfortable than her own blouse, slacks, and jacket. Especially with a Beretta strapped to her side. She also had to admit that Clarissa had the hard body she promised all of her gym attendees and the folks who ate her diet meals, worked out to her videos, and popped her vitamin supplements.

“Do you run every day?” Savannah asked her.

“Every single day. I have to.”

Savannah thought about the wolf pack. “I’ll bet you do.”

“You could run yourself, you know. It would do you good.”

“Punching out people I don’t like would do me good, too. But I don’t give in to the temptation. Discipline comes in all forms.”

Clarissa took a sip of her wine. “I guess it does at that.”

“And besides, I do run. I run to the grocery store. I run to the dry cleaners. I run to the mall. I run myself ragged all day long and half the night, too. Sometimes all night.”

“I mean deliberate exercise.”

“Occasionally, I help Dirk run down a perp, tackle him to the ground, and cuff him. When we’re hittin’ the pavement, that gets pretty darned deliberate.”

Clarissa swirled her wine in its goblet. “So, why did you come out here to see me? Do you have any new leads…or whatever you call it?”

“Yes,” Savannah said. “I found out about Rachel.”

For a moment, Savannah thought Clarissa was going to spit wine all over the off-white cushions of her furniture.

“Rachel? Rachel, who?” Her whole casual lady-of-the-manor air evaporated.

“Oh, come on. Give me a little credit here. If I know her name is Rachel, don’t you think I know everything else?”

“Who told you about her?” She leaned forward and set her glass down so hard on the coffee table that Savannah was surprised it didn’t shatter. Clarissa’s eyes narrowed. “Was it Ruby? That bitch! It was her, wasn’t it? She always did have it in for me. I hate her.”

“I’m not free to say. But, really, Clarissa…people do talk. Did you really think you could hide something like a twin sister forever?”

Clarissa plopped back in her chair, suddenly deflated. She sighed. “Well, I hoped so. It was easier, before my career really took off. In the beginning, when I was first starting out, it seemed like a good idea. But then, all the press, the interviews, the public exposure…and yes…the money. It, well, complicated things.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Savannah said. “I feel really bad for you. I saw one of those
complications
of yours parked in the garage.”

“Hey, did you ever pay the insurance or a repair bill on a Benz?”

“Poor baby. I don’t know how you stand it.” She waved a hand, indicating the yard, which was now bathed in beautiful blue accent lighting. “All this. It must be rough.”

“My husband was just murdered.”

“That’s true. I’m sorry.”

Clarissa gave her a weird, sarcastic little smile. “Are you this insensitive to all your victims’ families?”

Savannah though it over a moment before answering and decided to be honest. “No, I’m usually pretty nice. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Really, I apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s me. I always seem to bring out the worst in people.”

Savannah was shocked at this admission from a woman whom she had assumed didn’t have a humble bone in her well-toned body. She considered giving her the token argument of, “Oh, no, that isn’t true.” But, again, she decided to go the honesty route.

“Why do you think that is?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I started it a long time ago, you know…getting in people’s faces, giving them hell, telling them like it is….”

“The way
you
think it is.”

“Yeah, whatever. Back then, people told me I was strong, gutsy, determined. Now they just call me a bitch.”

“But not to your face.”

“Of course not. When you’re at the top, nobody says things like that to your face. They just run you down behind your back, and then you hear about it later.”

“Tell me about Rachel,” Savannah said.

“She’s my sister. My twin. But you know that already. We didn’t even know each other for the first twenty-five years of our lives. Our mom gave us away.”

“Why?”

“She was unmarried, poor. The usual reasons. It doesn’t matter. Why would you care? I’ll bet your mother didn’t give you away.”

“No, she didn’t,” Savannah said softly. “The court took us, all nine of us, away from her and gave us to our grandmother. She raised us.”

Clarissa looked shocked…and impressed. “Wow! Did your mother fight for custody?”

“No. It was sorta a cut-and-dried case.”

“Oh.”

“How did you and Rachel finally get together?”

“I found her. She was working at a pizza place in Greenwich Village. I was in New York City trying to get ‘discovered’ as an actress. One day this guy who was in a play I was doing off-off Broadway told me, ‘I know a girl who looks just like you, only she’s fat.’ I knew I was adopted and had a twin sister, so I went to see myself. And the rest, as they say, is history.” She took a deep breath. “Actually, I was hoping it
wouldn’t
become history, but now…”

“So, you looked her up and how did that go? Tearful reunion and all that?”

“Not really. She wasn’t all that happy to see me, sort of standoffish actually.”

“Why do you suppose that was?”

“She was jealous. Think about it. If you were fat and ugly, and a cute, slender, actress came into the place where you were slinging pizzas and said, ‘Hi, I’m your identical twin sister,’ wouldn’t that piss
you
off?”

“Do you have any idea how obnoxious you sound when you say something like that?”

Clarissa looked genuinely confused as she thought it over. “I guess not. Pretty bad?”

“Odious.” Savannah shook her head. “The reunion with Rachel didn’t go so well. Then what?”

“I gave up the stage and came to California, Hollywood television, movies, palm trees and all that.”

“When did you come up with the idea for her to pose for your before-the-weight-loss shot?”

“Three years ago. It was my agent’s idea.”

“Your agent told you to lie and defraud the public?”

“Sheez, that sounds bad when you put it like that. No, of course he didn’t. But when I told him I had this great diet exercise plan that I’d lost a ton of weight from, he said, ‘Give me a picture of yourself before you lost the weight,’ and I didn’t have one, because, of course, I’ve always been thin.”

“Of course.”

“Oh…was that odious, too?”

“Just moderately stinky. It’s more the sanctimonious tone that’s the piss-off.” Savannah grinned. “Please continue. You were about to tell me how Rachel blackmailed you and threatened to tell everybody about the picture when…”

“Oh, my God! You know about that, too?”

“You’re good at what you do; so am I.”

“Apparently so.” Clarissa reached back, pulled the barrette out of her hair, and ran her fingers through her blond mass. “Yes, she did. But not right away. I had told her I’d take care of her, send her money every now and then. But that wasn’t enough. She started demanding these big, lump payments.”

“Did you pay her off?”

“Not at first. I got mad and told her to take what I gave her or go to hell. And no sooner had I said that, than I started getting these threatening anonymous letters, postmarked Manhattan. Like I’m not going to figure that out. Duh.”

Savannah chuckled. “Rachel isn’t as savvy as you, huh?”

“Oh, please. She’s ugly
and
a moron.”

“Oo-okay. And how did you handle the so-called anonymous letters?”

“I sent Bill to New York to take care of it. That was a big mistake.”

Savannah thought of what Ruby had said about the affair between Bill and Rachel. Yes, she’d agree that may have been a tactical error.

In view of her recent promise to be more sensitive, she considered how to ask the next question. “How was Bill’s…um…relationship with Rachel?”

Clarissa bristled. “They had no relationship! There was no relationship. He wouldn’t give a tub-o like her a second look. He had
me!
What would he want with someone like
her?
”

When Savannah didn’t reply, Clarissa tossed her head and gave her a dismissive wave. “And I don’t care if that sounds bitchy. It’s true. It’s
just true!
”

“I’m not arguing with you, Clarissa. She’s your sister. Bill was your husband. You’d be a better judge of all that business than I would.”

“You bet I would. And it didn’t happen, I tell you. Did not happen!”

“Okay. Let me ask you this…. How do you know for sure that the threatening letters, the anonymous ones from Manhattan, were from Rachel? You had to know other people in New York.”