A Body To Die For (16 page)

“The letters demanded money. We paid the money. Bill dropped it off, over and over again. What else could we do? It would have ruined everything. We would have lost it all. We had to pay, and she knew it.”

“But how do you know for sure that it was Rachel who was blackmailing you?”

“Because we saw her son one night, at the drop-off spot, taking the bag of money out of the garbage can. She sent a kid, a fourteen-year-old little boy to pick up her stinking blackmail money. How low is that?”

“Low.” Savannah nodded. “I have to agree with you. That’s lousy.”

“Have you met Rachel yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, you won’t like her. If you think
I’m
a bitch, wait till you meet
her
. You are going to hunt her down and interrogate her, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Savannah said with a sigh. “Woo-hoo. Ain’t it fun, being me?”

When Savannah dragged her weary bones through her door, it was nearly eight o’clock and she was literally seeing double. On the way home from Rancho Rodriguez, she had stopped for a green light, gone the wrong direction on the 101, a freeway she had traveled several times a day, every day, for the past twenty years. And she had nearly hit her own oleander bushes, pulling into her driveway.

“I can’t do it,” she was telling Dirk on the cell phone. “I was thinking of driving out to Rachel’s tonight and trying to talk to her. But I can’t. I’m a threat to man and beast on the road right now. If I don’t get some sleep, I’m gonna fall down dead in my tracks.”

“Go to bed. I know I’m gonna as soon as I get home.”

“Where are you?”

“The station, filling out fives.”

Her heart went out to him. If there was anything worse than being on the job for all these hours, it was having to do paperwork when your eyes were crossing. “You poor baby. When do you think you’ll get to bed?”

“God only knows.”

Savannah put her gun and purse away in the foyer closet and walked into the living room. Tammy was still sitting at the computer, totally absorbed in her photo task.

Marietta was watching some trashy movie on the television. Looking at the screen, Savannah saw more naked flesh writhing on bedsheets than she had seen in ages. She had the sinking feeling this was a pay-per-view that would show up on her bill. You didn’t get hardcore porn for free.

Marietta was never cheap to have around.

“How did your visit with Pinky go?” she asked Dirk on the phone as she walked past Tammy and patted her on the back, then continued on into the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate.

“Waste of time. He wouldn’t admit anything freely, and I was too tired to beat anything out of him. I’ve gotta admit it, Van, I’m not as intimidating as I was in my twenties.”

Savannah chuckled. “Yeah, and I don’t look as good in a miniskirt and fishnet stockings as I did, either. You reckon life’s still worth livin’?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Tammy’s still working on that picture for you,” she told him. “And knowing her, she’ll stay at it till the wee morning hours. So, you won’t be the only one slaving away.”

“Good, misery loves company and I’m really suffering here.”

Savannah took a mug out of the cupboard and poured some chocolate milk into it. No fancy stuff tonight. Just a simple cup of cocoa…with whipped cream…some chocolate shavings on top…maybe a sprinkle of cinnamon…

Then she heard something on the phone. Something suspicious.

It sounded a heck of a lot like a bottle top being removed. She even heard the clatter of a bottle opener being tossed into a silverware drawer.

“What was that?” she asked, straining to hear.

“What was what?” replied Mr. I’m Working My Fingers to the Bone.

“I just heard you open a beer.”

“Did not.”

“I did, too. Since when do you drink at work?”

“I’m not!”

“You are! And what’s that?” She could hear something else…an all-too-familiar theme song playing in the background. “That’s
Bonanza!
I hear
Bonanza!
You’re at home, kicking back in your friggen trailer, swiggin’ beer and watching those DVDs I bought you for your birthday!”

“I…I…well…”

“You lyin’ sack! You peckerhead! And to think I was mopin’ around here, feeling all guilty and sorry for you! I hope you choke on that beer. I hope Pa Cartwright gets shot and actually croaks!”

S
avannah hung up on Dirk and tossed her cell phone onto the counter.

To appease her anger, she squirted an extra shot of whipped cream on top of the cocoa she’d been making, and walked back into the living room.

“Was that Dirk-o you were yelling at in there?” Tammy asked without looking away from the screen.

“Yeah.”

“What’s he done now?”

“He’s being his usual, contrary, aggravating self, that’s what.” She rested one hand on Tammy’s shoulder. “How’s it going there?”

“Okay. I’ve sharpened the focus, increased the contrast, toyed with all sorts of special effects to try to…”

Savannah started to glaze over. “Why don’t you call it a night and go on home, sugar? You’ve done way more than enough for one day.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to work a little longer before I leave. I feel like I’m close, and I hate to quit.”

“You stay if you want, but I’m taking a nice, warm bubble bath, drinking this hot chocolate, and then hitting the sheets. You can lock up when you leave, right?”

“No problem.”

Savannah kissed her on the top of her head, then walked over to Marietta, who was staring goo-goo-eyed at the television screen.

“What the hell are you watching there?” Savannah asked.

“I think it’s called
The Long, Hot Summer
,” Marietta replied, leaning sideways to see around Savannah, who had partially blocked her view.

“Get outta here. That ain’t Paul Newman there—and that sure as shootin’ ain’t Joanne Woodward that he’s…ew-w-w…

“It’s a different version. A remake.”

“It’s porn. How can you watch that crap?”

“They’re making love. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, well, when it comes to that sort of thing, I’d rather be a participant than a spectator.”

Marietta gave her an unpleasant little snicker. “
Participated
a lot lately, have we, sis?”

She had her there. Savannah could hardly even remember the last time she had been properly…participated.

“Hey, you made hot chocolate!” Marietta said, when she noticed the mug brimming with whipped cream in Savannah’s hand. “Where’s mine?”

Reluctantly, Savannah handed it to her. “Right here. I figured you’d want some.”

Watching her cocoa disappear and Marietta acquire a frothy mustache was nearly more than she could bear. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “I’m sorry I had to run out like that when you first got here, Mari. Maybe tomorrow we can go to the beach or get some fish and chips on the pier, or—”

“The beach. I want to try out that new, red bikini…see what I can catch with it.”

“A sexually transmitted disease, if you aren’t careful,” Savannah muttered. Then, louder, she said, “I’m going to bed now. You make yourself at home. I’ll turn down the covers in the guest bedroom and you—”

The front doorbell chimed, and Savannah jumped. “Who the heck is that at this ungodly hour?”

“Savannah,” Tammy said, “it’s only eight o’clock. You probably just feel like it’s one in the morning.”

Savannah went to the door and peeked through the peephole. The sight of the man on the other side of her door was enough to set her heart racing.

The sight of Ryan Stone was enough to set her pulse and her hormones to racing any time, day or night.

She flung open the door and feasted her eyes on male splendor at its most dazzling.

Wearing a black tux, a red rose in his lapel, and a crisp white shirt that set off his handsome, chiseled, tanned face to perfection, he was simply gorgeous. And so was his partner, John Gibson, who was standing beside him.

Equally debonair, dressed in a similar tux, John was older than Ryan, with thick silver hair, pale blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed mustache. His British accent was strong and sweet as he held out a lavender rose to Savannah and said, “Good evening, milady. We’ve been…” He hesitated as his eyes swept over her, taking in the now-rumpled slacks and jacket, her mussed hair and makeup-free face. “…looking forward to this for weeks.”

Ryan looked her over, too, and seemed a bit confused when he said, “We did mention that we were picking you up at eight o’clock?” He turned to John, looking somewhat concerned, and added, “You did tell her it’s black-tie, right, John?”

“Um…” John shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “I do hope I mentioned that. You know—it being the Center for Performing Arts Annual Gala—it’s one of those rather stuffy affairs.”

“Oh, my goodness, I totally forgot!” Savannah wished that, like some wicked witch, she could just dissolve into a big puddle of water on the floor and then disappear.

She opened the door wider and pulled them both inside. “I am so, so sorry! I can’t believe I…oh…I feel lower than a skunk’s belly. Or is it a toad’s belly? It doesn’t matter. I can’t believe I let that slip my mind!”

“Quite understandable, love,” John said, planting a kiss on her cheek, “and completely forgivable. We heard on the news that your past twenty-four hours have been most exciting.”

Ryan put his hand under her chin and turned her face into the light. “Savannah, are you okay? You look pale and a little under the weather.”

“You’ve just never seen me without my face paint on before. Maybelline and Max Factor are two of my closest friends.”

He laughed. “I’ve seen you without makeup, and you’re lovely either way. But you look really tired.”

“As a matter of fact, I was on my way to bed, but now that I’ve seen you, I’ve perked right up.”

“Me, too!” Marietta came sailing into the foyer from the living room. “And, unlike my sister here, I
do
have my face on and
am
available. You know…since y’all don’t have nobody to escort to your shindig.”

As though in slow motion, Savannah watched the looks of helplessness and horror cross her friends’ faces.

They knew her sister well, having met her during one of her previous visits. She really couldn’t blame them.

As though from far away, she heard Marietta say, “I don’t have no evening gown with me, but I’ve got a really cute little tiger-striped stretchy dress that’s cut way down to here and way up to there. It shows off all my feminine assets to their best possible advantage. And I can slip into it nearly as fast as I can slip out of it.”

Savannah tried to think fast, fast enough to save them. But her brain was crawling when it needed to sprint.

“Well, that’s a lovely, tempting offer,” John said, with all the enthusiasm of a man being offered dental surgery without anesthesia. “I hardly know what to say.”

“Me either,” Ryan added.

“Hey!” Tammy shouted from the living room. “I’ve got it! Look at this, everybody!”

Savannah and her three guests all rushed en masse into the living room, where Tammy was hopping up and down in her chair.

No matter what she’s got
, Savannah thought,
the kid gets a raise just for rescuing Ryan and John from spending a night in Marietta Hades
.

“I was trying to sharpen the focus and all that, to define the spatter. It’s so fine, and it just barely shows. It wasn’t easy, you know. But I was using this new photo manipulation program you gave me for Christmas, and when I applied this one special effect to it, that sort of changes the positive image to a negative image, I—”

“Tamitha,” Savannah said, leaning over her shoulder and staring at the gray-white screen with fine black dots, “I’m old and tired. Just tell us what you see there, Sweet-pea.”

“It’s not the outline of a gun,” she said, pointing to a distinct area that was clear of any spatter. “The lines are pretty clear, and straight. When he got shot, the glove compartment was open and something was lying in it. The fine high-velocity blood spray went all over the interior of the compartment, except where the object masked it.”

Savannah explained to Ryan and John, “Dirk thought it might be a gun, because it would make sense that Jardin might have been reaching for a weapon if he felt threatened.”

Ryan nodded. “Makes sense.”

“But it wasn’t a gun. Look at that shape,” Tammy said. “It’s more like something square was lying there—or rectangle, actually—something with straight edges.”

“A piece of paper?” Savannah said.

“Maybe something like a brochure?” John suggested.

“Or the owner’s manual?” Ryan said. “Most people keep the manual in the glove compartment.”

“Or an envelope?” Tammy said.

Savannah thought that one over for a moment and a bell went off in her head. “He told his girlfriend, Sharona, that he had to pay off a debt that he owed to a bookie named Pinky before he could leave with her to go to Las Vegas. What if he had the money in the glove compartment? Maybe he met somebody to make a payment, and when he reached over to pull the envelope out of the car…bang.”

“Girlfriend? Bookie named Pinky? Gambling debts?” John said with a raised eyebrow. “It sounds like this fellow had a complicated life, to say the least.”

“Oh, you have no idea how complicated.” Savannah took John by the hand and laced her arm through Ryan’s. “Just park yourselves down over here and let me tell you al-l-l about it.”

For the next hour, Savannah sat on the sofa between Ryan and Tammy as she filled the guys in on the pertinent facts of the case. No one seemed to mind that they were missing the society event of the season.

John relaxed in Savannah’s wingback chair, while Marietta wriggled around on the floor, adjusting her back, performing semi-obscene yoga-type stretches, doing what she called “gettin’ them blasted kinks out” after her long trip. With the gymnastics and the come-hither looks she kept shooting at Ryan, she was, as Gran would say, “Makin’ a spectacle of herself in front o’ God and ever’body.”

Savannah would have blushed for her, if she’d had the energy. But she decided, instead, to just beat her once she’d rested up and had the strength to wield a baseball bat.

Ryan and John listened with rapt attention as she filled them in on the many and sordid adventures of the recently departed William “Bill” Jardin. And it was all a lot of “jolly good fun” as John would say…until she hit the wall.

She didn’t see it coming, the wall that marked the boundary of her endurance level. She was, simply, there one minute and gone the next.

“Savannah?” Ryan said as she slid sideways and collapsed against him, her head on his shoulder.

“She’s out,” Tammy said with a giggle. “I knew she would be pretty soon. She was running on empty all day.”

“Poor girl,” John said, jumping to his feet and grabbing the well-loved, well-worn afghan that was draped over the back of her chair. He hurried to the sofa.

Ryan eased her down, and Tammy placed one of the loose cushions beneath her head. Then Ryan gently lifted her legs and straightened her out, nearly the full length of the couch.

John covered her, tucking the crocheted throw around her feet and legs. When he pulled the cover up to her chin, he knelt down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

Ryan told Tammy. “I’d bet money that she’ll sleep right through the night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that tired.”

“Oh, tired, sh-mired,” Marietta said, getting up off the floor, a sour look on her face. “Savannah always did have a lazy streak wide as the Mississippi River…not to mention being a big party pooper.”

She sidled up to Ryan, toying with a stiffly sprayed lock of her hair. “I, on the other hand, can go all…night…long.”

Ryan shot John a somewhat frantic “save me” look.

And John came to the rescue. He looked at his watch. “Oh, dear, I had no idea it was so late. Don’t we have to get back to the flat and attend to those game hens? They’ve been marinating much too long and will be over-seasoned for tomorrow’s dinner.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Ryan agreed, nearly running for the door. “Too much rosemary can ruin a bird.”

As they disappeared out the door, the startled Marietta turned to Tammy. “Well, if that ain’t a fine how-do-you-do! I never figured the two of them for farmers.”

“Farmers?”

“Yeah, they’re all in a tizzy, worrying about those hens. And who the hell is Rosemary? I thought they were gay.”

As Ryan and John made their getaway, hurrying down the sidewalk toward their classic Bentley in the driveway, Ryan said to John, “Marinating
game hens
? You never cook game hens. Where the hell did you get that?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was the business Savannah told us about the chicken droppings on Jardin’s tires.”

“Ah. Divine inspiration.”

“Precisely.”

When Savannah regained consciousness the next morning, it was to the ringing of the house phone and Tammy’s soft voice that was half-whispering, “Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency. How may I help you?”

It took Savannah a few seconds to orient herself and realize she was on her couch, instead of in bed, and the sun was shining outside her windows. Faithful Diamante was at her feet, Cleopatra was curled snugly against her chest, and Granny Reid’s hand-crocheted afghan was over her. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee scented the air, along with something that smelled deliciously like home-baked cinnamon rolls.

Life didn’t get much sweeter than this.

“She’s sleeping, and I hate to wake her. Is it really important?” Tammy was saying from her seat at the desk in the corner.

Tammy turned and looked at Savannah. Seeing that she was awake, she put her hand over the phone and said, “I’m sorry, but it’s your sister. She’s all upset, almost hysterical. And she says she has to talk to her big sister.”

“Hysterical sister?” Savannah groaned. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Vidalia.”

“Ah, that figures. Ask her whose life and whose death.”

Tammy hesitated. Being a kindhearted and truly superior human being, Tammy found it difficult to be rude. “Do you really want me to ask her that? She
is
crying.”

“Vi has a kid every year and a half…unless she’s having twins,” Savannah said, forcing herself to sit up. “She’s always suffering from either pregnancy hormones or postpartum depression. Hand me the phone.”