Chocolate Dipped Death (17 page)

Carrying a healthy deposit to the bank made me feel marginally better. At least Savannah’s death, the upset over the contest, and turning Divinity into Search Central hadn’t ruined business completely. I’d even managed to pick up a catering job from a woman named Ruth Cohen, the wife of a movie mogul whose original party caterer had backed out on her at the last minute.

Catering isn’t something we do often at Divinity, and the short time frame involved had almost convinced me to say no. But the generous paycheck Mrs. Cohen offered was hard to resist. When she also mentioned that she was staying at the Summit Lodge, my resistance had disappeared.

Listen, I know I’m not a private investigator, and solving Savannah’s murder isn’t my responsibility. I understand that completely. But
someone
out there had hit Savannah and killed her, either by accident or by design. After talking with Dooley, I figured it was only a matter of time until Jawarski got around to naming Karen as a suspect and maybe even arresting her. Having an excuse for spending time around the Summit Lodge staff seemed like a good idea. If Jawarski tried to cart Karen off to jail, maybe I could stop him.

After I locked the front doors, I brought Max down to my office, brewed a cup of herbal tea, and dug out Aunt Grace’s recipe files so I could start making plans. Mrs. Cohen wanted to meet the next afternoon so she could look at the proposed menu and I could talk with the hotel staff about accommodations. Getting ready for that meeting would keep me busy, but there are worse things than having plenty to do.

I’d decided to serve pecan cream candy, Lady Slippers (actually butterscotch patties named after Grace’s favorite wildflower), chocolate fondant dipped in white chocolate, toffee-coated popcorn, strawberry bonbons, Rocky Road Drops, and raspberry meringues, when I heard a knock on the kitchen door. I found Jawarski on the other side, but I didn’t know whether I should be happy to see him or worried until I caught a whiff of the spicy scent of his after-shave and the faint mint of toothpaste as he squeezed past me into the kitchen. Both things told me he’d spruced up a little, and that convinced me that this was a social call instead of a professional one.

“You’re working late,” he said.

I nodded and led him into the office. “Trying to stay busy so I don’t have to think too much. What’s up?”

“I was just heading out to dinner. I know it’s presumptuous, but I thought I’d see if you want to grab a bite.”

I frowned with genuine regret. “I’d love to, but I really need to work. I’ve just signed on for a big job this weekend, and I’ll never make it if I don’t focus now.”

“What about pizza? I can order in. Just please tell me you have a beer in your refrigerator.”

I grinned. Couldn’t help it. “I’ll bet I could find a couple if I tried hard enough.” I considered inviting him upstairs but decided against it. What if Karen came back? I wanted a chance to talk with her before Jawarski did.

We spent a few minutes arguing amicably over pizza toppings, compromised on the Gut Buster special, and made ourselves comfortable on opposite sides of the desk to wait for the Black Jack Pizza guy to arrive. That’s when Jawarski brought up the subject he’d obviously been dying to discuss.

I’d kicked off my shoes and put my stocking feet up on the desk, and I was just dragging the afghan my mother had crocheted for me last Christmas around my shoulders when Jawarski said, “We found the car.”

I froze in place. “The car that hit Savannah?”

“Yep.”

Even Mom’s afghan couldn’t keep the chill away. I was almost afraid to ask, “Whose is it?”

Jawarski shrugged. “It’s a rental. Picked up in Denver. Registered to a couple of musicians staying at Old Miner’s Inn. They reported it stolen.”

“And you have no reason to believe they’re lying?”

Jawarski shook his head. “As far as we can tell, they have no connection with Mrs. Horne. We found fingerprints belonging to both of them in the car, but no others. Not surprising. Whoever stole it was smart enough to wear gloves.”

I offered a halfhearted smile. “Don’t be so sure about how smart that makes our guy. In this weather, even an idiot would wear gloves.”

Jawarski laughed softly, and something I didn’t want to feel curled through me. “Great. And here I thought I had the suspect list narrowed down just a little. Leave it to you to set me straight.”

Yeah. Leave it to me.
I snuggled a little deeper into the afghan as the seriousness of the conversation wiped the smile from my face. “So I guess that settles it? That’s how she was killed?”

“I still don’t know,” Jawarski admitted. “It seems obvious that she was struck by the car, but whether or not the collision actually killed her is still up in the air. We won’t know until the coroner tells us, and it could take a few more days to get the lab results back.”

This was only my second experience with an autopsy, and I wondered if professionals ever got used to what seemed like an interminable delay. “So what happens now? Is Miles going to stay in town until you find out what happened?”

Jawarski shrugged again. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything about leaving, but I’d be surprised if he doesn’t at least wait for the coroner to release the. . .” He shot a glance at me to gauge my reaction and finished with a quiet, “the body.”

I’d seen the body, and though I couldn’t get the image out of my mind, I had an equally hard time thinking of that cold, grayish thing as Savannah. I tried to wipe the image from my mind. “So you still don’t have any idea who was driving?”

Jawarski propped his feet against my desk. “Not yet. We’ve been questioning staff and guests at the lodge, but nobody admits to seeing anything that might help us. One of the desk clerks noticed Savannah heading toward the back doors early that morning. A member of the housekeeping crew saw her crossing the parking lot, but that’s where the trail ends.”

“Nobody saw the car that hit her?”

“Nobody admits to seeing it.” Jawarski ran both hands across his face and groaned aloud. He sounded as exhausted as I felt—maybe even more so.

If we’d been dating, I might have suggested skipping the pizza, climbing the stairs, and crawling straight into bed—
to sleep
. But we weren’t anywhere near ready for that. I forced my eyes open a little wider. “What about Miles? What did he see?”

“He says he didn’t see anything.”

“He was awake when she left, wasn’t he?”

Jawarski shook his head. “He knew she’d gone jogging because she runs at the same time every morning, and her exercise clothes were gone when he woke up, but he didn’t actually get up himself until a few minutes before he called you.”

“Six thirty?”

“That’s what he says.”

Something in Jawarski’s tone caught my attention. “You don’t believe him?”

His lips curved slightly. “I don’t believe him, but I don’t disbelieve him. We always look at the spouse when someone dies under suspicious circumstances. You can find some very interesting stuff that way.”

Made perfect sense to me. I’m not generally bothered by murderous tendencies, but even I’d had a split-second urge to do away with Roger when I walked in on him rolling around on my bedroom floor with WhatsHer-Name.

Okay . . . and another when he told me about the baby they’d created.

But Jawarski and I hadn’t progressed to the point of discussing our past romances, so I nodded, slipped a piece of toffee from the dish at my side, and passed the dish to him. “And have you found anything interesting about Miles and Savannah?”

Jawarski helped himself to two and grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“As a matter of fact, I would. I was dragged into this mess against my will, and I’ll admit that I’m curious.”

Jawarski’s expression grew serious. “Yeah, you were dragged into it, weren’t you?” His voice was soft and gentle. Enough to start that tingling again. “You got a little more than you bargained for out there yesterday, didn’t you?”

The past few days had left me tired and overly emotional. A little sympathy was going a long way. “I’m fine,” I said, but it took effort to keep the pathetic whine tumbling around inside me from coming out in my voice. “I just can’t imagine who would want to kill Savannah.”

Jawarski tapped his foot against the side of my desk. “Judging from the information I’m getting, I don’t think the question is who wanted to kill her, but who didn’t?”

So Karen wasn’t his only suspect? Good!

“What about Evie Rice?” he asked. “She hated Savannah, didn’t she?”

“I guess so, but I can’t picture Evie stealing a car and running down another human being with it.”

“People do strange things when they’re pushed to the limit. Who else?”

I felt a little guilty witholding information from Jawarski about my cousin’s own run-in with Savannah. “There’s always her sister.”

“Mrs. Walters?”

I nodded. “She and Savannah didn’t really get along. I talked to Delta the other day, and she didn’t have anything good to say about her sister.”

Jawarski eyed me cautiously. “Anyone else?”

I wasn’t going to mention Karen, and I hadn’t had a chance to follow up on Marshall Ames and his mysterious letter, so I shook my head. “Not unless you count everyone Savannah screwed in high school—literally and figuratively. That probably amounts to half our graduating class, and I’m not counting the classes that graduated before and after we did.”

“Popular woman, huh?”

Outside, a car door slammed, and heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs to my apartment. I started to slide out from under the afghan, but Jawarski motioned for me to stay put. “I told you I’d order the pizza. That makes it my treat.”

“You’re a charmer, Jawarski. I feel like a princess.”

He grinned over his shoulder. “Good. That was my plan.” He hurried through the kitchen, paid the bill, and carried the pizza back to my office. Leaving the pizza in my care—a risky decision—Jawarski headed into the kitchen for the beer.

It had been a long time since anyone had pampered me—even to the extent of beer and pizza delivered to my office—and I had the uneasy feeling that this kind of treatment could go straight to my head if I let it. He came back carrying two bottles of Coors, paper plates, and napkins, and we spent the next fifteen minutes attacking the pizza like a couple of starving puppies. Finally, only one piece remained in the box, and I was far too ladylike to eat it, so I curled under the afghan again and watched Jawarski polish off the last of his beer.

“So what now?” I asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at me and settled back in his chair again, one foot tapping against the desk. “You asking about the murder investigation or something else?”

There was no clear answer to that, so I took the safe road. “The murder. What will you do now?”

“Keep looking. Keep checking. Talk to everyone who knew Savannah and do what we can to retrace her steps that morning.” He sat back in his chair and linked his hands across his stomach. “And I want to talk to Karen. Find out what she knows. When do you expect her back?”

I felt the pleasure rush from my body. “Is that why you came by? So you could interrogate my cousin?”

Jawarski’s foot stopped moving. “I’m going to have to talk to her, Abby. We have a witness who heard her threaten Savannah the night before the murder and a handful more who will testify that she went ballistic at O’Schuck’s.”

“She’s a suspect?”

“She’s a person of interest. Good thing she has an alibi, huh?”

The pizza and beer started churning like taffy on a puller inside my stomach. “Alibi?”

“She was here, right? She told Svboda that she got here about two thirty that morning.”

I nodded quickly. “That’s right.”

“So she’s off the hook.”

“Yeah.” I forced a smile and hoped Jawarski couldn’t see how phony it was. “That’s great.”

The conversation wandered onto another topic, and I made no effort to drag it back. I tried to follow what Jawarski was saying, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the empty sofa bed when I got up the morning Savannah disappeared, and the way Karen looked when she came back. I didn’t like knowing that she’d lied to the police about where she was. I liked even less knowing that she’d used me to do it.

Tired, cranky, and determined to get some an
swers, I pulled into Karen’s driveway a few minutes before seven the next morning. Only a few wispy clouds dotted the horizon, and the sun, a pale lemon yellow, gave off enough heat to thaw some of the frozen landscape. It wouldn’t last. By nightfall, all the running water would turn to ice again, but the warmth was a welcome respite.

Karen’s split-level house was still dark when I arrived, but I didn’t let that discourage me. It was a school day. She couldn’t sleep forever.

I parked, blocking her side of the garage, then trudged up the walk to the front door. Little pebbles of snowmelt glowed pale blue in the snow and crunched underfoot—an odd touch of normalcy in a world that no longer made sense.