Savannah Reid 06 - Sour Grapes

by Mckevett, G A

  She didn't have to think that one over for very long. Having been a police officer for years, she knew all too well the kinds of problems that some families had-- problems that sometimes ended in tragedy.

  This little disagreement was nothing. Really. So, why did it hurt so much?

  Savannah felt someone's presence behind her, and when she turned around she saw Mrs. Lippincott standing there, watching. She had left Ryan and the staff members and walked over to Savannah's side of the

  gallery. Savannah wondered how much she had overheard.

  "Is everything all right, Savannah?" she asked.

  Savannah considered brushing her off with a flip answer,

  then at the last second decided to be honest. "Not exactly. I've certainly lived more peaceful lifetimes. . . but I'm fairly certain I lived them as an only child."

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  Mrs. Lippincott smiled. "I understand. I have three munger sisters of my own."

  Several of the contestants walked through the galLery,

  snickering, giggling, excited and as happy as only a group of carefree teenagers could be. As they passed 3avarmah and Mrs. Lippincott, the older woman watched hem with a look akin to resentment on her face.

  "What a waste," she said. "All that beauty, health, and nergy squandered on the young. They have no idea low fleeting all of those gifts are. If they did, they would mjoy this period of their lives so much more."

  Savannah nodded. "How true."

  "Don't you envy them. . . their youth?"

  Savannah thought for a moment. "Not really. Along with the beauty and energy goes a lot of inexperience

  trid naivete. I wouldn't be that young and stupid again or anything in the world. Those life lessons were too lard-earned to be given away."

  Marion Lippincott quirked one eyebrow. Savannah ;ot the distinct impression that she wasn't accustomed

  being contradicted. "Oh? May I ask how old you are, ;avannah?"

  "I'm in my early forties."

  "Ah . that explains it. Check back with me in tround twenty years, and we'll see how you feel about he subject then."

  Savannah chuckled. "You may be right. By the way, vIrs. Lippincott, I was going to ask you about one of rour girls . . . a Barbara or Barbie--"

  A horrible, terrified scream cut through the room. Savannah swallowed her words and nearly her heart. [he sound had come from the direction of the guest

  louse, the same direction that Atlanta had walked just noments ago. And somewhere in the recesses of her

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  mind, Savannah knew--with sickening conviction-- that it was her little sister who had screamed.

  "Oh, my God. . . . ," she whispered. But she was already running, with Ryan at her side, her gun in her hand. . . and Mrs. Lippincott trailing somewhere behind.

  Chapter

  Savw:nnah and Ryan nearly collided with Atlanta, who

  racing down the hall, running away from her room. Thankful to see the kid in one piece, Savannah holstered her Beretta and held out her arms. Atlanta flew into them, sobbing.

  "What is it, sweetheart?" Savannah asked, trying to peel her sister off so that she could check her for injuries.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Was it you who screamed, Atlanta?" Ryan asked. He still had his gun drawn, but was holding it behind his thigh and out of sight

  Atlanta nodded vigorously and tried to squeak out a

  couple of words, but she was crying too hard.

  Mrs. Lippincott came running up behind them, followed by half a dozen of the staff members. Excited and alarmed, they were all trying to talk at once.

  . .

  "What happened?" Mrs. Lippincott demanded. "What's going on here, and why are you crying, Ms. Reid?"

  Savannah held up one hand in a manner that clearly

  said, "Back off."

  "Wait there please," she said. "Let us take care of this for the moment."

  Mrs. Lippincott seemed to get the message, and she took a couple of steps backward. "Okay, okay," she said to the staff, "quiet down. Everybody be calm while they figure this out."

  Savannah put her hands on Atlanta's shoulders and

  gently shook her. "Come on, honey, and take a couple of deep breaths. Do it. In. Out. That's it. Now tell me what's wrong."

  Atlanta shivered, turned, and pointed to the door of her room, which was half-open. "In there," she said, "on the bed."

  Ryan hurried on down the hall, reaching the room just before Savannah. They positioned themselves on either side of the door, nodded to each other, and Ryan shoved it the rest of the way open with his foot, his gun lifted and ready.

  After a quick glance, they charged into the room. Expecting the worst--whenever that might be Savannah had also drawn her Beretta. But the room was vacant.

  "What is that?" Savannah said. "What's the problem that--"

  She didn't need an answer from Ryan; by then she could clearly see the problem for herself.

  There on the bed next to the window--Atlanta's bed--was a large pool of red ugliness.

  "Blood," Ryan said simply.

  Savannah nodded and moved closer. When she was

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  about a yard from the bed she could smell it, the thick, coppery stench, that was instinctively repulsive and set one's nerves on edge.

  "There's a lot of it," Ryan commented.

  "Yes, definitely not caused by nicking your legs with a dull shaver."

  Savannah heard Mrs. Lippincott at the door and turned around to see her entering the room. "Stop! Stop right there. Don't come in here."

  "But I have every right to--"

  "No! Nobody comes in here," she said with an air of authority that wasn't to be denied . . . even by the formidable

  Mrs. Lippincott.. "Everyone stays out until we see what we have here. This may be a crime scene, and we don't want it contaminated more than it already is."

  The two lamps in the bedroom weren't particularly

  bright, but they gave enough light for Savannah to see that there was more than just blood on the bed. The stain itself was three to four feet across and in the center

  of it was a fist-sized hunk of some sort of bloody, fleshy tissue.

  "What do you suppose that is?" she asked Ryan in a voice too low for those in the door to hear.

  He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think I want to know."

  "Have you got your flashlight?" Savannah said.

  Ryan handed her a small, but powerful penlight. She shined the beam into the center of the gore. In the doorway she heard Atlanta gasp. She felt she should offer her some words of comfort, but under the circumstances, none came to mind.

  Ryan moved closer to her, and after looking at the mass a while whispered, "A fetus?"

  'That's what I thought," she said, "but I don't know

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  Ebr sure." She pointed to the wall over the bed, just beneath the window, where a word had been scrawled in nlood on the rose-covered paper. "What do you make of hat?"

  He squinted at the writing. "T-U-L-S? Tuls?" Savannah cocked her head sideways. "No, I don't hink so."

  "Some of the letters are backward," Ryan observed. guess that means our offender is dyslexic or--"

  "It's upside down. It's been written upside down. It lays S-L-U-T. Not very friendly."

  "Not friendly at all. Who do you suppose wrote it?" "It was Barbie," Atlanta said from the doorway. "It vas that rude bitch, Barbie--excuse me, Mrs. Lippin:ott--who did that to my bed. We had a fight earlier tnd--"

  Savannah hurried over to her sister and grabbed her

  irmly by the forearm. "That's enough, Atlanta. You had shock, honey. And I think you need to sit down somewhere and collect yourself." She turned back to Ryan. Do you have your cell phone on you?"

  He nodded.

  "Why don't you call Dirk and get him over here?" "Good idea," he said.

&n
bsp; "Who is that?" Mrs. Lippincott asked. "Who's Dirk?" "Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter," Savannah said. He's with the San Carmelita Police Department We

  lave to report this and have it checked out."

  Savannah looked back to the bed with its gory stain

  and at the offensive word on the wall. "Tell Dirk that he hould probably have Dr. Liu come out, too." she told tyan.

  He was already dialing.

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  ....„

  "And who's this Dr. Lou?" Mrs. Lippincott wanted to know. "Is he your family physician?"

  "No," Savannah said. "Dr. Jennifer Liu is the San Carmelita medical examiner. . . the coroner."

  A.

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  Chapter

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  ince Ryan had offered to guard the door to Atlanta's

  Oroom until Dirk arrived, Savannah decided to take her sister a comfortable distance away from the unpleasant

  scene. Believing that some fresh air would help, she led her out into the courtyard, where they Found a wrought-iron park bench near the fountain

  with thick, inviting cushions.

  Savannah had also chosen a spot where she could see

  the front door and would know the instant Dirk or Dr. Liu arrived.

  "Are you okay, kiddo?" she asked her, putting her arm around her shoulders. The girl was still shaking, but she had stopped crying, and that was a good sign.

  "Why do you think Barbie did that?" Atlanta asked. "I mean, I know we didn't like each other. We were giving ..ach other a hard time, but it wasn't all that bad. Why Amuld she put that horrible stuff on my bed?"

  Savannah had a couple of theories running around

  in her head. And Barbie vandali7ing Atlanta's bed was only one of them. She wondered whether it would be wise to share the possibilities with Atlanta. . . especially if the other scenarios might be more frightening than

  the first.

  "How could she hate me that much? It's such a crazy thing to do," Atlanta continued. "And where would she get so much blood?"

  Savannah decided to plunge ahead, even if it might make things worse. "We don't know for sure that Barbie was the one who did it. And we don't know if it was meant to scare you or her. There's a lot we don't know yet, so just hang in there, honey, until we find out what's going on."

  Through the glass French doors Savannah could see

  a bustle of activity in the gallery. Mrs. Catherine WhitestoneVilla had said good night and excused herself

  earlier in the evening, to return to her home, a lovely Spanish-style hacienda on the hill behind the

  center. But apparently someone had alerted her to the problem in the guesthouse, and she was on the scene, running around in quite a dither.

  For a moment Savannah wondered why Anthony

  Villa hadn't returned with his wife. But then she remembered the mention of children being tucked into

  bed and decided that Anthony had probably remained

  behind for their sake.

  "Atlanta, sweetie," Savannah said, torn between family loyalty and duty, "if you're feeling better, I should probably talk to Mrs. Villa for a minute, just to fill her in on what's happened."

  Atlanta nodded. "Sure, I'm okay."

  She didn't sound nearly as certain as her words.

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  Savannah could tell she was trying to be brave, and she respected her for it. Most people twice Atlanta's age would have freaked out under the circumstances.

  Savannah stood. "Would you like to sit here for a while, or would you rather come with me?"

  Atlanta jumped to her feet. So much for wanting to be rid of her interfering older sister.

  The moment they stepped into the gallery Catherine

  ran over to them. She had changed from her evening wear to a designer jogging suit that looked like it had

  never been taken on a run. Her white tennis shoes were spotless, and her French twist still perfect. Her already fair complexion was even more pale, and she appeared terribly upset.

  "Oh, Savannah, I'm so relieved to see you." She clasped her hands to her chest dramatically. "What on earth is going on around here? Somebody said that one of the girls had something dreadful put on her bed." She turned to Atlanta. "I believe they said it was you, Miss Reid."

  Atlanta glanced at Savannah, who gave her a warning, "keep quiet" look. She shrugged and studied the ranch-pegged hardwood floor.

  "Well, yes, that's true," Savannah offered. "Although we aren't sure yet how it got there or exactly what it is."

  "I was told it's blood," Catherine said. "You don't think one of our girls has been hurt, do you?"

  "I certainly hope not. We've called the police and--" "The police? Was that really necessary? I mean, if word of this gets out . .

  "Yes?"

  Mrs. Villa actually looked embarrassed, as though ashamed to be caught worrying about anything so frivolous as her vineyard's reputation, when one of her

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  young guests might have recently shed some of her

  life's blood on one of her bedspreads.

  "You . . . you know. . . how this sort of thing gets all blown out of proportion," she said. "People love a morbid story, and I can just see it all over the newspapers by tomorrow morning."

  Savannah pasted a sympathetic look on her face. "Of course I understand. But certainly none of us would call the press. And the police officer who's coming is a personal friend of mine. We were partners together on the force for years. I'm sure we can trust him to be discreet."

  Mrs. Villa seemed immensely relieved. "Oh, thank goodness." She glanced around and lowered her voice. "After all, this event was meant to generate positive publicity . . . what with my husband running for the senate. And, of course, we did it to help the girls with their scholarships, and all that."

  "Of course . . . all that."

  Catherine paused, giving Savannah a searching look, as if trying to decide whether or not she was being

  mocked. Savannah decided to let her wonder.

  "I just feel so terrible about this." She toyed with the drawstring of her jogging pants. "Is there any way I can help?"

  "Actually, yes," Savannah said. "If you can ask your staff--anyone you can spare--to help us. Ryan Stone and Mrs. Lippincott are organizing a search for one of the young ladies who appears to be missing."

  "Missing? Oh my! Now you are scaring me!"

  "Please don't be overly concerned at this point," Savannah said with far more assurance than she felt. 'This may be nothing more than a cruel, tasteless joke. We'll know more soon."

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  "Do keep me informed. I want to know everything. I'll go speak to Mrs. Lippincott now about that extra help." 'Thank you. You're most gracious."

  As Savannah and Atlanta watched Catherine

  WhitestoneVilla hurry away, Atlanta leaned close to Savannah's ear and said, "Do you like her?"

  "Of course I do. She's my employer. And when you're a private detective who gets a job once in a blue

  moon. . . you like anyone who offers you a paycheck. So what if she's shallow, a bit dense, and a snob? That doesn't make her altogether a bad person, does it?"

  Atlanta gave her a half smile. "Pretty close, I'd say."

  Savannah pressed her finger to her lips. "Sh-h-h, now would be a good lime to keep your opinions to yourself. Which reminds me, I don't want you to tell anyone here about your disagreement with Barbie. Nobody. Got that?"

  Atlanta's eyes grew wider, and she gave a paranoid glance around. "Why? Do you think somebody hurt her? You do! And you're afraid that they'll think I'm the one who did it. That's it, isn't it?"

  "You know that old phrase: What you say can and will be used against you? Well, that's as true for innocent people as it is for guilty ones. So please, Atlanta, for right now say as little as possible to everybody here. Trust me on this one; okay, sweetie?"

  "Okay." In a spontane
ous gesture that went straight to Savannah's heart, Atlanta threw her arms around her neck and gave her a suffocating hug. 'Thanks, Van. Thanks for everything. I'm sorry about what I said earlier, about you being sexually frustrated and all that. Even if you are, I shouldn't have brought it up like that."

  "No problem." Savannah returned the hug, squeez

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  ng her tightly around the waist and trying not to think

  tbout how bony her ribs felt. "All forgiven. All forgot-en. All gone."

  "Really?"

  "Really, really."

  The front door of the gallery flew open, and Dirk enered, looking even more rumpled and grumpier than isual. Savannah gave Atlanta a comforting pat on the ;houlder and said, "Hang tight, kiddo. I've gotta have--"

  "I know, I know . . a few words with Dirk, fill him in what's going on." Atlanta sighed, once again dissatisled with her lot in life. "I need a Diet Coke. I think I'll In to the kitchen and see if they have some."

  Savannah tried to think of a delicate way to express

  ter concern, but she couldn't, so she said it straight. Be sure that you're around people. Don't go anywhere hat you're going to be alone. Understand?"

  She saw the fear intensify on Atlanta's face and hated

  see her sister so scared. But, on the other hand, fear :ould be a good thing; it made you more careful. And mder the circumstances, caution was definitely in order.

  A few minutes later, she was showing Dirk the stain the bed and trying to explain the finer points of

  larbie Matthews's psyche.

  "She's a raving bitch. A spoiled brat. And she's up to to good, I'm sure of that. Ah . . . if she's alive, that is." Dirk played his flashlight over the soiled bedspread. Yeah, I hear ya. This is a pretty gross mess all right." He owered his voice. "If this goop came out of her, she's wobably not feeling too good right now. You know anymdy with the urge to kill her?"