heavy makeup and "big" hair.
Younger sister would have been perfect for a talk
show makeover. The opposite of her mother and sister, the dowdy teenager appeared to give no time or effort
to vanity. Her unwashed hair had been pulled back into a scrunchy, her baggy jeans and oversize sweatshirt hung limply off her shapeless body, and her thick
134 IVIClieVett
lensed glasses would have been improved by a simple
cleaning.
Savannah instantly pigeonholed them into three uncomplimentary
slots: Mom the Hen, Dad the Pecked, and Sister the Ugly Duckling.
In her personal life, Savannah tried to avoid snap judgments of individuals. People were complicated creatures, far too complex to be evaluated in a matter of minutes.
But, as a street cop Savannah had learned that survival itself depended upon making evaluations in seconds.
And, while she was always willing to change her original opinion of a person--given evidence to the contrary--experience had taught her to trust those valuable first impressions.
Although she would have preferred to give this
woman a karate chop, Savannah decided to ignore the insult_ Exercising restraint was an excellent way to build character, and she figured it was a good time to chalk up some spiritual brownie points. Besides, she needed the bucks and didn't want to get fired from the gig.
"Mrs. Matthews," Savannah said, "I wouldn't necessarily say that your daughter is lost. She probably knows exactly where she is; the problem is, we don't know. And we're doing everything we can to find her."
"Then you'd better do more," Mrs. Matthews said. "If anything's happened to my baby girl, we're going to sue you people for all you're worth--you, and that Lippincott gal, and Villa Rosa."
"I have no doubt that you would do precisely that, Mrs. Matthews," Savannah replied. "But hopefully, we'll find Barbie soon, safe and sound, and all that nasty suing business won't be necessary. Because, if you intend to sue me for all I'm worth, I'm sorry to say, you won't get
UUKKAS 135
much. . . two lazy cats who eat as much as a couple of great Danes. That's about the sum of my assets."
No abusive reply was forthcoming, so Savannah softened her tone. "Come along with me," she said. "They have a lovely courtyard out here with tables where we
can sit, and maybe you can tell me a few things about your daughter."
"Talk? Answer questions?" Mrs. Matthews's densely ratted, stiffly sprayed hair seemed to bristle, like a hunting hound who had caught a whiff of a raccoon. "We don't need to waste time talking, and the only question you need to answer is, 'Where is my daughter?'"
"I understand, Mrs. Matthews, that you're upset," Savannah replied. "I'm sure I would be, too, in your situation. But the best thing you can do for Barbie right now is to spend a few minutes with me, telling me about her daily life, her habits, her friends, et cetera."
Mr. Matthews laid a large, work-callused hand on his wife's shoulder. "Come on, Mother," he said. "Let's do what she says. . . for Barbie."
Chapter
12
avannah sat on one side of the table, taking notes on a small pad, and on the other side sat the three Matthewses, a united front of uncooperation.
So far she had received only the briefest answers to
her questions--most of those supplied by the husband.
"Has Barbie been dating anyone special lately?" she asked. There, that should be simple enough to prompt a straightforward answer.
But no . . .
"Yes, she was," said Mr. Matthews.
"110, she was not!" His wife's jaw tightened and her nostrils twitched.
Savannah looked from one to the other. "Well? Was she, or not?"
Mrs. Matthews shot her husband a "shut up!" look, and he did so, staring down at his hands that were clenched together on the tabletop.
138 U.s. MCKSVett
"Barbie had been seeing this punk kid from the east
end," she admitted. "You know. . . the east end . . . ?" Savannah nodded. Yes, she caught the woman's drift. The east end was the poorer part of town, the "other side of the tracks."
"But I told her in no uncertain terms to break it off
with him. And I have no doubt that she did exactly as I told her."
From the corner of her eye Savannah saw the sister, who she had been told was named Louise, turn her head away from her mother and suppress a little grin. "Is that true, Louise? Did your sister stop seeing the boy, like your mother told her to do?"
The moment she asked the question, Savannah realized she had gotten the teenager in trouble. Mom poked her in the ribs with her elbow. "She did, didn't she?" Mrs. Matthews asked. But it was more of a statement than an inquiry. Obviously, it was beyond the woman's mental grasp--the concept that she had been disobeyed.
The girl shrugged, and mumbled, "Yeah, sure." "And what's the name of this boy . . . ," Savannah
asked, "the one she had stopped seeing on your orders."
"His name is Trent Gorton," the father supplied. "He's not really a bad kid, he just--"
"He wasn't right for Barbie," Mom snapped. `That's all that needs to be said. They just weren't right for each other, and I made that clear to my daughter."
Savannah scribbled for moment and thought. "Do you know how he took it . . . when she told him it was
off?"
"No, I don't. We didn't discuss it." Mrs. Matthews glanced down at her wedding ring and noticed a finger
4.-71111—
13V
print smudge on the surface of the impressive diamond.
With the lace end of her sleeve she wiped it away. "Is that all?" she asked. "If it is, I want to start looking around for my daughter."
"Just two more questions." Savannah glanced down in her notepad. "When was the last time you had any sort of contract with your daughter?"
"It was during dinner last night," Mt Matthews said. "We were here at the welcoming ceremony, but Barbie didn't come down for dinner. Mother called her on her cell phone, but she said she wasn't feeling good, that she was going to stay in her room for the rest of evening."
"That was about what time?"
"Between seven and seven-thirty."
"Okay, there's one more question I have to ask you," Savannah said. "Has Barbie ever run away before?"
"Absolutely not!" Mrs. Matthews's jaw was starting to lock again. "My girls are better trained than that. They know very well that if they did something stupid like
that, they'd come running home a lot faster than they left, with me right behind them."
Again, Savannah saw the younger sister glance away, a smirk on her face and an unpleasant glimmer in her
eye.
"Okay. . . thank you very much." Savannah rose from the table, signifying the end of the interview. "I can understand your desire to help in the search," she said. "But you might consider returning home. . . just in case Barbie should try to contact you there."
"No! We're staying right here until our daughter has been found." Mrs. Matthews replied, jumping up from the bench.
But her husband rose and again placed his large, rough hand on her shoulder. "I think Ms. Reid is right,
140 G.A. McKevett
Mother. Barb might even be home when we get there. You never know what she's going to do."
To Savannah's surprise Mrs. Matthews nodded and took her husband's arm. "All right. We'll go on home, but you'll call us the moment you hear anything," she said.
It was a command not a question, but Savannah decided to furnish a gracious answer anyway. "Of course we will. And try not to worry."
The parents walked away, Mrs. Matthews still clinging to her husband's arm. But the younger sister lagged behind several yards.
Taking her cue, Savannah stepped up to her. "Yes?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
"My sister's a brat," Louise whispered. "A stupid, spoiled brat. She sleeps with everybody a
nd runs away all the time. I think something bad's happened to her. And she probably deserved it."
Mrs. Matthews glanced over her shoulder and gave her younger daughter a warning look. Savannah dropped back and allowed the teenager to catch up with her parents.
Hm-m-m, Savannah thought as she watched the little family walk away. Maybe she needed to revise her opinion of Sister Louise. Perhaps she wasn't an ugly duckling after all. Considering the intelligent gleam in her eye and the smile on her face when she had expressed
her opinion that her sister might be in trouble, Savannah decided that Little Louise might be more rat
than duck.
Once again Savannah attempted to go upstairs and
question Francie, but, just as before, she was inter
cepted in the gallery. This time it was Catherine WhitestoneVilla who demanded her attention.
Villa Rosa's first lady came running up to her, her pale cheeks flushed as though she had raced all the way
from the house on the hill. She had changed into a simple white-cotton sheath that complimented her slender
figure and her blond hair was coiled into a bun at the
back of her neck and held with a tortoiseshell comb.
But Catherine Villa looked tired. Apparently, it had been a long night for everyone.
"Have you found her yet?" the lady asked. "Please, tell me you have."
"No, I'm sorry." Savannah hated being the bearer of bad tidings--especially when she felt responsible for the news. This had happened on her watch. . . and that made it her responsibility.
Catherine passed her hand over her eyes and
pressed her fingertips to her temples for a moment, as though she had a headache. "I was afraid of that," she said. "I just saw her parents and sister leaving. They looked so upset. Did you tell them everything?"
"Almost. I didn't mention the blood on the bed. Since it wasn't human, I thought I would keep it from them for a while. They're worried enough already."
Catherine sighed. "I just feel so sorry for them. I'm a mother myself, and I can't imagine how I'd feel if one of my boys was missing. Are the police here?"
Savannah nodded. "Detective Coulter has been here all night, as we have. And two more members of my agency arrived this morning to help us. How about your employees? Are they still searching?"
"Of course. And we won't tell them to stop until she's found. But what if she isn't even on our property? After
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she's a teenage girl. Maybe she left with a boy or just ran away."
"It could be something like that," Savannah said. "It :ould be any one of a hundred things. We'll just have to wait and see." She glanced around. "Where is Mr. Villa this morning? I haven't seen him since last night's dinner."
"Anthony is working," Catherine replied, a note of resentment in her voice. "With harvest coming and his :ampaign gearing up, he's working day and night. I lon't want him bothered by this unfortunate circumaance.
So, if you just deal with me directly, Savannah, [' be grateful."
"Certainly" Savannah gave a tight smile. "We ladies nave to look out for our menfolk, don't we?"
"Far more than they realize. Without us they're really luite helpless."
Savannah thought about the men in her life, their :ourage, resourcefulness, and that endearing streak of nrotectiveness that they all showed toward the people
hey loved. And Savannah considered herself fortunate be one of those privileged to be inside their circles of
)rotection.
"Helpless?" she said thoughtfully. "I suppose some ire. But I certainly wouldn't say most."
Catherine gave a delicate, aristocratic sniff. "Well, I uppose in your line of work you meet more macho
ypes. The males I know can't function without a woman lictating their every move."
Savannah looked into her eyes and saw a coldness
hat made her feel a bit sorry for those men within
atherine's circle. "Please excuse me, Mrs. Villa, I really mist get busy."
"Of course. I don't want to keep you from your work. I--"
The front door opened, and Dirk hurried into the gallery, followed by Ryan and John. Savannah could tell from the looks on their faces that something was wrong.
"What is it?" she asked. "What did you find?"
She rushed over to Dirk and met them in the middle
of the gallery. Dirk held out something that was wrapped loosely in a couple of tissues. Carefully she folded back the corners and looked inside. A tangled mess of crushed, gray plastic and wires confused her eyes at first. Then she realized what she was seeing. "A phone, a cell phone?"
"We found it at the far end of the parking lot," Ryan said.
"It appears someone ran it down there on the tarmac
with a vehicle," John added.
Savannah nodded. "Yeah, it's as flat as any roadkill I've ever seen. That's for sure."
Catherine elbowed her way between them and
looked at the mangled equipment in Dirk's hand. "So, what does that mean?" she asked. "Do you think it has anything to do with the Matthews girl?"
Savannah thought of what the family had said about
Mrs. Matthews speaking to her daughter last evening on the cell phone. . their last contract with her. "Yes," she said, "I'm afraid it might."
Once again their conversation was interrupted by
new arrivals. But this time it was Tammy who burst through the door. She had a wild, frightened look on her face, as though she was being chased by a pack of rabid coyotes.
Again Savannah felt the queasiness she frequently got
144 UA. masevett
in her stomach just before she was going to hear bad
news. It was similar to the sensation of being aboard a jet that had just hit an air pocket.
"We . . . we found. . . her. Barbie Matthews," Tammy gasped, bending double and sucking large gulps of air. Sweat dripped from her face onto the oak plank floor.
Catherine Villa gave a small, shuddering cry, then said, "Is she . . . is she all right?"
"No." Tammy grabbed her sides and grimaced. Savannah could tell she was in a lot of pain from having
sprinted heaven-only-knew how far. She could also predict her assistant's answer. Tammy was a pretty levelheaded girl, and she wasn't easily upset or frightened.
"Calm down, sweetie." Savannah reached for her friend and pulled her over to a bench against the wall. "Sit down and catch your breath."
Savannah could hear her own pulse pounding in her
ears as she waited for what seemed like forever for
Tammy to collect herself.
Finally, Tammy looked up at them, and tears filled her eyes. "No," she said. "Barbie's not all right. While we were out jogging . . . along the cliffs by the river . . .
we found her. She's hanging halfway down a forty-foot embankment. She's not moving. I'm pretty sure she's dead."
Savannah was pretty sure that Barbie Matthews was
dead, too. They had been standing on the edge of the cliff, looking down at her body, for several minutes, and the girl hadn't stirred. Calling out her name had produced no response either.
Savannah hated tragic endings--especially when it involved a young person. As always in these circum
JUK 13-Ktirr,J
stances she mentally rehearsed what she was going to
say to the parents, and even though she didn't like Mrs. Matthews very much, she wasn't looking forward to givMg her such terrible news.
Savannah had insisted that Catherine Villa stay behind,
and John had volunteered to remain with her and calm her down. Tammy, Savannah, Dirk, and Ryan jumped into Savannah's Mustang, and Tammy directed them to the spot, a little more than two miles from the complex. On the way they passed Tammy's jogging buddies, a frightened group of wide-eyed beauties, running in the opposite direction, toward the winery's center. Tammy had beaten them by se
veral minutes.
Farther down the road, Tammy pointed out a copse of oak trees growing near the edge of a cliff, overlooking the Santa Rosita River. Savannah parked near the grove, and they all got out of the Mustang and hurried over to the cliff's edge.
That's when they had seen her, hanging about twenty feet below them, her clothing caught on a dried sage bush, growing out of the side of the embankment. She was facing downward, away from them, so they couldn't see if her eyes were open or closed, but the only movement they observed was the fabric of her torn
dress rippling in the soft morning breeze.
"I called Search and Rescue," Ryan said, replacing his cell phone in his jacket pocket He took another
look at the still figure dangling from the cliffs face. "I guess I should have told them it will be more of a search
and recovery"
"She could still be alive," Tammy said hopefully. "Maybe she's just unconscious."
"Yeah, and the Dodgers could win the World Series next year," Dirk said.
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1
Savannah smacked him on the shoulder. "Hey, it never hurts to hold a good thought."
"All the positive thinking in the world ain't gonna
help that kid," Dirk said. "I guess she meant to end it
and looks like she did. . . even though she didn't make it all the way to the bottom."
"What makes you so sure it was suicide?" Ryan asked. 'Maybe someone pushed her over."
Dirk looked around the dry, dusty ground. "Don't iee no drag marks. No scuffle marks."
"But the girls and I were running and walking all
rver this area," Tammy said, "before one of them spot:ed the body. I'm afraid we would have messed up any racks that were here."
Savannah Reid 06 - Sour Grapes Page 11