Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal

by G. A. McKevett

  Bleak and Jesup looked at each other, totally confused. “But why not?” Jesup asked Savannah.

  “Why not what?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be fun?”

  “Yeah!” Bleak added. “I think it would be great! I mean to see it firsthand, the blood and guts and brain matter and—”

  “Oh, for pete’s sake.” Savannah shook her head. “What’s the matter with you two chuckleheads? There’s nothing fun or great or cool about somebody being murdered. It’s the most horrific thing that can ever happen! Ever!” She jumped up from her chair, walked over and snatched the plate of brownies out from under their noses. “You guys are disgusting, and I’ve had just about enough of this conversation.”

  “Hey,” Jesup said, grabbing her lemonade and holding it close to her chest before Savannah could nab it, too. “Death is what life is all about. We’re all going to die someday. That’s where we’re all headed.”

  “Yeah.” Bleak nodded so hard that his gelled hair nearly budged. “We’re all going to be moldering in a grave someday, just like those bodies on the body farm. Might as well get used to the idea.”

  “Get used to the idea, yes,” Savannah agreed. “But we don’t have to wallow in it like a bunch of hogs in a mud ditch. Death is not what life is about. Life is what life’s about.”

  Tammy cleared her throat. “And besides,” she said, “not all of us are going to molder in a grave somewhere, monopolizing valuable land resources. Personally, I’m being cremated. It’s far more environmentally conscious. Do you know, I read that cemeteries take up—”

  “Oh, shut up, Tammy.” Plate of brownies in hand, Savannah stomped off into the kitchen.

  Once she was gone, Tammy snickered. “Sorry,” she said. “Savannah’s had a rough day. Someone was murdered at Dona Papalardo’s estate nearby here, and she’s helping with the investigation.”

  Jesup shrugged. “Eh…you don’t have to apologize to me for my big sister. She always was cranky and bossy.”

  Bleak nudged his new wife. “Did you hear that? We lucked out! She’s investigating a homicide.” He turned to Tammy. “Do you think she’s got some cool pictures of the crime scene? You know, like clotted blood and…”

  Chapter 6

  T he next morning, when Savannah came downstairs, wearing her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, Diamante tucked under one arm and Cleopatra scampering at her feet, she could already smell the aroma of coffee wafting from the kitchen. She expected to see Tammy sitting at the computer, but she hadn’t arrived yet. So Savannah was momentarily puzzled as to who might have made coffee. And if she wasn’t mistaken, she was pretty sure she could smell toast, too.

  When she entered the kitchen, she saw her sister standing at the counter, slathering butter and peach preserves on bread, a big sappy grin on her face.

  Savannah wasn’t a morning “grinner” and didn’t tolerate cheerfulness very gracefully until at least ten o’clock.

  Noon, if she’d been up late the night before.

  As she had been last night.

  After her initial huff off to the kitchen with the brownies, she had managed to adjust her attitude and had allowed them to spend the night. They’d made no lodging reservations and the seaside, vacation town of San Carmelita wasn’t the sort of place where you could get a motel room on short notice. Not realizing this, a lot of naive tourists wound up sleeping in their cars, parked on the beaches on weekend nights. And Savannah had investigated too many robberies over the years, which had occurred under exactly those circumstances, to turn her kin over to the bad guys.

  Even if they did look more like the bad guys than the law-abiding ones.

  There was the added bonus that they wouldn’t be roaming the beach, scaring away the local tourist trade and frightening small children.

  Yes, Savannah considered it her civic duty to keep her weird relatives contained.

  “What are you up to?” she asked with subdued interest as she rummaged in the cupboard for her favorite Minnie Mouse mug. Then she realized it was already on the counter, next to the Mickey mug. Both were already brimming with coffee and thick cream, and something told her that Jesup hadn’t poured either of them for her.

  “I’m making breakfast for the first time for my new husband,” Jesup said. “I’m going to impress him by taking it to him and serving him in bed.”

  “Well, ain’t that nice?” Savannah settled for the Snow White mug, which had a picture of the witch handing Snow a poisoned apple.

  Briefly she considered putting chocolate-flavored laxative in a fudge cake and feeding it to her houseguests that night. If she couldn’t get them to take their honeymoon elsewhere, it might be a plan.

  But after she had swallowed several slugs of the thick, rich brew, her spirits began to lift slightly. And as she watched her sister smearing on the preserves with what could only be described as schmaltzy attention to detail, her heart softened.

  Without her ghastly makeup, Jesup was, once again, her little sister.

  Jess had always been the “runt of the litter,” shorter and slighter of build than the rest of the Reid clan, who tended more toward the robust. “Horizontally gifted” was how Savannah liked to think of it. But Jess was barely over five feet tall, more than a head shorter than Savannah. And she couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, even considering the metal studs that sprouted from her ears, lips, tongue…and probably a lot of other places that Savannah didn’t want to know about.

  But without the gel spikes in her hair, it fell in soft ringlets, framing her delicate, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the same startlingly blue shade as Savannah’s, and her complexion was the traditional Reid combination of peaches-and-cream perfection.

  Savannah had lain awake for hours the night before wondering if drug addiction was part of this new culture of hers, not to mention the horrors of “cutting” and self-mutilation that some of that culture espoused.

  But Jesup’s skin and eyes were clear and bright, and there were no marks of any kind on her arms, which were totally exposed by the men’s sleeveless undershirt she was wearing.

  She was also wearing men’s boxers, which were black with white skulls and crossbones.

  Probably knucklehead’s knickers, Savannah figured. She had already decided—in the future, anything new that she didn’t like about her sister, she was going to blame directly on the dude still asleep upstairs in her guest room.

  Which reminded her; she had to get Dirk on him right away, running his name and birth date to see if he had any outstanding warrants. If he was, indeed, a bad guy, this whole ridiculous marriage fiasco could be remedied before Granny Reid had to even hear about it, let alone fret over it.

  The last thing Savannah wanted was for Gran to fret. Both because she didn’t like to see her beloved grandmother upset about anything, and because Gran tended to fret very loudly…on the phone…to her…for hours.

  “If you want to really impress your man,” Savannah said, “how about some eggs and bacon to go with that toast? Maybe some cheese grits or cream gravy?”

  Jesup brightened even more. “Really? Are you going to cook a full breakfast for us? You’re so sweet, Van!”

  “Not me, wide eyes. You. I have to down this coffee and get going.”

  “Going?” Her face fell. “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to stay here and visit with us? I want Bleak to get to know you, and he’s all excited about talking to you about the cases you’ve solved. He heard about the one where you found that woman’s body out in a cabin in the woods and she’d been there for days and was all gross and—”

  “Stop it. Right now.” Savannah held the hot mug to her forehead for a moment. Yes, last night’s headache was returning with a vengeance. “I’m sorry I can’t stay here with you guys and entertain you for the rest of your…honeymoon…but I didn’t know you were coming. And I accepted an assignment to—”

  “A homicide? At that actress’s house? Cool!”

  “No, not cool. The b
ody’s already gone and by now the blood’s been scrubbed off the driveway, so you two ghouls wouldn’t be interested at all. I’ve been hired to be Dona Papalardo’s bodyguard, starting today. So, you’re on your own.”

  “That bites.”

  “Sorry. You should have let me know you were going to get married and spend your honeymoon with me.”

  “How could I? I didn’t know myself until yesterday!”

  “My point exactly. Doing things on the spur of the moment doesn’t always work out best for everybody.”

  Jesup’s chin began to quiver, and tears brimmed in her blue eyes. “I hope this isn’t the kind of support that my whole family is going to give me. I was hoping you’d be happy for me.”

  “I am,” Savannah lied. “I’m plumb tickled pink about you finding your soul mate. And to prove it, I’m going to let you stay here in my house for the whole week, or until I’m done with this assignment. You guys can go to the beach or drive down to Malibu or go see Hollywood or hang out at Disneyland, whatever you want. But you’re going to be pretty much on your own, because I have to work for a living.”

  “Bleak’s going to be so-o-o-o disappointed.”

  Savannah sighed. “Well, it’s your honeymoon, Jessie. Surely you can think of something to do to lift the guy’s…ah…spirits. Just don’t do it anywhere except in the guest bedroom. I don’t want to have to disinfect the entire house when you’ve left.”

  An hour later, when Savannah arrived at the Papalardo mansion, her suitcase in her hand, optimism in her heart, and a finally-I-have-a-chance-to-make-a-lousy-buck grin on her face, she was met at the door by a woman she had never seen before.

  The lady’s straight, shoulder-length hair was bright red—a shade so bright that she couldn’t possibly have been born with it. And the angora sweater and wool slacks she wore were the same red, bordering on fuchsia.

  In contrast, her face had no color at all. Savannah had seen rosier cheeks on corpses in the morgue.

  And while Savannah had seen many fair-skinned people in her day, and was relatively light complexioned herself, she couldn’t help but think that the lady who had answered the door could benefit from a day on the beach, soaking in one or two of the famous California rays. Or at least a “dab from a pot of rouge” as Granny Reid called it.

  But when she looked into the woman’s eyes, she saw the palest shade of blue she had ever seen in her life. And she decided this lady must have a few Viking ancestors perched on the branches of her family tree. Maybe the red hair was natural, after all.

  “Hello,” Savannah said, holding out her hand. “I’m Savannah Reid. I believe Ms. Papalardo is expecting me.”

  The woman shook her hand, and Savannah couldn’t help noticing that her fingers were cold and sweat-damp. And although she was nearly as tall as Savannah, she had a frail, delicate look about her. Even though the sweater and slacks were loosely fitted, Savannah could see enough to know that her body was thin to the point of being bony.

  As Gran would say, Savannah thought, here’s a gal in desperate need of a week’s worth of good homestyle cookin’…three meals a day of it…breakfast, dinner, and supper.

  The woman gave her a lackluster smile. “Yes,” she said, opening the door wider and motioning her inside. “Dona is out, but your friend Sergeant Coulter told me you’d be coming. He asked me to let you in and show you to your room.”

  “Where is Dirk?” Savannah asked, stepping into the cool marble foyer.

  “He’s out in the backyard, I believe, questioning the gardener.”

  Savannah considered the fact that she should have stopped by the Patty Cake Bakery and gotten him a couple of cinnamon rolls and an extra large coffee. He had told her that he intended to arrive here very early to talk to Dona Papalardo again, to question anybody he could get his hands on, and snoop in general. He would be grumpy without his caffeine/sugar jolt to get him going.

  She paused by the statue of Diana and turned to the woman, “By the way,” she said, “I don’t believe I caught your name…”

  “Mary Jo Livermore,” she said. “I’m Dona’s friend. Her best friend, in fact. Have been since elementary school.”

  Briefly, Savannah flashed back on her conversation with Dona the day before. When she had offered to call someone for Dona, someone to perhaps offer her some comfort and strength in her time of need, Dona had flatly refused. Savannah wondered if Mary Jo and Dona were as close as Mary Jo seemed to think they were.

  “That’s nice,” Savannah said. “I must admit I haven’t stayed in contact with most of my childhood friends. But then, they’re all in Georgia. It’s really nice that Dona has a good friend to help her through this difficult time.”

  Mary Jo’s pale blue eyes stared blankly into hers for a long time before she seemed to snap to attention. “Oh. Right. You mean about Kim getting killed. Yeah, that’s a bad one, to be sure. I suppose Dona was pretty upset about that.”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen Dona since it happened?”

  “Not yet. She was gone by the time I got here this morning. I had an early morning session at the recording studio, so I couldn’t come over right away. And Dona had a breakfast meeting with her new agent in Hollywood. Our schedules don’t allow us to see each other as often as we’d like. It’s a shame how busy everybody is these days.”

  She ushered Savannah toward the staircase, and together they climbed the steps to the second floor. “Your room is up here with the other guest rooms,” she said. “Dona’s bedroom is on the third floor.”

  “That’s good,” Savannah said. To herself she added, Somebody would have to get past my door to get to her.

  She was doing a mental checklist of security factors in her head as she passed through the house. There was a state-of-the-art burglar system in place. She had seen the primary panel mounted on the wall next to the front door, and several motion and glass break detectors. She noted the mini-sensors on the windows and doors.

  But the alarm would have to be activated and remain on at all times to be truly effective. And when she had passed through the foyer, it had been turned off. She was surprised that Dirk hadn’t been on top of that himself. He might not be the most detail-conscious guy on the planet, but he usually took care of business when it came to security.

  At the top of the stairs, she saw two long hallways, branching off in either direction. Mary Jo led her down the one to the right.

  “Your room is here,” she said, “second one on the left. Mine is across the hall.”

  “Oh, you’re staying here, too?”

  Mary Jo tensed and gave her a quick, defensive, and angry look. “Yeah. So?”

  Savannah made a mental note to consider later what that might mean. “No problem,” she said. “It’s nice to know I have a roommate right across the hall. You know, if I need to get up in the middle of the night for a bowl of ice cream, you can join me.”

  Mary Jo gave her a long, confused look, as though the concept of late-night snacking was completely foreign to her.

  A gal in need of a banana split with extra fudge topping and whipped cream, Savannah added to her former assessment of Mary Jo Livermore.

  Mary Jo opened the door to the room, and Savannah stifled a gasp. It might not be “cool” to be overly impressed with one’s accommodations, but it was hard not to be.

  The room was larger than Savannah’s living room and dining room combined and was a delicious shade of the palest, smoky pink. From the watered silk that covered the walls to the matching moiré draperies, and the bed curtains hanging from the canopy bed, it was a feminine delight—the sort of room Savannah adored, and the kind that would keep a “manly man” like Dirk awake all night.

  And underlying the glamour of the room was that lovely, distinctive scent of Dona Papalardo’s perfume, adding the final touch of elegance to the setting.

  “Do you like it?” Mary Jo asked.

  “It’s gorgeous.” Savannah walked over to the old-fashioned dressing table and ran her fi
ngers over a matching silver comb, brush, and mirror. Beside the antique set was a perfume bottle—a pale-pink art deco design with a series of triangles and arches, creating a pleasing geometric pattern. Savannah lifted the glass stopper and sniffed. Instantly, the rich, complex scent enveloped her, sending her mental pictures of sunlit gardens and grand ladies in white dresses with parasols.

  “Very nice,” she said.

  “It’s Dona’s own custom scent. She has it mixed for her every time she goes to Paris,” Mary Jo said.

  Savannah chuckled and said, “Well, don’t we all?” as she reluctantly placed the stopper into the bottle and turned her attention to the other items on the tabletop.

  Arranged on a lace doily was a series of small gilded picture frames, containing sepia-tone photos of women dressed in flapper attire. Savannah thought of a picture she had seen of her own great-grandmother, wearing a similar, if more modest, outfit. She wondered if those days had been half as much fun as they looked. Probably not.

  Lighting the table was an exquisite lamp, a delicate porcelain creation that was obviously very old. It featured a man and woman dressed in eighteenth-century attire with powdered wigs, hair ribbons, and ruffles galore. The lady sat at a harpsichord, apparently trying to play, as the gentleman distracted her with a lover’s embrace. Above them, the shade dripped with layer upon layer of beautiful handmade lace.

  “That lamp is quite special,” Mary Jo said when she saw Savannah studying it. “Dona loves it. She found it at an estate sale. It once belonged to Norma Shearer.”

  “Norma Shearer?”

  “Norma was an actress who was married to one of the uppityups at MGM during the golden age of the silver screen. She and William Randolph Hearst’s honey, Marion Davies, competed for roles back then.”

  “Dona is into the Roaring Twenties, I see,” Savannah observed.