G.A. McKevett

by Poisoned Tarts (lit)

  Tears began to flow, and she looked like a petulant kindergartner.

  Savannah didn’t buy it. “Sure, you can have a lawyer present when you’re questioned,” she said. “And you’re sure going to need a good one because we’re going to nail you with murder. If you think the tabloids gave you a hard time when the cops busted that sex-drug party of yours last year, wait until they get a load of this!”

  “I didn’t kill anybody!”

  “Then tell me why you dumped that car there at the park.”

  Tiffany crossed her arms over her chest and sat there, “snorting like a bullfrog on a hot sidewalk,” as Gran would say. Finally, she said, “Look. Daisy’s fine. Nothing bad has happened to Daisy, okay?”

  “No. Not okay. Not without more details, that is not okay. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure she’s all right.”

  “Did she tell you she was going somewhere?”

  “No. But she needed to.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Why did she need to go somewhere?”

  “Because she was irritating everybody around her. She was so full of herself, getting that stupid little part for TV. And it was just so wrong that she got it. She’s nothing. She’s stupid and ugly and fat! Maybe she went away to a fat farm to get rid of some of that ugly blubber she was carrying around. She was a disgusting pig, and if she’s gone for a while, good. I didn’t want her at my party anyway. She would have ruined it, somebody like her showing up and saying she was a friend of mine.”

  Suddenly, Tiffany seemed to realize she had said more than she intended. She leaned far back in her seat and lowered her head until her hair fell over her eyes. “That’s it,” she said. “I’m not saying another word until I get a lawyer.”

  Okay, Savannah thought. Go ahead and clam up if you want. I got what I wanted out of you anyway.

  Besides, they were pulling up to the front of the San Carmelita Police Station, and she recognized the bald guy sitting in front of the station in a Mercedes that Tammy would have described as “honkin’ big.” It was Phillip Neilson, one of the area’s most prominent defense attorneys. He had spotted them, too, and he was getting out of his car and coming toward them with a no-nonsense look on his face and an unmistakable determination to his stride.

  A Knight of Swords in a pin-striped suit, coming to rescue the nobleman’s daughter.

  And neither Savannah nor Dirk needed him to stick his head into the Buick and say it. They knew—the Tiffany Dante interview was over.

  When Savannah returned home, she found Tammy at the rolltop desk in the corner of the living room, working at the computer, as usual. And Granny Reid was sitting in Savannah’s big rose chintz chair, talking on the house phone.

  Gran looked annoyed, and Savannah knew the look all too well. Gran was talking to one of the more bothersome of the nine siblings.

  Savannah’s guess was Vidalia, the one with not one but two sets of twins. She and her long-suffering husband, Butch, were frequently on the outs.

  Though it could be Marietta, who was now between husbands and never at her best when single. Looking for Hubby Number Four in all the wrong places could be a nerve-wracking task.

  She shot Tammy a questioning look. Tammy replied with an eyeball roll and a head shake.

  “ ’Lanta,” Gran said, “this little conversation of ours is over, darlin’. The day’s just never gonna dawn that I shell out a thousand dollars for a pair of cowboy boots. Land’s sakes, girl! That’s more than I used to spend all year on clothes for all nine of you young’uns when y’all were growin’ up. I’ve got groceries to buy and property taxes to pay.”

  Ah, Atlanta, Savannah said to herself. The youngest one, the perpetual teenager who was now well into her twenties. The last chickie who kept returning to the nest.

  Every one of them but Savannah kept trying to sneak back in from time to time, demanding room and board from their softhearted, octogenarian grandmother.

  But Gran had gotten better and better at booting them back out.

  At the moment, Atlanta was in Nashville, chasing the dream of being a country singing star. And having convinced Gran a few months ago that a rhinestone-studded denim jacket with jeans to match was a wise business investment, she was apparently after another installment.

  “ ’Lanta, honey, I can feel my blood pressure risin’ now, so I’m gonna tell you good-bye. If you’ve just gotta have those fancy boots, then I suggest you go out and earn the thousand dollars yourself. Then you’ll just appreciate them so much more. Bye-bye, sugar. I love you.”

  Gran looked quite sad for a moment, then she said, “Well, I’m sorry that you don’t feel all that lovin’ toward me right now. But what I said stands. So you can just get happy in the same britches you got unhappy in. Bye.”

  She hung up the phone and sighed, for a moment looking her age.

  Savannah felt her temper flare. How dare that spoiled brat Atlanta!

  “I’m sorry, Gran,” she said. “She’s got a lot of nerve asking you for something she knows you can’t afford.”

  “Oh, I reckon I could afford it. I could go without a few things and...”

  “You’ve gone without long enough. Don’t even think about it. She doesn’t need thousand-dollar boots.”

  “Well, she says she does. Says it’s for an audition she’s got next week. Could lead to her getting some more backup singer jobs in the recording studios there in Nashville.”

  “Since when do backup singers have to wear thousand-dollar boots? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard today.” She thought back on her interview with Tiffy Dante. “And that’s saying something.”

  “Did Dirko get anything out of Tiffany?” Tammy said. “Did he squeeze her? Put her in the hot seat?”

  “No. We were debating between the rack and the iron maiden on the way to the station house. But her attorney was waiting for her when we got there. So even the Chinese water torture was a no-go.”

  “Darn. I hate it when that happens.” Tammy grinned. She motioned for Savannah to come over to the desk. “But maybe after you see what I’ve got for you here, you’ll feel a little better.”

  Savannah glanced over at Granny, who was thumbing through her Bible, looking peaceful enough. But Savannah detected a trace of sadness remaining on her face.

  She debated which of her two tasks at hand to deal with first.

  “Want a glass of lemonade, Gran?” she asked.

  “No, thank you, sweetie. I’m fine,” came the less than perfectly fine reply.

  Savannah said to Tammy, “Let me go upstairs to the little girls’ room and powder my nose. Then I’d be very happy to see what you have there.”

  She took her purse with her and once behind the closed bathroom door, Savannah dialed her sister Atlanta’s number.

  When the youngest Reid kid answered, she was crying.

  “ ’Lanta, what the hell’s the matter with you?” Savannah snapped.

  “I’m...I’m ... I’m very upset!” was the whiny reply.

  “Well, get over it. Right now! ’Cause you upset Gran, gettin’ all huffy with her over those danged boots, and you’re going to call her right now and apologize to her and tell her you love her.”

  “I am not. Gran’s the one who got pissy with me, telling me to get happy in my britches.”

  “Atlanta Reid, don’t you ever use Gran’s name and a cuss word in the same sentence!”

  “Cuss word? What cuss word?”

  “You know what word: pissy. I tell you, I won’t abide this kind of disrespect toward Granny. Now you call her and apologize for even asking her for such a big, expensive, ridiculous thing. And, while you’re at it, tell her you’re sorry for your crappy tone—don’t use the word crappy—and you be sure to tell her you love her. I mean it, Atlanta! You make it right with her, or I swear, I’ll land on you like a duck on a June bug.”

  Savannah hung up, and sure enough, less than a minute later, she heard the downstairs phone ring
. Smiling, she took her time, washed her hands, brushed her hair, and eventually strolled back downstairs.

  “Ah,” she said. “Much better. Trying to get Dirk to stop at a service station...forget about it.”

  She glanced over at her grandmother, who was off the phone, still sitting in the rose chair. But she had a smirk on her face. “Your sister just called back,” she told Savannah.

  “Oh? Did she forget to ask for a thousand-dollar cowboy hat to go with the boots?”

  “No-o-o. She was calling to apologize to me for the other call. Imagine that.” She chuckled as she gave Savannah another little sly grin. “She buttered me up like a hot breakfast biscuit. She even told me she loves me.”

  “Good. I’m sure she does.”

  “She said something else, too, just before she hung up.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She said, ‘Tell my big, bossy sister that she can kiss my . . . um... foot.’”

  Savannah laughed. “Well, as long as she said, ‘foot.’ ”

  “I told her she shouldn’t call you that.”

  “Why not? I’m big, and I’m bossy. Never claimed to be anything else.” Savannah walked over to the desk and pulled up a chair beside Tammy. “So, kiddo, show me what you’ve got there.”

  “I have Daisy’s phone records for this past month.”

  “Including right before she went missing?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good girl!”

  Tammy brought the appropriate screen up on the computer’s monitor and began to show Savannah the most pertinent calls.

  “She talks to her mother a lot,” Tammy said. “And her mom calls her frequently, too. They don’t talk long, just two or three minutes.”

  “Just touching base.”

  “Exactly.” Tammy pointed to the screen. “This number is the Dante house. Daisy calls there pretty often, too. They never call her.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “This is Tiffy’s cell phone number. Daisy calls it at least once a day. Tiffany doesn’t call her. Although the afternoon that Daisy went missing, she called Tiffany once...here...at 3:39. And then Tiffany called her back an hour later.”

  Savannah squinted at the screen. “Actually, Tiffy called her three times that afternoon—at 4:30, 5:03 and 5:15. That seems a little odd—a flurry like that from somebody who ordinarily never bothers to call.”

  “Look,” Tammy said, pointing to another number. “Daisy called Tiffany again at 4:59.”

  “Those calls were flying back and forth pretty fast and furious for a while there.”

  “And that’s exactly when you figure she went missing.”

  “That’s right,” Savannah said. “Pam told us that Daisy left the house about four to go the Dante estate. And after I twisted their arms a little, Tiffy and company admitted she came by for a little while, supposedly to have them help her with her lines for the sitcom taping.”

  “Which they say they refused to do.”

  “Yes. They say she dropped by, but they told her to get lost and she left. Supposedly.”

  Tammy tapped her fingertip on the screen. “Well, it looks like maybe she did leave. It wouldn’t make much sense for Daisy to be calling Tiffy and vice versa if Daisy was at the estate.”

  Savannah mulled over the possibilities in her mind. “So, why the calls back and forth?”

  “They were arguing? Fighting about something. Maybe one hung up on the other or...?”

  Gran stirred in Savannah’s chair. “Or maybe they were meeting somewhere. When I go home after I visit you here, Waycross picks me up at the airport, and if it weren’t for our cell phones, I don’t know how we’d ever find each other. You call back and forth like that sometimes when you’re trying to find each other.”

  Savannah considered that one for a while. “You might be right, Gran. Like if they were both driving around, trying to meet up somewhere?”

  Tammy nodded. “Maybe they did meet somewhere. And took a drive in Daisy’s car.”

  “With Tiffany at the wheel? Why would that happen?” Savannah said. “Or maybe they met somewhere, and after Tiffany did whatever she did to her, she decided to move the car to another location...to the park where we found it.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Gran said.

  “Me, either,” Tammy added.

  Savannah shook her head, trying to imagine how a tiny, petite woman like Tiffany could have controlled the big, stout Daisy. “Good work, Tam. Can you print that out for me, and one for Dirk, too?”

  “Sure.”

  “And one more thing...”

  “What’s that?” Savannah didn’t even want to say the words. Certainly didn’t want to picture the scenario in her mind. But . . . “Find out if the Dante family has any gun permits.” Tammy gave her a startled look. “Wow,” she said softly, “okay.”

  “Thanks.” Savannah glanced at her watch. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have to go call a worried mom and tell her that we still have no idea where her daughter is.”

  Chapter 10

  Over a dinner of chicken and dumplings, Savannah, Dirk, Tammy, and Gran tried to have a normal conversation. But try as they might, the topics kept changing from the weather, the beaches, the fine art of kite flying to the missing girl.

  Savannah couldn’t help noticing that Dirk was all but gulping down his meal—unheard of for him. He was far more of a savor every bite kind of guy, which was the main reason why she liked feeding him.

  But she had to admit that she didn’t have much of an appetite. She found herself wondering if Pam was eating, trying to take care of herself and keep her strength up. She hadn’t sounded so good earlier on the phone.

  Also, Savannah couldn’t help wondering if Daisy was eating dinner somewhere... anywhere. Would Daisy O’Neil ever eat at her mother’s table again?

  “What’s the matter, puddin’?” Gran whispered, leaning over and laying her hand on Savannah’s forearm. “You’re worrying yourself sick about that girl, aren’t you?”

  Savannah laid down her fork. “Well, not exactly sick yet, but I’m concerned.” She looked across the table at Dirk, who had abruptly stopped an argument with Tammy to listen in. “We’re all pretty worried about her,” she added.

  “In fact,” Dirk added, “as soon as I’m done here, I’m going back to the Dante place.”

  “You’ll be shot,” Savannah told him. “Tammy checked. They’ve got everything from deer hunting rifles to antique dueling pistols over there. And now that Dante knows what you did to his little darlin’—”

  “You mean, what we did.”

  Savannah shrugged. “Okay, what we did . . . he’ll probably slap a lawsuit on you.”

  “Or just plain slap you with a glove or something,” Gran added, “and challenge you to a duel with those old pistols of his.”

  Dirk gave her a borderline flirty grin. “I think you hotbloods down there in Georgia go in for that dueling stuff a little more than we do here in Southern California. But if I see him getting out a pair of white leather gloves, I’ll duck.”

  “You’d better,” Gran told him. “That name Dante sounds Frenchish. He could be part Creole, and then you’d have real problems on your hands.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Reid. I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” Dirk told her.

  His cell phone went off and after listening to his caller for only a few seconds, he jumped up from the table and ran to the living room.

  “What’s the matter?” Savannah hurried after him.

  He rushed to the TV and turned it on, then hung up his phone. He grabbed the remote and turned to the local news.

  “Oh, no!” Savannah said as she saw footage of herself and Dirk escorting Tiffany Dante down the walkway of her father’s mansion to Dirk’s Buick. “Who took that?”

  “It’s fuzzy, not a very good picture,” Dirk said, watching himself drag the unhappy heiress along against her will. “Looks like maybe somebody shot it with
a cell phone camera.”

  “Unfortunately, the picture isn’t fuzzy enough. Look at that.” Savannah groaned as the Dirk on the screen shoved Tiffany into the backseat of his car. “If Andrew wants to sue you, that film would certainly help his case.”

  “Let him sue me,” Dirk said. “She’s obviously resisting there. Sh-h-h, what are they saying?”

  “Socialite Tiffany Dante was taken into custody today by a deputy of the San Carmelita Police Department . . .” the reporter was saying.