G.A. McKevett

by Poisoned Tarts (lit)

  “Don’t say it.”

  He looked up at her and gave her a sweet, understanding look. “It could be true, Van,” he told her, “no matter what I say.”

  “Still, don’t say it.”

  I don’t want to hear it, she thought. Daisy’s been missing too long. Much too long.

  Together, she and Dirk had recovered many, many kids. Most had wandered away from home, away from playgrounds, away from their moms in shopping malls and grocery stores.

  But out of all those kids, none had been missing this long and been found alive. Not a single one.

  That was something else she didn’t want to think about. Because if she did, she’d crumble inside.

  And broken, crumbled people weren’t worth a damn at anything. Especially at finding missing kids.

  “All right, listen up,” Dirk told the crowd gathered in the foyer: patrolmen, crime scene investigation technicians, coroner’s assistants, and the county coroner, Dr. Jennifer Liu herself. “You’ve got literally hundreds of cameras and microphones out there, everything from your everyday paparazzi to CNN and the BBC. And this will spin totally out of control if we don’t keep a lid on it. Anybody who asks you anything, your reply will be ‘No comment.’ If I hear that even one of you has breathed a word of anything to anybody, you’ll answer to me personally for it. No phone calls to your wives or boyfriends. Mouths shut about this one! Got it?”

  Some mumbled, “Yes,” and others, “Okay.” A few just gave a perfunctory nod.

  “And,” he added, dropping the drill sergeant tone, “I’m going to thank you all for what will undoubtedly be a long and trying night. You’re the best. And I appreciate your efforts on this case.”

  Savannah would have leaned over and given him a kiss on the cheek for being unusually gracious, but of course, he would have died on the spot and never forgiven her.

  There was nothing Dirk hated more than being caught in the act of being a nice guy.

  Fortunately, it didn’t happen often enough to be a problem.

  Dirk continued to dispense his orders—instructions to the patrolmen about how he wanted the crowd outside contained, along with admonitions to the forensic collection team that since they didn’t know exactly where Andrew Dante had been murdered, the entire enormous estate was their crime scene.

  Once the troops were dispersed and immersed in their own duties, Dirk turned to Savannah, shook his head, and said, “Man, oh man, Van. Where to even start with this one! The dude was supposed to be on his way to London, and he’s out back, dead? What the hell’s going on in this house?”

  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’d start with the two women of the house and then go from there. I’ll help you out. I’ll take one of them.”

  “Thanks.” He brightened considerably. “You take Tiff—”

  “In your dreams, sugar. You take Tiffany. I’ll take Robyn.”

  His smile disappeared. “I thought you said you were going to help me out.”

  “You wanna do them both while I go home and put my feet up and have a nice cup of hot chocolate and visit with my granny?”

  He grumbled something under his breath, the swear words encoded just enough to convey his annoyance without getting himself slapped.

  Together, they returned to the living room where Robyn and the three girls were still as they had left them.

  Tiffany was sitting, curled into a ball around a cushion. Her face was pressed into the pillow, and she was crying.

  Bunny and Kiki sat close to each other on a love seat. Kiki had her arm around Bunny’s shoulders and was whispering to her in low, comforting tones. Robyn stood near a window, looking out, her arms crossed. She was shivering.

  Savannah scooped up a silk fringed throw from one of the chairs, walked over to her, and draped it around her shoulders.

  A quick glance out the window revealed what Robyn had been staring at. The window overlooked the pool . . . and her dead husband’s body.

  “I’m so sorry,” Savannah told her.

  Robyn’s face was strangely blank as she turned to Savannah and said a simple, “Thank you.”

  She didn’t seem as distraught as most recently widowed women Savannah had dealt with over the years. Savannah decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, at least for now, and chalk it up to shock.

  Glancing over her shoulder at Dirk, Savannah saw that he was down on one knee beside Tiffany, his hand on her arm, and he was speaking to her softly.

  Yeah, yeah, big, bad dude, she thought, sending him a little love. Dirk could be rude and obnoxious, but he always came through in a pinch.

  Sometimes, it had to be a really tight pinch, but...

  She turned back to Robyn. “I’m sorry to have intrude at a time like this,” she said to her, “But I really do need to talk to you for a while. Is there someplace private we can go?”

  “What?” Robyn shook her head slightly and seemed to come back to full consciousness. “Oh, sure. Um... let’s go into the library. We can shut the door and...”

  “That’s fine. Thank you.”

  Robyn looked once more out the window, a long, strange look. Then she glided across the room—the gracious queen of her castle—and led Savannah through the foyer and down the hall to the library.

  It was the same room where she and Dirk had stood near the doorway and overheard Tiffany arguing with her father.

  What a difference only a few hours could make.

  Robyn flipped on the lights, illuminating what had to be the quintessential gentleman’s library. From the glowing mahogany paneling to the massive oak desk to the rows and rows of leather-bound books, this room reflected all the grace and dignity that an enormous amount of money could buy.

  And it was purely a man’s room. Not a hint of pink anywhere.

  Something told Savannah that Andrew Dante spent many of his at-home hours here in this room. And that made it the perfect room to begin an investigation.

  “This was Andrew’s favorite room,” Robyn said, echoing Savannah’s thoughts. “He would lock himself in here for hours, even days... when he was actually home.”

  She looked sad and lonely when she added, “Andrew traveled a lot. I used to go with him, but lately, he preferred to go alone.”

  Robyn walked over to the enormous desk and ran her fingertips over the leather blotter, the lapis world globe, and tortoise shell fountain pen.

  When she sat down in the executive leather chair and looked up at Savannah, there were tears streaming down her face. “At least,” she said, “I think he’s been going alone. But with Andrew, who knows for sure?”

  Savannah thought of all the times Granny Reid had warned her girls about getting involved with married men. “If they’ll cheat with you, they’ll cheat on you. You’ll never really be able to relax and know that your man is true to you.”

  But Savannah wasn’t going to judge the woman in front of her too harshly. She could certainly understand how appealing a handsome, wealthy, powerful man might be to a young travel agent. And even with Granny’s admonitions, Savannah wasn’t sure she could have resisted such a temptation in her late twenties or early thirties.

  It took a while to get smart. And she was still working on it.

  “Do you have any reason to suspect him of infidelity?” Savannah asked as she sat down on an accent chair beside the desk.

  Robyn reached into the desk and pulled out a box of tissues. “Sure,” she said. “Don’t all wives suspect? I mean, you’d be stupid not to suspect, wouldn’t you?”

  Savannah thought of Grandpa Reid, his devotion to Gran and the grandchildren he helped her raise, his commitment to leading a noble life. No, she didn’t suspect Pa. And to her knowledge, Gran hadn’t either.

  “I don’t know,” Savannah said. “I’ve never been married. Have you ever seen any evidence that he was being unfaithful to you?”

  Robyn wiped her eyes. “A few months ago, he started being secretive about his cell phone, taking it into the bathroom with h
im, especially when he shaved and showered. And sometimes, he would look at the caller ID and not take a call, then sometime afterward, find a reason to go into another room.”

  Oh yeah, Savannah thought. My antennae would go up, too.

  But it wasn’t court-admissible proof.

  “So, did you get your hands on it once in a while and check it to see who he was calling?”

  For a moment, Savannah thought Robyn was going to deny it, but finally, she nodded. “A few times.”

  “And?”

  “He’d deleted everything.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything else?”

  Robyn sniffed and dabbed at her face with the tissue. “In the bedroom. There were changes in our love life. I could tell that he just didn’t want me anymore. He’d lost interest.” She bit her lower lip and fought for composure. “We were so passionate at first, and even during our first year of marriage. He couldn’t keep his hands off me. When he was out of town, he either took me along, or he called me ten times a day just to tell me he was thinking about me, wanting me. Andrew was a very romantic, loving man.”

  “But not so much lately?”

  “No. And it was really abrupt, too. He took a trip to Amsterdam, and when he came back, things were different. Very, very different. It all changed in just a few days.”

  “When was this?”

  “Four months ago. In the middle of June.”

  Savannah mulled over what possible connection there might be to Andrew’s trip to The Netherlands in June and the reference to Amsterdam she and Dirk had overheard earlier that day when they were eavesdropping outside this room.

  What was it Tiffany had been complaining about? Her father giving somebody a luxury trip to Amsterdam?

  “Were you planning any trips abroad yourself in the near future?” Savannah asked.

  Robyn shook her head. “No, of course not. With the way Tiffany’s been acting out lately, somebody had to stay home all the time. The last time Andrew and I left her and went to Copenhagen for three days, we came back to find that she’d had a wild party here, lots of guys, drugs, you name it. The police had been called, and the house was trashed—thousands of dollars of damage. After that, Andrew told me there had to be an adult at home at all times. And of course, that meant me, because he has...I mean, had...to travel for his work.”

  “You must have resented that enormously.”

  “Oh, you have no idea.” Robyn blew her nose and wadded the tissue into a tight ball in her clenched fist. “That brat has ruined our lives, destroyed our marriage. She thinks of absolutely no one but herself, her posh lifestyle. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t the one who killed Andrew. I wouldn’t put it past her at all.”

  “But why would she do that? He’s the source of her income, the support for her lifestyle.”

  Robyn shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. Andrew has already made more money than even Tiffany could possibly spend in one lifetime. And now that he’s gone, it’s all hers. Every dime of it. She’s going to be one of the wealthiest young women in the country, if not the world.”

  “Every dime? But you’re his wife.”

  “I signed a prenup.” She shrugged. “I know, dumb. But I was in love and eager to prove to him that I wanted him, not his money.”

  “Do you seriously think Tiffany could kill her father, especially like... that?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past her. She’s really a bad kid, growing up to be an awful woman.”

  “Other than Tiffany, did Andrew have any enemies? Anybody who wished him ill?”

  “Andrew was a very successful businessman, and he didn’t get that way by being a softie. He’s stepped on some people and made them mad over the years, sure.”

  “But has anyone actually threatened his life?”

  “Nobody but his ex-wife.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She was in Switzerland, but I heard she’d moved to Argentina with some polo player.”

  Savannah ticked off the possibilities on her mental checklist. “Any gambling? Possible drug problems?”

  “No. Andrew wasn’t into any of that. He led a pretty clean life, actually. Except for women.”

  Savannah was at the bottom of her list, and she wasn’t feeling particularly excited about anything she had heard from Andrew Dante’s wife. Savannah had hoped for at least a red flag or two to show her where to start looking.

  “I’m really sorry, Robyn,” she said. “I can’t imagine how you feel right now. It’s a terrible loss.”

  The compassionate words seemed to lift the lid off the woman’s emotions. She collapsed in wracking sobs and nearly fell out of her chair.

  Savannah stood and hurried over to her, gathering her in her arms and rocking her, much as she had her younger brothers and sisters for as long as she could remember.

  Big sisters got good at that sort of thing. Being oldest wasn’t all just babysitting and being bossy about chores.

  “There, there,” she murmured, holding the young widow’s face to her shoulder and stroking her hair. “You’re going to get through this, Robyn. I know it’s awful, but you’ll get through it. And we’re going to find out who did this to Andrew. I promise.”

  Abruptly, Robyn pulled away from her and stared at her blankly for a moment. Savannah wasn’t sure how to read that reaction. Most victims’ families welcomed a promise of justice for their loved one.

  Savannah made a quick note to herself not to totally exclude this young woman from her list of suspects. After all, it had only been four months since her husband’s affections toward her had changed, and she admitted that she believed he was being unfaithful.

  Maybe it was more than a belief. Maybe she’d found proof.

  She wouldn’t be the first wife to put an end to a cheating hus-band’s philandering in a violent way.

  Although a stake through the heart was a pretty strong statement, even for a scorned woman. Savannah couldn’t imagine a big, hunky guy like Dante just sitting calmly by and allowing a woman half his size to drive a wooden spike into his chest.

  “There’s just one more thing I need to ask you,” Savannah said. “Why did you think that Andrew was in London?”

  “What?” She looked genuinely confused.

  “Earlier, you told us that your husband was on his way to London, and obviously, he wasn’t. What led you to think he was?”

  “He told me. I mean...he left me a note.”

  “A note? He leaves to go overseas, and all you get is a note?”

  Robyn nodded. “Actually, I thought it was a little weird, too. But I told you, he’s been a little strange lately, especially when it comes to his travel plans.”

  “Does he often leave so abruptly like that?”

  “Not often, but sometimes he does.”

  “And he leaves you notes instead of telling you good-bye in person or on the phone?”

  “No. That was the first time.”

  “Where was the note?”

  “It was on the refrigerator. That’s where everybody leaves notes. Andrew, Tiffany, her friends, even the servants. We all stick them on the fridge.”

  “What did it say?”

  “I don’t remember every word, but it was something like, ‘Babe, I’m off to London to meet with Peter. Last minute thing. I’ll call you when I land.’”

  “Where is the note now?”

  “I threw it into the garbage.”

  “In the kitchen?”

  “Yes. Into the compactor.”

  Oh, goody, Savannah thought. Is there anything less pleasant than going through garbage looking for evidence?

  And of course, she knew the answer to that one. Looking for a decomposing body in a Dumpster or a landfill. At least there wouldn’t be a zillion seagulls swarming over her head in the Dante kitchen.

  Yes, it could be a lot worse.

  “Let’s go look for it,” she said.

  Slowly, Robyn rose
from her chair, but Savannah noticed that she was a little unsteady on her feet.

  She walked over and slipped her arm around the woman’s waist. “And while we’re there,” she said, “we’ll pour you a glass of something stronger than water.”

  “I think there’s some Johnny Walker Blue in there.”

  “Yep. That should do it.”

  Chapter 13