Poisoned Tarts

by G. A. McKevett

  Dante nodded, his pale blue eyes sweeping over Savannah’s curvaceous figure with practiced skill, missing nothing.

  Savannah glanced down, saw the wedding ring on his left hand, and decided that she didn’t like him much. Curves or no curves, married men had no business noticing…or at least, being quite so darned obvious about it.

  “Yes,” he said, giving her a slightly lascivious smile. “I’m Andrew Dante. And you are…?”

  “Savannah Reid,” Dirk barked. “She’s with me. And you and I need to have a little talk. Come along.”

  Dirk directed Dante out of the room as Savannah led Daisy O’Neil’s mother to the nearest sofa and sat her down.

  Fishing some tissues out of her purse, Savannah handed them to her and said, “I’m so sorry, Ms. O’Neil. I really am. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through, but I’m sure it’s just awful.”

  She nodded and sniffed. “It is. I’m just worried sick. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, and I’m shaking like a leaf inside and out.”

  “Have you eaten anything today?”

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “We’ll get you something to eat as soon as we finish talking here,” Savannah promised her. “You have to rest and eat at least enough to keep your strength up, or you won’t be able to help Daisy.”

  As the woman wiped her eyes and blew her nose, Savannah gave her a quick glance over. She might be attractive if her eyes weren’t red and swollen, her bright red hair was combed, and her simple cotton shirt and jeans didn’t look as though she’d slept in them.

  Savannah judged her to be in her early forties, but she seemed to have experienced some rather difficult years. The deep lines on her tanned face and the roughness of her hands suggested that she worked outside in the sun with little time for feminine niceties like salon manicures.

  Reaching over and placing her hand on the woman’s freckled forearm, Savannah said, “Ms. O’Neil, please tell me about your Daisy.”

  The mother ran a trembling hand through her tousled hair. “What do you want to know?”

  “What sort of girl is she? Has she ever run away before? Things like that.”

  “No. Daisy’s a very good kid. She’s never given me a bit of trouble. She was on the honor role at school, and she’s always hung out with nice kids. Well…until she went to a fancy club in Hollywood one night to celebrate a friend’s birthday. That’s when she got hooked up with this gang, these Skeleton Key girls.”

  “So, you don’t consider the Skeleton Key Three good kids?”

  The mother gave her a disgusted look. “Oh, come on. You read the tabloids, or at least see them on the stands and read the headlines. They’re trashy, these girls.” Looking around the opulent room, she added, “Having a ton of money doesn’t make you classy…just more interesting to the media, I guess.”

  Savannah smiled. “Well, what’s more interesting than an extremely rich person? A rich person who behaves worse than we do. A rich person we can feel superior to.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s a large part of the appeal.”

  Savannah remembered some of the tabloid headlines she’d read, about how the cops had been called to hotel rooms where the Three had been throwing wild sex and drug parties. She thought of this good kid, this honor role student who had never given her mother a moment of trouble. She cleared her throat and asked one of the most obvious and difficult questions. “Have you ever had any reason to believe that Daisy does drugs of any kind?”

  “No. Well, I think maybe some of these girls smoke pot or maybe take some of those party drugs when they go to clubs. But I don’t let Daisy club hop with them…for that very reason.”

  “Does Daisy attend their private parties, parties here at the mansion or…um…in hotels?”

  Ms. O’Neil gave her a guarded, unhappy look. “She doesn’t attend those parties. The ones you’ve read about in the paper.”

  “Okay.” Savannah wasn’t sure she believed that one, but apparently, Daisy’s mom did. “Does she have a steady boyfriend? One she might have run away with? Or an ex-boyfriend she might be having problems with?”

  “No one now. She had a boyfriend for a long time…over a year. She liked him a lot. But a couple of months ago, this Tiffy Dante made eyes at him or—more likely—flashed him some body part, and he dropped Daisy cold.”

  “So, would you say that Daisy was depressed?”

  The mother considered her answer a while before giving it. “No, not really. She was earlier this year. But Tiffy started taking acting lessons at a studio in Hollywood, and she let Daisy tag along—to keep her company on the drive, I suppose. And even though Tiffy wasn’t doing all that well, Daisy took to it like you wouldn’t believe! She’s great. A natural actress. The teacher recommended her to an agent, and he landed a bit part for her in a sitcom. They start filming tomorrow, and she was so excited about it. That’s why I know there’s just no way possible that she would run away. She was like a kid counting the hours before Christmas morning.”

  Savannah thought of her youngest sister, Atlanta, and her obsession with being a movie star someday. Or a country-singing Nashville hit. Or a runway model or…

  “Yes, I’m sure she was very excited to have a part on a TV show,” she told the mother. “Most people would be jazzed about that, but especially a teenager.”

  A rather ugly thought ran through Savannah’s mind. “Uh, how did Tiffy and the other girls feel about Daisy’s good fortune?”

  “Tiffy was tiffed. Big time. But then, Tiffy’s always miffed and throwing a temper tantrum about something. She couldn’t understand why they would cast Daisy for a part when she’s…well…she’s not as slender as the other Skeleton Key Three. Daisy is…how do they say it? Pleasingly plump.”

  “A full-figured beauty. Like me.” Savannah smiled.

  The woman gave Savannah a quick look. “My Daisy is larger than you. And she’s beautiful.”

  With those words, the woman started to cry again, and Savannah searched her purse for more tissues.

  “When was the last time you saw Daisy, Ms. O’Neil?”

  She sniffed. “You can call me Pam,” she said. “And the last time I saw my daughter was when she left yesterday afternoon to come over here. She said she was going to be studying her lines with Tiffy, Kiki, and Bunny, that they’d offered to help her. That’ll be the day, when those girls want to actually help my Daisy.”

  “What time did she leave your house?”

  She thought for a moment. “It must have been about four. I had only been home from work a few minutes when she told me she was leaving.”

  “Where do you work, Pam?”

  “I have a job with the city—road repair and maintenance. I’m a flagman. So you can see why my daughter is so enthralled with all this crap.” She waved her hand, indicating the house and its furnishings.

  “Well, money on this kind of scale can turn anybody’s head,” Savannah said softly, “especially an impressionable teenager.”

  Reaching into her purse and pulling out her notebook and pen, Savannah asked, “Other than these girls, Tiffy, Bunny, and Kiki, does Daisy have any other friends she spends time with?”

  “No. These girls just sort of absorbed her. She doesn’t have time anymore for anybody or anything. Just hanging around here or tagging along behind them, when they allow her to, when they need somebody to make fun of and feel superior to.”

  Glancing again at the ostentatious painting over the fireplace, it occurred to Savannah that Tiffy Dante probably felt superior to almost everyone. But if what Pam O’Neil was saying was true, it certainly did sound as though Daisy was the Omega dog in a pretty ruthless pack.

  “You say they make fun of her. What exactly do they say when they do that?”

  Pam twisted the tissue in her hand and fought back more tears. “Oh, the usual stuff that teenagers ridicule each other about, I guess—her clothes, her hair. Of course, non
e of that is up to their standards. But mostly they harass her about her weight.”

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, sadly, that’s an easy target today, what with all the emphasis on being abnormally thin.”

  “Oh, and with these girls, it’s an obsession. They’re always dieting and purging to stay super thin, but my Daisy won’t do that. I’ve raised her to love herself as she is. You know…a…a…”

  “A well-rounded young lady,” Savannah supplied.

  “Yes. Well-rounded. And she’s very pretty just as she is.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. Do you have a picture of her with you?”

  Pam reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out what appeared to be a man’s wallet. She flipped it open and took out a much handled creased and faded picture.

  Savannah took the photo and looked into the face that was so much like the woman before her. Daisy was just a softer, prettier version of her mom.

  “You’re right. She is pretty. A lovely girl. And she has very intelligent eyes. Smart and strong.”

  Pam nodded. “She is smart. I mean, she’s a little dumb where these girls here are concerned because she wants so much to be a part of their little club. But she’s no fool. If they wanted to hurt her, they’d have to be very quick about it, plan it all out and surprise her. Otherwise she’d get the jump on them, not the other way around.”

  “May I keep this picture? I promise I’ll get it back to you later.”

  The mother hesitated, then said, “Sure, if it’ll help. I want to do anything that might help.”

  “Can you tell me what she was wearing yesterday the last time you saw her?”

  “The uniform,” she said with a sarcastic tone. “The stupid Skeleton Key Three uniform.”

  “And that is?”

  “Designer jeans and a pink T-shirt with a skeleton key in rhinestones on the front. Tiffy’s favorite color is pink, so everything has to be pink. Daisy hated pink.”

  Savannah never got used to asking the hard questions, but they had to be asked. “Pam, do you really feel that those girls would seriously harm your daughter? Deep down in your gut, do you believe they would?”

  Pam gave it a few moments’ thought, then she looked straight into Savannah’s eyes, and Savannah could see her fear, raw, potent, and painful. She nodded. “Yes. Tiffy was so upset that Daisy got that part. I mean, really furious about it! And she isn’t the kind of kid who takes disappointment well. I truly do think she might have hurt my daughter…or talked the other girls into harming her.”

  Savannah put her hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, then a comforting pat. “We’re going to do everything we can to find your Daisy,” she told her. “Detective Coulter is excellent at what he does, and I’m pretty good, too, if I do say so myself. We’ll find her.”

  “But when you do find her, do you think she’ll be okay?”

  Pam’s eyes searched hers, and Savannah knew she was trying to read the future on her face. Victims’ families always did that, and Savannah was miserably uncomfortable when they did it. She felt like a crystal ball that was trying to hide its dark, ugly mysteries.

  Savannah fought the urge to look away. She also pushed down her thoughts: The girl went missing yesterday afternoon. That was over twenty-four hours ago. And when we don’t find them in the first twenty-four hours, it’s not good. Sometimes, it’s really not good.

  “I think you’re a strong woman, Pam O’Neil,” she said. “And from this picture, I can see that you and your daughter are very much alike. Not just your red hair, but the strength and courage I see in your eyes. As my Granny Reid would say, ‘Twasn’t a very windy day when that apple fell from the tree.’”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Granny has a lot of sayings. Anyway, if Daisy is anything like her mom, and I suspect she is, I’d say that she’ll take care of herself, do whatever she needs to do to protect herself, her life, until we can find her. Try hard not to worry yourself sick.”

  Pam sighed. “Easier said than done.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is. But meanwhile, let’s go get you something to eat.”

  “Where? Here?”

  “A place this big has to have a kitchen somewhere—or even two or three kitchens—and plenty of food. At least a fruit bowl that we can raid.”

  “Andrew Dante isn’t going to give me permission to eat anything of his. He’s always looked down on me, and after what I just said to him, I’m sure he hates me.”

  “Nope. He probably wouldn’t offer you even an apple or a banana. And that’s exactly why we’re not going to ask him. We’re just going to nab you something and run.”

  “Grab food and run with it?”

  “Sure. Hey, I was one of nine kids, raised in a house where there was never an overabundance of anything but love. Believe you me…I know how it’s done!”

  Chapter 3

  After Savannah had raided Andrew Dante’s kitchen counter fruit bowl and had refueled Pam O’Neil and sent her on her way, she decided to take an unauthorized tour of the mansion’s ground floor.

  Somewhere off to her left, perhaps in a library or study, she could hear Dirk still questioning Dante, and judging by both men’s tones, the interview wasn’t going well. Dirk sounded cranky, and Dante testy. She decided that since the conversation could come to an abrupt end at any moment, she’d better get her snooping done ASAP.

  From the kitchen, she passed through an arched doorway and into a delightful breakfast area. The room was octagonal, with windows reaching from waist high to the conical ceiling. Green plants of all types hung in long, twisting vines from baskets suspended from the ceiling, and Savannah couldn’t help but pause for a moment and think how lovely it would be to sip a morning cup of coffee and read the paper in a room like this.

  From the windows, she could see a lush tropical garden that, like the front of the mansion, was artistically illuminated with architectural lights of gold, blue, and green.

  And in the midst of that garden, she saw movement among the palmettos, banana trees, bird-of-paradise, and bougainvillea. Somebody—or several somebodies—was out there milling about.

  After one quick glance over her shoulder, Savannah opened a small door that led from the breakfast room to a patio and walked outside.

  The moment she did, she heard raucous laughter coming from the garden and recognized the sound instantly—it was a gaggle of female teenagers.

  Having been raised in a family with two boys and seven girls, Savannah was all too familiar with the sound of adolescent females who were up to no good.

  Quietly, on rubber-soled loafers, she crept toward the center of the garden, closer to the voices. In her mind, she wasn’t exactly sneaking up on them; she just wasn’t going to announce her presence right away.

  She knew there was a fine line between being plain old nosy and possessing a healthy curiosity. And it didn’t bother her one bit to skip back and forth from one side of that line to the other.

  She believed that a private investigator who wasn’t gifted with an inquisitive nose wasn’t worth taking behind the barn and shooting.

  That was one of her most cherished mottos, and she lived by it. It was right up there with, “Don’t flip on a light switch with wet hands or climb out on the roof to adjust the TV antenna during a Georgia thunderstorm.”

  As she wound her way down a stone path through the thick, mature plant growth, she saw that there were, indeed, three young females ahead of her. They were lounging around an Oriental fish pond on chaises like any other trio of teenagers, hanging out with friends, chatting and laughing, enjoying each other’s company.

  Except that as she drew closer, Savannah could hear a tone in their voices that didn’t sound all that friendly. Although she could only catch a word, then a phrase here and there, their conversation didn’t seem to be lighthearted chitchat about boys or the latest fashion trends.

  “…she’ll miss her big shoot…boo hoo…”

  “E
h…won’t embarrass herself…”

  “I couldn’t believe it was going to happen anyway.”

  “Tiff, you so should have…way better…just disgusting!”

  “…doesn’t matter now…she…”

  “Who did she think she was…? If my dad…nothing. If I hadn’t felt sorry for her, she never would have even…”

  Savannah strained to hear, but bits and pieces were all she could catch, and as she took a few steps closer, she heard one of them say, “Sh-h-h, somebody’s out there.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there…coming this way.”

  Rather than waiting to be “discovered” snooping among the banana plants, Savannah stepped into the clearing around the pond.

  “Good evening, ladies,” she said brightly. “I was hoping I’d find you back here somewhere.”

  One of the girls, a thin gal with long, blond hair, jumped up from one of the chaises and rushed toward Savannah. Even with only the dim glow of the property’s accent lights to see, Savannah knew it was the girl whose picture hung over the fireplace.

  Savannah also recognized her face from the grocery store magazine displays. This was the tabloid queen Tiffany Dante in all of her Skeleton Key rail-thin glory.

  The first thing that struck Savannah was how petite the girl was. Somehow, Savannah had imagined her to be much taller. Maybe it was the perpetual high-high heels that she wore. Even now, dressed casually in pink silk pajama bottoms and a lacy camisole with rhinestones across the chest that proclaimed her to be, “HOT! HOT! HOT!,” she was wearing ankle strap sandals with four-inch heels.

  Her heels clicked out a fast staccato on the stone walkway as the young woman hurried up to Savannah with an ill-tempered frown on her face. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And why were you spying on us?”

  “Spying? Who was spying? I was just coming out here to talk to you. You’re Tiffany Dante, right?”

  The girl rolled her eyes and gave Savannah an indignant, “Well, yeah…duh.”