Death by Chocolate

by G. A. McKevett

  Nothing she could say here and now would improve Louise Maxwell’s parenting skills.

  “Wait a minute,” Louise said, taking a few steps toward her, “I know who you are. You’re the private detective that Eleanor hired to protect her.”

  On closer examination, Savannah decided that Louise’ had spent too many years in the California sun without serious sunblock. While she appeared to be in her twenties from a distance, she looked older up close, due to the webwork of squint wrinkles around her eyes that could no longer be classified as “fine.” And the skin on her abundant cleavage had turned mottled and leathery.

  “That’s right,” Savannah said. “I’m here to watch out for your mom. Do you know anyone who might want to hurt her?”

  “"Well, duh....” Louise replied, rolling her eyes like an adolescent. “Who wouldn’t? She treats everybody like crap and has for years.”

  “Even you?”

  A more astute person than Louise Maxwell might have seen the suspicious glimmer in Savannah’s icy blues, but the blonde prattled on, clueless.

  “Oh, especially me! Can you imagine having a drunken witch like that for a mother? She messed me up good. I mean, I have major issues because of her.”

  “Did you send her those threatening letters, maybe as a means of working through some of your issues?”

  That time even Louise got it. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin a couple of notches. “I did not. I haven’t said a word to my mother—or written anything to her either—for three years. And I won’t, until she apologizes for messing me up so bad. And, of course, we all know that won’t happen because Lady Eleanor doesn’t apologize for anything to anyone. She’s much too high and mighty for that.”

  “It must be pretty stressful, living here on her estate and not speaking to her.”

  “Not really. We’ve learned how to avoid each other.”

  “And meanwhile, your mother supports you and your daughter?” Savannah asked evenly.

  Louise’s nostrils flared. Savannah thought she might start snorting fire any minute. ‘That’s the least she can do, considering what she’s done to me! The very least! My shrink bills alone are $3,500 a month, not to mention my rebirthing therapy and my herbal detoxing wraps and acupuncture remedies. She made me sick; she can pick up the tab while I’m healing from her years of abuse.”

  Savannah said nothing for a moment, just stood there, quietly observing and absorbing. “Okay,” she finally said, ‘Whatever. But if you actually knew who was threatening your mother’s life, you’d let me know, right? I mean.... if she croaked, who’d pay all those bills?”

  Louise’s eyes narrowed, accenting the squint lines. “I don’t think I like you very much,” she said. ‘You’ve got a smart mouth and a lousy attitude.”

  Savannah chuckled. ‘You aren’t the first to express that sentiment. And you probably won’t be the last. But, then, I don’t really give a fiddler’s fart, because I’m not here to make friends. My job is to keep your mom safe, and I intend to do that.” Turning away, she added, “Good luck with your assorted therapies. I hope you heal soon, for your sake and for Gilly’s.”

  As she walked across the driveway toward the house, she heard Louise muttering behind her back. Savannah?was pretty sure it was something like, “Good luck to you, too, bitch. You’ll need it.”

  Fine, she said to herself. Fine and dandy. You, lady— and I use the term loosely—-just got moved to the top of my shit list.

  Savannah walked in the front door and through the house without seeing a soul. The pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink gave her a clue that it might be Marie’s, day off. The door leading to the ocean side of the house, was open, and she thought she could hear voices on the lawn.

  She shuddered at the thought of watching Eleanor Maxwell gobbling her breakfast again. But sooner or later, she would have to face the lady of the house, grisly, as that prospect might be. So she headed in that direction.

  Just before she reached the door, she heard a sound coming from the library, a small but cozy room off the dining room. She recalled hearing Marie refer to it as. the “office.” Perhaps Eleanor was attending to business and would be more amenable to being interrupted than when she was eating.

  She walked to the door of the library and looked inside. Standing at the desk in the far corner of the room was a fiftyish white-haired man in a pinstriped suit with a bright blue paisley tie and a pink shirt. The last guy she had seen who was dressed that badly was trying to sell her steak knives at a county fair.

  But she was less concerned about his fashion blunders than by the fact that he was reading a letter that he was holding. By the tan color of the paper, she was pretty sure she recognized it as one of the threatening messages Eleanor had received.

  So engrossed was he in what he was reading that he didn’t notice her until she cleared her throat and said, “Hello.”

  He jumped as if someone had shoved a hotwire down the back of his ugly pink shirt. Fumbling with the paper, he shoved it first behind him, then dropped it onto the desk. “Yeah,” he said. “Who are you?”

  Quickly Savannah walked across the room, her hand outstretched. “Savannah Reid. I’m working for Mrs. Maxwell. And you are....?”

  “Martin Streck, her manager and accountant. If you’re working for her, why haven’t I heard of you?”

  A certain arrogant gleam in his close-set gray eyes told Savannah that Martin Streck was a man who prided himself on knowing just about everything and anything worth knowing.

  She gave him a saccharine smile and batted her eyelashes. “Well, I don’t know, Mr. Streck. Maybe little ol’ me wasn’t worth botherin’ you with. I’m sure Eleanor would have gotten around to telling you about me sooner or later.”

  He looked her up and down with eyes that took in every detail. “What sort of work do you do for Eleanor?” Again, she gave him the eyelash routine. “Why, sir.... I believe that’s confidential. In fact, maybe that’s why you didn’t know about me. Maybe I’m one of Eleanor’s secrets.”

  She could feel him cringe as she walked over to the desk and looked quite deliberately down at the paper he had dropped. Yes, it was one of the letters she had seen the day before.

  “But, then,” she said, “I thought those letters were a bit of a secret, too. And it looks like everybody and their dog’s brother’s cousin is getting to read them and handle them. Not a good idea.”

  “I’m not just anybody, Miss Reid. I’m Eleanor’s accountant and I—”

  “Ms.”

  “What?”

  “I said, Ms. Ms. Reid.”

  Usually, she didn’t really give a flip what she was . called, but a guy like Streck brought out the feminist in her.

  He took a deep, exasperated breath. “Okay, Ms. Reid.... I’ve worked for Eleanor Maxwell and her husband for ten years. I’ve been involved in the most intimate details of their lives. They don’t keep secrets fromme.”

  She nodded agreeably. “Except for me.”

  “What?”

  “You need to get your hearing checked, darlin’. I said, ‘Except for me.’ Or maybe she just forgot to mention me the last time y’all talked over those intimate details.”

  Casually, she opened her purse and pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and a clean plastic bag... just a couple of basics she had been carrying, along with a tube of lipstick, since she had become a detective on the force years ago.

  She put on the gloves, lifted the letter by its corner and slipped it into the plastic bag. ‘The fewer people who see this, let alone handle it, the better,” she told him as she placed the bag, then the gloves, back into her purse. “I told Mrs. Maxwell as much yesterday, but—”

  “What—what do you think you’re doing there?” he sputtered.

  She gave him a big grin as she sashayed across the room to the door. ‘Just earning my keep.” Another eyelash flutter... and she was gone.

  Even if she hadn’t heard voices on the patio, Savannah
would have headed outside for some fresh air. She found herself hungry for the company of somebody who didn’t give her the creeps, and those wholesome souls seemed to be few and far between at the castie that chocolate built.

  A dolphin swimming by would be good, but even a seagull would do. Anything with a friendly face.

  The scene she found on the patio was even more whimsical than she could have hoped.

  A formal tea party. Attended by Gilly and Eleanor, a life-sized baby doll, and a teddy bear. All were elegantly attired for the occasion. The doll wore a long, lacy christening gown, the bear a red plaid vest and black top hat, while Gilly and her grandmother were decked out in enormous sun hats festooned with feathers and silk flowers. Copious amounts of gaudy jewelry were draped about their necks and wrists, dripping from their ears and sparkling on every finger. Gilly’s tiny body was almost completely cocooned in a pink feather boa, while Eleanor wore a bright purple and red kimono.

  “Lord have mercy,” Savannah said, her hand shielding her eyes. “I’m nearly blinded by all this splendor. Whatever are you fine ladies doing out here this afternoon?”

  “We’re having tea,” Gilly said in an aristocratic English accent that rivaled her grandma’s TV persona. “High tea, that is. Would you care to join us?” She dropped the accent and turned to her grandmother. “She can play with us, too, huh, Nana? I like her. She’s a friend of mine.” Eleanor looked up at Savannah with a gentler, kinder face than Savannah had ever seen her wear before. Gilly seemed to have a positive, calming effect on her grandmother.

  “I suppose she can, if she wants to,” Eleanor said. “But where will she sit?”

  Gilly climbed off her own chair, getting momentarily tangled in her boa. ‘Teddy can sit over here with Marjorie, and Savannah can have his seat.”

  Having rearranged the toys, Gilly grabbed Savannah’s hand and pulled her to the empty chair.

  “Are you sure Teddy and Marjorie won’t mind?” Savannah asked Gilly.

  “Oh no. They like sitting together. They’re very good friends.”

  Gilly returned to her own seat, adjusted the wide-brimmed hat on her tiny head and tossed one end of the boa over her shoulder with the panache of a silver screen glamorpuss. “Now, we have to get you some tea and—” She looked across the table at Savannah, and her smile disappeared. “Have you been crying?”

  Savannah was touched by the girl’s depth of concern, though a bit confused. “No, why do you ask?” ‘Your nose is all red, and your eyes are poofy.”

  “Poofy? Oh... no, I haven’t been crying. I woke up this morning with a bit of a cold.”

  “And you brought it over here?” Eleanor snapped, suddenly alert “I hired you to protect me, not infect me!”

  “I’ll be very careful to cover my mouth when I sneeze,” Savannah told her with an exaggerated patience that she didn’t feel. “And you’ve already warned me about breathing down your neck, so....”

  Eleanor glared at her for a few seconds, and Savannah could practically hear her mental cogs spinning; she was debating whether to kick her and her cold germs off the property or to let it slide for the moment.

  Apparently the lady was in a mellow frame of mind. Instead of ejecting Savannah from her chair she turned toward the house and gave an unceremonious whistle, like a New Yorker signaling a cab.

  A second later the kitchen door opened, and a man in a tuxedo appeared. Hurrying over to the table, a snowy linen towel draped over his left forearm, he said a bit breathlessly, “Yes, ma’am. More tea? Crumpets? Sandwiches?”

  “Yes, more of everything.” Eleanor waved an airy hand, signifying the whole spread, which Savannah had just noticed was quite impressive. Crumpets with lemon curd and raspberry jam, tiny sandwiches that had been cut into the shapes of hearts and diamonds, adorned with thin slices of cucumber and the occasional dot of red caviar.

  Suddenly, Dirk’s coffee and cinnamon roll seemed hours away.

  “And my friend is joining us,” Gilly said, spreading on the accent thick. “Will you please bring her a spot of tea, too, Sydney?”

  The formally attired fellow with the white towel nodded his head graciously. “Certainly, Miss Gilly. Right away.”

  So, this was Sydney, the chauffeur and occasional tea-time butler. Savannah decided that he was about her age but looked a bit older due to his salt-and-pepper hair, which he still had in abundance. Dirk would have been jealous.

  He was taller than six feet, but his shoulders were badly hunched as though he had carried a heavy burden most of his life.... or maybe just the past few years. Savannah imagined that working for Eleanor Maxwell could cause one to age prematurely.

  But she had to like a man who smiled so warmly at a child and scurried away to do her bidding. She remembered that Gilly had mentioned him the night before as one of the people in her life who “liked” her.

  “Do you two have tea often?” Savannah asked, addressing her question more to Gilly than Eleanor, who seemed a bit on the sullen side of the street this afternoon.

  “The four of us,” Gilly whispered, nodding discreetly toward the doll and bear.

  “Oh, of course. The four of you.”

  “Just when I stay home sick from school.”

  Sydney appeared with a silver tray that was laden with reinforcements for the half-empty plates of goodies. As he set Savannah’s teacup in front of her, she noticed that he lacked the grace and dignity of a professional butler. But he seemed to be doing his best—for a guy who was usually a chauffeur and handyman.

  “Will there be anything else, miss?” he asked Gilly.

  “That will be all for now, Sydney,” the child replied with a graceful, dismissive wave of her hand.

  “Hang around,” Eleanor added. “I’ll yell if we need something. Go work on the kitchen. It’s a mess. That damned Marie.... just had to go see her mother in L.A. Never mind whether she’s needed around here or not.”

  Sydney gave a slight bow in Gilly’s direction and turned on his heel to leave. But a split second before he walked away, Savannah saw him shoot a quick look at Eleanor Maxwell that radiated pure hatred.

  And although Savannah could hardly blame him, she was surprised how completely that look changed his otherwise pleasant face. She didn’t envy Eleanor, who seemed to have a knack for bringing out the worst in everyone around her.

  “Those are my favorites, right there,” Gilly said, pointing to a crystal plate holding pink, yellow, and white petit fours. ‘The pink ones have strawberry jam in the middle. The yellow ones are lemon. Marie puts roses on the top of them, just for me, ‘cause she knows I like roses.”

  “And”—Eleanor interjected as she shoved one of the cakes into her mouth and chewed—“because Grandma tells her to.”

  Gilly looked down at the plate of sweets and shrugged. ‘Yeah,” she said, the sparkle gone from her voice. “Everybody does what Grandma tells them to.... if they know what’s good for them.”

  Eleanor smiled broadly.

  Savannah took a sip of her tea and tried not to hate Eleanor Maxwell. It was a personal policy of hers: Don’t hate the people who are paying your bills. At least, not so that they can tell.

  Chapter

  5

  Savannah chased Eleanor throughout the afternoon, trying to finagle a moment of quality time with her uncooperative client. But Eleanor was too busy barking orders on the phone, then taking a long, leisurely bath and an even longer nap to discuss something as mundane as personal safety.

  “Just find out who sent me those damned letters and leave me alone!” she screamed when Savannah attempted to present her with a list of suggestions to enhance security at the house and studio.

  Standing at the recently slammed bedroom door, list in hand, Savannah resisted the urge to kick it open and throttle the wicked queen.

  “I’ve just about had my can full of this,” she muttered to herself as she walked downstairs to the kitchen, where Sydney was loading dishes into the dishwasher. He had shed his tuxedo
jacket, which was hanging on the pantry door, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow.

  At his feet, the three terriers pranced about on tiptoes, their toenails clicking on the highly polished oak floor. They were watching his every movement, hoping some food tidbit might drop. One of them was even sitting up and begging quite beguilingly.

  But Sydney didn’t appear to be beguilable. His face looked as glum as Savannah felt.

  “There’s gotta be an easier way to make a buck, Syd, my man,” she said, feeling an instant companionship with anyone in Eleanor’s employ.

  He chuckled and scraped some leftover petit fours into the garbage compactor. The dogs yipped and ran in circles around him, but they might have been invisible for all the attention he gave them. “I was just thinking the same thing myself,” he said as he shook some powdered soap into the washer’s dispenser. Just the flowery smell of the detergent made Savannah’s nose tickle, but she pushed down the urge to sneeze. Her head ached enough already.

  “How long have you worked for Eleanor?” she asked “Seems like my whole life, but it’s really only been about seven or eight years.”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

  “Yeah, really. It’s been a blast.” He laughed again, but there was no humor in the sound.

  “So, why do you stay?”

  He looked at her with eyes that were deeply tired, reflecting a spirit whose life force was ebbing low. He shrugged. “You get used to a place, you know, and the people.”

  “And the way they treat you?”

  He paused, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think anybody really gets used to that.”

  “What exactly do you do here, when you aren’t playing butler for Gilly?”

  He smiled and for a moment Savannah could see that he would have been handsome when he was younger. And less tired. He took one of the leftover chicken salad sandwiches, pulled it into three parts, and gave one to each terrier. They attacked the tidbits like famished wolfhounds. And once they had licked even the smallest crumb from the floor, they left the room, tails wagging.