Death by Chocolate

by G. A. McKevett

  Gran had always been generous to a fault, opening her heart, her home, and her refrigerator to everyone who dropped by. And they did—several times a day.

  “Gran, I thought you were through with letting those kids sponge off of you. You laid the law down and told them that—”

  “I know. I know, and I’ve pretty much been stickin’ by it. But I make an exception for Cordele. She’s trying so hard to get her master’s degree.”

  “She’s not been trying that hard. Taking one class per semester isn’t exactly working your tail off.”

  Gran sighed. “But she’s got all those meetings she goes to. She calls them her support groups.”

  “How many does she go to?”

  “Oh, she’s out to one or the other ‘most every night. I think she goes to a couple of them on Saturday.”

  “Maybe she could cut back on a few of those and get a part-time job at Wal-Mart. Then she could hand you a few dollars for groceries now and again.”

  “No. I don’t reckon she could do without those meetings. They’re mighty important to her. Cordele’s always been the nervous one of the bunch, you know.”

  Savannah growled under her breath, ‘Yeah.... works out pretty good for her, too.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  There was a long and awkward lag in the conversation. Uncomfortable pauses frequently occurred when Savannah and her grandmother discussed the topic of her spoiling the grandchildren and the “greats,” as she called their offspring.

  “I was just worried about you, Savannah,” Gran finally said. “When Cordele told me she was gonna surprise you with a visit, that she wanted to work out some—what did she call them—familial issues with you, I was afraid you and she were gonna have some trouble.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Gran.”

  “Promise me you won’t fight with your sister.”

  “I won’t make her bleed or break any of her bones. I promise. But I might tell her to get off her lazy backside and either get a job or get that degree, one or the other.”

  “Oh, mercy. That’ll go over good. You’d better look out, Savannah girl, or you might be the one to end up bloody and broken. I’m here to tell you, there’s more to Cordele than meets the eye. She ain’t the tender buttercup she makes out to be.”

  Savannah grinned. “Don’t worry, Gran. I’m bigger than Cordele, and I’ve got a gun. If she gets to aggravating me too much, I’ll just pack her up and send her back to you.”

  “Those sound like famous last words if I ever heard some.”

  Savannah sighed and watched one of her votive candles flicker and go out. Her suds were about gone, too. “Yeah, don’t they, though?”

  By the time Savannah arrived at the Maxwell estate the next day, it was ten-thirty. She and Cordele had shared a fairly cordial breakfast and, reluctant to end a winning streak, short though it might be, she had delayed leaving the house until absolutely necessary. Even then, Cordele had pouted, suggesting that if Savannah cared at all about confronting some long-standing family issues, she should hurry home—unless, of course, she cared more about catching society’s misfits and putting them into dark, hopeless prisons where rehabilitation was a joke.

  Savannah was terribly proud of herself. She hadn’t growled at, bitten, or even snapped at her sister. She had simply smiled, nodded, quietly walked out of the house, got into her car.... and peeled out of the driveway, leaving six months’ worth of normal tire-tread wear on the pavement.

  Yes, so far, it was a banner day. No one had bled. God was good.

  At the Maxwell mansion, she found the gates wide open, so she didn’t use her ill-gotten combination to break in. And as she passed the gatekeeper’s cottage, she saw no activity at all.

  No one seemed to be stirring at the studio; the yellow perimeter tape that surrounded the building appeared undisturbed. It wasn’t until she arrived at the main house itself that the stillness started to give her the creeps. Things were too quiet. What was missing?

  Oh, yes... she thought, the terrible threesome.

  They hadn’t bounded off the porch to attack her, as usual. And the cushioned chairs, where they usually napped when they weren’t mauling someone, were empty.

  While she couldn’t say she particularly liked the terriers, she had grown accustomed to their shaggy little faces. And she had derived a certain satisfaction in knowing that—for a bagful of chicken livers—she had won them over. A feat accomplished by few.

  She was beginning to think that no one was on the property when she heard a squeal coming from the ocean side of the house. Hurrying around the building, she found Gilly sitting on the lawn, playing with a tiny black pup. The squeal had been a cry of delight. She gave another one as the puppy nipped at her fingers, then jumped up and licked her chin.

  “Hi, sweetcakes,” Savannah said as she walked across the lawn and sat down on the grass beside them. “Who’s your buddy?”

  “This is Mona Lisa,” Gilly said proudly. “We got her at the pound today. They said they think she’s part lab and part German shepherd, so she’s really just a mutt. But mutts are good dogs, too.”

  “Mutts are great dogs. You say you got her at the pound?” An unpleasant thought was forming in Savannah’s brain, and she hoped she was wrong.

  “Yeah. Mom took Killer and Satan and Hider there today. She told me that the pound people would find new homes for them. But I heard her tell them that the dogs were mean and that they bite people. And the guy there said, ‘Okay, lady, we’ll take care of the dogs.’ And he didn’t say it nice, either.”

  Savannah winced. As an animal lover, she couldn’t bear the thought of the three dogs taking the long walk down the green mile. It wasn’t their fault that they hadn’t been trained properly and were badly spoiled. She reminded herself to see if she couldn’t remedy the situation later.

  “But you got Mona here and brought her home. That’s nice,” she said, reaching down and stroking the dog’s glossy coat. The pup was still very young, not particularly skilled at even walking. Wagging her tail a bit too hard caused her to topple sideways.

  “Who named her Mona Lisa?”

  “I did,” she said proudly. ‘There’s a song about a lady named that. It’s a pretty song and she’s a pretty dog. Don’t you think?”

  “I think she’s gorgeous.”

  “Better than a husky or a poodle or a dalmatian from the pet store?”

  “Every bit as good, that’s for sure.”

  Gilly picked up a nearby plastic chew toy in the shape of a hot dog and squeaked it at the dog. She yelped and jumped back, growling a tiny puppy growl.

  “She’s full of vinegar,” Savannah said. ‘That’s for sure.” Gilly nodded. “My mommy said we could buy an expensive dog from the pet store in the mall if we wanted to, because we’re rich now that my grandma’s dead. But I told her, no, that I wanted to take one from the pound and save its life.”

  “You did a noble thing,” Savannah said. “I’m sure that Mona will love you very much and be a good friend to you for a long time.”

  Savannah looked back at the house and around the yard, but saw no one. “Where’s your mom?” she asked the girl.

  Gilly glanced around and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe at the beach over there.” She pointed down the hill to a stretch of sand that disappeared around a point. “She likes to go down there when she’s feeling upset. She’s been pretty upset.”

  Savannah stood and brushed the grass off her slacks. “I think I’ll go talk to her awhile. You have fun with Mona.”

  “Okay. Will you come say good-bye before you leave?”

  “I sure will. Later, punkin’.”

  Savannah headed down the path that led to the beach, but once she was out of earshot from Gilly, she stopped, reached into her purse, and produced her cell phone.

  “Hi, Tam,” she said. ‘Yeah, I’m over at the Maxwell place. Do me a favor, would you? Go online and see if you can find
a local Silky Terrier Rescue group. I know they have one for dalmatians and for Boston terriers. And tell them to get down to the county pound right away.”

  She paused, listening, then added, ‘Yeah, you might not want to mention their names or their propensity for biting any hand that isn’t feeding them. And if anybody asks, they just need a loving home and a bit of discipline, and their names are Moe, Larry, and Curly. Okay? Thanks, darlin’.”

  Chapter

  16

  Savannah found Louise Maxwell on the beach, as Gilly had suggested. But contrary to Gilly’s other prediction, she didn’t look at all upset to Savannah.

  She was lying on an oversized beach towel, soaking up rays. And since her bikini was even more skimpy than the one she had been wearing previously, she was absorbing more than her share of California sunlight.

  Before she saw Savannah she was gazing contentedly at some surfers farther down the beach and humming to herself. But the moment she noticed that she had company, Louise’s pleasant—if somewhat dopey—smile disappeared.

  “What are you doing back here?” she demanded, sitting up on her towel. “I thought I told you that you weren’t welcome around here.”

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought you said, too. But fortunately I didn’t take it to heart. I never worry that much about how welcome I am someplace.”

  Louise jumped to her feet, ripped off her sunglasses, and stood glaring at Savannah.

  Savannah assumed this was meant to intimidate her into a speedy retreat. But Louise had no idea how many times Savannah had been glared at in the course of her professional careers as a cop and an investigator. And as long as the glarer wasn’t holding a gun in their hand.... she wasn’t impressed.

  “Listen, you,” Louise said, taking a couple of steps toward her. “I’ve inherited all of this!” She waved her arm, indicating the house, property, and beach. “And you’d better not mess with me, or I’ll have you arrested, or I’ll sue you, or—”

  “Don’t you remember? You haven’t officially inherited anything yet.” Savannah weighed her next words carefully before speaking. She wanted to find out Louise’s involvement in robbing from her mother, but she didn’t want her to tip off Martin that Dirk was on to him. “And besides,” she said, “when you do finally get your just dues’ you may find out that it ain’t nothin’ much to crow about.”

  Louise’s face went from enraged to confused the instant Savannah’s words filtered into her brain. “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t know. Louise was as clueless as they came. Martin Streck might have been embezzling from her mother, but Louise wasn’t part of the scheme.

  Savannah felt slightly disappointed. It would have been fun to nail Miss Bikini Prissy Pot with something good.

  “I said, ‘What do you mean?’ ” Louise repeated. “You said my just dues wouldn’t be much. What do you know about anything?”

  “Who? Me? No, of course I wouldn’t know anything about your personal business... your inheritance.... anything like that. Don’t worry about a thing, Ms. Maxwell. I’m sure everything’s fine. I just like to run my mouth once in a while. It’s a character flaw of mine that I’m working on.”

  She turned to walk away, to return to the house and say good-bye to Gilly. But before she did, she noticed with a deep sense of gratification that Louise Maxwell did indeed look upset. Quite upset.

  Mission accomplished.

  Savannah sat in her Mustang outside the brick office building on Sunset Boulevard and watched the front door. As always, the famous boulevard was a bustle of activity, and since it was lunchtime, the traffic was bumper to bumper and the sidewalks were filled with pedestrians on their way to their favorite restaurants or bistros.

  A thousand colorful signs screamed at passersby from every building front and rooftop, insisting that they drink a certain booze, smoke a particular cigarette, or visit a cabaret or comedy club. The visual clutter made Savannah grateful for San Carmelita’s sign ordinances that wouldn’t have tolerated such gaudiness.

  But the building where Burton Maxwell had his offices, the corporate headquarters of all the Lady Eleanor enterprises, was relatively unremarkable. The only identifying marker was a small pink cameo-shaped sign with Eleanor’s profile that adorned the front door of the three-story building.

  It had taken Savannah half an hour to get a parking spot in view of the door. And now that it was one o’clock in the afternoon and she hadn’t seen any sign of Burt Maxwell coming or going, she was beginning to doubt that this approach was going to work.

  She called Dirk on her cell phone, leaned back in the bucket seat, and took a drink of the iced tea she had bought at a nearby McDonald’s.

  “Coulter here,” he barked. He was in a bad mood... again.

  “Reid here,” she returned, just as tersely. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been checking Streck out all morning. And I’m startin’ to think he ain’t our guy.”

  Ah, Savannah thought, the answer to Dirk’s grouchiness. There was nothing quite like a dead end in an investigation to cause Dirk to plummet from his usual heights of mildly ill-tempered pissy to downright grump.

  “Why not?” she asked, dreading any further conversation on the depressing topic.

  “Because I’ve been going over these files here with the D.A. and some accountant dude she dragged in to look at ‘em, too. They say that they can tell by looking at the way he was draining off the money that he wasn’t near done yet. They saw that if Eleanor hadn’t died when she had, he could have milked her for a lot more and probably gotten away with it. Her getting killed when she did pretty much guaranteed that he’d be caught, because he hadn’t gotten all his tracks covered yet.”

  “Are they going to charge him at least for the embezzling?”

  “That’s what they’re talking about right now. I think we’ve got a pretty solid case against him for that, but you know how long it takes for these people to get the lead out and move.”

  “I hear ya, buddy.” Savannah took a swig of her tea, her eyes on the still inactive front door of the building. “Did you go talk to Louise?” he asked.

  “Yep. She didn’t know. Had no idea what I was talking about.”

  “You didn’t actually mention Martin, did you?”

  “No, of course not. Just hinted that she might not be rolling in as much dough as she thinks. By the way, she told her little girl that they’re rich now. Nice, huh?”

  She heard Dirk growl on the other end. “I think she’s next on my list,” he said. ‘You going to see Maxwell?”

  “I’m sitting outside his office building even as we speak.”

  “You going in?”

  “No, I figured I’d hang out awhile and see if he comes out for lunch. If he does, I’ll follow him and approach him there. It’s harder to throw somebody out of a public place than your own office.”

  “Yeah, and you like being in close proximity to food whenever possible.”

  “Hey, I think I hear Porky calling Petunia a pig here. What did you have for lunch?”

  He laughed. “Nothin’ yet, but I’m looking at a foot-long Italian sub and a pile of potato chips.”

  “Oink, oink.”

  Savannah glanced back at the building and saw the front door opening. “Hey, somebody’s coming out.” Two young women in casual office attire strolled out, chatting between themselves, and made their way down the street toward an outside Mexican restaurant with umbrella tables that advertised Dos Equis beer.

  “False alarm,” she said. But then the door opened again, and this time a tall blond man in a navy suit exited. “Bingo, it’s him. Gotta go,” she told Dirk.

  “With any luck he’ll go to a donut shop,” Dirk replied, “and you can have your favorite lunch—custard-filled and chocolate-frosted.”

  “Cram it, Coulter. Your foot-long sub, that is.”

  She shoved the phone back into her purse and got out of the car. Following Burt from across the street, she h
ad no problem blending into the crowd on the busy sidewalk. It looked like everybody and their dogs’ uncles were going to lunch.

  He passed a number of eating establishments before he finally ducked into a Starbucks.

  “Nice choice,” she mumbled as she started to walk across the street.

  But the light was against her, and she had to wait for it to go through a lengthy cycle before she and the others waidng with her could cross. When it finally changed, they surged forward, en masse, and she lost sight of the coffee shop’s door for a moment.

  Emerging from the press of bodies, she glanced over at the store’s entrance just in time to see a familiar face going in. She would have recognized that short-cropped bright red hair anywhere. Kaitlin Dover.

  Bells chimed in her head and she felt her pulse quicken as she hurried to the glass windows at the front of the store. If Kaitlin’s and Burt’s meeting here was more than coincidental, she wanted to know. She also wanted to see how they greeted each other. Greetings said a lot.

  She stopped at the edge of the window and, as discreetly as possible, peered inside. An old lady sitting at a table next to the glass gave her a questioning look, but Savannah ignored her.

  She spotted Burt Maxwell right away, sitting at a bar against the far wall, thankfully facing away from the front of the shop. And Kaitlin Dover had walked into the store, given a quick look around, and headed straight for him.

  No chance meeting, Savannah thought, watching them closely.

  Kaitlin walked up behind him and said something. Immediately he sprang up from his stool, turned around, and embraced her. He gave her a fairly fast peck on the lips, but his hands were too low on her hips for the hug to be one between casual friends.

  “Hm-m-m....” Savannah murmured to herself.

  For a moment she considered walking into the shop and confronting them. But then she decided against it. She had come to Sunset Boulevard to interview Burt Maxwell, hopefully to find a new piece to the puzzle. And this juicy revelation was better than anything she would have gotten from a chat, even if he had agreed to open up to her. Which wasn’t likely.