Murder à la Mode

by G. A. McKevett

  “Find anything?” Savannah asked as she walked over to her energetic partner.

  “She was smoking.”

  “What?”

  “Carisa was standing out here smoking when she got hit.”

  Tammy pointed her flashlight at the ground. Sure enough, there among the breakage were half a dozen cigarette butts, all the same filtered menthols. Tammy picked up a twig from the ground and poked at several of them, turning them over so she could get a better view. “These two are fresh,” she said. “These three are older.”

  “Older?”

  “Yeah, they’re dusty and they look like they got a bit wet. Probably last night with the dew fall.”

  Savannah bent down and peered at the stubs. If she looked close, she could see the difference. The kid had a good eye for detail. “Okay,” she said, “but how do you know she was smoking when she got hit?”

  “Her lighter’s right there, along with her pack.”

  Tammy shone her flashlight beam on a cigarette pack that had two cigarettes missing. Beside it was a silver lighter with the initials C. S. M. engraved on it.

  “Smarty pants,” Savannah said, grinning at her. “Got any other theories?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Ryan and John joined them, and Ryan bent to study the items on the ground.

  “So, do tell us, love,” John told her, “since you’re on a roll, as they say.”

  Tammy leaned back and pointed her flashlight to the top of the building, where a line of gargoyles guarded the rooftop. The space created by the missing statue made the keep look like a mouth with a tooth missing.

  “I heard Brandy say that Carisa was out here smoking last night after the shoot. If Brandy saw her, anyone could have. It would have been safe to assume she would do the same tonight.”

  Savannah nodded, following her line of logic. “And if they wanted to hurt her, they’d know where she would be.”

  “Exactly. And since those gargoyles are so close together, they could just estimate which one was directly over her and push it down on her.”

  Savannah thought for a long time. Finally she said, “Could be. Could be. We need to get up there on the roof to check things out. Did you call Dirk yet?”

  Tammy made a face. “Yes, I called Dirko. I called him as soon as I’d called the paramedics. He said he’d be right over.”

  “We should wait until he gets here before we go much further,” she said. “Certainly before we examine the roof.”

  “Yes, we really should,” Ryan agreed.

  “It’s truly the right thing to do,” John added.

  “He’d get really mad if we went up there without him,” Tammy said.

  They stood there for a long minute, Savannah tapping her toe on the courtyard cobblestones. Then she said, “Let’s go.”

  Ryan replied. “We’re right behind you!”

  It took a while for Savannah and her entourage to find their way to the roof, but several staircases and endless hallways later, they stepped out onto the flat expanse that was surrounded by a waist-high wall. Upon the wall at regular intervals sat the gargoyles, one uglier than the next. The gap in the chorus line was all too obvious.

  As they had before walking up the steps, they paused to check for any type of footprint. But the surface was fairly clean and free of dust or dirt that could register a print. Nothing was visibly disturbed…other than the tumbled statue.

  “If you don’t have gloves, don’t touch anything,” Savannah said, before recalling that no one in the troop needed that instruction. Normally, it wouldn’t have occurred to her to warn them, except for the fact that they were blatantly violating and arguably contaminating a crime scene.

  Together, they hurried over to the spot where the gargoyle had sat. All had retrieved flashlights from their cars, and their way was well lit. When they got to the wall, they all directed their beams onto the empty section.

  “That’s what I figured,” Ryan said, pointing to a deep, even scrape mark about two inches wide across the stone. “They used some sort of pry bar. I didn’t think one person, or even two could push that heavy thing off this wall by hand.”

  “Not without going over themselves,” Savannah said, leaning over the wall and looking down to the courtyard directly below where the shattered statuary lay.

  “I doubt they could budge it even if they had a running start,” John said. “But thanks to the dynamics of leverage, it wouldn’t have been that difficult to tip it just enough to send it over.”

  “Is there any chance at all that it fell off by itself?” Tammy asked. “I mean, it could have been an accident. And that mark might have been there from before, like when they set the statues onto the wall.”

  “Unless there was a five-plus quake,” Savannah said, “that thing wouldn’t have budged. And that scrape is as fresh as those cigarettes you found down there. It was pushed off.”

  “Speaking of quakes…” Ryan studied the line of remaining gargoyles. “It’s not the brightest thing in the world to have these things just sitting up here, unsecured. This is prime earthquake country, after all.”

  “Maybe R.R. What’s-His-Name is from Texas and doesn’t know how much California loves to rock ‘n’ roll,” Savannah suggested.

  “R.R. Breakstone isn’t known for taking a lot of security measures,” Ryan replied, “other than having a gang of thugs around him all the time for personal protection. I doubt that he would worry a lot about having his guests injured at his castle—or them suing him if they did.”

  “Tough guy?” Savannah asked.

  “One of the toughest,” John replied. “May heaven help you if you cross swords with the likes of him. If he doesn’t take you down, his so-called friends will.”

  “What are you saying?” Savannah was searching the area of the roof near the gargoyle’s previous spot. “Are you suggesting that the owner of Blackmoor Castle, the eccentric Texan who built this spooky place, is in organized crime?”

  “He’s only been a Texan for two years,” Ryan told her. “Before that he was a club owner in Las Vegas. And yes, the Bureau has been after him for years. That’s a large reason why he left Nevada and moved to Texas, to escape some of the heat—legal heat, that is.”

  “But the FBI can follow and investigate him just as well in Texas as in Nevada,” Savannah observed.

  “But he’s been keeping his nose very clean in Texas,” Ryan said. “They think he’s in with a ring that’s smuggling dope through Juarez and El Paso, but they haven’t been able to nail him with anything yet on his home turf in Dallas.”

  “I think Brandy is involved with him,” Savannah told them. “I overheard her talking all lovey to him on her cell phone. Some of the things she said also made me think he placed her in this contest, like some sort of mole.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” Ryan looked at John knowingly.

  “I should tell you,” John said, “that Alex, Tess, and R.R. have quite a history. He’s bankrolled their last three projects, including this one.”

  “And he’s fairly insistent that his investments pay off,” Ryan added.

  Tammy walked to the nearest gargoyle and shined her light along its lower edge. “Maybe that’s why Alex was determined to keep the shoot going even after his wife died. He might be afraid to tell this R.R. guy that it was over.”

  “Very possible,” Ryan said.

  Savannah looked down at the spot where Carisa had been so badly injured and wondered how she was doing at the hospital. She wondered if the woman had even made it to the emergency room alive.

  “So, what’s Alex going to do now?” she said. “This show is cursed. His wife, a producer, is murdered, Leila gets ousted today, and Carisa is out of commission. Shoot, we’re dropping like flies around here.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “Makes you wonder who’s next.”

  Savannah could hear the ruckus going on inside the dining hall long before she entered the room—excited, angry voices echoing
down the corridors. Most sounded female. In fact, the only male voice she heard was Alex’s nasal twang, shouting over the rest, or at least, trying to.

  “I don’t care what you think about it! I didn’t ask you what you think I ought to do. I’m telling you what I’m going to do!” he was shouting as Savannah stepped through the door and saw the unhappy group bunched near the fireplace. Roxy and Brandy stood in front of Alex, and behind him were Mary and Leila. It looked as though he was trying to keep the two factions separated and blood from spilling.

  “But it isn’t fair!” Roxy shouted, stomping her foot in a manner that reminded Savannah of her youngest nieces and nephews. But they were only three years old. Roxy had no such excuse.

  “Lance told Leila to leave today,” Brandy was saying in a voice that was several decibels lower but just as angry. “I think we should abide by his decision.”

  “She’s out!” Roxy screamed. “She stays out! That’s it; that’s all! We aren’t changing the rules halfway through the game.”

  “But we have to change the rules,” Leila said, peeking over Alex’s shoulder. “Carisa’s dead, and—”

  “She isn’t dead,” Savannah said, walking into the affray. “I just got off the phone with the hospital, and they say she’s going into surgery to have her spleen removed, but she’s alive. Let’s don’t measure her for a coffin just yet.”

  “Well, she’s not coming back to the contest, that’s for sure,” Roxy said.

  “I’m afraid she’s right,” Brandy added. “The way her leg was all twisted, I’m afraid that she’s not going to be walking on it any time soon…even assuming she makes it through surgery.”

  So, even Miss Sunshine and Light isn’t placing any bets on poor Carisa, Savannah thought. Not a good sign.

  Roxy crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her bottom lip. “And Alex here wants to put Leila back into the game, just because Carisa’s out. I think that stinks! We were rid of her, and it should stay that way.”

  “You’re just afraid of the competition, Roxy,” Leila shouted. “You know that Lance was starting to like me and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s why he sent you home! Duh, Leila.” Roxy replied. “Because he was so charmed by you. Hell, you’re probably the one who pushed that monster statue thing down on Carisa, just so that you could get back into the game.”

  “Now, now. You shouldn’t say an ugly thing like that.” Brandy reached out and patted Roxy’s arm. “When you find out it was just a simple accident, you’ll feel so-o-o bad for accusing Leila like that.”

  Alex threw up both hands in his best director style. “Cut! Cut! Shut up and listen to me! I’ve got a lot of money invested in this show, and investors I have to answer to. We’re going ahead. And in order to do that, we need more than three contestants, so Leila’s back in. And I don’t want to hear anymore about it!”

  He left them and marched across the room and out the door.

  Mary stepped into his place and quickly took control of the situation. “Ladies, ladies,” she said, “we’re all upset over the terrible things that have happened, and we’re exhausted. What we all need is a good night’s sleep, and everything will look brighter in the morning.”

  “She’s right,” Savannah said. “One hot bath and eight hours’ sleep from now, I’ll be a lot more cheerful and ready to do battle with you gals again. Let’s hit the hay.”

  Brandy agreed, Roxy grumbled, and Leila looked far more satisfied than was decent, considering the circumstances of her reinstatement. One by one they filed away, leaving Savannah and Mary alone.

  “You handled that a lot better than your boss,” Savannah told her.

  “Wouldn’t take much.” Mary smiled, but she looked exhausted. “Are you going to your room now for that bath?”

  “Not yet. Detective Coulter will be here soon, and I need to talk to him. After that, I’ll be down for the count. But first, there’s something I need to ask you.”

  “Sure. What’s that?”

  “Where’s Lance?”

  Chapter

  11

  “Lance?” Mary gave Savannah a blank look.

  But Savannah had seen that same look several thousand times before in her years on the police force. And she had seen it ten thousand times when helping her grandmother raise her eight siblings. She and Gran called it the “Who? Me?” look. And it had other variations, like the one Mary was exhibiting: the classic “Me? Know anything?”

  “Yes, Lance,” she repeated. “Where is he? Everyone was in the courtyard after the ‘accident’ except him. I just knocked on his bedroom door and he didn’t answer. It was locked,” she added, admitting that she had tried the knob.

  Mary looked as uneasy as a cornered squirrel. She glanced right and left and swallowed hard.

  “You can tell me,” Savannah said. “I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble, but we have to account for everybody’s whereabouts at a time like this.”

  “Okay,” Mary said, “but you can’t let it get back to Alex.”

  “I won’t tell Alex a thing.” I might tell Dirk and all the rest of the Magnolia gang, she thought, but Alex…no problem.

  “Lance went home.”

  “Went home?” Savannah’s heart sank for a moment. Was the contest over after all? They could continue without a princess or two, but they only had one prince.

  “To his apartment in Hollywood. Just for the night,” Mary assured her. “He was worried that his neighbor might not be taking care of his dog, and, to be honest, he’d had about as much of Blackmoor Castle as he could stand and needed a break.”

  She thought of hearth and home and the comfort of unconditional kitty love. “I can understand that.”

  “He promised me that he’ll be back before Alex is even out of bed tomorrow morning.”

  “But wasn’t Alex asking about him tonight?”

  Mary shrugged and looked sheepish. “He asked, but I told him Lance was sound asleep, resting up for tomorrow.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Right after the shoot. He sneaked away when Alex and I were going over tomorrow’s schedule.” Mary reached out and put her hand on Savannah’s arm. “You won’t say anything that will get him in trouble, will you? Alex gets all upset over even the smallest stuff. He’d have a fit over this if he knew.”

  “He won’t find out from me, I promise,” Savannah told her.

  Mary relaxed. “Thanks.” Then she added, “You know, Savannah, you’re my favorite one of the contestants here. Always have been.”

  Savannah grinned. “Now, if only the ‘Man of My Dreams’ agrees with you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he agrees with me,” Mary said with a bit of sadness in her voice. “For all that’s worth.”

  “This stupid contest is fixed,” Savannah told Dirk as he examined the pile of rubble in front of the keep. “I don’t have a popsicle’s chance in Hades of winning it. Mary practically told me so herself, and Lance, too. I’ll bet it’s going to be that obnoxious Roxy—the advantages of sleeping with the producer—or maybe Brandy, who’s in cahoots with the owner of the place, the guy who’s paying the bills. A contest doesn’t get any more fixed than that, now does it?”

  “Whatever.” He didn’t look up, but tossed a few chunks of the broken statue aside as he rummaged through the mess.

  “Don’t you ‘whatever’ me, boy,” she said. “This is important to me. Even if you do think it’s stupid, you could at least pretend to be interested.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “That’s right. It is stupid. Grown men and women running around playing Knights of the Round Table and crap like that. It’s dumber than dirt, and I’m not going to pretend to be interested when I’m not. Besides, it looked to me like you were doing all right, contest-wise, out there in the garden this morning.”

  Savannah wondered for a moment, Just how big a chunk of plaster would it take to knock the tar plumb out of him? And: Is there any rule that two people
can’t get clobbered by the same fallen sculpture? She figured it was safe to assume that one wasn’t on the books.

  Dirk glanced up at her and said, “What’s that look supposed to mean?”

  “What look?”

  “You’ve got a puss on. What are you thinkin’ about?”

  “Don’t aggravate me, boy, any more than you already have. I was wondering what the sentence would be for assault with a deadly gargoyle.”

  “On a cop? Forget about it. You’d get the needle. Now why don’t you just forget about this friggin’ contest for a few minutes, and tell me what the hell’s going on around here?”

  Savannah glanced around the dark courtyard with its flickering lamps that created more shadows than light. In the distant hills coyotes howled, adding a particularly unsettling note to the scene, which was eerie enough without any added sound effects.

  “What’s going on?” she replied. “Not much. We have one-and-a-half dead women in less than twenty-four hours, a slew of suspects, all of whom have secrets, and they make it no secret that they can’t stand each other. I don’t have the slightest idea who attacked these women; I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me, but beyond that…And I’m wondering if I’m going to be next.” She sighed. “Pretty much just your average day in the Middle Ages.”

  Never in all her living life had a jasmine-scented bubble bath felt so heavenly, Savannah decided as she slipped her aching body into the shimmering suds and felt the warmth melt away the tension stored in her joints and muscles.

  Even away from home, she had to follow her nightly ritual, because it was one of the few hedonistic pleasures she allowed herself.

  Other than Godiva chocolates.

  Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream.

  Irish coffees topped with extra thick cream.

  Victoria’s Secret’s nightgowns.

  And silk sheets with lavender sachets under her pillow.

  Okay, she had to admit that she didn’t really deny herself much when it came to fleshly delights, but a lady could have worse vices than a candlelit bubble bath.