Ethan appeared thoughtful, then somber. “That’s awful. That’s about as wrong as it gets.”
“Yeah.” She sighed and shook her head. “Tell me about it.”
Chapter 11
“Once you’re on your way home, I’m going to check in with my assistant and before the day is over I’ll talk to Ryan and John. I know they’ll want to help, too. I don’t want you to think that my husband and I are the only ones working on your case,” Savannah told Ethan as she drove her Mustang into her driveway, parked next to his pickup, and turned off her ignition. “Then I’ll return to your house, later this afternoon. I need to talk to Amy and Luciana, see if they can tell me anything new.”
“I doubt they can,” Ethan told her as he took off her sunglasses and laid them carefully on the dash. “They aren’t nosy by nature, either of them. They mind their own business, and let you mind yours.”
Savannah stifled a grin. Ethan didn’t know much about women if he thought they weren’t curious about other people’s affairs. Men either, for that matter.
Human beings were nosy by nature.
When it came right down to it, who on earth wouldn’t rather mind somebody else’s business than their own?
“Nevertheless,” Savannah said, “I need to speak to them. Nobody knows a person better than the one who spends hours and hours inside their home.”
“That’s probably true. If you think it’ll help, Savannah, then by all means, come by.”
He winced as he rubbed the back of his neck. She had seen him do the same thing numerous times during the day. She could only imagine the tense muscles and resulting headache he must have.
“I was going to ask your husband something,” he said, “but then I got mad at him and forgot.”
“Happens to me all the time. What was it?”
“Has he considered putting an APB out on my wife’s car? I drove around yesterday afternoon, searching in all her favorite haunts: stores, restaurants, beaches, parks, and play areas where she takes Freddy, but of course, I didn’t find her. I was thinking that if the police were all hunting for her . . .”
“What parks did you go to, Ethan?” Savannah stared out her side window so she wouldn’t have to look at him when she asked the question.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Paradise Cove, Zuma, El Matador. Then I came up here to San Carmelita and checked out Harbor Cove, Mission Park, and Oak Grove.”
Savannah could have sworn that her heart skipped a couple of beats. For a second, she thought she might have to jump-start it to get it going again.
“Oak Grove?” she said, as casually and even-toned as she could manage. “You told me that you knew the park, that your family went there a lot. But I don’t recall you telling me that you’d gone there yesterday trying to find Beth, Pilar, and Freddy.”
He shrugged. “It was one of many stops.”
“What time were you there?”
“I don’t remember for sure. I wasn’t really watching the clock. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re driving around all over God’s creation, worrying yourself sick.”
“When you were there, did you drive all the way to the end of the canyon, where the road ends and the foothills and hiking trails begin?”
“Yes. When I got to the end and turned around, that’s when I stopped for a minute and texted Beth again. I remember I told her where I was, and I asked her where she was.”
“Do me a favor,” Savannah told him. “Get out your phone and see exactly what time it was when you sent that text.”
“Why?”
“Please, just do it.”
He seemed a little worried and maybe even a bit suspicious, but he did as she asked.
A moment later, he shoved the phone under her nose and pointed to that particular text.
She could see that it had been sent at 2:33 in the afternoon. The content was exactly as he had described it: I’m here at Oak Grove, looking for you. Call me, Beth. Please call me. We can work this out.
“Why do you care what time I was there?” he asked Savannah. “Is it because that’s where Pilar’s body was found?”
She saw him shudder. Then he added, “Would I have seen her body from the road? Do you think she was already there, dead? Are you telling me that she was lying there, hurt or dying or dead, and I was just a few feet away? If I’d known, maybe I could’ve even helped her, but I—”
“No. I don’t think it had happened yet.”
“Where was she? Where did she die?”
“Down one of the trails, in a stand of oaks. You wouldn’t have seen her from the road.”
“Then why are you asking me these questions? How do you know it hadn’t happened yet if I couldn’t have seen her body from my truck?”
She turned to face him and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Because you would’ve seen the car.”
“What car?”
“The white Porsche. Your wife’s car. When we found Pilar, it was parked right there in the lot. Toward the end of the road, where the hiking trails begin. You were looking for your family and your friend, for your wife’s car. You wouldn’t have missed it.”
Savannah watched Ethan Malloy’s face as what she had told him sank into his consciousness, as the implication contained in her words took hold of his mind and heart.
The silence between them grew thick and heavy. The only sound she was aware of was his breathing—rapid, hard, and ragged.
Finally, he said, “So, what you’re telling me is, my wife and child were present when our sweet little friend was murdered?”
“We don’t know anything yet for sure, Ethan. But I’d have to say it’s possible. I’m so sorry.”
Savannah watched her client’s face turn as pale as his missing wife’s white Porsche.
* * *
Once Savannah had Ethan on his way home, she walked into the house, her head down and her heart even lower. She liked to think that with each encounter, she left her clients better than she found them.
So far with Ethan Malloy, she had done the exactly the opposite.
Not good, old girl, she told herself as she unlocked the front door. You better turn this thing around quick, before things go from horrific to . . . Well, whatever’s worse than horrific.
As soon as she stepped inside, she realized she wasn’t alone in the house. While arriving home to find someone there was hardly unusual, what with the Moonlight Magnolia gang coming and going at will, this was different.
Standing in her foyer, Savannah could hear an unfamiliar voice in from her living room, a woman’s voice—a woman with an unusual accent that she seldom heard except in movies or on television.
Usually, they were shows set in New Jersey or New York and were about gangsters fitting other bad guys with cement shoes or adorning them with anchor-and-chain necklaces, then dumping them over the sides of ill-gotten luxury yachts.
“I wouldn’t waste a dollar in a mall like that,” the woman was saying most emphatically in her decidedly “Yankee” accent, dropping r’s and adding w’s everywhere. Savannah had never heard the like.
“For gawd’s sake, you people have a lotta nerve even calling that ridiculous place a mall.”
“Mother, please,” Savannah heard Tammy reply. “I realize it isn’t Fifth Avenue—”
“Fifth Avenue? I’ve seen better shops in the Village, or even the Bronx.”
“Oh, Mother, you’ve never shopped in the Bronx. Not once in your life.”
“I’d rather see you shopping in the Bronx, or anywhere else on the Eastern Seaboard than in this gawdforsaken place.”
“I like it here” was Tammy’s soft, humble response.
“How can you? The weather is boring with no seasons to speak of. The people here are stupid and shallow. You can’t have a decent, intelligent conversation with any of them, because they’re—”
“I love them! Mother, you’re talking about people I love very much! Please, don’t speak of them that way. It hurts me to hear it.”
“Yeah? Well, if the truth hurts, that’s just too bad. You know I’m right.”
As Savannah put her purse on the table near the door, she heard little Vanna Rose start to whimper, then cry.
“Oh, no,” she heard Tammy say. “Now we’ve made the baby cry with our arguing.”
“We’re just talking. That’s all. She’s far too nervous, that baby. You’re obviously coddling her way too much. The world’s a tough place, and you have to prepare children for it. They need a little steel in their backbones.”
That was it. Savannah had heard enough. She reached over, reopened the front door, and slammed it closed again.
Clearing her throat far too loudly, she strode into her living room, ready to do battle on behalf of her friend and her precious namesake, if necessary.
Maybe even if it wasn’t necessary. Maybe just for the hell of it, because she felt like it. Listening to bull pucky, not to mention bullying, had that effect on her.
Both Tammy and her guest looked startled to see Savannah’s entrance. But little Vanna, who was sitting on Tammy’s lap, stopped crying instantly. A smile lit her face, and she held out her chubby baby arms to her aunt.
Savannah wasted no time, but hurried across the room to the desk chair where Tammy was sitting and scooped the child into her arms.
“How’s my beautiful girl?” she said, kissing first one soft, round cheek, then the other.
Finally, reluctantly, she turned to the woman sitting on the sofa. “You must be Dr. Lenora Hart.” She tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice, but only half succeeded.
Savannah watched as Tammy’s mother gave her a slow, evaluating perusal, from head to toe.
Or more accurately, from wind bedraggled curls to scruffy, dusty loafers.
Hiking through the foothills, kneeling on the ground, and spending much of the morning in the sun and wind hadn’t done a lot for her appearance.
Although Lenora’s gaze had lingered momentarily on the large and elegant engagement ring and wedding band that Dirk had given her—without a doubt, the largest purchase of his lifetime thus far—the doctor’s overall perusal of Savannah tip to stern had been critical and disapproving.
Savannah knew she hadn’t passed muster.
But then, she hadn’t expected to.
“And you,” Lenora said, her voice virtually oozing with contempt, “must be the Great and Powerful Savannah Reid herself. You’re exactly as I imagined you. I would have known you anywhere.”
In her peripheral vision, Savannah saw Tammy cringe and place one hand over her mouth.
Making certain that her own voice contained an equal amount of contemptuous ooze, Savannah replied, “Well, imagine that. And me without my blue tights, red cape, and brassiere made of gas can funnels.”
Having scored one for the home team, Savannah took a moment to give Dr. Lenora tit-for-tat—the same of obnoxious, all-too-female once-over she had received.
Unfortunately, it was hard to find anything to criticize. The woman was lovely, the image of her daughter, plus a few years that had obviously been gentle to her.
Though she lacked Tammy’s tan, her skin was smooth and creamy. If she’d had any “work” done by any of those world-famous plastic surgeons on Madison Avenue, they’d done a good job.
Her hair was as shiny and golden as Tammy’s lush locks, with just the right amount of gray at the temples, bespeaking worldly wisdom. It was short and straight, a bit more masculine than any Southern belle would have worn, but Savannah had to admit it was a stylish and sophisticated cut.
By down-in-Dixie standards, Lenora could have used a tad more eye shadow and a little more color on her cheeks, but overall, her makeup was tasteful and natural.
Her ivory silk shirt and matching wool slacks, although not overly practical for a typical day at the beach in sunny California, were as elegant and fashionable as her small gold hoop earrings. From a dainty chain around her neck dangled a solitaire diamond pendant that was far too large to be real. Except that it probably was.
Savannah had to admit, overall, the woman was beautiful.
Dr. Lenora Hart was perfect in every way that counted when shopping Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills or the Triangle d’Or in Paris or enjoying a Manhattan lunch at the Plaza’s Palm Court.
Too bad she’s a nasty bitch, Savannah thought.
Of course, Granny Reid hadn’t raised her to think such things about her fellow women. Her grandmother had taught her that, while appearances were vitally important, and a woman should “Do all ya can with what the good Lord gave ya,” having a sterling character was essential.
Big, fluffy hair and lash-extending mascara were extremely important to any true lady, but every Southern woman was taught that her words should be soft and kind, indicative of a gentle spirit, even when she had raccoon eyes and hair as flat as a flitter.
The words “Pretty is, as pretty does” had been spoken many times in Granny’s household with seven granddaughters.
As usual, Granny’s sage advice came to the fore, even in times of extreme provocation. Savannah pasted her very best fake smile across her mouth and said, “Welcome to California, Dr. Hart. We’ve all been looking forward to having you and your husband pay us a visit. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
At first, Tammy’s mother said nothing at all. She just sat there. When she finally did offer a reply, it was a simple, unpleasant “O-o-okay.”
Lenora Hart’s eyes locked with Savannah’s for a long time, and it was all too obvious to Savannah that, once again, she was being evaluated, but in a whole new way. Like before, she was failing the test.
In the course of Savannah’s life, she had met numerous people from the Northeastern Seaboard. Some she liked, and some she didn’t. As with the any group or classification of human beings, they varied from fantastic, to so-so, to loathsome, with most flopping back and forth from day to day and moment to moment.
But the one thing she had observed about folks from New England and the mid-Atlantic states, the characteristic they all seemed to have in common was: they knew a bullshitter when they saw one.
A Southerner might give you the benefit of the doubt, and a Californian might decide that they had simply heard you wrong. But East Coasters had a nose for manure. They could smell a fertilizer pile, even a small one, from fifty miles away, and they had no patience or respect for someone who spread it. As far as they were concerned, everyone should speak their minds as plainly and bluntly as they did.
No sooner was Savannah’s little welcoming speech over than Lenora gave her an ugly sneer that told her she saw right through her hypocrisy, her fake-kindness. Rather than give her extra points for attempted civility, Dr. Lenora Hart considered her a coward and thought less of her for it.
That’s all right, Savannah told herself. If it weren’t for Tammy, she wouldn’t have given this woman a moment of her time. If Lenora weren’t her best friend’s mother, Savannah wouldn’t have bothered with kindness—fake or otherwise.
Life was too short to mess with mean people.
But unfortunately, sometimes you have to, she reminded herself. Mean people weren’t wise, but they were usually smart, cunning enough to know the value of a hostage.
Their message was all too clear: Do what I want, or I’ll hurt the people closest to your heart.
Even a superheroine with a cool red cape, blue tights, and a tin brassiere couldn’t win in a fight like that.
So, Savannah used the one tactic she had found that worked in this situation. Sometimes.
She ignored the woman.
Turning her back to Lenora Hart, Savannah crossed the room to stand beside Tammy at the desk.
Instantly, her friend pulled an extra chair close to hers and motioned for Savannah to sit next to her.
Savannah did, juggling the squirmy little redhead in her arms. Once settled, she turned to her assistant and gave her a supportive “don’t let her get you down, kid” smile.
Tammy returne
d it, but barely.
“I was glad to come home and find you here,” Savannah told her, loud enough that Lenora could hear every word. “The clock is ticking, and I’m really getting worried about Beth and the baby.”
“Me too. Every time I look at Vanna, I think about Freddy and I want to cry.”
Savannah kissed the top of the child’s head and briefly wondered what on earth could be softer than a baby’s hair. Then she pulled her mind back to the work at hand.
“I appreciate you finding out about that accident that Ethan had on the set. Especially as quickly as you did. It saved us from making a fool of ourselves and a lifelong enemy of Ethan Malloy.”
“No problem. I’m glad it worked out. I would have felt terrible if it had been him that hurt his own family.”
“Me too. But he was the only real suspect we had. As glad as we all were that there was an innocent explanation for the injuries on his chest, we’re still back to square one with no viable suspect.”
Savannah was about to suggest that Tammy run a check on Neal Irwin, but before she could even get the words out, Tammy shoved a report binder into her hands.
The view cover was even decorated with a photo of the guy in question. It wasn’t a particularly attractive picture. In fact, it was a mug shot.
Savannah couldn’t help chuckling at her friend’s sometimes perverse sense of humor.
Glancing over the unflattering picture, the subject’s hair standing on end, a deeply disgruntled expression on his bruised, puffy face, the blood clearly visible on the collar of his white shirt, she was impressed. Not to mention, a bit confused.
“Wow,” she said. “Looks like he got in a lot of trouble, for a guy who cries over a duck bite.”
Tammy snickered, and lowered her voice, as though she didn’t want her mother to hear her. “He got caught in bed with some lady. The husband wasn’t happy.”
From behind her, Savannah could hear Lenora mumbling to herself—but loudly enough to make certain she and Tammy could hear her. “This is what you private detectives do for living? You rake up the muck of people’s lives and then wallow in it? They pay you money to do this?”
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