Sour Grapes

by G. A. McKevett

  The two lamps in the bedroom weren’t particularly bright, but they gave enough light for Savannah to see that there was more than just blood on the bed. The stain itself was three to four feet across and in the center of it was a fist-sized hunk of some sort of bloody, fleshy tissue.

  “What do you suppose that is?” she asked Ryan in a voice too low for those in the door to hear.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Have you got your flashlight?” Savannah said.

  Ryan handed her a small, but powerful penlight. She shined the beam into the center of the gore. In the doorway she heard Atlanta gasp. She felt she should offer her some words of comfort, but under the circumstances, none came to mind.

  Ryan moved closer to her, and after looking at the mass a while whispered, “A fetus?”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, “but I don’t know for sure.” She pointed to the wall over the bed, just beneath the window, where a word had been scrawled in blood on the rose-covered paper. “What do you make of that?”

  He squinted at the writing. “T-U-L-S? Tuls?”

  Savannah cocked her head sideways. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Some of the letters are backward,” Ryan observed. “I guess that means our offender is dyslexic or—”

  “It’s upside down. It’s been written upside down. It says S-L-U-T. Not very friendly.”

  “Not friendly at all. Who do you suppose wrote it?”

  “It was Barbie,” Atlanta said from the doorway. “It was that rude bitch, Barbie—excuse me, Mrs. Lippincott—who did that to my bed. We had a fight earlier and—”

  Savannah hurried over to her sister and grabbed her firmly by the forearm. “That’s enough, Atlanta. You had a shock, honey. And I think you need to sit down somewhere and collect yourself.” She turned back to Ryan. “Do you have your cell phone on you?”

  He nodded.

  “Why don’t you call Dirk and get him over here?”

  “Good idea,” he said.

  “Who is that?” Mrs. Lippincott asked. “Who’s Dirk?”

  “Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter,” Savannah said. “He’s with the San Carmelita Police Department. We have to report this and have it checked out.”

  Savannah looked back to the bed with its gory stain and at the offensive word on the wall. “Tell Dirk that he should probably have Dr. Liu come out, too.” she told Ryan.

  He was already dialing.

  “And who’s this Dr. Lou?” Mrs. Lippincott wanted to know. “Is he your family physician?”

  “No,” Savannah said. “Dr. Jennifer Liu is the San Carmelita medical examiner . . . the coroner.”

  Chapter 10

  Since Ryan had offered to guard the door to Atlanta’s room until Dirk arrived, Savannah decided to take her sister a comfortable distance away from the unpleasant scene. Believing that some fresh air would help, she led her out into the courtyard, where they found a wrought-iron park bench near the fountain with thick, inviting cushions.

  Savannah had also chosen a spot where she could see the front door and would know the instant Dirk or Dr. Liu arrived.

  “Are you okay, kiddo?” she asked her, putting her arm around her shoulders. The girl was still shaking, but she had stopped crying, and that was a good sign.

  “Why do you think Barbie did that?” Atlanta asked. “I mean, I know we didn’t like each other. We were giving each other a hard time, but it wasn’t all that bad. Why would she put that horrible stuff on my bed?”

  Savannah had a couple of theories running around in her head. And Barbie vandalizing Atlanta’s bed was only one of them. She wondered whether it would be wise to share the possibilities with Atlanta . . . especially if the other scenarios might be more frightening than the first.

  “How could she hate me that much? It’s such a crazy thing to do,” Atlanta continued. “And where would she get so much blood?”

  Savannah decided to plunge ahead, even if it might make things worse. “We don’t know for sure that Barbie was the one who did it. And we don’t know if it was meant to scare you or her. There’s a lot we don’t know yet, so just hang in there, honey, until we find out what’s going on.”

  Through the glass French doors Savannah could see a bustle of activity in the gallery. Mrs. Catherine Whitestone-Villa had said good night and excused herself earlier in the evening, to return to her home, a lovely Spanish-style hacienda on the hill behind the center. But apparently someone had alerted her to the problem in the guesthouse, and she was on the scene, running around in quite a dither.

  For a moment Savannah wondered why Anthony Villa hadn’t returned with his wife. But then she remembered the mention of children being tucked into bed and decided that Anthony had probably remained behind for their sake.

  “Atlanta, sweetie,” Savannah said, torn between family loyalty and duty, “if you’re feeling better, I should probably talk to Mrs. Villa for a minute, just to fill her in on what’s happened.”

  Atlanta nodded. “Sure, I’m okay.”

  She didn’t sound nearly as certain as her words. Savannah could tell she was trying to be brave, and she respected her for it. Most people twice Atlanta’s age would have freaked out under the circumstances.

  Savannah stood. “Would you like to sit here for a while, or would you rather come with me?”

  Atlanta jumped to her feet. So much for wanting to be rid of her interfering older sister.

  The moment they stepped into the gallery Catherine ran over to them. She had changed from her evening wear to a designer jogging suit that looked like it had never been taken on a run. Her white tennis shoes were spotless, and her French twist still perfect. Her already fair complexion was even more pale, and she appeared terribly upset.

  “Oh, Savannah, I’m so relieved to see you.” She clasped her hands to her chest dramatically. “What on earth is going on around here? Somebody said that one of the girls had something dreadful put on her bed.” She turned to Atlanta. “I believe they said it was you, Miss Reid.”

  Atlanta glanced at Savannah, who gave her a warning, “keep quiet” look. She shrugged and studied the ranch-pegged hardwood floor.

  “Well, yes, that’s true,” Savannah offered. “Although we aren’t sure yet how it got there or exactly what it is.”

  “I was told it’s blood,” Catherine said. “You don’t think one of our girls has been hurt, do you?”

  “I certainly hope not. We’ve called the police and—”

  “The police? Was that really necessary? I mean, if word of this gets out . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Mrs. Villa actually looked embarrassed, as though ashamed to be caught worrying about anything so frivolous as her vineyard’s reputation, when one of her young guests might have recently shed some of her life’s blood on one of her bedspreads.

  “You . . . you know . . . how this sort of thing gets all blown out of proportion,” she said. “People love a morbid story, and I can just see it all over the newspapers by tomorrow morning.”

  Savannah pasted a sympathetic look on her face. “Of course I understand. But certainly none of us would call the press. And the police officer who’s coming is a personal friend of mine. We were partners together on the force for years. I’m sure we can trust him to be discreet.”

  Mrs. Villa seemed immensely relieved. “Oh, thank goodness.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “After all, this event was meant to generate positive publicity . . . what with my husband running for the senate. And, of course, we did it to help the girls with their scholarships, and all that.”

  “Of course . . . all that.”

  Catherine paused, giving Savannah a searching look, as if trying to decide whether or not she was being mocked. Savannah decided to let her wonder.

  “I just feel so terrible about this.” She toyed with the drawstring of her jogging pants. “Is there any way I can help?”

  “Actually, yes,” S
avannah said. “If you can ask your staff—anyone you can spare—to help us. Ryan Stone and Mrs. Lippincott are organizing a search for one of the young ladies who appears to be missing.”

  “Missing? Oh my! Now you are scaring me!”

  “Please don’t be overly concerned at this point,” Savannah said with far more assurance than she felt. “This may be nothing more than a cruel, tasteless joke. We’ll know more soon.”

  “Do keep me informed. I want to know everything. I’ll go speak to Mrs. Lippincott now about that extra help.”

  “Thank you. You’re most gracious.”

  As Savannah and Atlanta watched Catherine Whitestone-Villa hurry away, Atlanta leaned close to Savannah’s ear and said, “Do you like her?”

  “Of course I do. She’s my employer. And when you’re a private detective who gets a job once in a blue moon . . . you like anyone who offers you a paycheck. So what if she’s shallow, a bit dense, and a snob? That doesn’t make her altogether a bad person, does it?”

  Atlanta gave her a half smile. “Pretty close, I’d say.”

  Savannah pressed her finger to her lips. “Sh-h-h, now would be a good time to keep your opinions to yourself. Which reminds me, I don’t want you to tell anyone here about your disagreement with Barbie. Nobody. Got that?”

  Atlanta’s eyes grew wider, and she gave a paranoid glance around. “Why? Do you think somebody hurt her? You do! And you’re afraid that they’ll think I’m the one who did it. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “You know that old phrase: What you say can and will be used against you? Well, that’s as true for innocent people as it is for guilty ones. So please, Atlanta, for right now say as little as possible to everybody here. Trust me on this one; okay, sweetie?”

  “Okay.” In a spontaneous gesture that went straight to Savannah’s heart, Atlanta threw her arms around her neck and gave her a suffocating hug. “Thanks, Van. Thanks for everything. I’m sorry about what I said earlier, about you being sexually frustrated and all that. Even if you are, I shouldn’t have brought it up like that.”

  “No problem.” Savannah returned the hug, squeezing her tightly around the waist and trying not to think about how bony her ribs felt. “All forgiven. All forgotten. All gone.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, really.”

  The front door of the gallery flew open, and Dirk entered, looking even more rumpled and grumpier than usual. Savannah gave Atlanta a comforting pat on the shoulder and said, “Hang tight, kiddo. I’ve gotta have—”

  “I know, I know . . . a few words with Dirk, fill him in on what’s going on.” Atlanta sighed, once again dissatisfied with her lot in life. “I need a Diet Coke. I think I’ll go to the kitchen and see if they have some.”

  Savannah tried to think of a delicate way to express her concern, but she couldn’t, so she said it straight. “Be sure that you’re around people. Don’t go anywhere that you’re going to be alone. Understand?”

  She saw the fear intensify on Atlanta’s face and hated to see her sister so scared. But, on the other hand, fear could be a good thing; it made you more careful. And under the circumstances, caution was definitely in order.

  A few minutes later, she was showing Dirk the stain on the bed and trying to explain the finer points of Barbie Matthews’s psyche.

  “She’s a raving bitch. A spoiled brat. And she’s up to no good, I’m sure of that. Ah . . . if she’s alive, that is.”

  Dirk played his flashlight over the soiled bedspread. “Yeah, I hear ya. This is a pretty gross mess all right.” He lowered his voice. “If this goop came out of her, she’s probably not feeling too good right now. You know anybody with the urge to kill her?”

  “You mean, besides me and Atlanta?” She shook her head. “I don’t really know the girl, only talked to her a few minutes.”

  “And that was enough to make you hate her?”

  “Absolutely. I’m sure you’d agree if you’d had the displeasure of making her acquaintance.”

  Dirk glanced around the room at the scattered clothes, makeup, jewelry, hair dryers, and towels. “But this was Atlanta’s bed, not the other kid’s, right?” he asked.

  “Yes, but this one had been assigned to Barbie. She bullied Atlanta into changing with her. So we don’t know whose benefit it was done for.” Savannah pointed to the writing on the wall. “Why do you suppose they wrote that upside down? It’s not easy, writing while standing on your head.”

  Dirk walked closer to the bed and shined his flashlight along the window sill. “The lighting really sucks in here. Can we turn those lamps up?”

  “No,” she told him. “I think they were going for cozy ambience when they decorated, not crime-scene processing. What are you looking for?”

  “With a little luck, bloody fingerprints,” he replied. “I think the reason the word was written upside down is because the person who dumped the blood . . . and the other guck . . . on the bed was outside, leaning in through the window.”

  Savannah thought that one over for a second and grunted her approval of his theory. “Good. Yeah, that makes sense. And hey, look, the screen is off.”

  “How much do you want to bet it’s layin’ on the ground outside?”

  “Let’s go look.”

  “Naw, you stay here and wait for Dr. Liu. Me and Ryan’ll check outside.”

  Savannah didn’t have long to wait. No sooner had Dirk left than Catherine Villa appeared, escorting Dr. Jennifer Liu.

  “This lady says she’s the county medical examiner,” Catherine said, her voice shaky. “She says you sent for her.”

  “I did. Don’t worry, Mrs. Villa, it’s just . . . in case . . . really, don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry? You call the coroner to come to my property, and you tell me not to worry?”

  Savannah grabbed Dr. Liu by the arm and pulled her into the room. “Excuse me,” she said to Catherine, “but we have to do a little work in here. I think I’ll close this for now. See you later.”

  She slammed the door in Catherine’s extremely concerned face and turned to Dr. Liu.

  Medical examiner Dr. Jennifer Liu looked like anything but what she was. Tiny, petite, deceptively fragile in appearance, she hardly seemed like someone who cut up dead bodies for a living. But she claimed to love her work and frequently regaled crowds at cocktail parties and the local Irish pubs with her vast repertoire of “stiff” jokes.

  “Don’t worry? You told her not to worry?” Dr. Liu asked. “Somebody somewhere had better be worried, if I was called out in the middle of a very hot date.”

  Savannah looked her up and down, noting the black-leather pants, the four-inch high-heeled boots, and the black, sequined, angora sweater. It must have been a very hot date, indeed.

  “Oh yes, I’m worried. I’m very worried.” She pointed to the bed.

  Jennifer took a look. “Yuck.”

  “Yuck? I didn’t know that word was in a medical examiner’s vocabulary,” Savannah said.

  “Sure it is. I get grossed out as quickly as anybody.” She set the case she was carrying on the floor and walked closer to the bed.

  “Then how do you do what you do?”

  The M.E. produced a flashlight and leaned over the stain, studying it closely. “Easy,” she said. “My curiosity is greater than my yuck-factor.”

  Savannah allowed her a couple of minutes to think and scrutinize the area, until her own curiosity got the best of her. “Well, what do you think? Any ideas about what that fleshy stuff is there in the middle?”

  Dr. Liu opened her case and removed several items: a large cotton swab, a glass vial, and a small bottle of fluid.

  “I have an idea what it is,” she said. “Or at least what it isn’t. Hang on a minute and let me check.”

  With one of the swabs she collected some of the blood that lay, congealing, near the unidentified tissue, and stuck it into the glass vial. She unscrewed the lid of the bottle and poured a small amount of the fluid into the vial. After sw
irling it around for a moment, she held it up to the light and nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

  “What? What did you thought . . . er . . . think. What the hell is it?”

  Dr. Liu sealed the vial with a stopper and began to write on its identification label. “It’s blood, but it isn’t human. And neither are those.” She pointed to the glob in the center.

  “Not human?” Savannah released a sigh of relief. “Well, what kind is it?”

  Dr. Liu laughed. “You detectives don’t expect much of us medical examiners, do you? I can’t tell. These field tests aren’t that sophisticated. Although once I get back in the lab, I’ll be able to identify the source.”

  She placed the vial in a small, padded pouch and zipped it closed. Then she removed a Polaroid camera from her case and took a couple of photos of the bed, the wall and its writing, the window and surrounding area.

  “Those organs are too small to be human,” she said. “I don’t even think they’re mammal. If I’m not mistaken, I think that mass on the right is a gizzard. Probably from a chicken.”

  Savannah looked closely at the area she was indicating. “It does look that way, doesn’t it? I remember Granny Reid used to fry up a batch of those when we couldn’t afford wings and drumsticks.”

  Dr. Liu gave her a funny look, and she quickly added, “Hey, they weren’t so bad. Anything’s good if you slap enough gravy on it.”

  “Ah-h huh. Whatever you say.”

  “I say, ‘Thank God, this isn’t a homicide scene.’ It must be somebody’s idea of a sick joke. But when I think of how scared my baby sister was, I want to shove these chicken guts up their nose sideways.”

  “I understand completely. I’ll take these back to the lab and identify them for sure. And then if you find your culprit, you can have them back and do just that.”

  Dr. Liu finished scraping the entrails into another evidence container. Then she knelt on the floor, packed everything away, and snapped her case closed. Standing, she brushed off the knees of her leather pants.