Killer Calories (10 page)

Savannah had the unpleasant thought that Tammy might have persuaded her to break into Josef Orlet's apartment just to see what a lousy housekeeper he was.

“Yes, you did,” she said. “But, I'm sorry to say it isn't that much worse than your all-American frat house apartment. Surely, that wasn't what you had in mind when you said—”

“No, of course not. I wanted you to have a look in that drawer.” She pointed to a small chest in the far corner of the room.

“Which drawer?”

“The bottom one. The only one that's closed.”

“Mmmm. It is the only one closed. Do you think that has significance?”

“Oh, I think so. If I were him, I wouldn't want anyone seeing what's inside.”

Savannah walked over to the chest and knelt in front of it. With her fingers around the handles, she looked back over her shoulder at Tammy.

“I'm not going to find decomposing body parts in here, am I?”

“No. It isn't
that
gross, or I would have run out of here screaming.” Tammy thought for a moment. “You haven't really opened drawers and found ... that ... have you?”

“I used to walk a beat in the tough part of Hollywood. You don't even want to know what I found in drawers, Dumpsters, alleys.”

She pulled the drawer open, but the dim, evening light coming through the open window wasn't enough to see inside.

“Did you remember to bring the flashlight this time?” she asked Tammy.

Instantly, she produced it from the waistband of her shorts. “Don't ever say
I'm
beyond rehabilitation,” she said, handing it to her with grand aplomb.

Savannah took it from her, switched it on, and shined the beam into the drawer.

“Ah, ha ... Kat Valentina memorabilia,” she said as she studied the magazine clippings, newspaper articles, and hundreds of candid shots of Kat doing everything from sitting in a sauna, to taking a bath, to having sex with several individuals at once in a hot tub.

“It doesn't look like Kat posed for most of those,” Tammy remarked, kneeling beside Savannah.

“No, I'm sure she didn't know they were being taken, or she would have smiled that famous, toothy grin of hers.”

Tammy's silence told Savannah she didn't fully appreciate the joke.

Savannah pulled the drawer out farther and saw something that looked like a Barbie doll. But, pulling it out, she saw that it was larger, about fourteen inches tall, blond, and wore a shimmering red disco dress.

“They made Kat Valentina dolls?” Savannah asked.

“Yes, a few. Kat showed me hers. It was like that one ... well, without the ... alterations.”

Savannah had just noticed what Tammy meant. Beneath the full, red skirt, someone had made some rather vulgar changes to the doll's anatomy. Black pubic hair had been drawn with ink on the otherwise generic area, and some kind of sharp instrument had been used to gouge a ragged, pseudo-vagina.

“Cute. Josef should stick to playing with cars and trucks, like good little boys.” She rummaged deeper into the drawer. “What have we here? Does Josef like to dress up in ladies' undies?”

She pulled out one of several satin-and-lace thongs that were buried beneath the photos.

“That's what I was referring to, when I said I washed my hands right away,” Tammy told her. “I don't think he just wears them ... if you know what I mean.”

“How nice,” Savannah said, dropping the panties as though they were crawling with vermin. “They're ... um ... crusty.”

“Gross, huh?”

“Yes, my dear. That's definitely gross. They're also too small for Josef's rear end. I'd venture a guess that they were Kat's.”

“You think he stole them from her?”

“Or she left them behind, here or elsewhere. I understand Kat wasn't averse to shedding her clothes wherever she got the urge.”

Satisfied that she had uncovered enough of Josef's kinky habits to suit her purposes, Savannah slid the drawer closed.

“Ready to go wash your hands?” Tammy asked as Savannah handed her back the flashlight.

“Maybe a long, hot shower with some antibacterial soap would be nice,” Savannah replied, heading back toward the daybed and the open window.

But a second later, they heard a sound that made them freeze—a key in the door lock.

“Oh, great, he's back!” Savannah whispered. “The shit's gonna hit the fan now!”

S
avannah knew she would have just enough time to vault through the window, but Orlet would have the door open before Tammy could make it. “Quick, under the bed!” she whispered as she yanked the window down.

They had just disappeared into the nest of dust bunnies beneath the daybed when the door swung open. Quarters were a bit tight, but both women were well hidden beneath the chenille bedspread that spilled onto the floor.

Tammy's face was to the wall, her back pressed tightly against Savannah's. Through a gap between the bedspread and a stack of dirty laundry, Savannah watched a pair of men's sneakers walk by on the way to the bathroom in the rear of the apartment.

He disappeared inside, and they heard the distinctive tinkling in the toilet.

“What are we going to do?” Tammy whispered.

With their backs pressed together, Savannah could feel Tammy's heart pounding and hear her breath coming hard and fast. “Sh-h-h ...” she said. “Just be quiet and try to calm down, before you hyperventilate.”

A moment later, the toilet flushed and Orlet returned to the main living area. They heard the refrigerator open, some bottles clink, then the door slam closed. The bottle cap rattled when it hit the countertop.

Savannah didn't know whether to be relieved or worried when he turned on the television and flipped to a baseball game. With the sound of the TV filling the room, they were less likely to be heard—just in case Tammy started to gasp for air or one of them inhaled a dust ball and sneezed. On the other hand, the sportscaster had just announced that it was only the third inning. So, she was afraid they might have to lie under the daybed until the Yankees won the pennant.

He walked over to the bed and plopped down on it so hard that a couple of the springs gouged into Savannah's hip. She stifled a yell but decided to get even with him as soon as possible. No two-bit pervert, whose idea of a good time was sexually mutilating fashion dolls, poked her and got away with it.

As two more innings played and Orlet guzzled more beer, Tammy lay so perfectly still that Savannah was afraid maybe she had passed out. Reaching for Tammy's hand, she found it and gave her what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. The fingers that wrapped around hers were pretty clammy, but at least they squeezed back.

Savannah was just about to think they would be stuck through extra innings, when Orlet tossed his empty bottle onto the floor a few inches from her nose, walked over to the television, and switched it off.

She listened closely as he punched in some numbers on the telephone.

“Yeah, it's me again,” he said. “So, I gave you time to think about it. What's it gonna be?”

He fidgeted a while, listening, then said, “I'm glad you decided to be smart. You're buying yourself some good insurance.”

Savannah felt her ears perk up like a cocker spaniel's. The coarseness of his voice, the nasty smile in his tone sounded as if he was doing business as Orlet, the ex-con, rather than the respected masseur. Somehow, she didn't believe he was a part-time representative for Mutual of Omaha.

“No, I haven't told anybody, and I won't,” he said, “as long as you show up in ... say ... ten minutes in the rear parking lot. Yeah, that's right. Have it in an envelope. All of it.”

Savannah had to resist doing a jig beneath the bed and giving away their position.

He was leaving! Better yet, they could leave! In less than ten minutes!

And, maybe best of all, he was pulling some sort of extortion scam on somebody. She didn't have to exercise much imagination to hope it might have something to do with Kat Valentina's death.

He paid another visit to the bathroom to get rid of some recycled beer, then ... finally ... left, locking the door behind him.

“Did you hear that!” Tammy whispered as they crawled out from under the bed and flexed their cramped limbs. “Did you? He's blackmailing somebody!”

Savannah scrambled up onto the bed and raised the window. “That's what it sounded like.” She sat on the sill and threw one leg over. “Get a move on, kid. Let's boogey out to the parking lot and see who it is.”

 

“Are you starting to feel like you've lived most of your life in bushes?” Savannah asked, as she and Tammy crouched behind some azaleas at the edge of the rear parking lot.

“It's better than hiding under a bed with some ex-con swigging beer on top of you.” Tammy sat down on the dew-damp ground, obviously too tired to squat.

From this dubious vantage point, they had a clear view of the area, which was lit with one halfhearted streetlamp. By its puny light they could see the comings and goings of anyone who decided to conduct a meeting in the middle of the asphalt.

So far, neither Josef Orlet nor his telephone companion had shown. And the appointed ten minutes had come and gone.

“Are you sure this is the only rear parking lot on the property?” Savannah asked, afraid they were cooling their heels in the azaleas for nothing.

“Sure I'm sure. I know my parking lots. This is it.” She hesitated, thinking. “Unless it's that other one down there by the—”

“Oh, no. I knew it.”

“Hey, shhhh. We've got company.”

Tammy pointed to the opposite side of the lot, where Josef Orlet had just appeared, casually strolling around the perimeter as though he were simply taking the evening breeze.

He walked over beneath the streetlamp, looked at his watch, then glanced around. For a while, he stood there, tapping his foot, exuding impatience. Then he continued his border patrol.

He had made the circuit twice, when a second figure appeared, coming from the direction of the main complex.

Tammy tapped Savannah's shoulder and pointed. Savannah nodded that she, too, had seen the newcomer.

The two men met beside some parked cars, too far away for Savannah to hear what they were saying. But, by the light of the streetlamp, Savannah could clearly see the patrician features of the Royal Palms's resident physician.

“Dr. Ross?” Tammy whispered.

“Seems so. I was sorta hoping it would be somebody else,” Savannah replied, recalling the doctor's gentle touch and kind bedside manner.

“Can you hear them?”

“Not a word. But he's handing Josef the envelope. He must have been the one we overheard him talking to on the phone.”

As quickly as the doctor had appeared, he left. Soon, Josef followed, both men heading back toward the main complex.

“Well, that didn't take long,” Tammy remarked as they left their screen of bushes.

“Doesn't take long to pay off a blackmailer,” Savannah said. “At least not the first time.”

“Do you think he'll come after him again and ask for more?”

“They often do.”

“Poor Dr. Ross.”

Savannah brushed the dirt off her knees, picked some leaves out of Tammy's hair, and decided it was time to go back to the room and have that nice, hot shower.

“Eh ... don't feel too sorry for Dr. Ross,” she told Tammy as they carefully chose their footing along the dark pathway of uneven stones that led back to their dormitory.

“Most people don't do business with extortionists unless they've got something to hide ... usually a crime of their own.”

“I wonder what crime Dr. Ross committed.”

“That makes two of us.”

 

Savannah waited until she was absolutely certain that Tammy was asleep before she slipped the cell phone out from under her pillow and punched in Dirk's number.

He sounded groggy when he answered and, therefore, even more grumpy than usual.

“Hi, it's me,” she whispered, keeping an eye on Sleeping Beauty in the next bed.

“Whoopee,” he replied without an ounce of enthusiasm.

“I'm gonna break out of this joint tonight. I've got a serious craving for a piece of cherry pie with a big scoop of ice cream.”

She heard him yawn. “Go ahead. You have my blessing. I can't believe you've been there ... what has it been ... forty-eight hours now?”

“Don't get smart with me, buddy. Just meet me at the coffee shop on Agoura Road near the highway in half an hour.”

“Only if I can put my finger in your pie.”

She punched the off button.

Years ago, she had learned, it was the best way to handle Dirk when he was feeling feisty.

 

“Cute outfit,” Dirk said as Savannah and her gray sweatsuit slid into the booth across from him.

“Up yours.” She took a swig of the coffee he had thoughtfully already ordered for her. “It's the Royal Palms uniform. I think the idea is that we're supposed to be ready and eager to sweat out impurities at a moment's notice. They're very big on purification there.”

“It would take them a lot longer than a week or two to get all the chocolate, pralines, and cream out of your arteries.”

She toasted him with her coffee. “Here, here.”

A sleepy, bored-looking waitress in a pink-and-white-striped uniform with ketchup stains strolled over to their table and took their orders: Savannah—cherry pie with a double scoop of vanilla, Dirk—a couple of donuts.

“Aren't you afraid of perpetuating a stereotype with the donut routine,” Savannah asked.

“Nope. I'm not in uniform. The stereotype thing only counts if you're wearin' the blues.”

Glancing around, Savannah decided they weren't likely to be pegged as cops by either of the other two customers, a biker dude in leather and chains, sitting at the snack bar, or the bag lady in the corner, who was sipping her token cup of coffee and having an animated conversation with her invisible companions.

The joint had passed its prime, which might have been in the mid-sixties. As with the spa, the Mediterranean look must have been “in” when the restaurant had last been decorated with heavy, wrought-iron light fixtures, black velvet paintings of matadors on the walls, and avocado green leatherette seats.

But the coffee was rich and fresh. And with the prospect of a real live dessert—sans the tofu—on the horizon, Savannah decided that life was temporarily worth living.

“So, did you just want somebody to pig out with tonight?” Dirk asked. “Or is there a real reason for you hauling me out of bed?”

“Gluttony loves company,” she said. “But I also needed someone to talk to. Someone with a keen sense of the criminal mind, someone with years of experience under his belt, someone I respect and trust.”

With every word, Dirk swelled like a toad sitting on the only lily in the pond.
How typically male,
she thought. He was just too easy.

The waitress set their sweets in front of them, and Savannah wasted no time digging in. “But since I didn't know anybody like that,” she added around a mouthful of ice cream, “I called you.”

“Gee, thanks. What have you got?”

“Don't know yet. It's been a busy twenty-four hours. So far, I've found out the following—Get out your little black book, Babycakes. You're gonna need to take notes.”

 

Half an hour later, Dirk sat there, staring at his notebook, chewing on the end of his pen. The donuts and two more of their siblings had disappeared, along with Savannah's pie.

“So, which do you think it was, suicide or murder?” he said.

“Don't know yet. It may have even been an accident for all I know, just like Dr. Jennifer said. But you have to admit, the other possibilities are intriguing.”

“Who do you think ransacked your room?”

“I don't know who. I don't even know why.”

“Then, why do you think Dr. Ross is paying off Orlet?”

Savannah shrugged. “I didn't say I had any answers for you. At the moment, I'm just collecting questions.”

“I think you've got enough for the moment.” He continued to scribble on the book, but Savannah took a peek and saw that he was doodling. He was up to no good.

“What's next?” she said.

“I think I'll bring Orlet into the station and put some pressure on him. I'll squeeze him like a ripe zit and see what pops.”

Savannah gave him a deadpan stare. “Tammy's right. You are gross.”

He was less than devastated at the insult. “I'll bring Orlet in about noon. You wanna watch from behind the one-way mirror?”

“But that's lunchtime. I'll miss the spa's alfalfa-sprout, shredded-carrot, and goat-cheese soufflé.”

“We'll go out for a cheeseburger and fries afterward. Your treat.”

“A chance to buy you food! I'll be there.”