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Authors: G. A. McKevett

Tags: #Mystery

Killer Calories (16 page)

BOOK: Killer Calories
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“I understand.”
“You do not. I don't see any ring on that finger of yours.”
“No, but I'm the oldest of nine siblings. Some of them were boys. All of them—boys
and
girls—were a peck of trouble. From time to time, they still are.”
“It's true; we're never too old to get into trouble.” Phoebe looked away, over the hills to the setting sun, and assumed a philosophical expression. “We get too soon old and too late smart,” she said.
“Truer words were never spoken.”
The two women shared a moment of companionable silence before Savannah decided to turn the conversation back to more fertile ground.
“How did you feel about your brother's affair with Kat?” she asked.
“I thought he was an idiot, and I told him so. Of course, it didn't carry much weight with him. I tell him that at least twice a week.”
“How long did it last?”
Phoebe shot her a look of indignation and shock. “Well, that's a pretty personal question. But, considering my brother's age, I doubt he lasted very long at all. A man of his years has to think of his heart, especially with a younger little tart like Kat Valentina. I—”
“No, I'm sorry. I meant, the affair in general.”
“Oh. Three weeks ... more or less. I'm not exactly certain.”
Savannah bet that Phoebe
was
certain. With the aid of her telescope and acute curiosity, she probably knew when everyone's affairs began and ended. She would have kept a close account of her brother's activities.
“Who terminated it?”
“My brother, of course. But not before she asked him to marry her. She proposed to
him!
Can you believe such a thing? What is this world coming to, anyway, when women are on bended knees, offering engagement rings? These times we live in are perverse, I tell you. Perverse.”
“She offered him an engagement ring ...” Savannah just couldn't picture that. “... on her
knees?
”
Phoebe waved her glove at her. “Oh, pooh, of course not. Don't take me literally, girl. A flaming strumpet like that? She was probably lying flat on her back at the time.”
“And he refused?”
“Her proposal of marriage? Most certainly. He may be foolish, but he isn't dim-witted.”
“I see.”
Savannah didn't see, but she was afraid to ask for clarification, which she was fairly sure would only confuse her further.
“How did Kat feel about him turning her down?” Savannah asked, still trying to picture Kat Valentina proposing to Ford Chesterfield, while lying on her back.
“Oh, I suppose she had a bit of a snit fit about it. But there wasn't anything she could do. His mind was made up. And anyone who knows my brother is all too aware of how stubborn he can be.”
“How long ago did all this happen?”
“Recently.”
“Very recently?”
Phoebe gave her a wary look, as though realizing for the first time that she was speaking to a stranger about private, family matters.
“Yes, but I'm sure it had nothing to do with what happened to her,” Phoebe said. “Nothing at all. As charming as he may be, my brother isn't the sort of man women kill themselves over.”
Savannah watched Phoebe carefully, noting every expression that crossed her still-handsome face. Age might have traced a crease here and there in the porcelain skin, but her blue eyes still glowed with an enthusiasm for life that gave Savannah hope for her own later years.
But, as closely as she studied her, Savannah wasn't sure if Phoebe Chesterfield was telling her the truth or not. She wouldn't put it past her to embroider the facts to suit her fancy, or even fabricate them altogether.
In her experience, Savannah had come to believe that most people did one or the other to some degree and from time to time. The trick was figuring out how much and when.
But the sun was rapidly disappearing behind hills that had changed from a tawny suede to purple velvet, and she needed to return to the spa while she could still see the trail.
“I'd like to drop by again sometime and talk to your brother about Ms. Valentina,” she said. “I'm sure you've told me the most important facts, but he might have something to add.”
“No, he wouldn't,” was Phoebe's brusque reply. “He won't even talk to me about her ... and me his own sister. He's a private man, Ford is. I'm sure he wouldn't give you the time of day.”
“All the same, I'd like to try.”
Phoebe shrugged. “It's your time. Waste it if you want.”
Savannah bent over to pluck one of the dainty coral blossoms from the azalea bush they had just planted. “May I?” she asked.
“Of course,” Phoebe replied, seemingly relieved to change the subject. “But why do you want one little flower? If you like, go ahead and cut yourself a bouquet.” She waved her arm, indicating that the entire garden was Savannah's.
“Thank you, but this is all I need. It's for my potpourri ... a very special one.”
At the mere mention of flowers, Phoebe's face shone. “Special? Is it a secret blend?”
“There's no secret, but it is very personal. It contains flowers from special occasions throughout my life: a petal from my gardenia prom corsage, a pinch from each Christmas tree, a rose from my sister's bridal bouquet, spices from my grandmother's herb garden ... and a carnation from my grandpa's casket spray.”
“That's nice,” Phoebe said, looking away. But Savannah thought she saw a misting of tears in her eyes. “But why are you going to put my azaleas in your special potpourri?”
“Because I want to remember this moment, planting your flowers with you and watching the sun set over the mountains. It's a lovely memory.”
Phoebe cleared her throat, bent over, and picked another blossom. With a shy, childlike smile, she dropped it into Savannah's hand with the other flower. “Here then,” she said. “You might as well remember me twice as often.”
Briskly, she gathered her tools, then took off down the cobblestone path toward the house, leaving Savannah with the distinct impression that she wouldn't need two tiny coral blossoms to remember Phoebe Chesterfield.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“
B
oy, when the sun goes down around here, it drops like a lead balloon,” Savannah whispered to the daisy-studded bushes as she maneuvered along the now-dark trail. The tiny white flowers glowed faintly in the remaining twilight, marking the edges of the path that wound down the hill toward the spa.
Only moments before, her way had seemed clear enough. Now, she had the uneasy feeling that one bad step could send her skidding through thorny brush, past the occasional rattlesnake den.
Okay, so there probably weren't a lot of snakes slithering around at this time of night. Weren't they supposed to conduct their reptilian business out on the rocks when the sun was hottest?
Either way, she didn't relish the idea of tumbling into Mr. and Mrs. Rattler's living room while they were watching the evening news and eating their TV dinners.
“Bring a flashlight next time, nitwit,” she told herself, “or be sure to get home before dark.”
Of course, she had the Beretta tucked into her waistband. But right then, she would have traded it for a three-dollar penlight or even a candle.
Once she thought she saw a slender beam of light cut through the darkness, farther down the hill and off to her right. But the next instant it was gone, and she finally decided she had imagined the whole thing.
About halfway down, she lost even those last few rays that had illuminated the daisies for her. Without their guidance, she was fairly stuck. Although she could see the lights of the spa, glowing at the bottom of the hill, the trail leading to it was a switchback.
For half a second she considered heading straight down—the shortest distance between two points and all that highschool-geometry stuff. But she quickly discarded the idea as foolhardy. Wading through thistles and nettles as high as her armpits, not to mention close encounters with various species of nocturnal California wildlife didn't appeal to her.
“Okay, so call me a city girl,” she said to the crickets she could hear, chirping in the distance. Or were they frogs? “Point proven,” she added.
Maybe a cane might help. If she could get her hands on some kind of sturdy stick, she could wave it around in front of her. As a kid she had played a pretty mean game of blind-man's bluff. Hopefully, it was sort of like riding a bicycle, and she hadn't forgotten.
A little farther ahead, she could just make out the dark silhouettes of the avocado trees that marked the edge of the Chesterfields' property. Perhaps a branch from one of those might do the trick.
Only tripping once and stumbling twice, she made it to the tree and began to feel around among the limbs for a suitable candidate. The thought occurred to her that it might be nice to have a handsaw or a pair of tree nippers for the job. But she had split more than her share of wood with karate chops over the years. What was one more?
She had just selected her branch of choice, when she heard a soft thud directly behind her... like something dropping to the ground.
An avocado?
But even as the thought shot through her head, and she whirled around to face the source of the sound, Savannah knew it hadn't been an avocado dropping. She recognized wishful thinking for what it was ... even if when she heard it inside her own brain.
In the darkness, she caught the stealthy crunch of feet on leaves, two steps, directly in front of her. A swoosh of movement as an arm swung toward her head.
She ducked and felt the blow graze the top of her hair.
A figure, slightly blacker than the blackness around her, came into focus before her. Her startled mind went on hold as her karate training took over. Sure, she still had the Beretta tucked in her waistband, but there was no point in using it ... unless it was necessary.
Taking a half step back, she braced herself, and delivered a side kick to the figure's midsection.
She heard a sick, gagging gasp as her assailant fought for breath.
Good luck, she thought. That had been an effective one. She had felt the shock reverberate through every muscle and nerve in her body.
To make certain she had completed the job, she gave another kick slightly higher. Again, contact was made ... nice and solid, just as she had intended.
Her attacker groaned, fell backward, and crashed on the dried leaves beneath the tree, sounding as though they were thrashing about in a bowl of crispy breakfast cereal.
“Mess with me, will ya?” she said. “I'll tie your tallywhacker in a Windsor knot and see how you like it.”
Her assailant didn't reply; she didn't think they were capable, which was fine with her. But she heard him—or her—struggle to their feet and stagger away, taking that shortest-between-two-points, thistle-infested trail which she had deliberately avoided earlier.
“Hmmm ... decided not to stick around for seconds,” she replied, feeling the adrenaline hit her knees and turn them to mush, now that the immediate danger had passed.
She took one step forward, stepped on something round and cylindrical, and her right foot shot out from under her. Landing in the crispy leaves—where her attacker had just been floundering—she sat there on her aching butt, feeling stupid and clumsy.
So much for agility. So much for grace. So much for being a martial-arts expert.
Beneath her calf, she could feel the round, hard object that had caused her downfall. As her fingers closed around it, doing a tactile examination, she began to laugh.
“Why, thanks,” she said. “How very accommodating of you.”
Her fingertip found the switch on the side of the object and flipped it. A cone of light appeared in the darkness, illuminating the path before her. She pointed the beam down the hill, but her opponent appeared to be long gone.
“Much better than a fallen avocado or a dish of guacamole any day,” she said, giving the light a twirl like a cheerleader's baton.
Of course, there was that bag of chips she had smuggled into her room after her foray into the “real world” to see Dirk. They really could use some sort of dip.
Shining her newly acquired flashlight up into the tree, she checked the fruit until she found a couple that were nice and ripe.
As she headed down the trail—which she could now see clearly, thanks to her unknown combatant—she decided that she
could
have her flashlight, her chips, and guacamole—and eat them, too.
 
“Where have you been?” Tammy grabbed Savannah by the forearm and dragged her into their room. “I've been worried sick about you! First, you don't show up for lunch, then you miss dinner, too! I've never known you to skip a meal, let alone two in a row.”
“Thanks a lot,” Savannah replied dryly as she walked over to the bed, sat down, and began to slip out of her sneakers and socks. “I skip a lot of meals. Now between-meal snacks ... that's a different story.”
“Anyway, I'm glad you're finally back. I have something extremely cool to show you.”
“ ‘Extremely cool'? Oh, Tammy, you've been in California too long. What would your New York family think of your vocabulary ... or lack of one?”
Tammy gave her a dirty look. “Okay, Georgia girl ... I have something to show you that's hotter than a Waynesboro cotton field at high noon. Is that better?”
Savannah returned the look. “Just show me what you've got, kid, before I clean your clock. I've done it once tonight, and I'm up to another round.”
“What?”
“Never mind. What is it?”
“This.” Proudly, Tammy thrust a beige envelope into her face. “Somebody slid it under our door while we were out. It's addressed to you, so I didn't open it.”
Savannah studied the envelope, which bore a striking resemblance to the one in her mailbox that had contained all the cash. She also examined the somewhat puckered, ever-so-slightly damp seal. “What does it say?” she asked.
Tammy's mouth opened and closed a few times and her eyes bugged a little, making her look a bit like a guppy.
“Say?” she sputtered. “How would I know what it says? Like I told you, it has your name on it. I wouldn't dream of—”
“Oh, can it. You steamed it open. I
know
you steamed it open. And now you know that I know ... so, stop lying before your tongue turns black and falls out of your head.”
“But how did you ... ”
“I had eight younger brothers and sisters, Tammy. I know when somebody's jerking my chain, and it pisses me off. So, don't do it.” She took a nail file from the nightstand and carefully slit the top of the envelope. “Besides, if it had been addressed to you, I would have steamed it open.”
“You would have?”
“Certainly. I'm just as nosy as you. But I'm a detective; I get paid for it.”
Tammy snorted and plopped down on the bed beside her. “I do, too, at least in theory. You haven't written me a check yet this week.”
“Stop bitching, or I won't tell you what's in my letter that you've already read.”
She unfolded the sheet of matching beige stationery and read the typed words.
Dear Ms. Reid,
From what I can see, you've been doing a good job, pursuing this matter for me as I requested. It appears my money was well spent. But I'm anxious to know if you've formulated any theories as to Kat Valentina's death.
I understand it is customary for private detectives to provide reports, detailing their findings to their clients. Would you please write me such a report as soon as possible?
Leave your report in the mailbox at the entrance to the spa on La Palma Drive at nine o'clock this evening. Immediately after putting your report into the box, go directly to the public phone in the spa's main lobby near the rest rooms. I'll call you then to reveal my identity to you and give you further instructions. Please have your assistant, Tammy Hart, with you at the phone, as I would like to speak with her, too. Thank you.
“Whoever our client may be, they don't seem to have any problem with assertiveness,” Savannah said, mulling over the letter's message and general tone.
“But at least we'll be able to find out who it is when they call the public phone tonight.”
Savannah chuckled. Ah ... the naïveté of youth. “They aren't going to call and tell us anything, kiddo,” she told her.
“But they said ... ”
“I know. They want me at the lobby phone so they can pick up the report without being seen. And they're smart enough to demand that you be there, too. That way, I can't have you posted as a lookout near the mailbox.”
“Oh.” Tammy looked perturbed that she had been duped.
“You'd better hurry. It's almost nine o'clock, and you have to write your report.”
“Yes, and it's too late to call Dirk. He couldn't make it up here that quickly.”
“What are you going to do? How are we going to be at the phone booth and keep an eye on the mailbox at the same time?”
Savannah tapped her fingernails on the envelope and chewed her bottom lip. “I'll think of something,” she said. “In fact, it's coming to me right now.”
BOOK: Killer Calories
12.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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