Poisoned Tarts (20 page)

“When are you going to let them take all of this crap out of here?” Savannah asked as they, once again, made their way through the nightmare display.

“I was going to release the scene today,” he said, stepping around a werewolf who was chewing on an alien's green foot. “But now that we're going to be looking for a stashed weapon, I'm going to have to hold it a bit longer.”

“Are you telling me we have to search through all this crap? I can't. I'm just sick to death of looking at it.”

“
We
aren't going to. I've risen to the highly respected level of sergeant, and you are a lowly civilian. We'll pawn it off on the standard-issue beat cops.”

“They'll be thrilled,” she said dryly.

“Actually, they will. I just talked to the chief. Considering the high profile status of the case, he's authorized some overtime. They'll be all over it.”

“When are they getting here?”

He glanced at his watch. “In less than an hour, so we'd better get on these interviews. I'll take the maid.”

“The one in the French hotty costume? I'll bet you will. And what am I supposed to do with myself?”

“Give me plenty of privacy? Oww!”

The moment they reached the front door, it flew open, and an angry middle-aged woman charged out.

Tiffany came running out after her dressed in a bright red, highly spangled belly dancer's costume.

“You had better not touch one thing here!” Tiffy was screaming at her. “I mean it! I hired you, not my stepmother. You'd better do as I say!”

The woman whirled around and stuck her finger in Tiffany's face. “You're nuts! You know that? You are just crazy! Your father was killed here less than twenty-four hours ago, and you're going through with a party? That's just…sick!”

“My father would have wanted me to go ahead! He would! He loved me, and he always wanted the best for me. The party is going on, no matter what that bitch in there says!”

“No, there isn't. I'm having nothing to do with a fiasco like that. Your mother—”

“Stepmother. She's my wicked
step
mother!”

“Whoa!” Dirk said, holding up one hand. “I'm sorry to tell you ladies that neither one of you is going to get what you want.” He turned to the older woman. “You can't take your things out of here yet. They're still part of my crime scene. We're going to be searching every single piece of this junk before it goes anywhere.”

“Yes!” Tiffany said. “Excellent!”

“And you…” Dirk said, turning to her, “…are as crazy as this woman thinks you are if you think you're going to have a party the day after your father is murdered here. Nobody is coming inside this house. I was being kind to you and your stepmom, even allowing
you
to stay here last night.”

“Kind? You think you've been
kind
to me?”

“Yes, more than reasonable. And if you mess with me, you'll be packing your bag and moving into a local hotel. Got it?”

“Are you telling me that I'm not going to be able to have my big Halloween party tonight? Is that what you're saying to me? With food arriving any minute and entertainers and…”

“Nobody's arriving. Nobody.” He took out his cell phone and called the station house. “Coulter here,” he said. “I'm going to need at least half a dozen radio cars at the Dante place right away. And could you get that team over here for the search, too?” He hung up.

“What do you mean, search? What search?” Tiffany demanded. “You people were crawling all over this place last night. I thought we were done with you.”

“You aren't done with us until we're done with you, Tiff-fy,” he said in his most condescending tone, the one that made Savannah feel the desperate need to box his ears.

Apparently, Tiffany felt the same urge. She even went so far as to raise her hand, then seemed to see something in his eyes that made her drop it.

“And now,” he said, “if you and your red, sparkly costume would get out of my way, I have work to do.”

They left a furious Tiffany in the middle of the sidewalk and walked on into the house.

In the foyer, they found Robyn having a conversation with the maid, who was dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein. Her fine figure was covered, neck to toe, with a shapeless white sheet. Her wig stuck straight up at least a foot, black hair with the traditional jagged white stripe on each side.

Dirk looked desperately disappointed.

Savannah chuckled to herself.

“Yes,” Robyn was telling the maid, “you most certainly
may
change out of that stupid costume and back into your…wait…no, from now on just feel free to wear a simple blouse and slacks of a neutral color. Something that looks nice but is comfortable and easy to move in.” She reached over and patted the maid on the shoulder. “I'm sorry that you ever had to wear that disgraceful outfit. Things are going to be different around here now.”

The maid nodded, setting the enormous wig bobbing wildly, and hurried away.

“Hello, Savannah, Detective Coulter,” she said as she walked over to them and shook their hands. “How can I help you today? Is there anything new about Daisy…or Andrew?”

“Uh, nothing about Daisy,” Dirk said.

Savannah could tell he was debating how much to tell her. It was never easy, deciding how brutally honest to be with the family.

But she knew Dirk. He would eventually tell it all.

“And about Andrew?” Robyn said. “What is it? Have they finished with the…uh…autopsy?”

“Yes. It's done.” Dirk cleared his throat. “I don't know if this is going to make you feel better or worse, but as it turns out, Andrew was actually shot to death.”

“Shot?” She stared at him, her mouth open, for a long time. Then she seemed to come back to consciousness. “Shot?” she repeated. “With a gun?”

“Yes,” Dirk said. “In fact, we're going to have to go over the premises again thoroughly to see if we can find the weapon. I'm sorry that we have to disturb you again, but…”

“No, don't apologize,” she said. “You have to do your duty, and we'll cooperate any way we can.”

Savannah nodded toward the doorway. “We ran into Tiffany out there and some lady. I guess she's the party planner or…?”

“She's the woman who brought in all these ghastly props. I think she works with the movie people, supplying this sort of stuff. I told her to get it all out of here, and Tiffany seems to have this ridiculous idea that she's having a party here in a few hours.”

“Don't worry,” Dirk told her. “It isn't going to happen. I'm seeing to that.” He glanced down the hallway where the maid had disappeared. “Do you mind,” he said, “if I talk to your housekeeper now? I just want to ask her a few questions.”

“I'll go get her,” she offered. “And then, if you don't mind, I'm going to go back upstairs to my room. I have some very important phone calls to make.”

“Phone calls?” Savannah asked. “Like to inform friends and relatives?”

The friendly smile fell off her face, and her big blue eyes blazed with a deep hatred that was a bit startling. “No,” she said, “I've already made those calls. I'm going to see if I can find an attorney who can keep that rotten kid from totally screwing me out of everything.”

“Good luck,” Savannah said, meaning it.

“Yeah, really,” Dirk added.

“Thank you.”

As they watched her disappear around the corner, Savannah leaned over and whispered in Dirk's ear, “I don't know who killed Andrew. But if Tiffany ends up dead, I'll know who did that one.”

“No kidding.”

 

It was quite a while before the maid returned, and by then, Dirk was outside, giving orders to the search team, who had arrived.

So Savannah decided to do the honors herself.

She took the young woman into the living room where they sat on a sofa to talk.

The maid had changed out of her Halloween attire and was wearing a simple white blouse with black slacks. Her long dark hair was pulled back and held with a large barrette.

Savannah approved of the change. She looked elegant but dignified. A far cry from the overtly sexy costume she'd been wearing when they'd first met her.

Dirk wouldn't agree, but his judgment couldn't be trusted when it came to a great pair of legs.

“My name is Savannah Reid,” she told her. “What's yours?”

“Libby Jefferson.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Six months, maybe seven,” Libby replied. She glanced around as though looking for eavesdroppers and added, “I guess it just seems like a long time.”

“Dog years, huh?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she giggled. “Yes, no kidding. With all the fighting and having that…that Tiffany…boss me around all the time. You wouldn't believe what I have to put up with around here.”

“I can only imagine.” Savannah shook her head. “Actually, I don't even want to go there mentally. She must be impossible to work for.”

“Oh, she is! And now that Mr. Dante is gone…” Tears filled her dark eyes. She blinked, and they ran down her cheeks. “He was really nice to me. I'm going to miss him.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Savannah said, offering her a tissue from her purse.

“Thank you. Do the cops know who killed him yet?”

“They're working on it,” Savannah replied. “But I was wondering…You were here yesterday when Detective Coulter and I took Tiffany away for questioning, right?”

She grinned broadly, for the moment, her mourning suspended. “I sure was. That was great!”

“Yes, it was rather fun,” Savannah whispered. “Can you tell me what happened then?”

“Oh, all hell broke loose. One of the workers ran in and told Mr. Dante that you'd taken her, and he threw a fit. He called his lawyer, and then he ordered everybody to leave.”

“Everybody?”

“Yes. There were all those people here setting up for the party. And he yelled at everybody and told them to get out of here. So they did.”

“And how about any others?”

“Others?”

“People other than the workers. Like the Skeleton Key girls, Bunny, Kiki…their mothers…anyone else who might have been here?”

Libby thought for a long time before answering. “I think they were here earlier. Bunny and her mom dropped by, but I think I heard Tiffany asking them to run some errands for her. And I know she sent Kiki off to the seamstress to see if her costume was ready…that red belly dancing thing she's got on today.”

“And where did you go, what did you do when Mr. Dante ordered everyone to leave?”

“Well, I live here in the servants' quarters, an apartment over the garage. So when he screamed at us all and told us to go, I went to my apartment.”

“How long were you there?”

“I stayed up there until last night when I saw all the lights and weird things going on around the pool area. That's when I came down and realized that Mr. Dante was dead.” She started to cry again. “My God, I'll never forget how he looked in that coffin. It was just horrible. I dreamed about it last night and woke up screaming!”

The thought occurred to Savannah, not for the first time, how wide the ripples from a murder spread, how many victims there were from such a grave crime.

“It'll get better,” she told her from experience. “But not for some time.”

Savannah allowed Libby to cry for a while, but as soon as she had composed herself a bit, she decided to press on. “Can you tell me, please, where are the guns kept in this house?”

“The guns? Sure. There's a pair of old dueling pistols in Mr. Dante's workout room and a hunting rifle in the top of the closet in the master bedroom, and Mr. Dante's father's gun is in the desk in the library in the bottom drawer.”

“Can you show me that one?”

“Of course.”

They left the living room and ran into Dirk again in the foyer.

Savannah pulled him aside long enough to tell him, “Check for a rifle in the top of the master bedroom closet and dueling pistols in the exercise room.”

He nodded but looked mildly perturbed to see she had taken over the maid. “I'm going to check Miss Twerp's room again, too,” he said. “I saw her drive away a minute ago. It seems like the good time. The team is going to start out in the yard.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They split up, and Savannah followed Libby into the library.

The maid went straight to the desk and opened the top drawer. Reaching beneath the drawer, she pulled off a small key that was taped there.