Death by Chocolate (16 page)

When Elizabeth brought her
the change, Savannah decided to dive in.... although she had a distinct feeling
that the water would be deep and cold.

“I realize that you’re...
busy,” she said with all the Dixie charm she could muster, “but could we talk
for a couple of minutes? I’m—”

“No.”

She went ahead and produced
her investigator’s license, flipping it open in Elizabeth’s face. “My name is
Savannah Reid and I’m a private investigator. I’m working on—”

“Oh, I know who you are. I
heard about you on the news, and Louise told me about you when she called me
about Eleanor. Some bodyguard you turned out to be. Not exactly
Johnny-on-the-Spot, were you?”

Savannah’s blue eyes went
cold, and her recently summoned charm evaporated. In a voice that wasn’t
exactly oozing with sympathy, she said, “I’m very sorry for your loss. I
attended your sister’s funeral this afternoon and—”

“And you were wondering why
I wasn’t there.” Savannah took a deep breath. “I figured you had your reasons.”

“You’re damned right I did!
Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a famous sister.... a rich
sister.... a famous, rich,
twin
sister.... when you work in a frig-gin’
restaurant, slinging hash for lousy tips?”

Savannah thought about
suggesting that if she weren’t such a vile person, she might get better tips,
but she decided to say nothing except, “Nope. I guess I don’t.”

“Well, it’s the pits.”

“I’ll bet it is.”

“Do you know how many times
a day somebody walks into this place and says, ‘Hey, you know who you look
like? No, really... you look just like....’ It sucks. Especially when they say
stupid things like, ‘If your sister’s so rich, what are you doing waiting
tables?’ Boy, that’s the one that really irks my butt big time.”

“Yeah. I imagine that’s
pretty irritating.”

“You don’t know the half of
it.”

“Sounds like you weren’t
very fond of your sister,” Savannah observed.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.
“No, I wasn’t. But I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Me? Getting at? Naw, I’m
just sitting here shooting the breeze with you.”

“If you want to investigate
anybody, take a good, hard look at that lousy niece of mine, Louise. Now
there’s one who’d do about anything to get her hands on her mother’s money.
Eleanor spoiled her rotten, and look what she got: a daughter that wouldn’t
even talk to her. Did
she come
to the funeral?”

“Yes, she was there with
her little girl.”

Elizabeth’s hard face
softened. “Gilly’s a little sweetheart. I miss her since I stopped going over there
a few months ago.”

“If you don’t mind me
asking, why did you estrange yourself from your sister?”

“You spent time with
Eleanor and you ask me a question like that?”

“I just meant... was there
some reason in particular a few months ago?”

“My sister and I had a
blowout, okay? I offered her my opinion about... somebody.... and she told me
to leave. I did. And I didn’t bother to go back.”

Savannah leaned forward,
her eyes locked with Elizabeth’s. She could tell the woman wanted to say more. If
she could just nudge her over the edge...

“Did it have anything to do
with Louise?” Savannah asked, taking a stab in the dark.

She had hit a bull’s-eye.
Elizabeth’s face flushed with anger at the memory. “Yes. Louise and that snake
accountant of Eleanor’s— Martin something. It was a disgusting situation for
that child to be growing up around.”

“Louise and Martin?”

Unpleasant pictures floated
through Savannah’s brain. If there was anything more unappealing than Louise or
Martin, it was the thought of the two of them together.

“Yeah, they were like a
couple of dogs in heat, all over each other right in front of that little girl.
Of course, Martin’s just one in a long line for Louise, but with Gilly getting
older, she needed to cut down on her shenanigans a bit, or at least keep it
behind closed doors.” Louise and Martin. This opened up all sorts of
possibilities, Savannah mused, sordid though they might be.

“And Eleanor didn’t agree
with you? About their relationship, I mean.”

“Oh, I think she did. She
couldn’t have been happy about it either. But she didn’t want to hear anything
bad concerning Louise. Eleanor could talk trash about her own daughter, but
heaven help you if you said a word about her.”

“How long do you think it
was going on—this affair?” Elizabeth shrugged. “At least six months before I
confronted Eleanor about it. I don’t know if they ever broke it off. Could
still be going on for all I know.” Savannah flashed back to earlier in the
afternoon at the cemetery—Martin standing behind Louise, his hand on her
shoulder. Had there been chemistry between them? In retrospect, very likely.

Savannah stood up and laid
a three-dollar tip on the bar. She hadn’t touched the smoothie. Even if she had
wanted it before, the thought of Louise and Martin doing the grizzly bear hump
had put her off her feed.

“Thank you, Elizabeth, for
speaking with me. I’m really trying to do what I can for your sister, even if
it is.... after the fact, so to speak.”

“Yeah, okay. No problem.”
Elizabeth gave her a grudging smile and quickly covered the dollar bills with
her palm. “Thanks.”

Savannah found Cordele
sitting, as requested, on a bench beside the fountain in the center of the
mall. Palmettos surrounded a blue-tiled pool where goldfish swam among myriad
coins tossed there by well-wishers. A plume of water shot upward toward a
skylight and fell, a spray of glittering iridescence, back into the pond.

Savannah steeled herself
for another war of the words, but when Cordele looked her way, she smiled. Just
a half-smile, really, but Savannah was happy even for that. Apparently she was
over their last argument.

“Sorry—that took a little
longer than I’d hoped,” she said as she sat down on the bench beside her.

“It’s okay. I was just
sitting here, watching people go by.” Cordele waved her hand, indicating the
dozens of shoppers hurrying past them. “Folks sure do come in all shapes,
sizes, and colors, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.
Sometimes I just sit in a public place and look at the passersby and think, not
one out of fifty of these people is thin enough and young enough and attractive
enough to be on the front cover of a fashion magazine. But they’re all
beautiful in their own way.”

About that time, a woman in
her seventies strolled by, wearing a turquoise pants suit, white patent leather
shoes and purse, and large dangling earrings that nearly brushed her shoulders.

“Look at her,” Savannah
said. “A spring in her step and a sparkle in her eyes. You can just tell she’s
full of vinegar. She’s lovely.”

“That’s because she’s
happy,” Cordele observed. “And that’s why I want to be a psychologist. I want
to help people. I want them all to be happy. Or at least as many as possible.”

Savannah reached over and
put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “And that’s why you’re going to make
a great psychologist. You’ll make a real difference in the world, Cordele.”

Savannah’s sister looked at
her with little-girl eyes. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely. No doubt about
it. You’ll be an instrument of healing and comfort to many, many people in the
course of your career. You mark my words, darlin’.” Cordele blushed with
pleasure, and Savannah gave her a squeeze. “How about that French manicure now?
Maybe we’ll splurge and get gorgeous toesies while we’re at it.”

“Okay.” Cordele glanced
around, as though afraid the Diet Police might be listening. “And then.... if
you still want to.... a Mrs. Fields chocolate chip with maca-damia nuts would
be great, too.”

“You got it.”

As the two sisters walked
down the mall to the beauty salon, Savannah was grateful for this peaceful
interlude with her sibling. But she doubted whether even the sensual pleasures
of a manicure, a pedicure, and a sugar fix could erase the thoughts of Eleanor
Maxwell lying in her coffin, her supposed loved ones gathered around her. And among
them, a killer—or killers—wi th evil secrets.

Yes, Savannah decided, she
was very grateful for her own family. And at the moment, she was especially
grateful for Cordele, warts and all.

Chapter

“W
here’s Miss Sunshine and Light?”
Dirk asked Savannah as they sat together on the sofa, her largest mixing bowl
full of popcorn between them. On the coffee table was his half-empty bottle of
beer and her cup of Bailey’s-enhanced coffee, along with a dozen folders,
notebooks, and files pertaining to the case.

“Upstairs in the bathroom,”
Savannah replied. “I bought her a bottle of Victoria’s Secret’s new bath gel.
She’s blissfully soaking in a mountain of bubbles, just like I intend to do
after you leave.”

“Here’s your hat; what’s
your hurry?”

“Something like that.” She
gave him a smile that diluted the insult. Not that he would have cared one way
or the other. Dirk didn’t really care what anyone thought of him and that made
him difficult to offend.

“Tell me something,” he
said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Exactly what
is
Victoria’s
secret anyway?” ‘That’s for women to know, and men to find out only on very
special occasions.”

He gave her a sideways
glance up and down her figure. “I guess you and I haven’t had any occasions that
were... special enough.”

She sniffed and blew her
nose on a tissue. “Nor are we likely to.”

“Isn’t that cold of yours
getting any better?” he said with more genuine concern that she would have
expected him to muster.

“Well... yes.... actually
I’ve noticed an improvement just today. Thanks for asking.”

“Good. The sooner you get
over it, the less likely you are to give it to me.”

“Right.” Picking up her
notebook from the coffee table, she glanced over her list. “Did you go by the
lab today?”

“Yeah. Eileen had taken the
day off.”

“A lot of people do that on
Sunday. Don’t take it personally.”

“Anyway. That Mexican dude
that works there on the weekends—”

“I believe her assistant is
Honduran.”

“Whatever. He said they
didn’t get any prints off the letter except for Eleanor’s and one from Martin
Streck.”

Savannah took a handful of
popcorn. “That doesn’t surprise me. I already told you I caught him looking at
one of the letters in her office. Was it that one—the most recent one?”

“Yep. That was it.”

“And I don’t suppose the
county wants to spend the big bucks for a DNA test on the envelope seal unless
we’ve got something substantial on somebody.”

“Exactly. And it wouldn’t
be enough to just test the envelope. At this point, we’d have to swab and run tests
on everybody there except maybe the dogs, and I haven’t even ruled them out
yet.”

“Why do I have the feeling
it would match either Louise or Martin? Maybe both.”

“On the same envelope?
Yuck.”

“I’m kidding. Although,
from what Eleanor’s twin sister said, Louise and Martin have swapped more than
just slobber.”

“He’s a lot older than she
is. And not nearly as good-looking.”

“Do you think she’s
good-looking?”

He shrugged and took a swig
of his beer. “She’s not exactly a dog. But a little skinny for my taste.” He
turned and gave her a quick but searching glance. “Why? Do you think
he’s
good-looking?”

“Eh, not particularly.” She
decided not to mention that Streck had nice thick hair. Dirk was particularly
touchy on the topic of hair thickness or the lack thereof. It was his only form
of vanity.

“Maybe the two of them are
in cahoots,” he suggested, stretching out his legs and propping his sneakers on
the coffee table.

She reached over and
swatted his leg. He lifted his feet as she slid one of the folders under his
shoes. “Maybe so,” she said. “Perhaps he robs Eleanor blind, and when he’s
finished draining the coffers, Louise knocks off Mommy Dearest.”

“And if they’re a couple,
they get to share the money.”

“Or maybe Martin’s doing
everything on his own.”

“Or maybe Louise is. Or
maybe it’s somebody else.”

“Did you get anything out
of Burt Maxwell this afternoon?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“Absolutely nada. I
followed him to his house in Hollywood, where he told me in no uncertain terms
that I was out of line trying to question him on the day that they buried his
ex-wife. Slammed the door in my face.”

“Well, he sorta had a point
there. Not exactly great timing, but what can you do?”

“I’ll go after him again
tomorrow; that’s what. And if he gives me any lip, I’ll haul his butt to the
station and stick him in the sweat box. See how he likes that.”

The “sweat box” was the
drab, gray interrogation room where the thermostat was always set at a
comfortable 85, no matter what the weather was outside. About eight by ten feet
with no windows, one door, one table, and two chairs, it was claustrophobic to
say the least. Dirk swore by the sweat box—claimed he could get anybody to
confess anything just to get out of there.

Savannah thought it was
best used as a last resort, not a first line of offense. But then, she and Dirk
had disagreed on a lot of things in the rocky course of their relationship.

“Maybe he’d talk to me,”
she suggested. “I mean... you’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, running down Streck.
After all, he’s our hottest lead at the moment. It’ll probably take you most of
the day doing a background on him, huh?”

Dirk gave her a dubious
look—the one he used when he had a feeling he was being worked. “Yeah, I
guess.” ‘You don’t mind if I take a shot at him, then?”

“No harm in trying,” he
replied. “But weren’t you going to talk to Louise, too?”

“Yeah, I’ll drop by there
tomorrow morning. Mention to her that there’s nothing left of the family
fortune. That she’s getting zippo as an inheritance. I should be able to tell
by the look on her face whether that’s news to her or not.”

“But if you
can’t
tell.... and if Burt won’t talk to you either... where does that leave us?”

Good old Dirk, she thought.
Always walking on the sunny side of the street. She considered mentioning that
if the sky fell in and the world came to an end during the night, they’d pretty
much be out of luck, too. So why bother to live?

But she had spent too much
of her life trying to teach Dirk the value of optimism. He was a lost cause.
Instead, she thought for several long moments, then sighed and said, “If you
don’t find anything on Martin, and I don’t get anything out of either Burt
Maxwell or Louise, I’d say it pretty much leaves us where we are right now—up
the proverbial, waste-polluted creek, paddle-free. Things can only get better.”

An hour later, with Dirk
gone and Cordele in bed, Savannah found the time to soak away some of the day’s
stress in her own jasmine-scented bubble bath. Having placed two votive candles
on the edge of the tub by her feet and another two on top of the hamper nearby,
she was savoring the simple pleasure of watching iridescent bubbles sparkle in
the candlelight. They tickled deliciously as she scooped up mounds of the
glistening, fragrant froth and let it glide down her arms and legs.

Savannah had always
thoroughly enjoyed being female... but never so much as when she was taking a
bath. Guys could have their showers; they didn’t know what they were missing.

It was almost worth having
to shave your legs.

Just as she was drifting
into a delicious trancelike state, she heard—as though from far away—an
unwelcome buzzing. It was coming from the cordless phone that she had left on
the hamper next to the candles.

“I knew I shouldn’t bring
you in here,” she told the phone as she dried her hands on a nearby towel and
picked it up. “You seem to always know just when I— Hello.”

A woman’s voice with a
sweet Southern drawl replied, “Hello yourself, Savannah girl.”

“Gran.” She smiled and
settled back into the bath, the phone cradled against her shoulder. “You are
the only one in the world I want to talk to right now.”

“You must be taking one of
your famous bubble baths.”

“How did you know?”

“You sound relaxed and
drowsy.”

“Maybe I was in bed
asleep.”

A chuckle on the other end.
“No, if I’d woke you up, you’d have been
crabby
and drowsy.”

“That’s true. I reckon you
know me. How are you and everybody and everything back there?”

“Probably better than you.”
Gran laughed again, and the sound went through Savannah, more warming and
comforting than any luxury bath. “How’s it going with Cordele being there?”

“Oh, okay. We went to the
mall today, did a little shopping.”

“She didn’t talk you into
buying her a dog, did she?”

“We had the discussion, but
no, I didn’t.”

“Good, ‘cause I’d be the
one who’d wind up taking care of it.”

“You? Why would you....?”
Savannah thought it over, then the lightbulb came on in her head. “Gran, did
Cordele move back in with you?”

“Sure she did. About a
month ago. Didn’t you know that?”

“No-o-o. She failed to
mention that she’s living with you again. Is she contributing any money for
food or utilities or
anything?”

The silence on the other
end told Savannah more than she wanted to know. Granny Reid was, once again,
allowing her grandchildren to take advantage of her.

“Cordele’s awful busy,”
Gran finally said. “She’s always on the go. I hate to ask her to get a job
while she’s going to college and all.”

“She’s been going to
college for the past ten years. She’s making a career of it. The only problem
is it doesn’t pay. And speaking of money, are you footing the school bills,
too?”

Again a heavy silence.
Then, “Well, you know she got a scholarship, and that helped some. Cordele
makes really good grades. She always has.”

Savannah thought of her
octogenarian grandmother struggling to make ends meet in that tiny, rural
Georgia town. Her ramshackle, shotgun house that was cozy, but far too small
for the Reid clan, especially now that some of the nine kids had acquired
spouses and children of their own.

Gran had always been
generous to a fault, opening her heart, her home, and her refrigerator to
everyone who dropped by. And they did—several times a day.

“Gran, I thought you were
through with letting those kids sponge off of you. You laid the law down and
told them that—”

“I know. I know, and I’ve
pretty much been stickin’ by it. But I make an exception for Cordele. She’s
trying so hard to get her master’s degree.”

“She’s not been trying
that
hard. Taking one class per semester isn’t exactly working your tail off.”

Gran sighed. “But she’s got
all those meetings she goes to. She calls them her support groups.”

“How many does she go to?”

“Oh, she’s out to one or
the other ‘most every night. I think she goes to a couple of them on Saturday.”

“Maybe she could cut back
on a few of those and get a part-time job at Wal-Mart. Then she could hand you
a few dollars for groceries now and again.”

“No. I don’t reckon she
could do without those meetings. They’re mighty important to her. Cordele’s
always been the nervous one of the bunch, you know.”

Savannah growled under her
breath, ‘Yeah.... works out pretty good for her, too.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

There was a long and
awkward lag in the conversation. Uncomfortable pauses frequently occurred when
Savannah and her grandmother discussed the topic of her spoiling the
grandchildren and the “greats,” as she called their offspring.

“I was just worried about
you, Savannah,” Gran finally said. “When Cordele told me she was gonna surprise
you with a visit, that she wanted to work out some—what did she call
them—familial issues with you, I was afraid you and she were gonna have some
trouble.”

“Don’t you worry about a
thing, Gran.”

“Promise me you won’t fight
with your sister.”

“I won’t make her bleed or
break any of her bones. I promise. But I might tell her to get off her lazy
backside and either get a job or get that degree, one or the other.”

“Oh, mercy. That’ll go over
good. You’d better look out, Savannah girl, or you might be the one to end up
bloody and broken. I’m here to tell you, there’s more to Cordele than meets the
eye. She ain’t the tender buttercup she makes out to be.”

Savannah grinned. “Don’t
worry, Gran. I’m bigger than Cordele, and I’ve got a gun. If she gets to
aggravating me too much, I’ll just pack her up and send her back to you.”

“Those sound like famous
last words if I ever heard some.”

Savannah sighed and watched
one of her votive candles flicker and go out. Her suds were about gone, too.
“Yeah, don’t they, though?”