Death by Chocolate (6 page)

“I’m busy tomorrow. We’re
going to be shooting a commercial for the shops in the afternoon.”

“Eleanor, I know you’re a
busy lady, but if I’m going to provide you with any kind of effective
protection, I have to be here. I’m going to pack a bag and stay here with you,
at least for a few days until I can assess your—”

“What you have to do is
find out who’s writing me those stinking letters. That’s all you’ve got to do.
That, and stay out of my hair. You’re not here to tell me what to do. I tell
you what’s what, not the other way around. Now get out of here and leave me
alone. It’s time for me to start cooking.”

Slowly, Savannah stood, feeling
the chill of the ocean’s night breeze as it swept over her skin. She paused
beside Eleanor’s chair, studying the woman who was burying her nose inside her
wineglass, a bitter and sad soul who needed far more from her fellow humans
than she, would ever admit. And if she continued to act as she was, she would
most surely never receive what she needed.

“Good night, Mrs. Maxwell,”
she said. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.... with my suitcase. In a house
this size, I’m sure you can find room for me. And we will talk about the
measures we need to take to keep you safe. Be well till then. Lock your doors
and turn on your alarm system before you go to bed.”

Eleanor shot her a poisoned
look but, for once, didn’t talk back. Savannah considered that a point for her
side. She also decided to leave while she was ahead.

She walked away, around the
side of the house to’ where her Mustang was parked. She was eager to leave,
more than happy to put this sad world behind her for the day.

But she paused, her key in
her car door as an uneasiness crept over her and a trickle of apprehension
skittered down the back of her neck. Was someone watching her from the shadows,
just there, near the garage where the limousine was parked? Had she actually
seen something from the corner of her eye? Heard someone moving in the bushes?
Or was she just feeling the heebie-jeebies from her unpleasant contact with
Eleanor?

Maybe it was one of the
coyotes Gilly had mentioned, hunting rabbits or chasing birds in the
underbrush.

But Savannah didn’t think
so. The hair on the nape of her neck didn’t prickle at coyotes or birds. The
only kind of varmints who raised her hackles were humans. The two-legged kind
were the ones you had to watch out for.

She opened her car door,
twisted her key in the ignition, then flipped on her headlights.

The beams lit the area but
revealed nothing unusual... if you didn’t consider a black Jaguar roughly the
size of a house unusual.

But still, those cold
fingers of caution were tickling the back of her neck.

“I know you’re there,” she
said to the darkness.... just in case. “Not only that: I know who you are and
what you’re up to.”

Okay, so I don’t know
diddly-squat, she thought, but they don’t have to know that.

“All I’ve got to say is, what
you’re figuring on doing... you’d just better not, ‘cause you won’t get away
with it.”

She could have sworn the
silence grew heavier, the dark shadows darker. But, as she had expected, nobody
replied and nothing moved.

Finally, she got into her
car, started the engine, and drove away. Ah, well, she thought as she passed
through the gates and headed toward the warmth of hearth and home. I don’t know
if that was enough to stop whomever from doing whatever, but it’ll give ‘em
something to think about. Oh, man, I need a hot bath and a couple of friendly,
furry faces that don’t bite.

Chapter

A
fter a restless eight hours
of nightmares, populated by monstrous chocolate-coated queens chasing her with an
ax and screaming, “Off with her head! Off with her head! ” Savannah woke to a
pounding on her front door. The cats leapt off the foot of her bed and headed
for cover under the dresser, their usual hiding place when someone visited.

“Some watchcats you two
are,” she muttered as she hauled her tired body out of bed and slipped on her
favorite blue terrycloth robe. “It’s probably Tammy.... lost her key again.”

The moment she stood, it
hit her: the dizziness and a throbbing pain across her forehead. She swallowed
and felt as though she had just taken a gulp of prickly pear cactus juice—with
the prickles.

The loud pounding on the
door seemed to shoot into her ears and through her body, causing her aches to
ache and her hurts to hurt. She was sore in places she hadn’t known she had.

“Oh, great, a cold,” she
grumbled in a voice that was half an octave lower than usual. “Just what I
need.”

On the way to the door, she
grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the coffee table and blew into them.
She was still blowing when she opened the door and found Dirk on her front
porch.

“Oh, now that’s appealing,”
he said as he brushed by her and walked into the living room. “What’s the
matter, you sick or something?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a
cold, and I should give it to you, waking me up like that. Why are you here so
early?” She reconsidered. “Why are you here at all?”

She followed him as he
continued on into the kitchen. “I came over for breakfast,” he said. “Remember,
the other morning? We were gonna have breakfast together and then you made me
go to the bank and—”

“Boy, you’ve got some
nerve,” she said, sinking onto a chair at the kitchen table. She propped her
elbows on the table and her face in her hands. “I feel like death warmed over,
and you come here expecting me to cook for you. Why I oughta—
ach-oo!
”

“Bless you.”

“Eh, bite me. What have you
got there?”

She noticed for the first
time that he was carrying something with him—something pink—and now he was
setting it on the kitchen counter.

A rustling of paper... and
the smell of cinnamon and coffee filled the room, penetrating even her
stuffed-up nasal passages.

“You brought me Pastry
Palace cinnamon rolls?” Suddenly the world seemed bright; perhaps life was
worth living, after all. “And coffee? Oh, Dirk, you’re the best.” From the
depths of the hot pink paper bag he pulled two giant Styrofoam cups. With great
aplomb he set one of them in front of her and pulled off the plastic lid. “With
extra cream, not milk, and two sugars, just the way you like it.”

She took a sip, and the hot
sweetness soothed her angry throat. “Dirk, darlin’, I adore you.”

He grinned. “And here we
have.... an extra goopy, super cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting.” He
opened a small cardboard box and waved the pastry under her nose. “For this,
you should volunteer to be my sex slave. After you get over that cold, that is.
I don’t want you givin’ me cooties.”

“I ain’t giving you
nothing, boy, with or without cooties. But, oh, this is so-o-o-o good! It warms
the cockles of my little heart.”

He grunted as he plopped
down onto the seat next to hers and unwrapped his own breakfast. “I hate to
think how long it’s been since I had my... ah... cockles... warmed.”

“Do you mind? Person eating
here.”

They munched and sipped in
blissful silence for several minutes. Savannah could feel the infusion of sugar
and caffeine jump-starting her groggy system. And along with enhanced
consciousness came suspicion.

“Why did you really come
over here,” she said, “bearing coffee and goodies? I mean, not that you aren’t
the soul of generosity, but—”

He gave her a wounded look,
then bit off a mouthful of roll. “You’re sure a cynical old broad, you know
that?”

“Cynical middle-aged broad.
Let’s just say that I know you. And if you’d just intended to be sweet, you
would have dropped by Joe’s Donuts, gotten a free dozen, and come over with
that. But this—” She waved a hand at the bounty. “You actually opened your
wallet and shelled out cold, hard cash for this spread. You want something. No
doubt about it.”

His lower lip protruded
like that of a petulant kinder-gartner. The pout looked ridiculous on a
fight-scarred, streetworn, forty-something face. ‘You really know how to hurt a
guy. I was just—”

“You wanna come over to
watch football tonight on my big screen?”

“No, geez, you’re—”

“Is there a fight on HBO?
You’ve really got to get your own cable, you know. Your antenna with the sheets
of tinfoil hanging from it is a disgrace. What do you get, two channels?”

“Three, and—”

“Or do you want me to go on
that worthless ATM stroll again with you, wear that stupid old-lady garb
and...”

He coughed and took a quick
sip of coffee. But she had seen it—the gleam of hope in his eyes.

She nodded knowingly. ‘Yep,
that’s it. You want me to do the decoy bit with you again. No way, José. It
ain’t happening. This girl’s got a paying gig.”

“The thing that John set
you up with? That chocolate gal?”

“The very one. I spent the
day at her mansion yesterday, and I’m going back this afternoon. In fact, I’ll
be living there in the lap of luxury, in the land of milk and chocolate,
earning megabucks, while you—”

“The gig sucks, huh?”

“Big time.” She reached
into her robe pocket, pulled out a fresh tissue and dabbed at her nose. “The
so-called ‘Lady’ Eleanor isn’t. She wants to know who’s been sending her hate
mail so that she can blow them away with the shotgun she keeps in her broom
closet.”

“Do you have anybody you
like for it?”

“Oh, I like them all for
it. Everybody around her hates her, and if you spent two minutes with her,
you’d see why. She’s a miserable person, and she’s determined that everyone
around share her misery.”

“Have you seen the
letters?”

She nodded, and sneezed.

“Do you think they’re
serious?”

She shrugged. “Who knows?
But either way, you have to operate on the assumption that they are. Better
safe than sorry and all that.”

“So, you’re gonna stay over
there for a while?”

He actually looked
disappointed. If she hadn’t felt so rotten, she might have been flattered that he
would miss her. But in her present state of mind, she decided it was the free
food and big-screen TV that he was grieving.

“I’m taking a suitcase,”
she said. “She’s already told me she doesn’t want me to stay, but....”

“But you’ve never been one
to worry about whether you’re wanted or not.”

She gave him a searching
look over her tissue. “Gee, thanks... I guess.”

“No problem. Hey, are you
gonna eat the rest of your roll? You didn’t get any sneeze cooties on that
half, right?”

This time when Savannah stepped
out of her car in the Maxwell driveway, she was well prepared. “Hey, you sweet
things,” she mumbled as she pulled a plastic sandwich bag from her purse and
unzipped it. At her feet, the silkies snarled, but with only a fraction of the
ferocity they had displayed the day before. And no one sank his fangs into her
living tissues. Definitely an improvement.

“Look at what Auntie
Savannah brought you.”

She tried to ignore the
added pain in her sinuses when she bent over to feed them the tidbits of fried
chicken livers seasoned with garlic powder. “Don’t think this is because I
particularly like you,” she said as they gobbled down the offering. “But I
figure things will go much more smoothly around here if you and I are friends.”

They ate every smidgen and even
licked her fingers clean. Tails wagging gaily, they sat up and begged for more.
She had to admit that with doggy smiles on their furry faces, they were pretty
darned cute. “All right,” she said, “I like you a little bit.”

“My mother will scream at
you if she catches you feeding her dogs,” a female voice said from the region
of the garage. Savannah turned to see an attractive blonde in a skimpy bikini
watching her, a beach towel dangling from one hand, a pair of sunglasses in the
other. Her suit was wet, as well as the towel. Savannah assumed she had just
been to the beach.

“So, what is it?” the woman
asked, pointing to the bag in Savannah’s hand. “Arsenic?”

“Chicken livers and garlic.
Dogs love it. At least, my granny’s bloodhound in Georgia does. Figured it was
worth a try.”

“Lace it with rat poison
next time. Do us all a favor.” Savannah folded the plastic bag and placed it
back into her purse. ‘Your mother? You must be Louise, Gilly’s mom.”

“You know my kid?”

“I met her last night just
before midnight. She was sitting in the gazebo alone.... crying. I spent a few
minutes with her, seeing if she was all right.”

Savannah hoped Louise
Maxwell could hear the heavy subtext in her words, but although she was
extremely attractive in her Hawaiian print bikini with her golden,
shoulder-length hair and perfect tan, she didn’t appear particularly
intelligent or perceptive and only mildly concerned.

“Well, was she.... all
right?”

“She was pretty upset, but
we talked, and I think she felt better afterward.”

“Good,” she said flatly,
not looking particularly grateful or even interested. Then a sudden look of
anger crossed her face, giving her a flush of passion that took Savannah by
surprise. “Crying, huh? Just before midnight? That’s about the time she goes
down to hang out with my mother. I’ll bet the bitch said something rotten to
her again.”

Savannah’s eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, it’s sad when a child hears harsh, ugly things. It wounds their
spirits.” Again, her pointed barb seemed to sail over Louise’s head. Most
unfulfilling, she thought, and decided not, to waste her breath. One of Granny
Reid’s favorite sayings came to mind: “Don’t try to teach a pig to sing. It’s a
waste of your time, and it irritates the pig.”

Nothing she could say here
and now would improve Louise Maxwell’s parenting skills.

“Wait a minute,” Louise
said, taking a few steps toward her, “I know who you are. You’re the private
detective that Eleanor hired to protect her.”

On closer examination,
Savannah decided that Louise’ had spent too many years in the California sun
without serious sunblock. While she appeared to be in her twenties from a
distance, she looked older up close, due to the webwork of squint wrinkles
around her eyes that could no longer be classified as “fine.” And the skin on
her abundant cleavage had turned mottled and leathery.

“That’s right,” Savannah
said. “I’m here to watch out for your mom. Do you know anyone who might want to
hurt her?”

“"Well, duh....”
Louise replied, rolling her eyes like an adolescent. “Who wouldn’t? She treats
everybody like crap and has for years.”

“Even you?”

A more astute person than
Louise Maxwell might have seen the suspicious glimmer in Savannah’s icy blues,
but the blonde prattled on, clueless.

“Oh, especially me! Can you
imagine having a drunken witch like that for a mother? She messed me up good. I
mean, I have major issues because of her.”

“Did you send her those
threatening letters, maybe as a means of working through some of your issues?”

That time even Louise got
it. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin a couple of
notches. “I did not. I haven’t said a word to my mother—or written anything to
her either—for three years. And I won’t, until she apologizes for messing me up
so bad. And, of course, we all know that won’t happen because Lady Eleanor
doesn’t apologize for anything to anyone. She’s much too high and mighty for
that.”

“It must be pretty
stressful, living here on her estate and not speaking to her.”

“Not really. We’ve learned
how to avoid each other.”

“And meanwhile, your mother
supports you and your daughter?” Savannah asked evenly.

Louise’s nostrils flared.
Savannah thought she might start snorting fire any minute. ‘That’s the least
she can do, considering what she’s done to me! The very least! My shrink bills
alone are $3,500 a month, not to mention my rebirthing therapy and my herbal
detoxing wraps and acupuncture remedies. She made me sick; she can pick up the
tab while I’m healing from her years of abuse.”

Savannah said nothing for a
moment, just stood there, quietly observing and absorbing. “Okay,” she finally
said, ‘Whatever. But if you actually knew who was threatening your mother’s
life, you’d let me know, right? I mean.... if she croaked, who’d pay all those
bills?”