Killer Calories (12 page)

“Well, I guess I'll continue with my hike,” Savannah said, setting the basket filled with flowers on the ground at Phoebe's feet. “Thank you for sharing your gardening tips with me. I'll pass the banana peel suggestion on to my granny Reid.”

Unexpectedly, Phoebe handed Savannah the Moon Shadow bud she had just cut. “Here,” she said. “These dry nicely. Do that and then send it along to your very ladylike grandmother.”

Savannah took the rose and for a moment her eyes met Phoebe's, and the two women connected. In that split second, Savannah decided that maybe Phoebe wasn't such a bad sort, after all. Nosy, yes. Judgmental, definitely.

But as Savannah wished Phoebe and her brother good day and headed down the hill, she decided that anybody who could grow a perfect Moon Shadow rose couldn't be all bad.

“
A
re you saying you want me to lie for you? Is that what you're telling me?” Tammy stood in the middle of their room, wearing a look of indignation.

Savannah wore only a towel. “That's exactly what I'm asking you to do.”

She pulled some clean clothes from her suitcase and spread them on the bed. “I have to go into town and see Dirk, and you have to cover for me here. Tell them I have a migraine, that I'm sleeping it off.”

“But you don't, and you aren't.”

“So? What does that have to do with the price of Arkansas cotton?”

Tammy looked confused. “What does cotton have to do with this?”

Savannah sighed, feeling a depth of fatigue that had nothing to do with her morning hike through the daisies. “Tammy Lou ...” Tammy hated it when she called her that, which was precisely why she did. “Are you telling me that you never, never, ever tell a lie. Not even a little white fib?”

Tammy lifted her chin a couple of notches. “I live my life in such a way that I don't do things that I'm ashamed of, things that I would have to lie about to my fellow human beings.”

Savannah stared at her for a long time, wondering whether to pin a gold medal to her chest or barf on her pink tennis shoes.

“Well, that's most commendable,” she said. “And I agree with you, at least in principle. But this is business, and in the course of earning a living, we sometimes have to blacken our souls by uttering a falsehood. So, if you won't do it because I ask you to as a friend, then as your boss, I'm telling you to. Got it?”

“Oh, okay.” She seemed enormously relieved. “No problem.”

Savannah filed that one away for future consideration. Tammy's sliding scale of moral values was a never-ending source of amazement and amusement for her.

Tammy headed for the doorway, then turned around abruptly and fixed her with a suspicious eye. “Wait just a minute. This trip into town really is business, isn't it?” she said. “I mean ... you wouldn't just be sneaking off to get a big, gorpy dessert, or something disgusting like that, are you?”

“Tammy! I'm shocked.”

“Bull pucky. You're going to do it. You're going to break your diet and forfeit all the good the spa has done for you. That's so sad, Savannah.”

“Oh, Tammy, Tammy ... Ta-m-m-my. Don't worry. I promise not to consume a single calorie while I'm away from the Royal Palms Spa.”

“Cross your heart?”

“And swear to swallow my bubble gum.”

Tammy appeared mollified. “Good. See you later this aftemoon.”

After she had left the room and Savannah was getting dressed to go, she didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt. The cheap burger place where Dirk would want to eat always microwaved their beef patties. And microwaving food removed every single smidgen of a calorie.

Hell, everybody knew that!

 

Whenever possible, Savannah avoided the San Carmelita Police Station, like some people avoided the old house where they had once lived with a much-beloved, much-despised ex-spouse. The place brought such bittersweet memories the moment she walked through the door.

Officer Kenny Bates, the day-shift desk clerk definitely fell into the “bitter” category. The term “greasy” referred to more than his thinning hair and bad skin. There were eight females on the S.C.P.D., and Bates had made it his life's ambition to do the Grizzly Bear Hump with every one of them. So far, his score was zero, but that didn't seem to dampen his enthusiasm.

“Hey, hey, hey, Sa-van-ahhh!” he exclaimed as she walked up to the desk. His eyes slid over her with the sexual appeal of a slimy slug. “Are we looking good today, or what?”

“Not
we,
Master Bates,” she said coolly. “I look pretty good. You, on the other hand, are as ugly as a warthog's backside.”

He laughed, far too loudly, reminding her of a Georgia mule she had once known. “Wanna come over to my place tonight?” he said. “We can toss back some brewskies and watch TV. I get X-rated channels now ... three of 'em.”

“I'd rather have a mammogram ...”

“I could order a pizza with lotsa meat.”

“... a barium enema, and a pap smear.”

“Hey, kinky stuff! We could play doctor, too, if that's what you're into.”

She glowered at him. “Hand me the damned clipboard, Bates, before I yank your tonsils out through your asshole.”

He pushed the board across the desk to her. She jotted down her name and the time and shoved it back at him.

“So, is that a ‘yes' or a ‘no'?” he called after her as she hurried down the hall to the detectives' squad room.

 

Five minutes later, she was standing in a tiny room, hardly larger than a closet, watching through a one-way mirror as Dirk questioned Josef Orlet.

Sitting at a table in a straight-backed chair, with Dirk pacing the floor behind him, Orlet looked a lot less happy than Savannah had ever seen him. But then, she couldn't really blame him for his rotten mood. Being interrogated by Dirk Coulter wasn't exactly the bright spot in anyone's day.

“You keep giving me answers like that,” Dirk was saying, “and you'll be renewing old acquaintances back in the joint. I understand some of your ‘husbands' there in San Quentin are really missin' you.”

“I told you, I don't know nothin' about Dr. Ross. I've only talked to him a time or two ... about one of the guests at the spa. That's all, man.”

“And what if I told you that a couple of very credible witnesses overheard you blackmailing him?”

“They're lyin'.”

“And they
saw
you accept the envelope full of dough from him. Does that make them blind, too?”

“Yeah ... well, who are these witnesses?”

Standing behind Orlet, Dirk leaned over him, literally breathing down his neck. “Unlike you, they're responsible, law-abiding citizens. They're the sort of people that a jury believes. And that's all that's important to you right now, buddy. ‘Cause this is going to be your third felony offense, which means you'll be goin' in forever.”

Even from twelve feet away, behind the glass, Savannah could see Orlet sweating. He was furiously picking and biting at a hangnail on his thumb that was starting to bleed. Savannah made a mental note not to schedule any more massages with him.

She knew that Dirk was bluffing. No jury would convict the man of blackmail, even if she and Tammy testified to everything they had seen and heard. The fact that they had broken into his apartment and were hiding under the bed when they overheard the phone call might mar their credibility a tad.

But Dirk wasn't one to let a little thing like the absence of evidence slow him down.

“Or ...” he said, walking around to the front of the table where Orlet could see him, “you could tell me what it was that you had on Dr. Ross. Then maybe he would be the one sharing the honeymoon with your cellmates in San Quentin. And you could remain a free, productive member of society.”

Orlet gnawed his thumb and spit. Dirk leaned forward on the table, his hands far apart and fingers splayed. He looked like he was about to crawl into Orlet's shirt with him.

“Listen, Joe ... I'm a very determined sort of guy,” he said. “I'll get one of you, believe me. Who's it gonna be? You or him?”

Savannah watched Orlet as he bent under the pressure ... and broke.

“All right, all right.” He swiped a shaking hand across his wet forehead. “I think the doctor helped Kat kill herself, 'cause she was sick and wanted to die. You know, like one of those physician-assisted suicides.”

“You
think?
I'm not interested in what you think, pal. Pardon me, but you ain't exactly no Einstein. I only want to hear what you
know.”

“I don't know anything for sure. But I heard Dr. Ross and Kat talking one night about how she had this lump in her breast that needed to be cut out. She said she'd rather just die and get it over with, and she asked him to help her.”

“Where were you when you heard all this?”

Josef wriggled on his chair. “I was ... um ... walking by her window and—”

“Oh, okay. You were outside her window, doin' the Peepin' Tom routine.”

“No, I wasn't! I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah, so she asked the good doctor to help her croak herself. What did he say?”

“He told her she was nuts. That he cared too much about her to do something like that.”

Dirk pulled out an empty chair, turned it around, and sat down, straddling the back. “Well, excuse me, but that don't sound like somebody who was interested in helping somebody off herself.”

“I know. But that was only a couple of weeks before she died. And I saw something weird.”

“Well, I don't know that you'd be the best judge of what's weird and what ain't, but what did you see?”

“After Kat was found dead ... later that night, I was out walking around the grounds, and I saw the doctor putting some strange-looking equipment into his trunk.”

“What kind of equipment?”

“I don't know. But it had a tank and a plastic bag, and the tank and the bag were hooked together with a hose. I remembered seeing something like that before on television. It looked like the kind of gizmo that Dr. Death guy uses to help people kill themselves.”

“And Ross was putting this stuff into his car?”

“Yeah, real sneaky and nervous like, late that night. And then he drove away and didn't come back for over an hour. I figured he used it on Kat and then dumped it somewhere.”

“And that's when you decided you'd make him pay you to keep this little secret, right?”

“No way. I'm not saying I did that. I'm just telling you what I saw and heard, because I'm a good citizen, doing my duty and all.”

“Uh-huh. And you probably pleaded with the good doctor to turn himself in.”

“That's true. I did.”

“Yeah, yeah. You're so full of shit, your eyes are tumin' brown. Get outta here before I change my mind and bust you anyway.”

Josef shot up off his chair. “You mean ... I can go?”

“Yeah, this time. But if I get wind of you trying to squeeze Dr. Ross, or anybody else, for more money, I'll have your ass in a sling before you know what's hit you. Got that?”

“No problem, man. I was just trying to do the right thing here. That's all.”

“Sure, sure. You're a real fuckin' Eagle Scout. Get lost.”

Savannah waited for Dirk to join her in the tiny observation “closet.”

“Well, well,” she said, “it appears that Dr. Kevorkian has competition.”

“No kidding! Cool, huh?”

Dirk was jazzed; the excitement was glowing all over his street-worn, experience-weary face. As far as Savannah was concerned, it was his most endearing quality, this tendency practically to jump out of his hide at the prospect of catching one of the “bad guys.”

“What now?”

“One of us has to talk to Dr. Liu, to get her to reconsider her ‘accidental death' ruling. Maybe convince her to run some more tests.”

Savannah gave him a poke in the ribs. “What's this ‘one of us' bullshit? You're the investigating officer; you do it.”

“I would. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to get out of it or anything like that. But she really likes you, you both being girls and all, and—”

“And nothing. You're scared of sweet little Dr. Jenny. You're a lily-livered, yellow-backed chicken!”

“I'm not either. And she's not all that sweet. Not when you question one of her rulings. Hell, she's bitten my head off for less—like asking her if she'd done certain tests. She may look little and cute and feminine, but it's deceiving. You get her on a bad day and she can be a real bitch!”

Savannah tucked her hands into her armpits, began to flap her arms and cackle. “Ba-a-awwk! Ba-a-awwk!”

“Stop it! I am not!” he said, giving her a push. “All right, I'll make a deal with you. You talk to her; I'll buy you chocolate.”

“Okay—a one-pound box of Godiva assorted cremes.”

“Deal.”

She snickered, knowing that Dirk would die when he saw the price of Godiva chocolate.

Linking her arm through his, she left the room with him. As they strolled companionably out the back door of the station, he said, “What's with the chocolate? I thought you were on some sort of diet at that spa.”

“They aren't for me. They're for Jennifer. You don't think I'm going to go in there unarmed, do you?”

“
G
odiva chocolates! Oh, Savannah, you shouldn't have!” Jennifer clapped her hands with delight and reached for the gold-foil box with an eagerness that could only have been born of a serious PMS craving.

Savannah could have admitted that she hadn't—Dirk had—but she wasn't that magnanimous. After all, it had been her idea, and in the end, he had nagged her into paying half. So...

“You're welcome. You do such a good job around here, I thought you deserved a little treat.”
Oh, boy,
she thought,
too much, too sweet.
She had definitely tipped her hand.

Jennifer eyed her suspiciously across her desk, then waved toward the chair beside it. “Have a seat,” she said, guardedly. “And a chocolate.”

Savannah chose one of her favorites with a silky lemon center. But the moment she bit into it, Jennifer said, “Why are you buttering me up, Savannah? Spit it out.”

Savannah nearly did as the chocolate caught in her throat and choked her. Finally, she found her voice. “What do you mean? Like I said, I thought you deserve—”

“Of course I deserve. But your idea of a little treat is a simple candy bar, not Godiva cremes. You're here to weasel something out of me. What is it?”

“Well, if you really want to know—”

“I do. But I think you should know—whether I'm going to give it to you or not—I'm still going to eat your chocolates.”

“As you should. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Without guilt.”

“I understand.”

Jennifer took a nibble of a raspberry creme, chewed, and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Heaven,” she said. “Pure heaven. What do you want?”

“To bounce a theory off you.”

“Bounce away.”

“Could Kat Valentina's death have been a physician-assisted suicide?”

Rather than reply immediately, Jennifer pushed away from her desk and rolled her chair over to some gray metal file cabinets nearby. There she retrieved a file from the drawer, then rolled back to the desk.

Savannah saw it was Kat's folder as the doctor thumbed through it, glancing over each form while she chewed thoughtfully.

“Nope,” she said, slamming it closed.

“No ... just like that?” Savannah wanted more bang for her chocolate buck.

“That's right. No. At least, there's no indication of anything like that. Maybe you should tell me why you think it's a possibility.”

“First of all, Kat Valentina had breast cancer, and—”

“I know. Left breast, upper/outer quadrant.”

“That's right. How did you know?”

Jennifer gave her a withering look and another piece of candy. “I did an autopsy on her body. And I'm thorough. You said so yourself, remember? That's why I get chocolate from my adoring fans.”

Savannah felt a bit deflated. She had intended to trump Jennifer with that one. So much for the old “I Know Something You Don't Know” routine. You had to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on Dr. Liu, and Savannah had never claimed to be an early riser.

“I believe she may have wanted to commit suicide because of the cancer,” Savannah offered.

“I doubt it. The disease could probably have been arrested at that point. None of the surrounding lymph glands were involved. There was no reason for her to take her own life.”

“If she was afraid of the surgery, of possible mutilation?”

Jennifer scowled. “Was she that vain?”

“Maybe.”

Sitting back in her chair, the doctor crossed her arms over her chest. “No. I can't see it. Without more corroborating evidence it's too great a stretch.”

“Her physician was in love with her, would probably do anything she asked. He was seen sneaking some strange-looking equipment into his trunk and driving away with it.”

“What sort of equipment?”

“A metal rack with bottles and tubes hanging from it.”

“Like an IV drip to administer lethal drugs?”

“Exactly.” Savannah tried to hide her enthusiasm; Dr. Jenny seemed to be getting the picture.

“Nope.”

“No? Again? Why not?”

“No punctures of any kind, from an IV or anything else.”

“Oh.” Yes, Savannah decided,
deflated
was the word for the way she was feeling.

“Besides, anything like that, given in a deadly dose, would have probably shown up on my toxicology screen.”

“Probably?” Savannah was grasping for a straw and she knew it. But she was far past caring, too hard-up for pride.

“Yes, probably. And with no more than you have to go on, Savannah, that's close enough.”

Savannah could hear the metaphorical book slam closed. And she knew Dr. Jenny well enough not to waste time trying to pry it open again ... at least, not right now.

“Have another,” Jennifer said, holding out the gold box to her. “You'll feel better.”

“I doubt it. This case is like walking on a treadmill—you're going through the motions, but you're getting nowhere.”

She chose a mocha and bit into it. The bittersweet flavor filled her mouth and soothed her soul.

“See there,” Dr. Liu said, giving her a companionable smile. “There's no situation on earth that can't be improved by chocolate.”

 

Savannah's strategy had been: get from the parking area to the dormitory without Princess Eagle Eye spying her. And at the time, it had seemed like a good plan.

So far, she had managed to avoid Tammy's aerobics class and had hoped to leave Royal Palms with her record intact.

But Tammy was beginning to take the rejection personally, so she supposed she would have to make the obligatory appearance soon, in the interest of preserving domestic tranquility.

Not today. Ple-e-ase, not today,
she thought as she skirted the group's perimeter.

Like a welcome answer to the less-than-noble prayer, Tammy spotted her, but rather than trying to recruit her, dismissed the group.

“That's it for this afternoon, ladies ... gentleman,” she told the four red-faced women and one fellow who had actually worked up a sweat in their infamous Royal Palms sweat suits. “I'm so proud of you all. You did
faaaan-tastic!
See you tomorrow afternoon. Savannah! Savannah! Yoo-hoo, wait up!.”

She scurried across the lawn to intercept her at the edge of the tennis court.

Savannah clapped her hand over Tammy's mouth. “Shhhh. I'm trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

“Oh, just give it up,” Tammy mumbled through her fingers. “Nobody bought the migraine baloney anyway.”

“So I'm busted?”

“They figure you were lying low somewhere to get out of aerobics and hiking ... or maybe you snuck away so that you could eat some garbage.”

Savannah reminded herself not to burp in Tammy's presence for the next few hours. Miss Marple-etta would be sure to smell the chocolate.

“They have dirty, suspicious minds,” Savannah said. “Let them think whatever they want.”

Tammy fell into step beside her and wiped her forehead with a white hand towel that bore the spa's emblem, two intertwining palm trees, embroidered in blue. Savannah didn't know why Tammy bothered—she never broke a sweat, even when exercising vigorously.

Sometimes she seemed so much more like a life-size doll than a human being, that Savannah wondered if she had “Made in Japan” stamped on her cute little rear.

“So, guess what happened about an hour ago ...” Tammy said, lowering her voice and glancing around.

“Dumb ol' Dirk stopped by and grilled Dr. Ross about Kat?”

Tammy stopped in the middle of the path and propped her hands on her waist. “That's a pretty good guess.”

“So, what happened?”

“Dumb ol' Dirk stopped by and grilled Dr. Ross about Kat. How did you know?”

“I've been working all morning ... detecting ... just like I told you. What did you think I was doing, sitting in some restaurant, pigging out on cheese blintzes?”

Tammy looked satisfactorily abashed. “Well ... yeah, kind of.”

Savannah shook her head. “Oh, ye of little faith.” She took her by the arm. “Let's go back to the room, and you can tell me all about Dirk and Dr. Ross.”

“But that's all I know.”

“That's it? Geez, you'll never make it as a gossip columnist. Now my granny Reid ... she was an ever-flowing fount of knowledge when it came to the goings-on in our little town. Her motto was if you can't say something good about somebody ... come sit down here by me in the porch swing and ...”

Having weaseled absolutely nothing of any value out of Tammy, Savannah had to wait until after sundown to sneak away and meet Dirk. Her curiosity was killing her, wondering how Dirk's questioning of the doctor had gone. And she was able to convince herself that her interest had nothing to do with the fact that Dr. Freeman Ross was a hunk. Nothing at all.

She found Dirk sitting in his old Skylark about a quarter mile down the road from the spa's main entrance. The car was parked in a fairly secluded area, between an orange grove and a lemon grove.

As Savannah climbed into the Buick, it occurred to her that the first time she had sat in a car in an area like that, she had lost her virginity. Of course, that had been around the turn of the millennium, so the memory was a bit hazy. But she was pretty sure it had been either a peach or pecan orchard.

She breathed in the sweet perfume of the dew-damp orange blossoms. “I'll bet half of this county was spawned in these citrus groves,” she told Dirk, who was sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup and looking bored.

“Is that a proposition?” he asked, shoving a similar cup into her hand.

“You wish.”

“We could always climb into the backseat and see if we still know how it's done.”

“How romantic. We could wallow around back there with your fast-food wrappers, mildewed laundry, and oily car parts.”

“Mmmm ... you get me hot when you talk dirty.”

She grunted. “Tammy says you questioned Ross this afternoon.”

“That's right. I questioned; he didn't have many answers.”

“Not even about the suicide equipment he was getting rid of?”

“He says it was a carpet shampooer that he'd rented from a local grocery store.”

“The doctor cleans his own carpets?”

“Says he's very domestic, likes to do it himself and make sure it's done right.”

“Cute, domestic, and a clean freak ... not a bad set of qualities in a man. Unless, of course, he's some sort of Angel of Death in his spare time.” Savannah took a sip of the coffee from the Styrofoam cup and made a wry face. “Good grief! That's awful! I've tasted Mississippi mud that was more flavorful than this.”

“So, don't bitch; it was free.”

“And worth every penny you spent for it.” She set the cup on the dash. “Are you going to check with the grocery store about his ‘rental'?”

“Already did.”

“And?”

“They never heard of the good Dr. Ross, let alone rented him any carpet shampooer.”

“Why ... that liar!”

“Yeah.” Dirk drained his own coffee and started on hers.

“Lyin' is probably the
least
of what he's done.”

Savannah shook her head in disgust. “And to think, I let him palpate my ankle!”

They should either get rid of some of this shrubbery, install brighter lights, or hire some security guards,
Savannah thought as she paused in the middle of the stone walkway and peered into the shadows to her left. A second ago, she had heard the distinct sound of something—smaller than a Cadillac, but definitely larger than the proverbial bread box—moving in the bushes.