Killer Calories (9 page)

S
avannah had only gone a few yards along the trail when she heard, “Hey, Savannah, wait up!”

Turning around, she saw Tammy, running toward her from the pool area, waving her arms to get her attention. So much for a quiet, solitary walk among the daisies.

Tammy was wearing a tiny, hot pink bikini and beach sandals and had a Pocahontas towel draped around her shoulders. But, dressed for a nature hike or not, she seemed determined to tag along.

“How's your ... ah ... ankle?” Tammy asked when she caught up to her.

“My ankle? Oh, yeah, it's better.”

“It must be, if you're going for a hike.”

Savannah glanced around, but the only other living beings in sight were some crows in a nearby oak, and a small, brown lizard, sunning itself on a rock.

Hopefully, she was still out of telescopic view from the nosy neighbor in the bell tower. “Actually,” she said, “I was coming up here to make a private phone call.”

“A phone call?”

Savannah pulled the cellular unit from her sweatpants pocket. “Thought I'd call Dirk and see if he's finished running those names for me.”

“Oh. Do you want to be alone so you can talk dirty to dumb ol' Dirk?”

Savannah gave her a searching look to see if she was serious. But she couldn't tell for sure.

“I don't talk dirty to Dirk, dumb, old, or otherwise.”

Tammy fell into step beside Savannah, her sandals slapping her feet as they walked along, kicking up twin puffs of dust.

“Are you telling me ...” Tammy said with a mischievous grin, “that you and Dirk never ... you know ...”

Savannah laughed. “Why Tammy Hart, I'm shocked that you would even suggest such a thing.”

“Is that a ‘no'?”

“It's a ‘it's none of your business what I've done with whom.' ”

“That's a ‘yes'! You've done it! You've done the nasty thing with Dirk! How revolting!”

Savannah gouged her in the ribs with her elbow. “Just think of Dirk and me as being like Marshal Dillon and Miss Kitty. Maybe they do; maybe they don't. It's sort of a mystery.”

“Marshall who?”

Savannah groaned. “Oh, God. I feel so old.”

“At least you aren't old and crippled, like you were this morning. Boy, talk about a cheap trick just to get out of some exercises.”

“I needed to talk to Dr. Ross.”

“You could have made an appointment
after
exercise class.”

“Golly gee, I didn't think of that. Oh, well ...”

They followed the trail that Dion had led Savannah on the day before. But it was much hotter today, and without Dion jogging along before her, Savannah didn't feel the need to run. A simple walk or even meander would do.

Tammy looked a bit out of place on the hike, wearing her bathing attire, but she didn't seem to care. She stared at the ground as they trudged along, seemingly lost in thought. “So, why did you need to talk to Dr. Ross?” she asked.

“I wanted to ask him about what we found in Kat's file last night.”

“My God! You didn't tell him that we—”

“No, of course not. I told him there was a rumor going around that it was a suicide.”

“You told him that outright?”

“Yeap. Sometimes that's the best way.”

“And what did he say?”

“He believes it. Of course, he didn't actually admit it, but it was obvious.”

“What do you mean, it was obvious?”

“He looked about like you did at the autopsy the other day.”

Tammy flushed with humiliation at the recollection. “Oh ... that bad?”

“Maybe a little worse. I think he really cared about Kat. I'm sure it wasn't easy for him to lose her that way.”

Stopping in the middle of the path, Tammy lowered herself onto a rock. For a long time, she sat with her hands covering her face. Then she said, “I called the American Cancer Society today, Savannah. I talked to a nice lady on the phone for quite a while. You know, if they catch breast cancer in time, there's a really good chance of curing it. Kat probably didn't have to die.”

Savannah sat on the rock next to her and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “I know. I'm sorry, Tammy.”

Tears flooded her eyes. “Why do you suppose she didn't take care of herself?”

“I don't know. The file said that her mother and sister both died of breast cancer. Maybe she thought there was no hope.”

“There's always hope. I never would have given up like that.”

She broke down and began to sob. Savannah pulled her closer and let her bury her face against her shoulder. Patting her glossy blond hair, she said, “I know you wouldn't have. But maybe you're a stronger person than Kat was.”

“
Me?
Stronger than Kat?” Tammy pulled back and looked up at her with eyes filled with wonder at the very idea.

“Sure. I wouldn't be at all surprised. From what I've heard about Kat, she had more bravado than courage. And I know you well enough to say that you're a very strong woman.”

Tammy wiped her eyes with the corner of her towel and sniffed. “Thanks for saying that. But sometimes I don't even feel like a woman. I feel like a kid.”

“Well, join the club. We all feel that way once in a while. Sometimes, when I'm getting ready to go out, putting on makeup, a nice dinner dress, and high heels, I half expect my granny Reid to barge through the door and scold me for playing dress-up with her stuff.”

Tammy grinned and nodded. “I felt that way when I got my own apartment. I kept expecting my mom and dad to come home unexpectedly and bust me for pretending to be a grown-up.”

They laughed, then shared a companionable moment of silence together. In the distance, a pair of doves cooed to each other, and a dragonfly floated by on lacy, iridescent wings. A slight breeze stirred the daisies and spread their wild scent.

“It's nice up here,” Tammy said. “It's nice talking to you, Savannah. You're sorta like the big sister I never had.”

“Big sister ... yeah, that's me all right.” She felt a pang of longing for her eight younger siblings in Georgia. But the sadness was short-lived, followed by a sense of relief that they were all adults now and on their own ... at least in theory.

She pulled the phone out of her pocket again and punched some buttons. “Time to check in with Dirk and see what he's got for us, if anything.”

It took five rings before the familiar, grumpy male voice mumbled, “Coulter here.”

“Hi, Coulter here. Reid here. Whatcha doin'?”

“Staring at a green computer screen, going cross-eyed, getting the information that you asked for. You'd damned well better appreciate this.”

“I know, I know ... I'll owe you free apple fritters and ham sandwiches for the rest of your unnatural life.” She made a face at Tammy, who giggled and held her ear close to the phone so that she could hear.

“I get ham
and cheese,”
he said.

“That depends on what you've got for me.”

“Oh, I think you're gonna like what you hear. Several interesting possibilities: Louis Hanks is in deep financial trouble. Seems Kat was practically throwing money away these past few months, got them into a helluva mess.”

“Throwing it away ... hmmm ... like there was no tomorrow.” She gave Tammy a sideways look, and she nodded solemnly.

“That's right,” he continued. “Otherwise, Hanks is pretty clean. Dion Zeller—no record, no money, some hefty debts in the past, but he seems to be a good boy now. Bernadette Willis—your all-American cheerleader type, not even a traffic ticket.”

“She's probably not old enough to drive,” Savannah said dryly, still pissed about Bernadette's less-than-tactful body fat ratio references.

“Dr. Ross—no criminal record, but he's a bit controversial in the medical community. He's pretty outspoken about his belief in physician-assisted suicide.”

“Really? Now that's interesting, because I'm beginning to think that might be what this was.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, before you go too far down that road, here's something else you may want to think about. That massage guy, Josef Orlet ...”

She waited anxiously, but Dirk held back, milking the moment for suspense, the way he always did when he had something good. She could feel Tammy's tension rising, too. Finally, she said, “All right, Coulter, spit it out.”

“He's got a record.”

“For what? Rubbing somebody the wrong way?”

“No. For harassing, and stalking, and attacking a young woman—an actress—about ten years ago.”

“No way!”

She and Tammy traded knowing looks.

“He served seven years for it. I talked to one of his cellmates, and he says Orlet found a new sweetie while he was in the joint, someone new to focus his obsessions on.”

“Let me guess ... Kat Valentina?”

“That's right. Apparently he had her disco poster on his wall. Talked about her night and day. Told his cellmate that when he got out of the joint he was going to look her up, get close to her.”

“Well, I'd say that her personal masseur is about as close as you can get.”

“So ...” She could hear the satisfaction in his voice. Dirk was pretty transparent; it was his greatest charm. You always knew what was going on inside his head. Not even a hint of mystery. “Did I earn my ham and cheese?” he asked.

“Oh, baby ... you get ham, cheese, and a big ol' slap of dijon mustard.”

He groaned. “Mmmm ... I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Shhhh, Tammy's listening in, and I told her that we don't do that sort of thing.”

“Then she lied to you, Tammy,” he said with a wicked laugh. “Me and Van ... hell, we've done it
all.
She just won't admit—”

Savannah punched the red button once, effectively cutting him off. A few seconds later, the phone rang. Then again. And again.

“Aren't you going to answer that?” Tammy asked with a big grin plastered across her face.

“Nope.” Savannah rose from the rock, dropped the phone into her pocket, and dusted off the seat of her pants.

Whistling a little tune, she strolled down the trail, heading back toward the spa with Tammy tripping along at her heels ... and the phone still ringing in her pocket.

A
s Savannah passed the recreation hall, the heavy bass beat of disco music reached out and pulled her backward twenty years. Instantly, she was in a world of slick, shining polyester, white suits, gold chains, poofed hair, and clichéd pickup lines.

Deciding it would be a good night just to skip the tofu, bean-sprout dinner, she ventured into the hall to see if they were having some sort of disco cotillion. But the large room with its seating clusters, fireplace, Ping-Pong and air-hockey tables was unoccupied. Or so she thought, until she saw the big-screen television at the far end. One solitary figure sat on a worn leather sofa, watching
Disco Diva.

It was Lou Hanks.

So involved was he with the dancing figures on the screen that he didn't see her approach. While a younger—and Savannah had to admit, absolutely beautiful—Kat Valentina danced across a flashing, checkered floor with a stunning Dion Zeller, Lou watched with rapt attention. Tears flowed down his face. Occasionally, he dabbed at his nose with a wad of tissues.

Standing there, watching the famous dance sequence, Savannah could understand why the movie had become a cult classic. Although the plot was nonexistent and the acting dreadful, the choreography had been original and refreshing, and the moves blatantly sexual and provocatively executed by Kat and Dion.

They had been a magnetic couple, exuding sensuality with every graceful, seductive movement.

Around the world, women had watched and fallen hopelessly in love with Dion. And males from the ages of eight to eighty had lusted after Kat Valentina.

Obviously, the man sitting on the leather sofa had never gotten over her either. He seemed the total opposite of the callous jerk beside the pool with Bernadette the night before.

Long ago, Savannah had given up the notion of trying to figure people out. The human mind was simply too complex to be filed in a box labeled “Good” or “Bad.”

Rather than intrude on his private moment, she turned to leave. But from the corner of his eye he saw her. He jumped, startled and more than a little embarrassed.

“I didn't mean to disturb you,” she said. “I just heard the music and ... well ...”

He picked up the remote control and jabbed his thumb at one of the buttons, turning the volume down a few notches. “It's still pretty good, isn't it,” he said, in between blowing his nose.

“Yes, it's wonderful. It brought back some memories.”

“Good ones?”

“Some of them.” She shrugged and laughed. “Sorry, but there were a lot of jerks on the scene at that time, with a lot of tired pickup lines.”

“I know. I was one of them.” He patted the sofa beside him. “Here, have a seat. I promise not to ask you about your sun sign.”

She decided to join him, wondering again at the change in his demeanor. He seemed almost human. But then, looks could be deceiving. If nothing else, she had learned that during the disco era.

He pointed up to the screen, where Dion was twirling Kat around him, her full red skirt flying, showing her long, shapely legs to their best advantage.

“She was doing that the first time I saw her,” Lou said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out pack of cigarettes. “It was in a disco on Forty-second Street in New York. I came in that night with another woman, but left with Kat.”

Savannah recalled, years ago, having seen pictures of Kat Valentina in the tabloids with her manager/husband Lou Hanks. Lou had been the quintessential disco-scene hunk at that time—white suit and shoes, gaudy printed shirts unbuttoned nearly to his navel, and a zillion gold chains hanging low on his hairy chest.

Now, Lou the Disco King was an overweight, middle-aged nerd in a baggy golf shirt and plaid Bermuda shorts.

But on the front of those tabloids magazines, he had been gazing at his movie-star bride with adoration. And sitting on the old sofa, staring at her on a television screen, he wore the same love-besotted look.

“I fell hard for her,” he said.

“I can imagine.”

“She was the only thing I ever really cared about. This place ... everything ... it was all for her.”

He took a deep pull on the cigarette, and Savannah wondered at the contradiction of the owner of a health spa smoking. “I had stopped,” he said, as though reading her mind. “Drinking, too. Until, well, until this week. When ... it ... happened, I knew I was going to start one or the other. I figured smoking would get me in less trouble.” He patted his ample belly. “And it has fewer calories.”

Since Savannah wasn't sure what to say, she sat quietly and waited for him to continue. He seemed to want to unload; she was eager to listen and learn what she could.

“It wasn't all roses and light, you know,” he said, hitting the fast-forward button on the remote. He advanced to the next dance number, then slowed it to normal speed and watched, still spellbound. “She was a spoiled brat. But I was the one who mostly spoiled her, so I guess it's my fault.”

“It can be difficult when fame and fortune comes to someone so early in life,” Savannah said.

“It didn't exactly ‘come' to her,” he said, his face flushing darkly as it had that day in Josef's massage room. “I worked my ass off for what we had—every bit of it—including that movie!”

The anger, the flip-switch change in his demeanor took her aback. This guy had a hair trigger.

“I'm sure you did. I understand you managed her career for years.”

“I managed more than her career. I managed Kat. And it wasn't easy, either. She was the most immature, self-centered human being I've ever known. Thought she could do whatever she wanted to do, whenever she wanted, with anybody she wanted, and not pay any price.”

Again, tabloid covers flashed through Savannah's mind. If even one-tenth of the press Kat had received over the years had been true, Lou would have had ample reason to be resentful.

“It must have been difficult,” she said.

“It was hell. And when she got older and finally started to slow down when it came to the sexual stuff, she made up for it by spending money.”

He took a long drag from his cigarette and released the smoke through his nose. “We were supposed to be partners in this spa. But she didn't do anything constructive around here, never even stuck her head in the office. Worse yet, she spent money right and left without consulting me, or even letting me know until I received the bills. Thanks to her, it was all I could do just to keep this ship afloat.”

They sat, silently watching the movie for several long, tense minutes. Lou seemed embarrassed by his outburst. Savannah's mental cogs were spinning, processing the new information.

As the woman in the movie glided across the screen, a sensual vision wrapped in red, the hard, hostile expression on Lou's face began to soften. His eyes filled with tears again. He mashed his cigarette into the overloaded tray.

“But you loved her anyway,” Savannah said. “Through it all, you never stopped.”

The tears slipped from his eyes and dribbled down his cheeks. His double chin trembled like a little boy's.

“Of course I loved her,” he said. He waved a hand toward the screen and the younger, softer version of the woman who had been his partner—for better, and apparently, a lot worse, for more than two decades.

“Just look at her,” he said. “I couldn't help myself. We were all in love with Kat. And when the damned coroner finally releases her body, there's going to be a lot of hearts buried in that casket along with her ... including mine.”

 

Tammy grabbed Savannah the minute she walked through the door into their shared room.

“You aren't going to believe what I did!” she exclaimed, hopping up and down.

Savannah watched in amazement. Every molecule in Tammy's body seemed to zing with energy.

Oh, to be so young again,
she thought. Then she reminded herself that she hadn't been that animated even at the age of eight.

“You're making me tired, just watching you,” she said. “Stop bouncing around and tell me.... What did you do?”

“I broke into his room! I did it! I did a B&E. All by myself, too!”

“Good grief. I've created a monster—Tammy the Cat Burglar.” She pulled her over to her bed and sat her down. “Now ... whose room are we talking about?”

“Josef Orlet's!”

“You broke into Josef Orlet's room, after finding out that he has a prison record for stalking and assault?”

“Well, yeah! That's why I picked his room. He seemed the most likely to be a murderer.”

Savannah stared at her, wondering at this convoluted “logic.” Tammy was brilliant when it came to computers, modems, information highways ... things that totally confounded Savannah. But when it came to simple common sense, Savannah sometimes thought the young lady was two cream puffs short of a baker's dozen.

“Don't you ever do that again! Promise me, right now,” Savannah said, using her bossiest oldest-sibling voice. “You could have gotten yourself hurt, or worse. Why, if he'd come back while you were there ...”

“Well, he
didn't
come back, because I was smart enough to wait until he had started giving a massage before I raided his room. Geez, Savannah, give me a little credit.”

“All right, so you didn't get caught. But I still want you to promise that you won't try anything like that again without talking it over with me first.”

“I'm not going to promise you any such thing. Do you want an assistant who thinks on her feet and takes initiative? Or do you want a mindless robot, who'll follow your every order without question and—”

“The robot! No doubt about it; I'll take the brain-dead robot. At least it won't take stupid chances and get its transistors shot out.”

That did it. Tammy's lower lip protruded, and she began to huff and puff like an asthmatic Pekingese. “Okay,” she said. “If what I did was so stupid, then I'm not going to tell you what cool, awful things I saw in his room.”

“How cool?”

“Extremely cool.”

“How awful?”

“Awful
awful.” She shuddered. “I was
totally
grossed out. Let's just say, the first thing I did when I left his room was find a sink and wash my hands.”

“Tammy, you get grossed out over earthworms and fly droppings. I don't know if you're the most reliable judge of grossness.”

“Okay, so I don't like creepy or crawly things. But, believe me, what I saw in there was a whole other category of gross.”

“And you aren't going to tell me what it was?”

“Nope. Not until you take back the ‘stupid' comment.”

“Would you settle for ‘less than wise'?”

Tammy considered that for a moment, grinned, and nodded. “I guess.”

“So, what did you see? Was it really that good?”

“Yeah. Even better.” She literally shivered with excitement, looking like a kid who was hoping for a new red bicycle on Christmas Eve. “Wanna be ‘less than wise' and go check it out with me?”

 

“You're absolutely sure Lou Hanks gets a massage
every
evening at seven?” Savannah said as they stood outside the back window of Josef Orlet's apartment.

“Every evening for as long as I've worked here.”

“Which has been ... ?”

“About three months.”

Three months wasn't long enough to put Savannah's mind completely at ease. Without the benefits of gun, badge, and backup, she found she was a lot less feisty about entering the residences of known violent criminals.

But then, if she'd had a badge, she would have had to get a search warrant, and she certainly didn't have enough legal cause for that. So, being a civilian wasn't without its advantages.

“How did you do this earlier?” she asked as she toyed with the window, trying to ease it upward.

“It was stiff at first, but I just gave it a good push ... like this ...”

Tammy grabbed the sill along with Savannah, they both shoved, and the window shot to the top with a resounding whack that sounded like a firecracker going off.

“Great!” Savannah whispered. “Now that we've alerted the whole complex—”

They waited to see if there would be any negative repercussions, but, if anyone had heard, thankfully, they weren't concerned enough to check it out.

“What's directly beneath the window?” Savannah asked as she tested her footing on top of a water meter near the ground.

“His bed.”

With one hike, she raised herself to the sill and swung her leg inside.

“Hey, pretty good,” Tammy remarked. “It took me three tries.”

“You don't have to be a size zero to be light on your feet, you know,” Savannah told her as she swung the other leg inside and stepped on Josef Orlet's unmade daybed.

She offered Tammy a hand up, then waited for her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness of the room. It didn't take long for her to see that the small studio apartment was filthy.

“Not exactly Johnny Homemaker, is he?” she said as she took in the piles of dirty, smelly dishes and empty food containers on the kitchen counter and the heaps of soiled laundry on the floor.

The television and VCR were practically buried in stacks of videotapes—obviously Orlet's favorite pastime. Most appeared to be the X-rated variety.

“Did I tell you it was gross, or what?” Tammy said.