Killer Reunion (23 page)

W
ith Savannah's blessing, Dirk remained at the Burger Igloo while Savannah took a stroll down Main Street to Lisa Riggs's florist shop.

The name on the sign over the door read
MURLE'S FLOWERS.
But Murle had been Lisa's aunt's name, and the business had been passed down from Aunt Murle to Lisa's mom, who then left it to Lisa. About ten years ago, when the video rental store next door had closed, Lisa had bought that space, as well, and had expanded her establishment. Now she had one of the nicest florist and gift shops in the county.

Savannah was overwhelmed with the sweet fragrance of flowers the moment she walked through the door, causing the silver bell above it to jingle merrily. The natural aroma of the blooms mixed with the more cloying artificial scents of the candles that were for sale on the left wall, creating an unsettling smell, which Savannah couldn't describe but didn't like.

On spotless glass shelves all over the store were frilly, girlie items that a guy like Dirk would have abhorred in his home. So she resisted the urge to buy a particularly sweet pink pillow covered with delicate lace and rhinestones and draped in strands of pearls.

He already slept on pink satin sheets when their regular ones were in the laundry, and you could expect only so much in the way of compromise from a manly man like Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter without meeting some sort of resistance.

Savannah had several moments to herself to look around the store, at the handmade gifts, buckets and baskets of both real and silk arrangements, and home décor items, before Lisa emerged from the rear.

Savannah was glad to see her. The strong scent of the candles was starting to give her a headache.

But Lisa seemed far less happy to see Savannah. Her dark eyes blazed as the color mounted in her heart-shaped face. Her heavily frosted hair was mussed, and her dress rumpled, as though she had been working nonstop for the past twenty-four hours.

“How dare you set foot in my shop?” she told Savannah. “I'm surprised, cold-blooded killer that you are, that you'd have the gall to even show your face in this town.”

Savannah was surprised . . . at herself for being surprised. She quickly reminded herself about her own theory about how people seldom changed.

Lisa had always been a mean mini-Jeanette. Quick of temper and unpleasant when she didn't get her way, she and Jeanette had been a natural pairing.

“You get outta here, Savannah Reid,” Lisa said, waving a pair of stem cutters at her. “I'm working my tail off filling orders for Jeanette's funeral. And besides, I don't serve murderers!”

Normally, when encountering such hostility, Savannah would have entertained a few fantasies that might have included a swift kick to the booty and the offender flying out the door and landing facedown in a mud puddle.

But in spite of the anger in Lisa's words, Savannah could see a deep sadness in her eyes. She could tell that the woman had been crying, and she had the look of someone whose heart had been broken.

Instead of shouting back the sharp retorts that came readily to her lips, Savannah said softly, “I didn't kill your friend, Lisa. And I'm sorry someone did. Are you okay?”

“Okay? No! I'm not okay!” Lisa began to cry, and her dry, ugly sobs racked her body and contorted her face. “I'm back there making a big purple casket spray for the woman who was my very best friend for over thirty years. How the hell can I be okay?”

Savannah took a step toward her, but Lisa raised her hands, as though warding off an attack.

“No!” she shouted. “You get away from me, before I call Tom and tell him you're here, threatening me!”

“But I'm
not
. I just came here to ask you a couple of questions. I want to catch the person who really did kill Jeanette. You want that, too. Right, Lisa? Don't you want to know who really killed your friend? You wouldn't want her murder to go unsolved, would you?”

Lisa looked at her doubtfully. “I'm pretty sure you did it. The sheriff and Mr. Jameson say you did. But I'll hear what you've got to say.”

Sensing that the sun might have emerged at least temporarily from behind the clouds, Savannah hurried on. “Lisa, you knew Jeanette better than anybody, being her best friend for so long. Please don't take this as an insult to her, but do you have any idea if she might, just might, have killed her husband? You know, for some very, very good, completely understandable reason.”

“What?”

“I don't mean that in a bad way. Really, I don't. I'm just thinking that maybe, because you two were very close, she might have confided in you that he, oh, might have been awful to her, treated her badly. Maybe she was scared to death of him, and it might have just crossed her mind a wee bit to poison him or smother him in his sleep or whatever.”

Lisa's dark eyes were growing larger by the moment. “You are
sick
! Sick, Savannah Reid! How dare you even suggest such a thing about a fine woman like Jeanette!”

“I didn't just make it up, Lisa. I'm suggesting it because I overheard you and Amy Jameson talking about it outside the school the night of the reunion.”

Lisa stood there staring at her for a long time before she finally said, “What?”

“I heard you and Amy talking about how Jeanette killed her husband and got Amy's dad to go along with it to clear her of suspicion. Now, don't try to pretend you didn't say it, because I was standing not ten feet away, and I heard every word.”

Lisa laughed, and the sound of it was creepy, maniacal, like that of a person with a fragile grip on reality. “You're not only a killer, Savannah Reid, but you're a liar. I never said any such thing. And neither did Amy. You're just talking crazy, and I don't have to listen to it. I told you to get out of here right now, or I'm calling Tommy.”

“Why did she do it, Lisa? Why did Jeanette kill her husband?”

“Get out!”

“Was she afraid he was going to find out how in debt she was from all her extravagant spending?”

“I mean it! Now!”

“Was it so she could get her hands on all his money?”

Lisa reached into the pocket of her work apron, frowned, then marched across the room to a counter with a cash register and a phone on it. “That's it! I'm not going to listen to these lies about my poor dead friend. I'm calling the law on you.”

“How did she do it, Lisa? Was it poison, or did she just give him an overdose of his own pharmaceutical drugs?”

Savannah felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Normally, she would have ignored it under such stressful circumstances. But she knew Tammy was spending the day trying to hack into the files of the laboratory that had processed the blood and tissue samples from Jacob Barnsworth's autopsy.

Perhaps this call would provide the answer to the question she had just asked.

She pulled the phone from her pocket and gave it a quick glance as she listened to Lisa calling the sheriff's office.

Tammy's text read
Lab report normal. No drugs. No poisons. Natural causes like Jameson's report.

“Yes, she's right here right now,” Savannah could hear Lisa saying into the phone. “She's raving like a crazy woman, asking me all these nutty questions. I think she's fixin' to do me serious harm. Get out here quick as you can.”

Savannah decided it was time to leave.

The sickly sweet smell of those candles was almost more than she could stand.

 

When Savannah returned to the Burger Igloo, she found Dirk cramming the last bite of burger into his mouth. He gave her a semi-apologetic grin. “I waited for you.”

“Sure you did. Like one pig waits for another one.”

“Lemme order you a burger. I don't mind sitting here while you eat it.”

Dirk didn't mind waiting? What was wrong with this picture? Usually, he wanted to run out the door before she'd even finished eating. If there was anything she hated, it was leaving a restaurant while still chewing.

Of course, she knew why he'd suddenly developed Gandhian patience. It was the first-degree murder charge hanging over her head.

No doubt, if she'd been arrested for littering, he'd be far crankier.

“I'll take a chocolate malted to go,” she said. “I'm not all that hungry.”

He scrutinized her face closely, like a parent checking out a kid who might be coming down with the bubonic plague. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Actually, I'm very fine.”

“You've got something!”

“I might.” She motioned for the waitress. “I'm going to drop you off at Butch's again,” she said.

His face brightened, but his happiness was soon followed by suspicion. “Why? Have you got something or not?”

“I don't know for sure. But I have a feeling.”

“Wanna share?”

“Not yet. I need to have a girl-to-girl talk with an old friend. Then we'll see how much I do or don't have.”

S
avannah walked up the broken sidewalk to the front door of her favorite building in McGill. Other than Granny Reid's home, of course.

When she was a child, Savannah had considered this wonderful old Victorian-style home a mansion. Even then it had been ancient and elegant, with classic architectural features, like a lovely round turret, gingerbread trim, stained-glass windows, and a door set with an oval of beveled lead glass that sparkled like the crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer.

Once this grand home had belonged to an eccentric lady named Mildred Hodge. When Mildred had died, having no heirs of her own but being an avid reader, she had donated her home to the town, with instructions that it be turned into a public library.

As a child without a television, a radio, or books of her own for entertainment, Savannah had thought she'd discovered heaven itself when she realized she could walk through that door and borrow all the adventures she could carry in two hands.

A loving, compassionate librarian by the name of Rose had introduced her to Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and the Hardy boys at an early age. And Savannah had never gotten over the thrill of solving a mystery, even all these years later. She blessed Rose every day for her love of books and her obsession with solving crimes.

The moment she opened the heavy door and stepped onto the foyer's terra-cotta tiles, Savannah drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with the intoxicating scent of books. And she felt right at home.

To her left was a graceful curving staircase; and beneath the steps, a cozy alcove furnished with an undersized child's chair, an accent table, and a stained-glass dragonfly reading lamp.

Anytime she'd found a rare hour to herself, Savannah had trotted over to this library, slid into that snug nook, and been transported to other places, times, and situations far more exciting and glamorous than her own.

She had loved books, libraries, and librarians ever since. Like policemen, doctors, nurses, teachers, and firefighters, she considered them heroes, and she couldn't imagine the world without them.

But as inviting and nostalgic as the house was that afternoon, her mission was far more important than a walk down memory lane. Sweet as that might be. She walked into what had once been the old house's fine parlor, where the current librarian's desk was located. She glanced around and found her former friend Amy Jameson filing books in the fiction section.

Amy heard Savannah's approaching footsteps and turned to greet her visitor with a smile. But when she saw the newcomer was Savannah, her smile quickly faded. She turned back to her cart and suddenly developed an intense interest in the books she had yet to replace.

“Hi, Amy,” Savannah said brightly, as though she hadn't noticed the non-greeting.

“Oh, hi, Savannah,” Amy replied, giving her the briefest nod.

“I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk there at the reunion,” Savannah continued. “A lot's happened for both of us, I'm sure, in the past twenty-five years or so.”

“Not that you'd notice,” Amy said with an air of resignation. “Not for me, anyway. After graduation I went off to college. Came back here. Became town librarian after Rose passed away. That's pretty much it. You're now up to date on the exciting life story of Amy Jameson.”

Savannah looked into her old friend's eyes and saw a bitterness born of disillusionment and unfulfilled dreams. She seemed to recall a time, decades ago, when Amy had said she wanted to be a fashion designer when she grew up someday. Or was it a ballerina?

She had forgotten.

She wondered if Amy Jameson had forgotten, too.

“Not all good lives are exciting, Amy,” she told her. “What you do here is really important. Rose changed my life by introducing me to books and the love of reading. I'm sure you change lives for the better every day.”

“But you didn't come here to talk about how important I am.”

Amy shoved the last book from her cart into its proper place, and Savannah recognized it instantly. It was Jack London's
The Call of the Wild
. The very copy that she herself had checked out many times.

“You came here,” Amy continued as she headed toward her desk, “to talk to me about Jeanette.”

“Can't a friend drop by to say hi without . . . Okay. You're right. That's why I'm here.”

Amy sat down in her desk chair and pretended to busy herself by stacking and restacking some piles of papers. Even though she didn't invite Savannah to have a seat, Savannah pulled a small side chair close to the desk and parked herself on it.

If Amy thought she could get rid of her with a frosty reception, she had another thought coming. It took way more than that to scare off a former cop. There was nothing quite like being shot at and critically wounded to reset the bar on how easily one got offended.

“What took you so long?” Amy asked. “I figured you'd be over here the minute you made bail.”

What took so long
? Savannah thought.
I had to go chase down some stupid leads that led absolutely nowhere. Just your usual homicide investigation. That's all.

“I heard about the conversation you had with my father and his suspicions about you,” Amy continued. “And I know you were standing there in the shadows when I was talking to Lisa about Jeanette.”

“I hope you don't share your father's conclusions about me,” Savannah said. “You knew me pretty well back when we were kids. I hope you know I wouldn't do something like that.”

“People change, Savannah. And how well can any of us know anyone? People have secrets.” Amy drew a shuddering breath. “Besides, my father's very good at what he does. If he says you killed Jeanette, that's good enough for me.”

“Your dad's wrong about me, but as a general rule, he
is
good at what he does. In fact, that's one of the reasons I came by here today. I want to give you some information that might, well, set your mind at ease where he's concerned.”

Amy looked genuinely puzzled. “Set my mind at ease? What are you talking about?”

“You saw me standing there in the shadows while you were talking to Lisa about Jeanette.”

Amy's stared intensely into Savannah's eyes when she said, “Yes. And . . . ?”

“I heard what you said about your dad being, well, influenced by Jeanette to the point of maybe filing a false report and—”

“Whoa! Hold on! I never said anything like that.”

“Actually, you did. You and Lisa talked about how persuasive she could be with men, and you admitted you never thought your father would give in to her so-called charms.” Savannah stopped speaking because Amy was laughing.

But there was no mirth it in. It was a bitter, empty laugh that chilled the soul to hear.

“Some detective you are, Savannah Reid,” she said when she'd finally recovered herself. “Here I thought you'd figure it all out right away, but you're clueless. You don't know half what you think you do.”

Savannah plowed ahead, through the ridicule. “I have documentation that proves your dad is innocent of all wrongdoing. His autopsy report on Jacob Barnsworth was exactly as the lab reported. He doctored nothing for Jeanette. Mr. Barnsworth really did pass away from natural causes.”

“I know that.”

“But you didn't the night of the reunion. You were talking to Lisa about how Jeanette had manipulated him, got what she wanted out of him, how disappointed you were that—”

“Oh. I see.” A light dawned in Amy's eyes. “I've got it now.”

“You've got what?”

“Never mind.”

“Come on, Amy. Help me out here. You and I used to play Barbie dolls together, for Pete's sake.”

“You didn't have a Barbie doll.”

“I know. But you had several, and you let me play with them. Even the prettiest ones. I remember it like it was yesterday. I never forgot your kindness toward me.”

Amy glanced away. “I felt sorry for you,” she said. “What with your parents the way they were. And there were so many of you. I knew you didn't have toys.”

“I really appreciated your generosity back then. It was most welcome. Most needed.” Savannah placed her hand on Amy's forearm. “Thank you, Amy.”

Amy blinked rapidly a couple of times, and long wet lines streaked her cheeks. Finally, she composed herself and said softly, “Truly, I thought you'd figure it out on your own, Savannah. I didn't want to get involved. This is such a small town, and if people start thinking badly of you for some reason, any reason, they'll make you miserable about it for the rest of your life.”

“I know. They do.”

“I thought you'd be able to put it together yourself, considering what you heard that night there behind the school.”

“I think I have,” Savannah said, recalling her conversation in the florist shop with Lisa.

She remembered the look on Lisa's face. The expression that was supposed to be grief but wasn't.

It was fear and anger, mixed with guilt.

It was a look that Savannah, a former police officer, had become all too familiar with.

“That night, after the reunion, behind the school,” Savannah said, “the man you were talking about with Lisa, the man who gave in to Lisa and did what she wanted, I thought it was your father. But it wasn't, was it?”

Amy shook her head slowly. “No.”

“It was Lisa's husband, Frank, right? Jeanette seduced Frank.”

Savannah's heart pounded so hard, she could feel the blood throbbing in her temples as she waited for Amy's reply.

After what seemed like an eon, Amy nodded. “Jeanette didn't know the meaning of the word
loyalty
. Lisa thought she was so special to Jeanette. Best friends forever and all that. Year after year, she watched Jeanette hurt other people. She even
helped
her hurt them. But Lisa thought she was immune.”

“Jeanette might sleep with every other woman's husband but would never do that to her,” Savannah said.

“Right. But, of course, it doesn't work like that. None of us are special or immune. If somebody's hurting others, it's just a matter of time until they do the same to us.”

“If they do it with you, they'll do it to you. That's a lesson hard learned.”

“For Lisa, it sure was.”

“Thank you, Amy, for helping me,” Savannah said. “Is there anything else you know that you could tell me? I'll take anything.”

Amy wiped her eyes and nose on a tissue, then said, “She didn't leave the school right away that night. After I left you and Lisa, I got halfway to my car and realized I'd forgotten some books I was supposed to bring back here. I returned to get them, and I saw all the ruckus with you and Jeanette. Saw you slug her and her hit the ground.”

“Not my shining hour, for sure.”

“Actually, I thought you did pretty well. Most of the people standing around watching were rooting for you, no doubt.”

“That's good to know.”

“And Lisa was watching. She hadn't left yet. She was watching from over there in that dark area by the fence, where she was parked. I saw her.”

“That's interesting.”

“And later, when I pulled out of the lot, she was still standing there, watching you talk to Jeanette and Tommy and your husband.”

“Okay. Again interesting.”

Amy gave her a loaded look. Savannah prepared herself to hear something of importance.

Amy said, “Lisa was parked right next to Jeanette's purple convertible.”

“There in that dark area.”

“By the fence. It's not well lit over there, but I could see well enough to make out that ugly hot pink satin outfit Lisa was wearing. I'm absolutely positive it was her.”

“Okay. That's all good to know. Thank you,” Savannah said. “Did you see Lisa leave? Or Jeanette?”

“No. When I drove away, Jeanette was back on her feet, complaining like a scalded skunk to the sheriff. You were talking to your husband.”

“And Lisa?”

“Still standing there beside the cars. In the dark. Watching. It was creepy.”

“Thank you, Amy. This is all such an enormous help.”

Savannah stood and took one more long tender look around the room. “I envy you, working here like you do. The peace and quiet. The gentleness of it all.”

The defensive look returned to Amy's face. “Sure you do. You wouldn't trade your life for my boring one. Not for anything.”

“No. I wouldn't. Because I love my life. The craziness of it, the ups and downs. But you wouldn't like everything about mine, either. I guarantee you.”

Amy shot Savannah an angry glance that cut deep into her and confused her.

“What is it, Amy?” she asked her. “Why are you so mad at me? What have I done?”

It took the librarian a long time to reply. And when she finally did, she sounded ashamed. “You got out,” she said, almost in a whisper.

“I got
out
?”

“You had a dream and you followed it. All the way to California.”

“Aw, Amy. Dreams can be followed and fulfilled anywhere. Good lives can be lived in any corner of the world. You don't need a sunny beach to follow your destiny.”

“You did. You needed a sunny beach.”

Savannah thought only a moment before agreeing. “Yes. I did.”

Savannah's memory returned to Amy's pretty pink bedroom, the frilly bedspread and matching curtains, the soft white carpet covered with Barbie dolls and miscellaneous fashion doll paraphernalia. She recalled how Amy could take two strips of shiny fabric, twist them this way and that, and create a beautiful evening gown on the spot.