Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) (22 page)

a the earthly remains of Barbara Matthews, Beauty 2ueen, and felt bad that she didn't feel worse.

Not only was the young woman dead, but so few

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people seemed to be sorry. Everyone deserved to be grieved. Even unpopular, bratty girls like Barbie.

And, although Savannah couldn't summon an enormous amount of grief from her heart, she would do everything she could to supply justice for Barbara

Matthews. Even unliked, ungrieved victims of murder deserved justice.

"Yes," Jennifer said as she walked up to stand next to

Savannah by the table, "a perfectly healthy young

woman. A perfectly healthy, pregnant young lady." Savannah gave her a quick sideways glance. "Really?" "Really. About eight weeks."

"Mm-m-m." She silently reaffirmed her promise. Now there were two victims who required justice, and that doubled her burden of responsibility.

1

When Savannah returned to Villa Rosa that afterV

V noon, she found the pageant activities centered, )nce again, on the patio surrounding the swimming lool. At one end of the area, on a stage decorated with ;old-and-silver-mylar balloons, the interview portion of he pageant was being conducted.

On a set designed to look like a talk-show stage, the roung ladies were taking turns sitting in the guest's

:hair, chatting with the pseudo-host, a very debonairooking Anthony Villa. But Savannah could tell that in his case, looks were deceiving. Although he was playing us role well, she got the distinct feeling Tony would lave much preferred to be walking in his vineyard.

She spotted Dirk at the edge of the crowd, showing tall a dozen snapshots to first one, then another, of the ;iris. But as each one took a look, she shook her head, hen walked away. He had his "I'm Discouraged--I

123 Cy./1

Hate My Job" look on his face. Savannah wondered if what she was going to tell him would cheer him up or

plunge him further down into the "I Hate the Whole

World--Life Ain't Worth Diddly" mode.

"Hey there, good-looldn'," she told him with her best Mae West impression, one hand on her hip, the other patting her hair. "If you're not getting anywhere with those youngsters, show a real woman what you've got."

But he was in too lousy a mood even for Mae's double

entendres. "I got squat, that's what I got." He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and Savannah noticed that he was flushed all the way up to the receding hairline

he denied he had.

"Why don't you come over here and sit in the shade

a spell," she told him. "'Take a load off and all that."

She led him over to an umbrella-covered table and

iat him down. Dirk wasn't able to go all day long at breakneck speed the way he had when she'd first met

him. The old fella was getting some mileage on him. While she, on the other hand, felt fresh out of the showroom.

She sat down on the chair beside him and groaned

Nith relief as she propped her feet in the crook of the

:able legs. Okay, so her odometer had rolled over a few imes, too. They were still an awesome twosome. . . at east in her estimation.

"Whose picture are you showing there?" she asked. He fanned the photos out on the table like a Las

legas card dealer and pointed to the one in the middle, I gangly, teenage boy with stringy long hair and a sullen !xpression that looked more like a mug shot than the

chool picture that it was. "That's Trent, the boyfriend," le told her. "I was hoping that maybe somebody saw

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him come back later in the evening, after Ryan pitched him off the property."

"Any luck?"

"Nope. Nobody saw nada. They were all at that dinner thing."

"Have you found him yet?"

"No. But once I got the word from Dr. Jennifer this afternoon that it was murder for sure, I put an APB out on him and his dark blue Charger. By the way, she says you dropped something off to her and told her it was

from me."

"Did she tell you what it was?"

"Something stupid that didn't make sense. She said to tell you not to bring her any more cowardly poultry. What the hell does that mean?"

Savannah chuckled and shook her head. "Our Dr. Liu has a weird sense of humor. I suspect that's her way of telling me that she did the examination and it was, indeed, a gutless chicken. I had a feeling it would be."

Dirk scowled. "Do you wanna fill me in here, or do I have to just wonder what you whacko broads are talking

about?"

Briefly, she told him about her new canine friend, his strange burden, and how she had relieved him of it. With every word, Dirk brightened. "All right!" he said. "And we've got the kid's fingerprints on the windowsill and the flower dish."

"Where did you get his prints?"

"He was in Juvie once for malicious mischief and another

time for smacking a kid in the head with a skateboard."

Savannah

studied the face in the picture, the eyes, looking for something that would tell her whether or

440 kzal.

not this young person was capable of murder. But she seldom saw anything like that in any suspect's eyes. It was amazing what people could hide.

"I suppose Dr. Liu told you that Barbie was pregnant."

"Yeah, she mentioned it. Do you suppose this guy's the dad?"

"When you find him, you can ask him."

Dirk growled. "When I find him. . . I'm gonna have a who-o-ole bunch of questions for him."

"Hey, look," Savannah said, pointing to the opposite side of the pool. "It's Ryan and John."

The two walked over to their table, pulled up chairs, and sat down. Ryan took a stack of folded papers from his pocket and handed it to Dirk. "Here are the cell phone records you wanted," he told him.

"That was fast" Dirk unfolded the wad and glanced over the pages.

John smiled, causing the ends of his silver mustache to curl upward. "Life is much simpler, old chap, when you no longer have to concern yourselves with such frivolities

as court orders. Friends in high places work much more quickly than the justice system."

"Is that Barbie Matthews's record?" Savannah asked, trying to see over Dirk's shoulder.

"It sure is," Ryan replied. "She must have had her phone surgically attached to her ear. I've never seen such a phone bill."

"Including the day she died," Dirk said, studying the columns of numbers before him. "Calls coming in, calls going out. It's gonna take me a month just to run down these numbers."

"Is the call there from her mom?" Savannah asked.

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"Mrs. Matthews said she called Barbie to ask why she hadn't shown up for dinner."

"It doesn't give you the numbers of the incoming

calls, just the times," Dirk said. "This one at 7:21 P.M. is the last one that came in. I'll bet you she was on her way out to the parking lot then. She probably got nabbed right where we found her phone."

"Yeah," Savannah added. "They grabbed her, she dropped her phone, and when they pulled out, they ran over it and crunched it."

Ryan leaned over and pointed to the bottom of the

last page. "I think that's the one you'd be most interested in. The last one she called. . . at 7:05 P.M."

Dirk nodded thoughtfully. 'True. She could've been setting up a meeting, agreeing to meet somebody there in the lot. We'll have to check with the phone company and find out whose number that is."

"Or. . . you could just ask us," John said.

Dirk half grinned, half grimaced. Savannah chuckled to herself. She knew he was torn between being pleased to have information so close at hand and irked

that the other two guys had something that he needed.

"Well?"

That was as gracious as Dirk ever got under such circumstances.

"It's

a pay phone."

"Great. That's just friggin' peachy." Dirk shook his head, disgusted, sliding into the old "My Job Sucks" mode. "Where?"

Ryan smiled. "In that little akove right between the men's and women's rest rooms behind the potted

palms."

"Here?"

222

.A. McKevett

"That's right, my friend. Barbara Matthews was calling the public phone right here in Villa Rosa, minutes before somebody killed her. And, now that we've done the hard part. . . all you have to do is figure out who was on the other end and. . . crime solved."

Dirk looked at Savannah. She grinned, and said, "Easy got as a wet foot on a rainy April morn." He just grunted.

Leaving the men to look over telephone bills and

formulate the psychological profile on the sort of person

who would give a girl a bouquet of flowers and

chicken entrails on the same night, Savannah made her way over to the stage where the interviews were taking

place.

She looked around for Atlanta, hoping to catch hers, then realized that the entire process had ended.

But the trip over wasn't a total waste of time. Hearing one girl address another as Desiree, Savannah decided to get acquainted.

Up close and in person the girl was very simply stunning.

Savannah wasn't surprised that she had won numerous beauty contents. With her golden blond hair, perfect skin, and classic features, she reminded Savannah of a young Grace Belly.

Savannah tried to reconcile that pretty face with the

cruel, sarcastic voice she had heard on the other side of the bathroom wall. It was a difficult fit.

"Hello," Savannah said. "I'm looking for Atlanta Reid. Would you have any idea where she is?"

The blue eyes that met hers were a rare and lovely

shade of teal, the color of the Pacific on a crisp October

SOUR GRAPES 223

morning. But somehow, they seemed devoid of life, eerily empty.

"Who? The hick with the drawl?" came the reply.

Savannah gave her a tight smile. "No . . . ," she said carefully, "the pretty one with the Southern accent . . . the one who looks a bit like me--seeing as how we're sisters and all."

Desiree didn't even bother to pretend that she was

embarrassed for her faux pas. "Nope, haven't seen her."

The teenager gave Savannah one of those quick, evaluating, glance-overs that some females give to other women, females who consider all others to be competition in some sort of ridiculous game that exists only in

their own limited minds.

When the girl lifted her nose two notches, turned her back on Savannah, and prissed away, Savannah watched her go, wondering if she had any idea what a sad cliché she was.

Any woman who only saw other females as competitors

would never know the joys of sisterhood, of having another woman standing by her when she really needed

her, offering that unique maternal love and support that only a woman could give.

And that deprivation alone was just punishment for

her egotism.

Another girl, whom Savannah didn't recognize, stepped up to her. "Hi, I'm Lynette. I overheard you asking about your sister, Atlanta. She said she was going to her room to practice her guitar for a while."

'Thank you very much," Savannah told her.

"No problem. I like Atlanta; she's cool. She did really good on her interview."

"When I see her, I'll tell that you said so. Thanks

again."

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224 G.A. McKevett

As Savannah walked away, heading back to their room, she thought of what Marion Lippincott had said about most of the girls being gems. She could see that was true.

Too bad the rotten ones seemed to be getting the

most attention.

As soon as Savannah started down the hallway, be-- Fore she even reached their door, she could hear a clear, sweet voice singing an old gospel tune that she hadn't heard for at least fifteen years.

The last time she had heard that song, Granny Reid had been singing it, and she had been rocking Atlanta to sleep in the old bench swing that hung from chains 311 the front porch. Gran's only accompaniment had been the creaking of those rusty chains as she swung 3ack and forth and fanned herself and the baby on that

hiltry summer night.

But Atlanta was playing along on her guitar, simple hut lovely chords that provided a harmony for her solo. Savannah stood outside the door, enjoying the song mtil it ended. Reluctant to break the spell, she unocked the door and slowly, quietly, pushed it open.

"Where were you?" Little Sister demanded, pissed gain. "You missed my interview, and I did good, too. I ooked all over for you, and you weren't there!"

Well, so much for sultry summer nights and all that lentimental crapola. The kid's lip was stuck out again. "I'm sorry. The guys and I were comparing notes on his case, and by the time I got over there the interviews were finished. But I heard you did very well."

"Yeah. sure."

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"No, it's true. This nice girl named Lynette said so. And she said you were cool, too. So, there."

Savannah stuck out her tongue at her, and they both giggled.

"I heard you singing. It sounded great. I didn't realize you've gotten so good."

'There's a lot of things you don't know about me. You aren't the only one in the family who can do stuff, you know."

"Of course, I know that. You're a unique person, Atlanta, with talents all your own. I've always known that, and I'm very proud of you."

Atlanta glanced away and laid the guitar on the bed

beside her. "So, how is the case going? Have you guys figured out who killed Barbie yet?"

"No, not yet. We just found out for sure this afternoon that she was murdered. But we're working on it."

Savannah sat down on the other bed, took her loafers off, and wriggled her toes. "I think that Barbie was killed by someone who specifically wanted her dead. But I don't want you and the rest of the girls to let your