Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) (26 page)

For a few seconds their eyes locked, and Savannah knew.

She saw his guilt, she saw his fear, and she knew. And Anthony Villa knew that she knew.

Turning on his heel, he hurried to the door and disappeared into the tasting room.

Savannah glanced back at the phone. "Well, I'll be damned," she whispered.

"Now let me get this straight: You want me to lock up a guy who may be our next state senator because you say

he looked at a phone funny. That is what you're telling me, isn't it?" Dirk was staring at Savannah as if she were one queen of hearts short of royal flush.

"I know it sounds stupid," she said. "You had to have been there. Really. He looked like a ghost from the past was trying to reach through the phone and grab him

around the throat. He was white, I mean, the guy turned blanc de blanc right there in front of me."

She and Dirk were standing, nose to nose, in the middle of the room that Barbie and Atlanta had shared. Dirk had been searching it yet another time when

Savannah had marched in to give him her news.

256 G.A. McKevett

He was less than impressed. Considerably less.

"Well, I think I've already got the guy who did it," he said. "He's locked up right now in juvie, and it's going to take a heck of a lot more to convince me that he ain't

the one than some nonsense about Villa looldn' at a

phone."

"But that's the phone she called him on. We know from the records that she called that particular pay

phone right before she went out to the parking lot and

got nabbed."

Dirk shook his head. "We don't know that he was the one who answered that night. We don't even know if her making that phone call had anything to do with her

getting killed. Besides, Villa's got phones at his house, in his office, probably in his car. Why would she call him on a pay phone?"

"Because she had a cell phone, and there's a record of every call she makes. And Anthony Villa is a married man."

"So, what are you saying? That little Miss Barbie and future senator were doing the grizzly-bear hump?"

"Well, he wouldn't be the first politician to screw up his life that way. Besides, he's a judge here at the pageant. She's been known to drop her knickers for judges before."

Dirk thought that over for a moment, then shook his head. "Now, it's the kid. Don't ask me how I know, but! know. That's it."

"Er-r-r-r. You're as stubborn as a mule's behind, you know that?"

He grinned. "You've mentioned that. . . several times in fact. I don't know what it means, but. . . Now, if you don't mind, I need to get to work here."

blJUK LiKAITZ ZD7

He turned away from her, walked into the bathroom and began searching under the sink.

Savannah left, grumbling beneath her breath, ". mer . won't listen . . . think they know everything. . . pee pee heads. . . baboon butts."

Surveying the acres of cars in the dark lot, Savannah had no idea which vehicle belonged to the Villas. She had searched the rows for the green Jeep that she had

seen Catherine driving previously, but it wasn't there. She had seen the height of Catherine's heels tonight

and she was sure that she had driven, not walked down from the house on the hill. Apparently, they had driven another car. But which one?

Savannah stepped back into the center and grabbed

the first waitress she could find.

"Hi, would you do me a big favor?"

The waitress smiled, eager to please. "Sure, if I can."

"Please tell Mr. or Mrs. Villa that the left front tire of their car is flat. They might want to have it taken care of now, rather than later this evening when they're ready to leave."

"Of course. I'll let them know right now."

The waitress hurried away, and Savannah returned to the parking lot, where she found a nice dark place to hide in the shadow of some tall oleanders. She grinned, savoring the anticipation.

It didn't take long. In less than three minutes, Catherine rushed out the front door and made a beeline

for the back of the lot and a BMW that was approximately

the same size as Savannah's house.

In her ankle-length evening dress and her high, high heels, she tiptoed around the car. . once. . . then

1

1

58 G.A. McKevett

igain . and a third time. Finally, shaking her head, the walked back to the center and through the front

loot:

From her hiding place Savannah could see the con

used look on her face. She felt only the slightest bit of ;at Just as food--when eaten standing or off some-me else's plate--didn't contain calories, lies told on :he job didn't exactly blacken your soul. Catching one -early bad guy would provide absolution for at least one

iundred fibs. She was sure it was a rule that was written iomewhere in the cosmos.

Once she was fairly sure that the Villas weren't cornng

back out, and that no one was around to observe , she headed straight for the BMW.

It was black, she noted with a sad kind of satisfaction. knd it was a pretty good bet that the carpeting inside would be black, too.

Standing beside the driver's door, she looked inside or any tiny red light that might indicate an alarm was

.ilnployed. But she didn't see anything.

After glancing around once more and affirming that

he was alone, she tried the door handle. But no such uck; it was locked. Even out here in the country, the Villas had secured their Beamer.

She flashed her penlight through the back window

md verified that yes, indeed, the carpeting was black. From her purse she took her handy-dandy, allmrpose lockpick and stuck it into the door. But once 'gain, she was up the proverbial creek paddleless. The iewer locks were more advanced than the old ones, Ind it was getting harder and harder to break into

hings these days. No amount of jiggling and twisting would do the trick.

She walked around to the back of the car and re

SOUR GRAPES 259

peated the process with the trunk lock. Just when she was about to give up. . . bingo! It snapped open. So, the old girl hadn't lost her touch after all, she noted with satisfaction.

One more look around, then she raised the lid and looked inside.

Other than the black carpeting . . . which as Dr. Liu had said, would be less than two years old in the trunk of a late-model car, she didn't see anything particularly incriminating. It was just your standard, spotless, yuppie family trunk with tennis rackets, a kid's skateboard, a roadside emergency kit, and an empty bag with a designer label on it.

And it smelled good. In fact, it smelled great. springtime fresh like clothesline-dried laundry. Several detergent commercials and their catchy jingles

danced through Savannah's mind.

It had just been cleaned. Scrubbed from stem to stern. There wasn't one smidgen of sand, dirt, or lint in the entire trunk. She placed her palm flat on the floor and could feel a slight dampness.

And when she leaned back and played her light

over the side of the car, the wheels, and bumpers, she realized that the entire vehicle was spotless. Nobody's car, not even Catherine Villa's, was this dean, unless it had just been professionally detailed.

Turning back to the trunk, she pushed the tennis racket and skateboard aside. Even the carpet beneath those items was damp and immaculate.. . or was it?

What were these? Six little black things that were almost invisible against the rug. Leaning inside and shining her light directly on them, Savannah could see what they were--six flies, quite dead, lying on their backs, their tiny feet sticking straight up in surrender.

?.60 G.A. McKevett

Why would flies be in a perfectly clean trunk? And othy would they be dead in that immaculate trunk? iavannah could hazard a guess. But a guess--a feeble me--was all it would be.

She could see herself going to Dirk and saying, "The lies were there because they were attracted to the smell yf death that was present in the trunk even after

3arbie's body had been removed. And the ffies died bemuse some caustic chemical. . . like insecticide residue as there, even though it's been cleaned."

She could just see him presenting that to the DA, dong with Anthony Villa's suspicious reaction to the

rlephone. And if that weren't enough concrete evilence, they had Savannah's equally useless gut feeling hat he was a guilt-ridden, fearful man.

Okay, so she needed more. But what?

Closing the trunk, she stepped back from the car ind looked it over one more time. Shining her light on he rear left tire, she noted that it was well worn, not yew. So, Anthony hadn't had them replaced when he lad the car detailed.

Maybe they could get a match from the plaster mold yf the track up by the cliff.

She shone her light on the front left tire, and saw hat it, too, was well worn. But something caught her Ire. It was different. The two tires on this side of the car were different makes, even different sizes.

"Hmm," she said, as she walked around to the other ide. The rear tire matched the one on the left, but the i-ont right was yet a third make, and it wasn't even a vhitewall.

Three brands, three sizes on one car.

Savannah mulled that one over. She was far less vain tbout such things than Catherine Villa, but she had in

iisted that Dirk replace her shredded wheels with

matching tires. This mishmash seemed completely out if character for the persnickety lady.

As Savannah left the car and walked across the park-Jig lot back to the center and the evening's festivities, the could feel the adrenaline hit her tired bloodstream.

Contrary to popular opinion, a private detective's ife involves a lot of boring, solitary work and few monents of true drama. But now she was getting close. Like a bloodhound with her nose to the ground, she mew she was on a fresh track, and her prey wasn't far may.

For just a moment she wished that it was almost any

me other than Anthony Villa. But she thought of Francie, lying crumpled like a broken doll at the botom of the staircase, and she didn't give a damn who he killer was. She just wanted to get her teeth into him.

23

sang good tonight."

"You sang great."

"And I looked good, too."

"You looked fantastic."

"So . . . so . . so, why didn't I win . . anything!" Savannah sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hysterical sister in her arms, rocking her as she had years ago when she had fallen down and skinned her

knees. But this was much worse than a boo-boo that would respond to a kiss and a Donald Duck bandage.

"I'm not kidding, 'Lanta," she told her, wiping her cheeks with a wad of tissues that was getting more soggy

by the moment. "I thought you were amazing! I had no idea that you could work an audience like that! They were behind you all the way."

"But . . . but. . ." She hiccuped. "But the judges liked that stupid girl with the skull. What was that 'To be or not to be' crap? That doesn't even make sense."

264 G.A. McKevett

"Well, actually, it's Shakespeare, and it's a really cool speech but--"

Okay, so that wasn't the right thing to say, Savannah decided as Atlanta's sobbing reached new levels of volume.

"It

isn't fair!" She hit the mattress with her fist and kicked her foot. "That girl wasn't even cute, let alone pretty. Did you see how fat she is?"

Savannah figured it wouldn't be wise to mention that

she thought the winner had a beautiful figure, or that she was especially poised and seemed like a very nice

person. No, she thought she'd just keep that two-bit opinion to herself.

"Life isn't fair, 'Lanta," she said, rubbing her back and continuing to rock. "I hate to say it, but it's so true. Rotten things happen to great people and wonderful

things happen to crummy people, and that's just the way it is. The sooner you stop expecting things to be fair, the sooner you'll be a happy camper. Or at least, not so miserable."

"Oh, shut up!" She pushed her away. "I just lost the most important thing in my life. I'm devastated, and I don't want to hear any of your Chinese proverbs."

It had been a long, hard day. Savannah snapped. 'The most important thing in your life? Get real! And get over it already!"

Her face screwed up again. "You don't understand!" "No, Atlanta Reid. It's you who's clueless. In a world where little babies get burned with cigarettes, and nuns get raped, and good cops with families at home get shot dead in dark alleys. . . you losing a beauty pageant just ain't high drama. Sorry if I'm not impressed."

"This was more than a beauty pageant. It was my career. My dream!"

t.JUK liKAYEZ

Savannah sighed. "Oh, yes . . . I forgot. You were going to be discovered."

"I was. But there weren't even any talent agents there, like they said on the website. I looked around and didn't see a single one."

"Really? What exactly does a talent agent look like?"

Atlanta thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I don't know, but if I'd seen one, I would have known it."

"That's where you're wrong, Twerp. There was an agent, of sorts, there."

She perked up and blew her nose. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, someone who knew that you're my sister approached me and told me they were very impressed

with your performance."

From tears to a radiant smile in less than two seconds--the transformation

was astounding.

"Really? Really, really?"

"Really, really. In fact, he suggested a gig for you next Saturday, if you aren't too busy."

She jumped up off the bed. "No way! Where? When? How? What?"

"In Hollywood at a recording studio, singing backup for Dixie Lynn. She's cutting a new record, or CD, or whatever they're cutting these days, and she could use another singer."