Death by Chocolate (19 page)

Apparently, Cordele hadn’t
realized that yet. She was still hoping. And as a result, she was still
hurting.

Savannah glanced across the
table at John, then to her right at Ryan. She saw the compassion in their eyes
as they studied Cordele’s face and mulled over her words. They knew, too.

“You may very well be
right, my dear,” John said as he reached over and covered Cordele’s hand with
his own. “An excellent insight,” Ryan agreed.

Savannah smiled at her
sister. “Yes, thanks, Cordele.... for your input. We’ll have to think about
that one.”

Cordele looked up as a
waiter passed by with the dessert tray, displaying a plethora of orgasmically
rich treats. “Dessert?” she said, brightening. “Do you think they have some
kind of cheesecake? I love cheesecake.”

“I’m absolutely certain I
saw a praline-caramel cheesecake on that tray,” John said.

“Good. I’m going to have a
piece.” Cordele smiled at Savannah, looked around the posh restaurant and at
her handsome hosts. “After all,” she said, “this is definitely a special
occasion!”

Savannah nodded. Looking at
her sister, she understood a little bit better, she loved a little bit more.
‘Yes, it certainly is,” she said.

Chapter

T
he next morning when
Savannah visited D
irk at t
he
station house, she wasn’t so lucky as before. Rather than having the place to themselves,
it was teeming with charcoal gray suits and monochromatic shirts and ties.

Her least favorite member
of the brass, Police Chief Norman Hillquist, walked by her chair, which was
next to Dirk’s desk, and said, “Have you got business here, Reid? ‘Cause if you
don’t, get moving.”

“Yes sir, Chief Hillquist,”
she said, far too brightly. She gave him a dimpled grin, but her eyes were ice.
“I’m reporting a crime to this here detective. He’s taking my statement.”

She turned to Dirk. “As I
was saying, Detective Coulter, last night my home was invaded by some little
green guys with antennae on their heads. I think they said they were from
Neptune. They told me they were going to help me get revenge on anybody who’d
ever screwed me over in the past. Then they beamed me up to their mother ship
where their leader had his way with me. And what a way it was, I tell you! A
whole new way, like I’ll bet you never even thought of! I know I sure hadn’t.”
Hillquist glared at her another moment, then walked away, disappearing into his
office with the other stuffed suits. Just before they closed the door behind
them, she heard somebody mention something about it being the fourth “budget
meeting” of the month.

“Eh, may he fall down a
flight o’ stairs,” she muttered before turning to Dirk, who was sitting there,
grinning at her. “Where were we?”

“You were drinking my
coffee, eating my donuts, and telling me that you’re going to track down
Kaitlin Dover today and have a girl-to-girl talk with her.”

She reached over, nabbed his
cup, and drank the last sip. “And you’re running background checks on Louise,
Marie, and Sydney.”

“Right. And Kaitlin and the
ex-hubby, too.”

“What a busy boy you are.
I’ll call you later.”

He didn’t answer; he already
had his nose buried in the computer screen and was cursing it again.

On her way out, Savannah
passed by the chief s office and looked in the large window. The blinds were
open, and she could see the ring of execs sitting around, discussing the dismal
subject of San Carmelita’s fiscal budget. She paused at the glass and waited
for Hillquist to look up.

When she caught his eye,
she stuck her forefingers up on either side of her head and wiggled them like
antennae.

If looks could have killed,
she’d have been gasping her last breath. Chief Hillquist was not amused.

“Ah, get over yourself,”
she mumbled, then walked away. “Some guys just got no sense of humor. Too much
starch in the shorts, I suspect, givin’ their wienies a rash.”

Dirk had gone into the DMV
records and retrieved Kaitlin Dover’s address for Savannah. She decided to just
drop by her house and take a chance that she might find her there. If not, she
figured that a little look around the place wouldn’t hurt. At least, not if she
didn’t get caught.

Kaitlin lived in the
pleasant town of Arroyo Verde, which was about halfway between San Carmelita
and Hollywood. Twenty minutes on the freeway, and she was there.

Although Arroyo Verde was
inland and had no ocean front like San Carmelita, the area had an appeal all
its own, surrounded by hills that looked as though they had been covered with a
tawny suede. Somebody had gone crazy in the Parks Department and planted a
zillion palm trees within the city limits. There seemed to be a playground or
picnic area on every other block.

Kaitlin Dover’s subdivision
was a maze of streets lined by large Spanish-style homes with plenty of
red-tiled roofs, gleaming white stucco, wrought iron, and bougainvillea
climbing everywhere. Any one of the massive houses set alone on a hill would
have been impressive. But crammed so closely together, each one looking almost
identical to the rest, they seemed to lack character.

Savannah found the street
named La Rosa and Kaitlin’s house number. Like the others, it looked new and even
though the lawn was fairly brown from the restrictions on watering, the yard
was well-tended.

Apparently, producing
gourmet TV shows paid some bucks—more than private detecting, for sure.

One door of the two-car
garage was open, and inside Savannah could see a red Lexus SC430. She
recognized it as the one that had been parked at the Maxwells’ during the
tapings.

Maybe she had lucked out
and found the lady of the house at home.

She walked up the perfectly
edged sidewalk to the front door and rang the bell. Moments later, Kaitlin
Dover opened the door, and Savannah thought maybe she should buy some Lotto
tickets on her way home. This seemed to be her day.

The producer was wearing
jeans and a faded Hard Rock Café T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and her red
hair was practically standing on end. Savannah guessed by her drowsy eyes that
she had been napping. “Hi,” Savannah said, “remember me?”

Kaitlin’s face fell the
moment she recognized Savannah. “How could I forget?” she said. ‘You were part
of the worst day of my life.”

Savannah knew what she was
referring to, but she couldn’t resist needling her just a little. “And that
would have been....?”

Kaitlin’s eyes widened.
“When Eleanor died, of course.”

“Oh,
that
day.”

“Well... it... it was awful....
seeing my friend die in front of me like that,” she stammered. “I’m surprised
you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand. It was
pretty damned awful for me, having a client die in my arms.”

Suddenly, Kaitlin seemed
less traumatized and more suspicious. She glanced out at Savannah’s car parked
in front of her house and then looked Savannah up and down. “What do you want?”
she said.

“To talk to you, if you
don’t mind. I’m investigating Eleanor’s murder. You do know by now that it’s
been determined to be a homicide?”

“Ah, yes.... I heard. It’s
just terrible. But what do you want with me?”

“Just to talk.”

“About what?”

“Burton Maxwell.”

Savannah had learned long
ago that a sharp verbal jab to the diaphragm could have highly entertaining and
informative results.

And Kaitlin Dover looked as
if she had just taken a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus. “What? Why Burt?
What are you insinuating?”

“Me? Insinuating? Nothing
at all.” Savannah gave her a smile— a grin, actually, similar to what a cat
might wear just before attacking a chipmunk. “I was just wondering if maybe you
could think of any reason why he might want his ex-wife dead?”

Kaitlin’s mouth opened and
closed several times, but nothing came out.

“Maybe if he had a
girlfriend, or—”

The door slammed shut in
her face.

Oh well, she thought. It
certainly isn’t the first time. Finding oneself suddenly staring at a closed
door and having one’s ears ringing from the concussion of the slam was a
necessary evil in her business.

As she walked back to her
car, Savannah wondered if, indeed, she should pick up those Lotto tickets. The
visit, although short, had been quite effective. She enjoyed shaking suspects
up a bit in a murder investigation. It made them nervous, and nervous people
made mistakes.

Sometimes it worked.

She wondered if Kaitlin was
dialing Burt Maxwell at that very moment. Gleefully, she imagined what the
producer would tell her lover, and his reaction.

Yes, Savannah thought as
she drove away. She had accomplished exactly what she’d wanted. She would buy
those tickets after all.

For lunch, Savannah drove
up to a Burger Haven window and ordered a chicken sandwich, fries, and an iced
tea. Since she had a couple of phone calls to make, she stayed in her car in
the parking lot to eat. If there was one thing she just couldn’t abide, it was
loudmouthed people who sat in restaurants and chattered on about nothing and
everything on their cell phones. Her prejudice even extended to less peaceful,
fast-food eateries, like Burger Haven. She figured that if she didn’t want to
be bored spitless by other people’s inane conversations, the least she could do
was not inflict her own on others.

“How’s it going?” she asked
with her first call, which was to Tammy. Predictably, she was at Savannah’s
house, manning the Moonlight Magnolia desk.

“Just one call from a guy
who wants his wife tailed, thinks she’s doing the deed with their kid’s
football coach.”

“Did you tell him we don’t
do foolie-aroundie tailies?”

“Yep. He wanted to know what
kind of private investigators we are, then.”

“Ones with better things to
do than hang around outside quickie motels and take nasty pictures. Anything
else?”

“A few more calls from
reporters wanting to know about Eleanor Maxwell. Rosemary Hulse from the local
paper dropped by in person. I stopped Cordele from talking to her.”

“Thank you. What’s she
doing?”

“Sitting on a chaise in the
backyard, writing in her journal. She does that a lot. I think she keeps track
of everything that happens—or doesn’t happen—to her.”

“I’m sure she does,”
Savannah mumbled. “It’s part of keeping a running tab on who messed her up and
who owes her what in life.”

She rolled down the car
window and tossed her leftover fries onto the asphalt, where they were quickly
snatched up by a waiting flock of seagulls—or “shit hawks,” as Dirk
indelicately called them.

“What?” Tammy said. “I
didn’t hear you.”

“It’s just as well. Did you
get anything more on Eleanor’s sister, Elizabeth?”

“Still working on it. She’s
mostly been in the restaurant business and living in the same studio apartment
for years. Not much of a personal life that I can uncover. Orders a lot of her
clothes from catalogs.”

“You can tell that just
from the Internet?”

“Wanna know her size and
color choices?”

Savannah shook her head.
“Scary stuff.”

“Oops, got another call.
Probably a reporter. Hold on.”

Savannah munched the
remainder of her sandwich while Tammy talked on the other line and watched a
haggard young mother herd five children of stairstep sizes across the parking lot
to the door of the restaurant. Recalling the Reid horde, Savannah wondered, as
she often had, how Granny Reid had survived—let alone thrived—while raising
nine “younguns,” as she fondly referred to them. The woman should have been
nominated for sainthood. Cordele could complain all she wanted about her
upbringing, but Savannah felt enormously blessed when she thought of hers.

But she didn’t have long to
reminisce. In only a few seconds, Tammy returned. “It was Dirko looking for
you; says call him on his cell.”

“Gotcha. Tell Cordele I’ll
see her for dinner. You can join us if you want.”

A hesitation, then no
answer.

Savannah laughed. “I was
kidding. Go home as soon as you finish checking out Elizabeth. Just leave your
notes on the desk. I’ll call you if I have any questions.” ‘Thank you,” Tammy
gushed, as though she’d been spared from a lethal injection.

“No problem. I understand.”

Savannah drained the rest
of her tea while she called Dirk. “Where are you?” she asked unceremoniously.
They had long ago abandoned the common courtesies of “hello” and “good-bye.”

“On my way to the Maxwell
place,” was the curt reply.

“Want company?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll be there in ten.”

Traffic was light, and Savannah
arrived at the Maxwell gates in only six minutes, beating Dirk. Once again she
punched the security code on the pad and let herself inside, wondering how long
she could get away with what was little better than breaking and entering. If
Louise were to really make a stink about her trespassing, she could probably
get her arrested, but what Louise didn’t know... couldn’t cause Savannah any
problems.

The thought occurred to her
that she should just wait for Dirk before doing any sort of exploring on her
own. But then, waiting had never been one of her favorite pastimes. If nothing
else, maybe she could find Gilly and keep her company for a few minutes. The
child should be in school in the early afternoon on a weekday, but experience
had taught Savannah that “shoulds” weren’t always the case.

When Savannah parked her
car in the front of the house and got out, she quickly forgot about the little
girl. Loud, very adult voices were coming from the chauffeur’s apartment over
the garage. A man and a woman were having a heated argument about something.
And although Savannah wasn’t close enough to hear any details, she decided to
remedy the situation right away.