“We’ll come.”
“Excellent. John will be delighted. We’ll pick you ladies up at half past seven.”
“Where are we going?”
Again, that throaty chuckle on the other end that never failed to set her knickers atwitter. “We’re going to Mystic Canyon. Specifically, to the Wentworth estate in Mystic Canyon for dinner, dancing, and a charity auction to benefit the county symphony. I believe several of the people you’re investigating in these murders will be attending. It should be fun.”
Savannah grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, yes. I’m sure it will be. Thanks for thinking of us.”
“Always, sweetheart. Always.”
Savannah had to wait a moment or two after she hung up before her legs would work again. Ryan frequently had that effect on her. Then she walked past the incensed Marietta without a word and into the kitchen where Tammy waited, an expectant look on her pretty face.
“Well, what did Ryan want?” she asked.
Savannah laughed. “All I can say is: Put on your dancin’ a shoes, darlin’. We’re gonna rock the night away. And better yet, while we’re there, we’ll squeeze us some bad guys.”
Tucked away in the hills behind San Carmelita, Mystic Canyon was a secluded and exclusive community where middle-class citizens, like Savannah, or even the upper-middle-class folk seldom ventured. This wasn’t because they didn’t want to venture there. It was simply because the overzealous guards at the gate made sure they didn’t get the chance.
So Savannah felt more than a little pleased with her- i self when she sailed past the security booth with Ryan, John, and Tammy in the guys’ vintage silver Bentley.
Savannah sat in the back seat of the car with Ryan, trying not to gawk and drool, as they drove past everything from stately Tudor mansions to sprawling Spanish haciendas—palatial residences that ranged from vintage Hollywood art deco to Miami Beach contemporary.
Every estate reflected the skill and taste of some renowned architect and, perhaps, that of its wealthy owner. And each property created its own fantasy land for the occupants and visitors alike, inviting them to spend a bit of time on the French Riviera, the streets of Rome, or the baronial English countryside.
“It’s nice to see how the rest of the world lives,” she said, thinking of her own leaky roof that needed repairs.
“A very small segment of the rest,” Ryan replied, “if it’s any consolation.”
“A little.”
She glanced down at her evening attire, a simple black dress, and felt a fleeting moment of anxiety. When she went to one of these high-society events, she always felt a bit like Cinderella—a scullery maid who knew, no matter how she dressed, she was still just a poor girl from the Georgia cotton fields.
But she dispelled her feelings of inadequacy by remembering what her grandmother had told her, “You’re from fine stock, Savannah girl, so hold your head up high and look ’em all square in the eye. They’ve got nothin’ over you, darlin’, so don’t let ’em think they do.”
“You look fantastic this evening, Savannah,” Ryan said, as though sensing her momentary lapse of confidence. “You do that dress justice,” he added, glancing down at her abundant cleavage. The wraparound silk dress revealed a tasteful but tantalizing amount of creamy curves with its low V-neck. And it fulfilled her personal standard: “Show Off the Goods, But Don’t Be Trampy.”
Savannah gave him a grin and a nudge. “Watch it. You’ll make John jealous.”
“Too late for that,” John replied from the driver’s seat. “I’ve known all along that if Ryan ever leaves me for a woman, it’ll be you, Savannah. Besides, how can I be jealous when I have such a lovely companion myself this evening?”
Sitting next to him, Tammy blushed nearly as red as the red satin sheath she was wearing. She did look especially lovely, Savannah thought, enjoying the look of pure pleasure on her young friend’s face. Tammy’s sun-bleached hair always glistened with health, as did her golden-tanned skin. But it was the kindness in her eyes that gave Tammy her greatest beauty, a warmth that enveloped and soothed everyone around her.
Savannah was glad they had invited her along this evening to share in the fun—not to mention the espionage.
“Here we are,” Ryan said as they approached the end of the road and a sumptuous French château. “This is the house that cereal built.”
As they pulled into the long driveway and headed toward the front of the mansion and the circular motor court, Savannah stared up at the imposing limestone façade, the slate roof with its copper gutters, the mullioned windows sparkling in the golden light of early evening. “Wow,” she said. “They must have sold a heck of a lot of corn flakes.”
“Not to mention puffed rice,” John added. “But even more importantly, Charles Wentworth and his son, Charles Wentworth II, were brilliant businessmen. They kept their company alive through the Great Depression and two World Wars, and not only survived, but flourished.”
“The only thing Wentworth Industries can’t endure, it seems, is the reign of Charles III,” Ryan added, revealing a bit of sarcasm that was rare for him.
“From what I hear,” John said, “the family business is in deep trouble due to some appalling mismanagement on the lad’s part. A dreadful shame, really.”
They stopped in front of the house, where a queue consisting of a Mercedes, a BMW, a Porsche, and a Lamborghini waited while valets scrambled to greet the arriving guests and relieve them of their vehicles.
“You should have seen old Dirko,” Tammy told John, sounding like a prissy five-year-old who was tattling on her older brother. “He dropped by Savannah’s just before you picked us up. Boy, he was livid that we were coming to this and he wasn’t.”
Ryan laughed. “I can’t imagine that Dirk would enjoy himself at this sort of function,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like his cup of tea... or bottle of beer, as the case might be.”
“It isn’t,” Savannah said. “It’s just that he’s afraid we’ll score something good on the case and he’ll miss it. Believe me, that’s the only reason he’s jealous. He couldn’t care less about the dining and dancing, let alone about fund-raising.”
“Well, if we all keep sharp this evening,” John said, “we might learn something that will help you catch this brute. Jealous or not, I’m sure your Dirk would welcome any help we can give him.”
“Absolutely,” Savannah said as a fresh-faced young valet hurried to open her door. “An evening in opulence and splendor doesn’t exactly bite, but let’s not forget why we’re here.”
As she stepped out of the Bentley and onto the granite-block motor court, she thought of Cait Connor and Kameeka Wills, who were far past helping. But Tesla Montoya was still out there somewhere and maybe it wasn’t too late for her.
A shiver ran over her that had nothing to do with the cool California breeze that was sweeping through the canyon, bringing the sea fog and a damp chill with it. She wrapped her lace shawl around her shoulders, clutched her Gucci-knockoff bag, and slipped her arm through Ryan’s.
Chapter
17
A
long with a throng of other guests, the Moonlight Magnolia foursome moved through the château’s magnificent entryway, and like all the arrivals, they took their time, soaking in the ambience. A floor of white Carrera marble and a twenty-five-foot coffered ceiling with gold-leaf molding reflected the light from two magnificent crystal chandeliers. On either side, the maple walls had niches every few feet that contained antique statuary and bronzes, which Ryan whispered to her were French, nineteenth century.
At the end of the hall, they were ushered into a great room that Savannah couldn’t help noticing was bigger than her entire house. The lofty ceiling here was also coffered, and thick, colorful tapestries hung on the walls, next to oil paintings that were everything from still lifes to portraits to European landscapes. Savannah didn’t have to ask if they had been purchased at the local poster shop, like much of her own art. Everything in the Wentworth mansion was the real thing.
Except maybe Charles Wentworth III.
Phony baloney,
was Savannah’s instant analysis when she saw him enter the room in his white tuxedo, his wavy blond hair slicked back in Great Gatsby style and his mannerisms just as affected.
Savannah watched from the corner of her eye as he moved among his guests. Giving air cheek kisses, occasionally even bowing and kissing hands, he cajoled and flattered his way across the room. But Savannah noted that in spite of his pseudo-charm, he didn’t seem to be making much of an impression on those in his wake. Once his back was turned, more than one of his visitors rolled their eyes, gave him a derisive smile, or simply glared at him with open hostility.
“Why do they come to his party if they don’t like him?” Savannah asked, knowing she sounded naive, but comfortable in the fact that Ryan wouldn’t mind. “Money,” he replied, “and the power it brings.”
“But you said he’s practically broke.”
“Yes, but they don’t know that yet. At least, most of them don’t. Once they figure it out, he won’t be able to get anybody to come to a weenie roast.”
She looked around the room and saw a number of faces that were familiar to her, mostly from the newspaper society column—members of the city council, a state senator and his wife, a popular female television news anchor from Los Angeles, and the mayor were present.
But being among the county’s minor-league celebrities wasn’t the attraction for Savannah. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and her spirits soared when she saw Jerrod Beekman standing in a corner, speaking to an attractive young man. And judging from their intimate body language, she assumed he was Jerrod’s date.
“That fellow over there with Beekman,” she said to Ryan, “is he your friend, Michael Romano?
“Oh, not at all. John and I spoke to Michael for you yesterday like we promised, and he refuses to have anything to do with Jerrod.”
“Any good dirt?”
Ryan shook his dark head. “No such luck. Just your everyday, mundane domestic quarrel that caused them to go their separate ways last summer. All he told me was that Jerrod is in financial straits... almost as bad as Charles Wentworth’s. He was hoping the Slenda campaign would bail him out, but it appears that his boat will sink along with Wentworth’s if this new product flops. ”
“Which it’s bound to do if word gets out that a couple of top models died eating it.”
“Exactly.”
Savannah paused and pretended to study a nearby painting as a couple strolled by them. Once they had passed out of earshot, she told Ryan, “Of course, that presents a problem. What motive would Beekman or Wentworth have to get rid of the models if it would only jeopardize the campaign? Having those two girls die and another one disappear would be the last thing they’d want.”
“Probably. But you never know.” He winked at her and caused her heart to flutter. He took her hand and said, “I’ve been to these shindigs before. I think the food’s out by the pool. Interested?”
“Food? Food? Look who you’re talking to here, sweetcakes. What do you think?”
They wove their way through the crowd and passed through a set of French doors that led them to an exquisite and meticulously maintained formal garden. A fantasy world of topiaries, marble statuary, trellis-climbing roses, and gazing pools, the grounds invited visitors to lose themselves in the enchantment. And— despite the solemn nature of her mission—Savannah allowed herself the luxury.
Squeezing Ryan’s arm, she whispered, “Thank you for bringing me here tonight. This is amazing.”
He patted her hand and smiled down at her. “You needn’t thank me. It’s my pleasure.” Then he studied her face and his smile faded. “What is it, Savannah? You looked sad for a moment there.”
“I was just thinking about my Granny Reid. She loves flowers. Gardening is her passion. She’s never seen anything like this, and I was just wishing that she could be here with me to enjoy this.”
“Maybe she can someday. And maybe not. But either way, I know she’d be happy to know that her granddaughter is here... and that she’s thinking of her so lovingly.”
Savannah blinked back a tear and nodded.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Ryan said softly.
“Eh, don’t worry about it,” she replied with a sniff. “They’re good tears... the only kind you ever give me.” She quickly recovered when they rounded a curve in the path and saw the pool area spread before them.
Cabana suites bordered the far end of the oval pool—a vision of cool marine blue, accented with stained-glass tiles around its edge that formed a Greek key pattern of white and cobalt blue.
Small round tables, seating four, spotted the patio, and the guests were staking their claims on the most scenic locations.
An enormous buffet had been spread in the center of the patio, and Savannah and Ryan found Tammy and John there, scooping seafood delicacies onto their plates while chatting happily about their surroundings.
“Looks like they’re getting along fine,” Ryan remarked when Tammy reached over to plant a kiss on John’s cheek.
“That was pretty predictable,” Savannah replied. “Tammy’s a sweetie, and John is an amazing man.
“Yes, he is. I’m fortunate to have him in my life.”
“I’d say you’re both pretty darned lucky. Do either you or John have any straight brothers?”