Deciding to be one of those
fed, Savannah jostled her way to the front and nabbed a plate.
In a display of utter
selflessness, she offered it to Tammy, who was standing behind her. Tammy
graciously declined, as Savannah had known she would—otherwise she never would
have risked it.
This chance of a lifetime.
This opportunity to sample, firsthand, the creation of a chocolate goddess. To
sink her teeth into—
It was awful.
Savannah stood there, her
mouth full of dry, bitter, nasty cake and nowhere to spit it, except back on
the plate—which Granny Reid had distinctly taught her was a no-no under any
circumstances. Repressing a shudder, she swallowed and wished in vain for a
glass of anything—even quinine—to rinse it down with.
She glanced around and saw
that no one, except for Lady Eleanor herself, was actually eating any of
theirs. Kaitlin Dover was watching her from the other side of the set, a
knowing grin on her face.
Apparently the crew had
wised up long ago and knew a secret that the world had yet to learn: Lady
Eleanor, Queen of Chocolate, was a rotten cook.
No wonder the recipes
Savannah had tried at home had failed miserably. They were lousy recipes!
Following the lead of those
around her, she discretely stashed her still-full plate on top of a piece of
equipment.... any equipment... and casually watched the rest of Eleanor’s
performance.
“Now, dear viewers, be sure
not to overbake this delicate confection,” she was saying to the camera, “or
you’ll lose its subtle flavor.”
Overbake it? Savannah
thought. You couldn’t burn that brickbat with a blowtorch.
And as for the subtle flavor,
she had never personally chewed on a burned truck tire, but she would expect it
to have the same delicate piquant.
“Good?” Tammy whispered in
her ear.
“Delicious,” she replied
dryly.
“Yeah, I had a feeling.”
Tammy chuckled and Savannah
elbowed her in the ribs. “Shush, or they’ll kick us out again and—”
The words left Savannah’s
brain as she turned to see why Lady Eleanor had abruptly stopped speaking. The
cameras were still rolling, but the star of the show was frozen, standing
still, eyes and mouth wide open, her face turning an alarming shade of purple
beneath her auburn wig.
“What’s wrong with her?”
Tammy whispered. “Is she choking?”
Half a dozen possibilities
raced through Savannah’s mind as she hurried toward her client, her heart
pounding, no longer concerned about whether or not she interrupted the taping.
By the time she reached
Eleanor’s side behind the faux kitchen counter, she had narrowed it down to a
stroke or heart attack.
Eleanor was leaning on the
range in front of her, sweat pouring down her face, her hands clutched over her
chest.
Savannah grabbed her by the
shoulders and eased her to a sitting position on the floor. Instantly they were
surrounded by a tight circle of crew members, including Kaitlin.
“What is it?” the producer
was shouting. “What’s wrong?”
“Back up and give us some
air,” Savannah said as she loosened the buttons of Eleanor’s high-necked lace
blouse. She glanced up and saw Tammy beside Kaitlin, her cell phone already in
her hand. She was punching 911.
“Can you talk to me,
Eleanor?” Savannah asked. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Eleanor shook her head,
then gasped out the words, “Hurts... can’t breathe.”
“Are you choking?”
She shook her head no and
pointed to her chest. Her purple complexion had changed to an ashen gray and
rivulets of sweat streamed down her face.
“Just try to relax and take
deep breaths,” Savannah told her as she continued to remove her upper clothes.
Beneath the blouse was a tightly laced long-line bra—a constricting foundation
for the genteel-lady costume.
Savannah fumbled with the
laces for a moment, then had them free. ‘There you go, now breathe slowly. Like
this—in.... fill up your tummy... and slowly out. Come on. You’ll be okay. An
ambulance will be here in just a minute or two. Everything’s going to be okay.”
But Savannah knew it wasn’t
going to be okay. More than once she had held a dying person in her arms. She
knew the look.
Eleanor’s eyes locked with
hers for a moment, and she saw that Eleanor knew, too.
“Tell Gilly....” she said,
barely whispering the words. ‘Tell Louise....”
“Yes, of course.” Savannah
lowered her back onto the floor. Someone handed her a bunch of towels and she
shoved them under Eleanor’s head. Then she grasped both of her hands tightly.
“What do you want me to tell Gilly and Louise?”
“That I love....” She
gasped and shivered. Savannah squeezed her hands and prayed that an ambulance
with paramedics might appear out of thin air. But although it seemed far
longer, less than a minute had passed since Tammy had made the call.
“I understand, Eleanor,”
she told her, leaning forward, her face close to the woman’s. “I’ll tell them
you love them.”
Tears flooded Eleanor’s
eyes and she choked back a sob. “I do. Really.”
“I know, sweetie, I know.
I’ll tell them, I promise. You just rest now.”
Savannah’s words seemed to
have a soothing effect, because the hands that were gripping hers relaxed, and
Eleanor’s face took on a peaceful expression.
“Not.... so... bad,” the
woman whispered. “Not so bad.... now.”
As though from far away, Savannah
could hear someone—she thought it was Kaitlin—asking, “What can we do?”
“Send somebody out to the
main road to make sure the ambulance gets in the gates,” Savannah replied.
“Bring them in here as soon as they arrive.”
She looked up and saw that
it was Kaitlin leaning over them, her face stricken as she stared down at
Eleanor.
“Is she....?” Kaitlin
nudged Savannah’s shoulder. “Is she going to....?”
Savannah didn’t want her to
say the words aloud. Maybe if nobody actually said it—
“Just tell them to hurry.”
Savannah emphasized the urgency of her message with her eyes and the gravity in
her voice. Her own pulse was racing, her hands shaking. Her legs felt like
jelly.
Kaitlin nodded. “I will.
I’ll make sure they understand.” Then she disappeared.
Savannah released one of
Eleanor’s hands and placed her fingertips to the woman’s jugular vein. She felt
a pulse there, but it was faint and erratic. Eleanor’s breaths were more even
than before, but shallow. Her eyes were closing.
“Wake up, darlin’,”
Savannah said, gently jostling her. “Keep those eyes open for me. Look right up
here at me, okay? Help’s going to be here any second now. Just relax.”
Tammy knelt beside them on
the floor and reached out to pull the hot, heavy wig off Eleanor’s head. Her
own hair was matted to her scalp, and she looked like a ewe who had been badly
shorn.
“Her pulse?” Tammy
whispered.
“Thin. Thready.”
Savannah looked up at the
crew members who stood around them, watching, saying absolutely nothing, frozen
by fear and uncertainty. The silence in the studio was deadly, the air thick
with dread.
“Did they give you an ETA?”
Savannah asked.
“Seven minutes,” Tammy
replied.
“Okay, that was about two
minutes ago. Five more to g°-”
She reached down and wiped
the sweat off Eleanor’s face, but Eleanor’s open eyes had ceased to focus. She
stared over Savannah’s shoulder, seeing nothing.
Savannah put her fingertips
to her throat again. “No pulse,” she said.
Tammy bent over and placed
her ear to her nose. “No breath.”
“CPR,” Savannah said, positioning
herself over Eleanor, her hands on her chest. “Let’s go.”
“Savannah,” Tammy said,
“she’s dead.”
“No. She’s not dead.... not
until she’s pronounced. Do what I tell you, girl! Tilt her head back, pinch off
her nose and blow after five! Here we go: one, two three, four...”
Chapter
“I
‘ve probably been more
bummed than I am right now at some time in my life,” Savannah observed as she
watched the county coroner’s van pull away with her latest client. “But I don’t
rightly recall when.” Tammy put her arm around Savannah’s shoulder and gave her
a sideways hug. “It wasn’t your fault. Dr. Liu said it was probably a heart
attack. We did the CPR. It was just her time.”
Savannah walked across the
lawn to the gazebo where she had talked to Gilly only the night before. Now it
seemed like ten years ago.
Savannah pulled her sweater
more tightly around her and shivered, although the night air was decidedly
warm. Her head ached, and every muscle in her body cried out for a hot bath and
a bed. She wasn’t sure how much of her misery was due to her cold and how much
to having a client die in her arms.
“That poor little Gilly,”
she said. “Her grandmother may have been a drunk, but she cared about the kid.
I had a tea party with them just this after—”
Savannah’s throat started
to close up as a sob rose to the surface. She quickly swallowed it. If she
started to cry now, she’d fall to pieces. And that was another one of her
professional standards: never come unglued on the job. Wait until you’re home,
and make sure you have several pints of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey in
the freezer. Then slip into your comfy robe, grab a box of tissues and a large
spoon.... and let ‘er rip.
But at the moment she was a
long ways from the freezer or her blue terry-cloth robe. So she sucked it
inside and pushed it down—to explode another time.
Dirk exited the studio, a
roll of yellow perimeter tape in one hand. He looked around and, spotting them
in the gazebo, walked their way.
“I’m glad you caught the
case,” Savannah said as he approached.
“Well, I’m not,” he
grumbled. “Did you get a load of those camera crews lined up outside the gate?
This is gonna be a media circus. Hell, you’d think Martha Stewart or Emeril
kicked the bucket, not some two-bit hustler like that old broad was.”
Savannah bristled. “Excuse
me. The poor woman’s dead.”
“Then she won’t mind what I
say about her, will she.” He sighed and sank down onto the cushioned bench
beside Savannah. “Anyway, how come she’s a ‘poor woman’ now? You called her a
bitch this morning, right there at the breakfast table. I heard you.”
“Oh, shut up, Dirko,” Tammy
snapped. “Sometimes you’ve got the sensitivity of an armadillo.”
“A what?”
“Never mind, just watch
what you say. Savannah’s feeling bad about this.”
Dirk actually seemed
surprised. “Really? Why? She was fat, she was old, and she croaked. It happens
all the time.”
Savannah sprang to her feet
and stepped back a few feet to put a safe distance between herself and Dirk
before she did him serious physical harm.
“One of these days, Dirk,
I’m going to slap you stupid and it won’t take long. In the first place,
Eleanor was only a few years older than we are, buddy, and secondly, she wasn’t
fat, she was.... a lady of abundant proportions.”
“Well, excuse me,” he said with
a sniff. “I don’t always keep up on the most current p.c. terms.”
“Oh, screw p.c. and screw
you, Coulter. It’s a matter of having the sense to understand that everybody
doesn’t come in one size or shape. Women’s bodies are beautiful, and that goes
for the big ones as well as the smaller ones. It’s believing that any human
body that’s walking around—seeing, hearing, speaking, feeling, functioning—is a
miracle of nature and worthy of respect. And so is the person who inhabits that
body.”
The emotions that she had
shoved down came boiling to the surface and choked off the rest of her speech.
She dissolved in wracking sobs.
So much for not coming
unglued while on duty.
“Savannah!” Dirk was
standing... walking toward her, his arms outstretched. “What’s the matter with
you, Van?”
A moment later he was
holding her and she was crying all over the front of his shirt. Tammy was
patting her back and murmuring, “There, there.”
“What is it, hon? Why are
you crying like that?” he said, stroking her hair.
Tammy supplied the answer.
“She thinks she killed Eleanor, you idiot.”
“What? Why?”
Dirk wasn’t always the most
perceptive, but Savannah decided to forgive him, because it felt so good to
have his big, strong arms wrapped around her. And his shirt smelled good...
like him. Insensitive but dependable ol’ Dirk.
“Eleanor hired her to
protect her,” Tammy explained, as if he were a mentally retarded cocker
spaniel. “Eleanor died. Savannah feels responsible.”
“Ah, hell... you didn’t
kill her,” he said. “And if you could’ve stopped it, you would’ve. That’s all
there is to it.” Savannah pushed herself away, out of his arms. “It’s not that
simple.”
“I hate to admit it,” Tammy
intetjected, “but it really is that simple. Dirk’s right this time.”
“What do you mean this
time?” he wanted to know. “Oh, get over yourself, Dirk.” Tammy squeezed
Savannah around the waist. “Come on. Let’s take you home. I’ll draw you a
bubble bath, and Dirk can pour you a stiff drink.”
Savannah pulled some
tissues out of her pants pocket and blew into them. “As tempting as that offer
is, I’ll have to take a rain check.” She looked up at the gatekeeper’s cottage,
where she had seen Louise go, moments after Kaitlin Dover had told her the news
about her mother. “There’s something I have to do first.”
“Are you sure?” Dirk said.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m all right. And
yes, I’m very sure.”
“So, is that supposed to
make me feel better?” Louise Maxwell lit up a cigarette and tossed her pack and
lighter onto the glass-topped coffee table. She was sitting on a leather sofa
that had seen better days in a room that was cluttered with magazines, empty
pizza boxes, and plastic soda bottles.
Gilly sat, crying softly,
on the sofa beside her mother.
Savannah was standing. She
hadn’t been invited to take a seat.
“I was hoping it might make
you feel a little better,” Savannah said, “both of you.”
Louise tapped her cigarette
tip on an overflowing tray and ran her fingers through her blond hair. “Sorry,
but it’s much too little too late. My mother waits until she’s friggin’ dying
to tell me that she loves me? How messed up is that?”
For just a moment, Savannah
allowed herself to reflect on the fact that she had never heard her own mother
speak any words of affection or praise. Did it hurt? Sure. Did she let herself
dwell on it? Not anymore. She didn’t have time to hate. Or the energy either,
for that matter. Life was too short.
“I believe she really meant
it” Savannah turned to Gilly, who seemed to be absorbing her words more than
her mother. ‘They say that the words of a person who’s.... dying.... Eire
always true. She asked me twice to tell you both that she really loved you. I’m
sure she did, in her own way.”
“That’s why she had tea
parties with me,” Gilly offered.
“That’s exactly right. And
that’s why she made sure that Marie put roses on your petit fours.”
Louise stood, walked over
to the cottage door, and opened it wide. “I think I’ve heard about all the
comforting words I want to hear from you tonight. If you’ll just leave me and
my daughter to grieve in peace.” Savannah looked over at Gilly. “Are you going
to be all right, sweetpea?”
The girl nodded. Savannah
could see in her eyes, sad though they were, that the child was strong. She’d
make it, in spite of her circumstances.
Some kids grew and thrived
in the rockiest of gardens. Savannah had grown into a pretty sturdy weed
herself in some less than perfect soil.
“Good night,” she told them
both as she left. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.”
She walked out of the
cottage and found Dirk and Tammy waiting for her, ready to take her home. God
bless good friends, she thought. God, bless ‘em good.
An hour later, Savannah
emerged from her steamy, rose-scented bathroom wearing her blue robe and a more
relaxed look on her face.
“Well, you look better....
red nose and all,” Tammy told her when she came down the stairs and entered the
living room.
Tammy was sitting on the
sofa, a serving tray on the coffee table in front of her. Savannah eyed the steaming
mug on the tray with a mixture of anticipation and suspicion.
“You didn’t make me an
herbal something or the other, did you?” she asked. “Not that I don’t love your
cooking but...”
“Oh, please. You hate my
cooking.”
“That’s not true. Except
for when you try to sneak that carob-wannabe-chocolate crap into my chocolate
chip cookies. And I’m not big on your miso soup or your celery soy shakes.” She
sighed and collapsed onto the sofa next to Tammy. “Come to think of it, golden
girl... I guess I’m not a big fan of your cooking. But as talented and
beautiful as you are, who needs to cook, too.”
“Good save.” She picked up
the mug from the tray and held it out to Savannah. “Here, this will fix
whatever ails you.”
Savannah lifted one
eyebrow. “What is it? Not essence of octopus, or ginseng wheat-grass juice,
right?”
“Oh, stop. It’s a hot
toddy. Dirk made it for you. And since he was raiding your liquor cabinet to
make it, I’m sure he was generous with the booze.”
Savannah took the mug and
peeked inside. A slice of fresh orange and another one of lemon floated on the
top, studded with whole cloves. The citrus-scented steam filled her stuffy
nasal passages with the promise of good Irish whiskey.
She took a drink, held it
in her mouth for a moment to savor the spices, and then swallowed. It flowed
through her like warm, liquid flame, soothing as it went.
“Ah, that’s too good. And
you’re right; he didn’t spare the booze.”
“I’ve heard that a good
Irish toddy will cure a cold in twelve hours.”
“I don’t know if it will cure
it, but a few sips and you won’t mind being sick half so much.”
Diamante jumped into
Savannah’s lap and began rubbing her face against the front of her robe.
Cleopatra joined her, vying for attention.
Savannah looked around.
“Where is Dirk, anyway? I thought he’d still be here when I got out of the
tub.”
“No, he left as soon as you
went into the bathroom.” All of a sudden, Tammy wasn’t looking her in the eye.
That wasn’t a good sign.
Savannah took another swig
of the toddy. She had a feeling she was going to need it. “Where did he go?”
Tammy reached over and petted Cleopatra, buying time before she finally said,
“Ah, you know... back.”
“Back? You mean to
Eleanor’s place?”
“Mmmm... yeah.”
Savannah glanced at her
mantel clock. “It’s almost two
A.M.
Why is he going back there now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he
left something. You know how Dirk is. He’d forget his head if it weren’t
attached.” Savannah stared at her, then nudged her with her elbow. “Spill it,
kid. What exactly did he say he was going back there for?”
Tammy shrugged and cleared
her throat. “He might have said something about finishing up.... processing the
scene.”
“Processing? Is he going
back with the Crime Scene Unit?”
“I think they might already
be there. I think they might have got there right after we left.”
“Oh, you think so, huh?”
Savannah set her mug back
on the tray and brushed the cats off her lap. “He does think it’s a murder
scene. He thinks somebody killed her somehow or he wouldn’t be treating the
place like a crime scene.”
“He’s just being thorough.
You know, erring on the side of caution and all that.”
“Bullshit. Dirk doesn’t err
at two in the morning. He’s a hardworking cop, but he’s not that conscientious
unless he’s got strong suspicions. I’ve gotta go back there. And you have to
drive me.”
Savannah stood and headed
for the stairs. But the effects of the long, traumatic day, the hot bath, and
Dirk’s toddy hit her legs, and she had to grab the banister to keep her
balance.
Tammy hurried to her and
offered a shoulder to lean on. “You aren’t going anywhere, young lady,” she
said, “except straight to bed. Dirk told me not to tell you he was going back,
because he knew what you’d do. And he told me that if you showed up there, he
was going to hold me personally responsible.”
“I should help him process
that scene. It was my responsibility and....
ah-h-h-chew!”
“Go.” Tammy pushed her from
behind. “Up the stairs and into bed right now.”
Savannah wanted to resist,
but it was a clear case of the spirit being willing and the flesh being weak.
“All right,” she said, “but only because you called me a young lady. And only
if you’ll bring me the rest of that toddy.” ‘You got it. I’ll tell Dirk that
you took three sips and were dead to the world. He’ll be so proud.”