Poisoned Tarts (17 page)

“It must have been more than one person who moved him,” she finished for him.

“No kidding,” Dr. Liu said, smoothing her long black hair back and retying it with a silk scarf. “He's a handful. Several hands full.”

“Dr. Liu,” one of the techs said, “what are we going to do about that?”

He had zipped the bag as far closed as he could, but the stake sticking out of the chest prevented him from closing it all the way.

“Yes, that's a bit of a problem,” she said. “I don't want to remove that until I get him on the autopsy table. I want to properly examine and document the angle and all that.”

“You can't take that out the front door with a crowd of paparazzi waiting,” Dirk said. “Can you imagine? They'd go crazy!”

Dr. Liu gave him a withering look. “I'm ten steps ahead of you, Detective, as usual. But my concerns are more legal than media-oriented. This is a homicide—I can't leave that body bag unsealed.”

Dirk returned the nasty, condescending look. “Well, in spite of you grossly insulting me, as usual, I'm going to help you out. And then, when you see what a brilliant solution I have to your problem, you can apologize to me properly.”

With a cocky strut, he walked away from them, around the pool, and back into the house.

“
Apologize?
To
him?”
Dr. Liu said with a chuckle.

“Oh, yes. And
properly,”
Savannah added.

“O-o-okay.” She shook her head. “That'll be the day, when Coulter rises to brilliant.”

“Hey, he can surprise you. Dirk's not just a pretty face, you know.”

While Dirk was gone on his mysterious errand, the coroner's team brought in a gurney and placed it beside the body bag. After carefully lifting the bag and its strange burden onto the gurney, they raised the stretcher to waist level.

By then, Dirk had returned with his treasures—a roll of duct tape and a white plastic garbage bag.

“Voila!” he said, presenting both items.

“Voilà?” Dr. Liu said. “I don't see a voilà in front of me. No ‘There you are!' in sight.”

“Do I have to do everything myself?” Dirk said with the sigh of the well-practiced martyr.

“Apparently so,” Savannah told him.

With much flourish and a style that was lacking in polish but rich in drama, Dirk tented the garbage bag over the stake, tore off a long piece of the tape, and began to seal the edges around the garbage bag onto the transport bag.

A few minutes later, his creation was finished. A true example of functional art.

He pulled a permanent marker from his pocket, handed it to Dr. Liu, and said, “There! Sign it, your signature running over the seam, and then…you may offer me your apology and see if I will accept it.”

Dr. Liu stared at him for a long time. And Savannah held her breath.

Of all the many qualities, the myriad virtues that made up Dr. Liu's character, humility wasn't among them. Jennifer Liu was highly intelligent, successful, strong, and beautiful. She didn't really have a lot to be humble about. So she didn't bother.

She stepped up to Dirk, and in her four-inch heels, she was eye to eye with him. And when she leaned forward, they were literally nose to nose.

“You, Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter, are, indeed, brilliant,” she said with only a modicum of sarcasm. “You are a man among men, a prince among thieves, a diamond among the rough, a tribute to your gender. I bow before your austere magnificence and pay homage to your—”

“All right, enough.” Dirk stepped back and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Is there an apology in there somewhere, or are you just trying to bore me to death with all this crap so that you won't have to admit that I'm smarter than you?”

“Smarter?” Dr. Liu threw back her head and laughed. “Get real, Coulter. The day you're smarter than me, I drink an arsenic milkshake and wind up on my own autopsy table. But…in this particular circumstance, you've proven yourself a wee, tiny, smidgen bit more resourceful than I.”

Dirk stood there, breathing hard, arms still crossed, staring at her. Finally, he grinned, dropped his arms, and slapped her on the shoulder. “That'll do,” he said. “I'm happy with that.”

He left them and walked over to a group of CSI techs who were combing the area around the pool. In no time, he was arguing with them, waving his arms, gesticulating wildly, obviously telling them off about something.

Dr. Liu shook her head and gave Savannah a sympathetic smile. “How do you stand him?” she said.

Savannah looked across the pool at her old friend and thought of how kind and respectful he was to Granny Reid. She remembered how he took the time to scratch behind Diamante's ear, just the way she liked it, for as long as the cat wanted. She considered that he had never once said, “I don't have time,” when she was troubled and needed to talk at three in the morning. She recalled how he had held her head and soothed her when she was sick and throwing up during that stakeout—after he had fed her a tuna sandwich and forgotten to tell her it had been in the glove box for three days.

With a soft sweetness in her voice, she said, “Hey, what's not to love?”

“I
'm so sorry, Gran,” Savannah said into her cell phone as she apologized yet again for leaving her grandmother alone at home. “But there's been a murder here at the Dante mansion and—”

“Oh, I know!” Gran replied on the other end. “I'm sitting here right now, watching it on the television. They've got live coverage of the front of the house! In fact, you should come to the front door and wave to me.”

Savannah suppressed a chuckle as she walked around the pool and into the back door of the house. “I don't think I'd better do that, Gran,” she said. “Those reporters are a bunch of wild hyenas out there. If I were to open that front door, I'd get trampled in the stampede.”

“Well, don't do it then. But I have to know…the dead body…it's not that little Daisy girl you've been looking for, is it?”

“No, Gran. Thank goodness it's not.”

“Is it Tiffany Dante herself?”

“No. Tiffany's okay.”

“Then who is it?”

Savannah nearly told her, but since she was on a mobile phone and for miles around, they were surrounded by trucks and vans full of all sorts of fancy audio equipment, she decided against it.

“If you're still up when I get home, I'll tell you then.”

“You'll tell me everything?”

Savannah laughed again. “Yes, Gran. I'll tell you way more than I'm supposed to.”

“Good. I'll wait up.”

“It's going to be late.”

“Who cares? I'm old. I can lay abed in the morning if I've a mind to.”

“You certainly can. I'll even bring you breakfast in bed if you've a mind to have it. I'll see you later. I love you, Gran.”

“I love you, too, Savannah girl. Be careful around those murderers and reprobates.”

“Oh, I'm keeping an eye peeled for reprobates, degenerates, and miscreants. Don't you worry about me.”

As Savannah entered the kitchen, she found Dirk having a hot debate with a woman she had never met before. The lady was well-dressed in a pale jade silk blouse and matching trousers, and her hair was cut in a sophisticated, shoulder-length bob.

She looked somewhat familiar to Savannah, but she couldn't place her until Bunny came running into the room and fell into her arms, sobbing. The family resemblance was strong. No doubt, this was Bunny Greenaway's mother.

“There you are, sweetheart!” the woman said, holding her daughter tight. “This policeman said I couldn't take you home yet, but I told him—”

“All right, all right,” Dirk interjected. “Take her home. But I'm not finished interviewing any of the girls yet, so do
not
leave town.” He took his notebook from his pocket and a pen and said, “But before you do, I want your home phone number and address and everybody's cell numbers. I
will
be calling you, and I'm not going to have the time to track you down.”

Mrs. Greenaway did as she was told, but the moment she had finished writing on his pad, she shoved the paper and pen back at him and said, “I'm not going to forget how rudely you treated me and my daughter. My husband is on the City Council, and I am a major contributor at the Annual Police Benefit Ball. Don't think I won't remember this when I make out my check in December.”

Dirk gave her a deadpan look as he stuck his notepad back inside his bomber jacket. “Dear me,” he said. “Whatever shall I do this Christmas without my Greenaway donation stocking stuffer? Oh, I know…the same as I
always
do because I never even
see
your stinkin' money, let alone
get
any of it, and furthermore—”

Savannah stepped up and grabbed his arm. “Uh, Detective Coulter,” she said, “they need you out back by the pool. Right away.”

She didn't think it would work. Dirk could usually tell when she was blatantly lying. But he was tired, and his BS detector wasn't finely tuned.

“Oh, all right,” he said, then disappeared.

“He's very tired,” Savannah offered as a feeble excuse. “He's been working on the Daisy O'Neil case night and day, and now this…”

“Well, he didn't have to be so ill-mannered and curt with me.” Mrs. Greenaway continued to hug and soothe her daughter. “I just want to take my baby home. She's had a terrible experience here and needs to be with her family.”

Savannah glanced down at Bunny, who continued to cry against her mother's shoulder, although there did seem to be a shortage of actual tears streaming down her face, considering the amount of boohooing that was going on.

“Yes, she has had a dreadful shock,” Savannah said. “A terrible thing, finding a homicide victim.”

Mrs. Greenaway raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “We are a
good
family,” she said. “We don't allow things like this to happen in
our
family. Girls going missing and people getting horrible things stuck in them—it's just so, so low class.”

Savannah nodded and kept a straight face when she said, “It is a bit tacky, to be sure.”

Mrs. Greenaway waved an arm, indicating the enormous kitchen with its luxury appointments. “They may have all of
this
, but I have to tell you, for all their money, I don't approve of their lifestyle around here. I've had my doubts about the influence Tiffany and her friends have had on my Bunny.”

Bunny pulled back from her mother's embrace, a nasty scowl on her face. “What is that supposed to mean? It's an honor to be one of the Skeleton Key Three.”

“Oh, phu-u-ush, it is not. I don't even like the sound of that name—Skeleton Key. I worry about you developing an eating disorder like Tiffany has.”

“Mom, I told you we do not have any kind of disorder. Oh my God, you drop a few pounds and—”

“You're bingeing and purging again.”

“I am not!”

“You are, too. I heard you last night in your bathroom, and you were—”

“Ladies, ladies!” Savannah interrupted them. “Please. The past few hours have been stressful for all of us. Mrs. Greenaway, maybe it would be a good idea if you took Bunny on home and put her to bed. Some rest would do everyone good. I'm sure we'll all feel a little better in the morning.”

Both mother and daughter seemed to agree with her because they allowed her to usher them through the house to the foyer. Savannah was debating the wisdom of taking them directly out the front door and fighting a path through the press or trying to sneak them out a back door when the front door flew open.

Two young uniformed policemen were escorting a distraught woman, who appeared to be both fighting them and clinging to them at the same time.

“Pam,” Savannah said, leaving the Greenaways and hurrying over to Daisy's mother. “What's wrong? What is it?”

“What do you mean, what's wrong?” she asked. “I turn on my TV, and they're saying that there's been a murder here, that you've found a dead body!”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Savannah shooed the policemen away with her hand and took hold of Pam O'Neil herself. “It isn't Daisy, honey. We haven't found her. It's someone else.”

Pam swayed against her so suddenly and unexpectedly that Savannah nearly lost her balance.

“Whoa,” she said. “Steady, sugar.”

One of the cops stepped forward to help, but Savannah gave him a soft, “Thank you,” and shook her head. “I've got her. But if you guys would see these two ladies to their car, I'd appreciate it. And please be sure that nobody bothers them with any irritating questions.”

The older of the two gave her a nod and a wink. “No problem, Savannah. We'll make sure it's a quick, smooth trip.”

A moment later, Bunny and her mother were being escorted out the door and into the mob.

Savannah started to lead Pam O'Neil over to the staircase, thinking to sit her down there, but she realized they would be directly under the scythe of the Grim Reaper. And that would be just too creepy.

So she took her on into the great room and seated her on a sofa. Although, since the skeleton wedding was still set up near the fireplace, it was equally eerie. “I'm really sorry, Pam,” she told her as she sat down beside her. “I should have called you, but it was a real shock, finding the body like that.”

“I understand,” Pam said. She was still shaking, and her normally suntanned face was disturbingly white. “I just heard that news broadcast on the TV, and I was so sure that it was Daisy.”

“That's perfectly understandable. And so is the fact that you were so upset. I would have been, too.”

“I tried to call you on your cell phone, but you didn't pick up. I thought you weren't taking my call because it was Daisy and you didn't want to tell me so on the phone.”

Savannah took her cell phone out of her pocket and saw that, indeed, she had missed a call. “It was pretty noisy out back where they're processing the scene. I guess I didn't hear it ring. Again, I apologize.”

Pam reached over, grabbed Savannah's hand, and squeezed it. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know you've been doing your best for Daisy and for me. I'm sure you have your hands full.”

“It's pretty hectic. That's for sure. A missing person and now a homicide. It's a full plate.”

“Do you think they're connected, my Daisy disappearing and the murder?”

“We don't know yet. I suppose we have to assume they could be.”

Savannah heard heavy footsteps coming through the foyer and toward them. Even before she saw him, she knew it was Dirk, and he wasn't happy about something.

He charged into the room, but when he saw that she was talking to Pam O'Neil, his brusque manner softened instantly.

“Oh,” he said. “I was looking for you, Savannah, but if you're busy, I…”

“She isn't busy,” Pam said as she stood, tucked her shirt into her jeans, and adjusted her collar. “I know you guys have a lot to do. I don't want to get in your way. I just had to know.”

“She heard the news and was worried that it was Daisy we found,” Savannah told him.

“Those damned reporters,” he said, shaking his head. “They report whether they have anything to report or not, and that just stirs everybody and everything up. I hate 'em.”

“Yeah, well…whatever.” Savannah patted Pam on the back and walked her to the door, Dirk following behind. “Are you going to be okay going through the gauntlet again?” she asked her.

“Sure. The reporters didn't bother me,” Pam said. “I don't look like anybody, if you know what I mean. Nobody asked me anything. It was the cops who were trying to stop me from getting in.”

Savannah chuckled. “Well, if you got in, you shouldn't have any problem getting out. Again, I'm sorry you weren't able to get in touch with me. Hopefully, it won't happen again.”

“And if it does,” Dirk said, pressing one of his cards into her hand, “call me. Between the two, you should be able to get one of us.”

Pam thanked them both again warmly and then left.

Savannah turned to Dirk. “What did you want me for?”

He looked disgusted. “I'm going crazy trying to question that Tiffany twerp. I swear I'm losing my patience. I'm about to strangle her.”

“Go right ahead. I don't care.”

“I'd get in trouble. Big trouble.”

“I don't care about that either. Forget it. You're not saddling me with that brat.”

“Ah, come on, Van.”

“No way. That's why you get paid the big bucks.”

“I'll give you a quarter. I'll be your friend forever.”

“You're already going to be my friend forever.”

“But the quarter? Fifty cents? A buck?”

“No.”

 

“Tiffany, I know you and I haven't gotten off to the best start,” Savannah said, trying her best to sound like she didn't want to just reach across the kitchen table and slap the girl silly.

It wasn't easy.

“But I do feel terrible for you,” she continued, “losing your father this way, not knowing where your close friend is. It must be just awful.”

“Don't lie. You don't care about me,” Tiffany said, then took a swig of soda from the can in her hand. “You don't give a damn about me. Nobody does…now that my dad's dead.”

There was a sorrow in the girl's voice that touched Savannah's heart, and she actually felt guilty for disliking the kid so much. After all, she was only a product of her indulgent upbringing. Any child who had never heard the word no and had been given everything she asked for would have turned out the same way.

“Okay,” Savannah said. “I admit I didn't like you very much when I first met you. But I do care about you. And I do feel bad for you, considering this horrible thing that's happened. I'm not lying about that.”