Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) (11 page)

"Get away from me! I am not speaking to you!" Atlanta said with a Vivian Leigh toss of her head. "In fact, I'm considering never speaking to you again. Not for as long as Hive. Not for as long as you live. Not for as long as--"

"Okay, okay, I get your drift." Savannah sighed and ran her fingers wearily through her hair. Her "do" had long since died, along with her hopes of wringing any enjoyment from this assignment.

She glanced across the gallery and saw Mrs. Lippincott, surrounded by a circle of tired staff. Ryan was with them, looking as fresh and debonair as he had at

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he beginning of the evening. Dang his hide, she :hought.

She lowered her voice, not wanting an audience for his little domestic squabble. "I understand that you're rery upset with me, Tanta," she said. "So, what else is new? Older sisters are a lot like parents; they seldom, if wer, do anything right . . . at least according to the rounger kids in a family."

"But you were rude to a judge! A judge, Savannah! kind he was being so nice to me. He probably would nave given me really high marks, if you hadn't stuck rour big, fat nose into things."

Savannah reached out, put her hand on Atlanta's brearm, and gave her a cautionary squeeze. "Sh-h-h . . . ceep your voice down. Let's go into your room to dis:uss this."

Atlanta shook her hand away. 'There's nothing to liscuss. We aren't speaking, remember?"

"So, I guess I should have just let you go on talking to hat sleazebag. He was going to hit on you, do you know hat?"

Atlanta's face lit up. "Really? Really, do you think he ikes me that much?"

Savannah resisted the urge to strangle her. "No-o-o, :'m quite sure he doesn't like you. He doesn't even mow you. He's only interested in banging you, and he ioesn't have to like you for that."

Atlanta's nostrils flared, and for half a second ;avannah expected flames to shoot out of her nose. What's the matter, sissy?" she said bitterly. "Do you rant him for yourself? You've got a thing for him? Is hat it?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I--"

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"I think that's exactly what it is. I think my big sister is sexually frustrated and--"

"Atlanta, that's enough." Savannah gave the teenager the same look that Gran had given the Reid children

about three seconds before her righteous wrath

exacted its toll on their backsides. "For your information, young lady, the only frustration I'm feeling at this minute is the overwhelming desire to bend you over my

knee and paddle your hind end."

"This conversation is over," Atlanta said in a tone that was less self-assured than her words.

"Yes, it is. We've already said way too much for a couple of sisters who aren't speaking to each other."

Savannah felt a flood of sadness sweep over her as she watched her sibling walk away. Did all families have these problems, she wondered, or were the Reids specially blessed in that regard?

She didn't have to think that one over for very long. Having been a police officer for years, she knew all too well the kinds of problems that some families had-- problems that sometimes ended in tragedy.

This little disagreement was nothing. Really. So, why did it hurt so much?

Savannah felt someone's presence behind her, and when she turned around she saw Mrs. Lippincott standing there, watching. She had left Ryan and the staff members and walked over to Savannah's side of the

gallery. Savannah wondered how much she had overheard.

"Is everything all right, Savannah?" she asked.

Savannah considered brushing her off with a flip answer,

then at the last second decided to be honest. "Not exactly. I've certainly lived more peaceful lifetimes. . . but I'm fairly certain I lived them as an only child."

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Mrs. Lippincott smiled. "I understand. I have three munger sisters of my own."

Several of the contestants walked through the galLery,

snickering, giggling, excited and as happy as only a group of carefree teenagers could be. As they passed 3avarmah and Mrs. Lippincott, the older woman watched hem with a look akin to resentment on her face.

"What a waste," she said. "All that beauty, health, and nergy squandered on the young. They have no idea low fleeting all of those gifts are. If they did, they would mjoy this period of their lives so much more."

Savannah nodded. "How true."

"Don't you envy them. . . their youth?"

Savannah thought for a moment. "Not really. Along with the beauty and energy goes a lot of inexperience

trid naivete. I wouldn't be that young and stupid again or anything in the world. Those life lessons were too lard-earned to be given away."

Marion Lippincott quirked one eyebrow. Savannah ;ot the distinct impression that she wasn't accustomed

being contradicted. "Oh? May I ask how old you are, ;avannah?"

"I'm in my early forties."

"Ah . that explains it. Check back with me in tround twenty years, and we'll see how you feel about he subject then."

Savannah chuckled. "You may be right. By the way, vIrs. Lippincott, I was going to ask you about one of rour girls . . . a Barbara or Barbie--"

A horrible, terrified scream cut through the room. Savannah swallowed her words and nearly her heart. [he sound had come from the direction of the guest

louse, the same direction that Atlanta had walked just noments ago. And somewhere in the recesses of her

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mind, Savannah knew--with sickening conviction-- that it was her little sister who had screamed.

"Oh, my God. . . . ," she whispered. But she was already running, with Ryan at her side, her gun in her hand. . . and Mrs. Lippincott trailing somewhere behind.

Savw:nnah and Ryan nearly collided with Atlanta, who

racing down the hall, running away from her room. Thankful to see the kid in one piece, Savannah holstered her Beretta and held out her arms. Atlanta flew into them, sobbing.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Savannah asked, trying to peel her sister off so that she could check her for injuries.

"What's wrong?"

"Was it you who screamed, Atlanta?" Ryan asked. He still had his gun drawn, but was holding it behind his thigh and out of sight

Atlanta nodded vigorously and tried to squeak out a

couple of words, but she was crying too hard.

Mrs. Lippincott came running up behind them, followed by half a dozen of the staff members. Excited and alarmed, they were all trying to talk at once.

. .

"What happened?" Mrs. Lippincott demanded. "What's going on here, and why are you crying, Ms. Reid?"

Savannah held up one hand in a manner that clearly

said, "Back off."

"Wait there please," she said. "Let us take care of this for the moment."

Mrs. Lippincott seemed to get the message, and she took a couple of steps backward. "Okay, okay," she said to the staff, "quiet down. Everybody be calm while they figure this out."

Savannah put her hands on Atlanta's shoulders and

gently shook her. "Come on, honey, and take a couple of deep breaths. Do it. In. Out. That's it. Now tell me what's wrong."

Atlanta shivered, turned, and pointed to the door of her room, which was half-open. "In there," she said, "on the bed."

Ryan hurried on down the hall, reaching the room just before Savannah. They positioned themselves on either side of the door, nodded to each other, and Ryan shoved it the rest of the way open with his foot, his gun lifted and ready.

After a quick glance, they charged into the room. Expecting the worst--whenever that might be Savannah had also drawn her Beretta. But the room was vacant.

"What is that?" Savannah said. "What's the problem that--"

She didn't need an answer from Ryan; by then she could clearly see the problem for herself.

There on the bed next to the window--Atlanta's bed--was a large pool of red ugliness.

"Blood," Ryan said simply.

Savannah nodded and moved closer. When she was

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about a yard from the bed she could smell it, the thick, coppery stench, that was instinctively repulsive and set one's nerves on edge.

"There's a lot of it," Ryan commented.

"Yes, definitely not caused by nicking your legs with a dull shaver."

Savannah heard Mrs. Lippincott at the door and turned around to see her entering the room. "Stop! Stop right there. Don't come in here."

"But I have every right to--"

"No! Nobody comes in here," she said with an air of authority that wasn't to be denied . . . even by the formidable

Mrs. Lippincott.. "Everyone stays out until we see what we have here. This may be a crime scene, and we don't want it contaminated more than it already is."

The two lamps in the bedroom weren't particularly

bright, but they gave enough light for Savannah to see that there was more than just blood on the bed. The stain itself was three to four feet across and in the center

of it was a fist-sized hunk of some sort of bloody, fleshy tissue.

"What do you suppose that is?" she asked Ryan in a voice too low for those in the door to hear.

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think I want to know."

"Have you got your flashlight?" Savannah said.

Ryan handed her a small, but powerful penlight. She shined the beam into the center of the gore. In the doorway she heard Atlanta gasp. She felt she should offer her some words of comfort, but under the circumstances, none came to mind.

Ryan moved closer to her, and after looking at the mass a while whispered, "A fetus?"

'That's what I thought," she said, "but I don't know

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Ebr sure." She pointed to the wall over the bed, just beneath the window, where a word had been scrawled in nlood on the rose-covered paper. "What do you make of hat?"

He squinted at the writing. "T-U-L-S? Tuls?" Savannah cocked her head sideways. "No, I don't hink so."

"Some of the letters are backward," Ryan observed. guess that means our offender is dyslexic or--"

"It's upside down. It's been written upside down. It lays S-L-U-T. Not very friendly."

"Not friendly at all. Who do you suppose wrote it?" "It was Barbie," Atlanta said from the doorway. "It vas that rude bitch, Barbie--excuse me, Mrs. Lippin:ott--who did that to my bed. We had a fight earlier tnd--"

Savannah hurried over to her sister and grabbed her

irmly by the forearm. "That's enough, Atlanta. You had shock, honey. And I think you need to sit down somewhere and collect yourself." She turned back to Ryan. Do you have your cell phone on you?"

He nodded.

"Why don't you call Dirk and get him over here?" "Good idea," he said.

"Who is that?" Mrs. Lippincott asked. "Who's Dirk?" "Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter," Savannah said. He's with the San Carmelita Police Department We

lave to report this and have it checked out."

Savannah looked back to the bed with its gory stain

and at the offensive word on the wall. "Tell Dirk that he hould probably have Dr. Liu come out, too." she told tyan.

He was already dialing.

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....„

"And who's this Dr. Lou?" Mrs. Lippincott wanted to know. "Is he your family physician?"

"No," Savannah said. "Dr. Jennifer Liu is the San Carmelita medical examiner. . . the coroner."

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ince Ryan had offered to guard the door to Atlanta's

Oroom until Dirk arrived, Savannah decided to take her sister a comfortable distance away from the unpleasant

scene. Believing that some fresh air would help, she led her out into the courtyard, where they Found a wrought-iron park bench near the fountain

with thick, inviting cushions.

Savannah had also chosen a spot where she could see

the front door and would know the instant Dirk or Dr. Liu arrived.

"Are you okay, kiddo?" she asked her, putting her arm around her shoulders. The girl was still shaking, but she had stopped crying, and that was a good sign.

"Why do you think Barbie did that?" Atlanta asked. "I mean, I know we didn't like each other. We were giving ..ach other a hard time, but it wasn't all that bad. Why Amuld she put that horrible stuff on my bed?"

Savannah had a couple of theories running around

in her head. And Barbie vandali7ing Atlanta's bed was only one of them. She wondered whether it would be wise to share the possibilities with Atlanta. . . especially if the other scenarios might be more frightening than

the first.

"How could she hate me that much? It's such a crazy thing to do," Atlanta continued. "And where would she get so much blood?"

Savannah decided to plunge ahead, even if it might make things worse. "We don't know for sure that Barbie was the one who did it. And we don't know if it was meant to scare you or her. There's a lot we don't know yet, so just hang in there, honey, until we find out what's going on."

Through the glass French doors Savannah could see

a bustle of activity in the gallery. Mrs. Catherine WhitestoneVilla had said good night and excused herself

earlier in the evening, to return to her home, a lovely Spanish-style hacienda on the hill behind the

center. But apparently someone had alerted her to the problem in the guesthouse, and she was on the scene, running around in quite a dither.

For a moment Savannah wondered why Anthony

Villa hadn't returned with his wife. But then she remembered the mention of children being tucked into