Poisoned Tarts. G. A. McKevett

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СКАЧАТЬ Leon needed seven stitches to close that gash on his forehead. But he never came over to our house in a rage again. Not even when Alice finally left his ugly a—, I mean, left him flat.”

      “It looked like that accountant in the grocery store was needing some stitches himself,” Tammy said. “There was blood everywhere!”

      “Naw,” Savannah laughed. “Most of it was ketchup.”

      “Most?” Gran asked.

      “Ketchup?” Ryan added.

      “She was next to the condiment section,” Dirk explained. “You work with what you’ve got.”

      John nodded. “Our Savannah is resourceful, if nothing else.”

      “Did they arrest that fellow?” Gran wanted to know. “Are you going to have to go to court and testify and all that rigmarole?”

      “Naw, I didn’t press charges,” Savannah told her. “He never actually got the chance to lay a finger on me, so why bother?”

      Dirk reached for the plate of fudge. “I’d say he got the point when that shelf full of ketchup and mustard came crashing down on him. I swear I saw a pickle sticking out of his ear.”

      “Oh, you did not.” Savannah chuckled. “But I wasn’t trying to make a point with him. Guys like that never get the point anyway, so what’s the use? My statement was for his wife. I wanted her to see that he’s not God Almighty, no matter what he’s told her. Seeing another woman take him down a notch or two might have done her some good. I sure hope so.”

      A cell phone began playing the theme song to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Dirk reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone. “The captain,” he offered in explanation. He shrugged and added, “Seemed appropriate somehow.”

      They nodded, understanding perfectly. Dirk’s rocky relationship with his captain—and everyone else in the S.C.P.D.—was common knowledge. The brass didn’t like him. He hated them. And most of his fellow cops respected his work but would have run ten miles in the opposite direction to avoid working with him.

      Dirk had only slightly less luck with partners than with women. And the only person who had actually enjoyed working with him, had been Savannah. Since she and the S.C.P.D. had parted ways years ago, Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter had been the proverbial lone wolf, and nothing made him happier than to be pack free.

      When he wanted companionship, howling at a full moon or whiling away the boring hours of a stakeout, he invited Savannah to come along.

      She was so much better than Detectives Demitry, Averick, or Bura—way better looking, and she always brought food.

      “Coulter,” he barked into the phone, chatty as always. He listened for a few seconds, then began to scowl. “Why? No. I don’t think so.”

      Savannah perked up as they all listened intently. While they wouldn’t have admitted it for all the rocky road fudge in the world, they lived vicariously through Dirk and his cases. Since Savannah was no longer a cop, Ryan and John had long ago left the FBI, and Gran and Tammy were merely Nancy Drew wannabes, they had to get their true crime fix somehow.

      “If it’s only been nineteen hours, what’s the big deal?” Dirk was asking. “Whatever happened to the twenty-four-hour rule?”

      Ah, a missing person, Savannah thought. Not as interesting as some cases, but it could turn into something.

      “Just ’cause it’s a fat cat’s daughter.” Dirk shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, okay, that’s even worse…a fat cat’s spoiled rotten daughter’s friend. She doesn’t come home from partying, and I’m supposed to go club hopping to find her? I mean, it’s not like she’s a little kid who went missing from a local playground or—” He sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll get right on it. In fact, I left ten minutes ago. Happy?”

      He snapped the phone shut.

      “Teenager didn’t make it home last night?” Savannah asked.

      “Yeah, an eighteen-year-old named Daisy O’Neil. She’s a friend of that Dante kid….” He thought for a moment. “You know, that gal that’s always in the tabloids, the skinny one.”

      “Tiffy Dante.” Tammy turned to Gran. “She’s sort of a local celebrity around here, she and her friends. Her dad is filthy rich, and she and her high society girlfriends are always getting into some sort of trouble.”

      Gran waved a dismissive hand. “Oh please. I know who Tiffy Dante and her girlfriends are—the Skeleton Key Three. I read the papers and watch some TV. I mean, we may live out in the toolies there in Georgia, and McGill may be nothing but a wide spot in the road. But I’ll bet you that more girls at McGill High School know who Tiffy Dante is than know the name of the first lady of the United States of America. Sorry state of affairs, but true.”

      “Oh yeah,” Dirk said. “I’ve heard of them, too. Read something about some sex–drug parties they were having there at her father’s mansion last year when…oh…sorry, Mrs. Reid.”

      Gran gave him a wry look. “We know about sex and drugs there in McGill, Georgia, too.” She grinned. “Not that we’d have nothin’ to do with either one.”

      “No, of course not.” Savannah turned to Dirk. “So, who did you say is missing? Tiffy? Bunny? Or the third one…what’s her name…?”

      “Kiki,” Tammy supplied. “The third one’s name is Kiki.”

      “But it’s Daisy O’Neil who’s missing,” Dirk reminded them.

      “Where do they get these names?” Gran said. “Can you imagine sticking a perfectly sweet, innocent little baby with a stupid tag like Kiki for the rest of her life?”

      Savannah bit her tongue and decided not to mention that Gran had named one of her sons Sebastian and one of her daughters Annameena. Gran might be over eighty, but she still had a fast hand, and Savannah was within slapping distance.

      “So,” Savannah said, “if the Skeleton Key Three is Tiffy Dante and her friends Bunny and Kiki, who is Daisy O’Neil?”

      Tammy was fast with the answer. “Daisy is sort of a hanger-on, an appendage to the Key Three. She’s not as rich and certainly not as thin as the others. I’ve seen her pictured many times with them. She’s never quite as put together as they are. Though I must say, she’s the prettiest of the group, in my opinion.”

      “Well,” Dirk said, rising from the rug and shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Whether she’s rich or thin or good-looking, I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that she didn’t come home last night and her mother is worried about her, and Tiffy’s dad, Andrew Dante, is raising a stink about us looking for her.”

      “And when you’ve got the kind of wealth that Andrew Dante has,” John said, “it’s enough to make certain that your complaint is heard.”

      “Yeah, the chief is after the captain to get after me. So, I’ll have to call it a night here.” He turned to Savannah. “Thanks for the good dinner, Van.”

      She didn’t even bother to ask; she just started to wrap up some brownies and fudge in a napkin СКАЧАТЬ