A Body To Die For. G. A. McKevett

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СКАЧАТЬ of the fights were about other women.”

      “What is this other woman’s name?”

      “I don’t know her name.”

      Another lie, Savannah noted. She was starting to have doubts about the health and well-being of Mr. Clarissa. A guy who’d been missing for five days, whose wife was lying to the cops—things were looking a bit grim for poor ol’ Bill.

      “What do you know about her?” Savannah asked.

      “That she wears cheap, disgusting perfume. Too much of it. And she’s forgetful.”

      Dirk looked up from his scribbling. “Forgetful?”

      “Yeah. She forgets to put her panties back on…leaves them in married men’s cars.”

      “Oh, okay.” Dirk didn’t bother to write that one down.

      His cell phone began to ring, playing “The House of the Rising Sun.” Savannah knew it was the police station house calling. He’d chosen that ring tone after one too many all-nighters at his desk, buried in paperwork.

      “Excuse me,” he told Clarissa and answered it. “Coulter.”

      Dirk had a good poker face, but after so many years looking at his mug, Savannah could tell when it was an important call or a “the captain wants to know if you’re anywhere near his daughter’s school; she forgot her lunch money” call.

      “Yeah? Where?” He listened, gave Savannah a quick look, and then said, “Okay. I’m on my way.”

      He shoved the phone back into his pocket and stood. “I think I’ve got what I need for right now, Ms. Jardin,” he said. He handed her one of his business cards. “If you think of anything else or if you need to talk to me, just give me a buzz.”

      “Thank you.”

      She slid the card into her robe pocket as she searched his face, suspicious. “Is everything all right? I mean, that call you got?”

      “It’s just something I have to check out. But I’ll start working on finding your husband right away. I’ll get in touch with you as soon as we get anything new.”

      In less than a minute, Savannah and Dirk were out the door and walking through the courtyard garden, on their way back to the car.

      Savannah knew something was up. Dirk seldom moved that quickly.

      “Whatcha got?” she asked.

      He glanced back toward the house, the closed door. Opening the bell gate, he said, “A new, red Jaguar abandoned up in the hills on Sulphur Creek Road.”

      “Uh-oh. A body?”

      “Nope.” He opened the car door for her, then came around and got in himself.

      “Well, that’s good,” she said as he started the engine.

      “What?”

      “Just a dumped car. No dead body.”

      “It ain’t all that good,” he said. “There’s blood spatter all over the interior.”

      “Oh.”

      “And brain matter on the dash.”

      Savannah felt her stomach do a little flip-flop. “Oh. Yeah, not all that good. Sounds like ol’ Billy Bob Jardin done lost his mind.”

      “Yeap. At least part of it.”

      Chapter 4

      “I can’t believe we’re driving down Sulphur Creek Road, and you’re not accusing me of eating chili for dinner last night,” Dirk said.

      Savannah looked out the passenger side window at the moonlit, prickly cactus-covered hills and tried not to breathe. This area of the foothills was known for its sulphur deposits and its distinctive odor. It smelled a bit like rotten eggs, week-old cabbage soup, and Dirk after a night of chili, tacos, or anything containing beans.

      For the past eighteen years, whenever they had ventured this way, she had accused him of polluting her personal airspace.

      But with age she had become wiser. Less judgmental. Less accusatory. Kinder and milder.

      “I know it’s not you,” she said, “it’s the creek.”

      “Damn right it’s not me. Glad you finally got that straight.”

      “Oh, yeah. Like you’re above it, you gaseous, odious beast.”

      Okay. Just wiser.

      Savannah glanced at her watch. 9:48. This was destined to be another one of those exhausting, draining, all-nighters, for which her only compensation would be the pleasure of Dirk’s scintillating wit and the warmth of his companionship.

      She could be home right now cuddled up in her bed with a steamy novel, Cleo draped across her feet, Diamante tucked under her left arm, a piece of Death by Chocolate cake heaped with whipped cream sitting on her nightstand.

      Someday she’d learn to say “no” to these invitations of working for nothing.

      But it wasn’t going to be tonight. Because a moment later, they rounded a curve and she saw the blue and red flashing lights from the police cruisers parked around their crime scene. The sight of the guys in uniform milling around, checking out the area, caused a major rush of adrenaline to hit her system.

      It was a hit that was stronger than any shot of espresso or slice of Death by Chocolate cake. And she knew she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.

      Dirk pulled the Buick off the road, onto the shoulder. There was barely enough room to park the car between the pavement and the steep, rocky hill that rose to their right. And to the left, on the other side of the road was a reinforced guardrail and less than two feet beyond that, a sharp drop of at least five hundred feet.

      All too well, Savannah remembered when they had responded to a call out here about ten years ago because a carload of drunken teenagers had gone off this cliff.

      That’s when the guardrail had been reinforced. Too late, of course.

      She had hated this crook in the road ever since.

      The locals had given it the terribly original name of Deadman’s Curve, and apparently, the notorious spot was living up to its name again. About sixty feet ahead of them, a bright red Jaguar convertible sat on the left side of the road nearest the cliff, only inches from the guardrail. It was facing the opposite direction.

      They got out of the Buick and walked down the road toward the Jaguar. “Looks like somebody’s awake enough to play the yellow tape,” Dirk said as they stepped over the yellow plastic ribbon that was strung around the scene.

      Savannah was glad that the area had been cordoned off, too, but for a different reason than Dirk. She had better, more pleasant, things to do than listen to him chew out his insubordinates—like СКАЧАТЬ