Just Desserts (15 page)

“Actually, I’m not here as a customer,” she said.

“Ah, that’s too bad. We could have had fun playing dress-up. I have so many lo-o-ovely things.”

“Maybe some other time,” Savannah said, feeling the urge to lose herself in this woman’s mystical world. It would be fun, acting like little girls who were exploring the treasures in Grandma’s attic trunks.

So she did know what Danielle Lamont sold here, after all. She sold fantasies.

“My name is Savannah Reid,” she said, pulling her badge from inside her sweater, where she kept it on a chain. “I’m the detective who’s investigating the murder of Jonathan Winston. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions ... about Jonathan ... about the fashion industry.”

Danielle’s hazy smile faded and her eyes instantly became alert and guarded. “About where I was the morning in question?” she said.

Savannah smiled and nodded. “I’ll probably get around to that, too.”

“Come on,” Danielle said, waving her toward the beaded curtain. “I have a little cubicle that we use for tarot readings. We can talk in there.”

Savannah found herself in a charming nook that held two comfortable overstuffed chairs, a small table covered with a lace cloth, and an antique lamp whose shade had been draped with an embroidered fringed scarf of a delicate rose color. It gave the space a romantic pink glow.

“What would you like to know?” Danielle said, settling into one of the chairs.

Savannah took the other seat and glanced down at the deck of cards on the table with their strange but beautiful pictures. “I’d like to know when I’m going to meet that tall, dark, handsome stranger who’s going to sweep me off my feet.”

Danielle laughed. “Wouldn’t we all.”

She reached across the table and covered the cards with her right hand. Closing her eyes for a moment, she seemed to be concentrating; then she cut the cards and looked at the one she had selected. “This week,” she whispered in a deep, mysterious tone.

“What?” Savannah leaned closer.

“I said, ‘This week.’ You’re going to meet a tall, handsome stranger ... let me see....” She squeezed her eyes closed again and scrunched her face into a grimace with the effort. “... probably within the next forty-eight hours.”

Savannah laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Opening her eyes, Danielle gave her a mock-indignant frown. “You doubt the cards?”

“You believe them?”

“Damn right. And if you know what’s good for you, you will, too.”

Savannah stared at her, wondering if she was serious or putting her on. She decided it was a bit of both.

“What else do you want to know?” Danielle asked, deftly running the deck through her fingers.

“I want to know who murdered Jonathan Winston.”

Fumbling briefly, Danielle dropped one of the cards to the table. They both caught their breath when they saw the twisted face of evil looking up at them.

Danielle chuckled dryly. “The Devil. How appropriate. There’s your answer, Detective Reid.”

“Could you possibly be a little more specific?”

With a sigh, Danielle placed the cards on the table and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “The only way I would know who killed him would be if I had done it myself. I didn’t. I’m sorry I can’t solve your case for you, but if you want to know anything about Jonathan Winston, the man, I’m the one. A walking encyclopedia.”

“You knew him well?”

“We were friends, enemies, business partners, and lovers, not necessarily in that order. Yes, I knew him well. What do you want to know?”

Savannah thought for a moment. “Was he a good man?”

“He was good in bed. Very good, in fact. But that’s probably not what you’re asking.” She pursed her bright orange lips thoughtfully. “Morally speaking, I’d say Jonathan was a good guy, when it was convenient. But then, I’ve always thought that, for most of us, morality is based on convenience. Don’t you think so, too, Detective?”

“I’d like to say you’re wrong, but ...” Savannah pulled her notebook from her purse. “Can you think of anyone who had a grudge against Jonathan, who might have wanted to kill him?”

“Yeah, me. The son of a bitch ripped off some of my best designs and made a fortune from them. I took him to court. I won the case, but the court costs were so high that it nearly broke me. With Beverly’s money behind him, he hardly even felt it. So, who’s to say who won and lost.” She shrugged.
“C’est la vie.”

“But you’ve already said you didn’t kill him.”

“I didn’t. Other than me ... it could have been Beverly. Being his wife and all, I’m sure she had plenty of motives. Or it could have been the guy Beverly’s been seeing.”

“Do you know who that is?” Savannah asked, staring down at her notebook.

“No, but I suspect that you do.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Who is it, Detective? Everybody in town is dying to know.”

Savannah smiled and ignored the question. “Can you think of anyone else?”

“Could have been Fiona, his ex. I took him away from her years ago, and she never got over it. She divorced her second husband last year, and I heard she was after Jonathan again.”

“Anyone else?”

“Nobody I can think of right away. He gambled a lot, you know. Drank, chased women. He did all kinds of things that might have gotten him shot. Jonathan was charming and smart, but he wasn’t all that wise, if you know what I mean.”

“Just a couple more things,” Savannah said, realizing that she needed to end the interview and get back to the station. It was nearly three. “You said you two were lovers?”

“That was years ago, long before he ever laid eyes on Beverly. I was all done with him by the time he met her. We were going to be this great designing team, knock the rag business on its ass. But he took the designs, my heart, and ran. End of partnership.”

“You sound pretty bitter.”

“I am.”

Savannah looked directly into her eyes and saw more pain and hurt than bitterness. But you never could tell.

“Where were you, Danielle, the morning he was killed, around four?”

“Sitting right here, doing a tarot reading.”

“A tarot reading? Who would be interested in having their future told that early in the morning?”

“Me. I was doing a layout for myself.”

“Then you were—”

“Alone? Yeah,” she said wearily, “I was alone. In other words, I have no alibi, Detective. Ain’t life a bitch? Come to think of it, it was a lousy reading, too.”

Yes, life
was
a bitch, Savannah agreed as she sat outside Captain Bloss’s office, waiting for him to acknowledge her existence. She had been sitting there so long that she believed her tailbone had become rooted to the miserably uncomfortable chair.

She felt like a naughty kid, waiting outside the principal’s office to get a lickin’. The punishment she could take, but the suspense was killing her.

For the hundredth time she ran down the list of possibilities. Drawing and quartering could probably be ruled out, along with the firing squad at dawn. There hadn’t been any public floggings in San Carmelita since the late 1800s, so that wasn’t too likely.

He might give her an official reprimand, which would be a permanent black mark on her otherwise spotless record. But on what grounds? Insubordination, maybe. But, then, he would have to enter it all into the files, and she didn’t think he would want the business with the tape and the chief on paper.

“Reid.”

She jumped and nearly dropped the magazine that she hadn’t been pretending to read.

Bloss stood in his doorway, looking so pleased with himself that she reinstated drawing and quartering on the list of possibilities.

Silently, she followed him into the office and watched as he closed the door behind them.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the rusty folding chair.

The command irked her. Deeply.

“Shall I roll over and play dead, too ... sir ... ?” she asked sweetly.

He didn’t even react. That wasn’t a good sign. He must have something really rotten planned for her. Maybe scrubbing the men’s john with a toothbrush?

“I’ll make this short and sweet, Reid. Then you can be on your way,” Bloss said, plopping down in his chair. “There’s no point in prolonging it. I don’t think you enjoy my company any more than I do yours.”

“I sincerely doubt it... sir,” she said. “Thank you, sir.”

He picked up a paper from his desk and shoved it in her direction, along with a pen. “I’d like you to read and sign this, Detective. Now.”

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar document. A sick jolt went through her as the title at the top snagged her attention.

NOTICE OF TERMINATION

“Termination? Termination of what?” she asked, hardly able to breathe.

“Your job, Detective ... or should I say Miss Reid. It’s my sad duty to inform you that you are fired.”

A cold rage swept through her, overriding the initial shock. “Oh, yes,” she replied evenly, “I can see that you’re all broken up about it.”

“Hey, you’re a good detective, Reid. I hate the idea of losing you like this.”

The sarcastic smirk on his face made her want to crawl across the desk and feed him his front teeth. “You can’t do this. I’ll fight you to hell and back on this. I was only trying to do my job and find a killer, and—”

“I’m sure you were doing a fine job, Reid,” he said in a condescending tone. “I have no problem at all with the way you were handling this case.”

“Then what . . . ?”

She quickly scanned the rest of the document, looking for the grounds for dismissal.

“ ‘Failure to meet physical requirements set by the SCPD? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He drew a deep breath, leaned back, and stuck his thumbs inside his belt. “It means, to put it bluntly: You’re too fat.”

“Too ... what are you talking about? You’re kidding, right?”

“I would never kid about another officer’s career ending, Reid,” he replied. “But, according to the results of your last physical exam, your body fat ratio exceeds department regulations by quite a bit.”

“Of course it does. I’m female. Women naturally have more body fat per pound than men. We have boobs, in case you hadn’t noticed. And a few other curves that you fellows seem particularly fond of. I hate to tell you this, but these ain’t muscle.” She pointed emphatically at her cleavage. Only after the words had left her mouth did she realize how unladylike this defense must sound.

Screw it. This wasn’t the time to worry about Southern gentility.

He glanced at her generous bustline, then averted his eyes. “Miss Reid, this isn’t open for discussion. The decision is final.”

“This is ludicrous! I am not
fat!”

He picked up another paper from his desk. “This is a statement from the departmental physician. He says he warned you that you needed to drop the excess weight as soon as possible.”

“Of course he did. He’s been telling me that crap for years. Doctors always—”

“Then you’ve had ample warnings and many opportunities to go on a diet. The department must insist that its officers be in tip-top shape. You aren’t. You refuse to be. That means you’re out. Now sign the paper and let’s both get on with our lives.”

Savannah stood, staring down at him, the termination notice in her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she began to crumple it in her fist.

“This has nothing to do with my weight, and you and I both know it. You’re kicking me off the force to cover your chiefs ass. You gave me this case because you thought I’d be a nice, submissive girl and do whatever you said. Now that I won’t, I’m out.”

She paused and took a deep breath, steadying herself against the desk. “Well, it isn’t going to happen. I will not take this lying down, Bloss. I’ll go to my union; I’ll take you to court; I’ll even talk to the media if I have to. You people just made a very bad decision, and it’s going to cost you. Just wait and see.”

Throwing the wadded paper at him, she marched to the door. He jumped up from his desk and intercepted her before she could open it.

“Just a minute, Reid. I’ll need your gun and your badge.”

“Oh, God ... spare me the ‘Dragnet’ routine.”

He slammed his hand against the door, preventing her from leaving. “I mean it. Now.”

Reluctantly, she reached inside her shirt and pulled out the badge. With one jerk she broke the chain that was holding it. “Here you go ... sir,” she said, dropping it on the floor at his feet. “If it represents this town’s police department and the men who run it, I’m not interested in wearing it anyway.”

“Your gun ...” He held out his hand.

“My gun is not departmental issue. It’s
mine.
I bought it; I registered it; I have a license to carry it. And until you can pull enough strings to get my permit revoked for some equally petty reason, I’ll just keep it. Anything else, Captain ... sir?”

“Yes. Unless you want to make your life more complicated than it is right now, I’d suggest you keep your unfounded suspicions about the chief and Mrs. Winston to yourself. Get my drift?”

“Captain Bloss, thanks to you I am now a civilian. I can talk to anyone about anything I damned well want. And you, Captain, may go screw yourself and the mangy mule that brought you into this town. It was a much better city without you.”

In a daze of shock and fury, Savannah walked through the building, down corridors and through doors that she had grown to love over the years. She hadn’t gotten married, even though she had been tempted several times. She hadn’t had kids, even though she was crazy about them. She hadn’t thought it fair to subject a family to the kind of stress her job created. Her job. Everything had been for the job.

And now?

Now what?

As she left the station and headed for the parking lot, half of her brain was already formulating the attack strategy. Talk to her union steward, hire an attorney, prepare her case ...

But the other half couldn’t think, couldn’t even begin to assimilate the fact that her life had just changed, completely, maybe irrevocably.

Oh, she’d meant what she’d said to Bloss. She would fight them tooth and nail. They’d be sorry they ever made an enemy of Savannah Reid.