Killer Gourmet (19 page)

“That's true,” Dirk said. “I checked it out myself. They were there. So much for your ‘I'll blame it on Perla' plan.”

Francia's chin started to quiver, and Savannah thought she might begin to cry. Her cockiness seemed to be turning to desperation. “Well, what about Yale? He and Chef Norwood hated each other for years.”

“Why was there bad blood between them?” Savannah asked.

“Because Norwood destroyed Villa Nuevo. It was a beautiful restaurant, and it was making both of them a ton of money. Yale worked hard at putting that restaurant together and making it a success. We all did. Except for Norwood, that is.”

“You're saying Norwood ruined the place they owned together?” Dirk asked. “How did that happen?”

“He drank constantly, especially when Yale went away on business trips out of the country. Then Norwood just went wild. He wouldn't show up to work, and when he did he was worthless. He invited huge groups of his so-called friends for these big parties, and he never reimbursed the restaurant. It didn't take long for it to start going under. When Yale returned from China this last time, Norwood had just about scuttled the ship. The only thing left to do was file for bankruptcy and close the doors.”

Savannah thought back on what Otis Emmett had said about Yale visiting ReJuvene the night of the tasting and arguing with Norwood. No wonder they had exchanged some harsh words. If Chef Norwood had done that to her restaurant, she would've been ready to bury him in his double-breasted white jacket.

“And then,” Francia continued, “as if that wasn't bad enough, Norwood abandons ship and takes his staff with him. He didn't even give Yale any notice or time to hire another team.”

“Yale must've considered suing him,” Savannah said. “He certainly had good reason to.”

Francia glanced around, as though checking among the orange trees for eavesdroppers. She lowered her voice. “Yale threatened to sue him. Of course he did. Who wouldn't? But then Norwood played the orgy card.”

Savannah wasn't sure that she had heard her correctly. “
Orgy
card?”

“Yeah, a few months ago Norwood took Yale to Las Vegas with him on some kind of a business trip. But, of course, with a sexual animal like Norwood, it turned out to be more monkey business than anything else.”

“Monkey business?” Dirk asked, feigning disbelief. “Go figure.”

Francia nodded. “Norwood arranged an orgy with some hookers for the two of them and sprang it on Yale. He went for it, and boy did he regret it. They hadn't been back home for five minutes before Norwood told everybody in the kitchen. Bragging about it. Later, when Yale told him that he was going to sue him for ruining Villa Nuevo, Norwood threatened to tell Yale's wife about the orgy. Needless to say, Yale dropped the lawsuit.”

“Listen,” Dirk said, “I know a little about Yale Ingram myself, and he's no altar boy. I don't know if I buy your story there, Francia.”

Shrugging, Francia said, “Believe it or not, but it's true. Yale used to mess around with a few of the waitresses. But his wife caught him and sent him to Sexaholics Anonymous. She told him if he ever had another slip, that was the end of the marriage.”

“She probably would've considered an orgy a slip,” Savannah commented. “I know I would. If any man of mine did that, he'd find himself slipping, all right. Into a hole in the ground about six feet deep.”

S
avannah heard a distinctive pinging coming from the vicinity of her purse. As her heart pounded, she reached inside, pulled out her cell phone, and looked at it.

The message was from Dr. Dalano's office. Her appointment was in half an hour.

Shoving the phone back into her purse, she glanced over at Dirk and saw that he was watching her intently. She had to wrap up the interview with Francia and get back to San Carmelita, pronto. One look at Francia's defiant face told her that this conversation was going nowhere anyway.

Savannah knew, all too well, what a perp looked like right before confessing to their particular transgression. Usually, their spirits were broken and dejected as they resigned themselves to society's inevitable punishment.

Francia was a million miles from broken or dejected. There wasn't a chance in Hades that she was going to kneel here in the middle of her garden, confess, and beg for mercy.

Judging from the angry fire that still smoldered in her eyes, they were lucky that they hadn't been stabbed with an asparagus spear or clobbered with a corncob.

Savannah reached up and lightly brushed the tip of her nose with her forefinger. It was their secret code that the other one wanted to leave a place.

He gave her a slight nod and turned to Francia. “We're gonna get going now. But I guess I should say congratulations on your new promotion to master chef there at the restaurant. You know, the promotion you wouldn't have gotten if ol' Norwood hadn't wound up on the wrong side of a knife handle.”

Francia didn't reply. She just continued to give him that nasty look that would have chilled the spines of lesser souls than Dirk Coulter.

“You take care now, hear?” Savannah said with only a moderately sarcastic tone. She looked over at the tomato plants, overly burdened with their bounty. “I reckon it'd be too much to ask for one of those vine-ripened beauties to take home with me.”

Again there was no answer. Just the steely look.

“Yeah. That's what I thought,” Savannah told her as she reached for Dirk's arm and propelled him toward the car.

“Boy, did you get a load of her?” Dirk said once they were out of earshot. “She's mean as a circular saw when you cross her.”

“You can't really blame her,” Savannah replied. “If somebody accused me of killing another human being, whether I'd done it or not, my reaction would be pretty much the same as hers. Calling somebody a cold-blooded murderer right to their face . . . probably not the best way to make friends and influence people.”

“Maybe not. But it's a good way to shake up a suspect, so's you can find out what they're made of.”

“And what do you figure she's made of?”

“Let's just say, if I had pissed her off and then wound up hanging out with her in a dark alley, I wouldn't turn my back to her.”

“Amen.”

“But then, I'd say the same about you.”

“Why, thank you, darlin'.” She reached down and took his hand. “You silken-tongued, sweet-talkin' laddie.”

 

Savannah's and Dirk's mood was considerably less cordial when she dropped him off, fifteen minutes later, at the police station house.

In fact, the atmosphere between them was more than a bit chilly. It was plumb Nordic.

As he started to climb out of the Mustang, he turned back to her, and with an angry, guarded look on his face he said, “I can't believe this, Van. Not only are you not going to let me go with you, but you won't even tell me where you're headed?”

“I'm sorry,” she said, fighting the urge to either yell at him or burst into tears and hug him. She wanted badly to do both. “It's no big deal. I just—”

“The hell it's not. It's gotta be a big deal or you wouldn't keep it from me. Since when do you and me have secrets?”

She reached over, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it. He didn't squeeze back.

“Sweetie, please. This is something I need to do on my own. And I need you to understand. Okay?”

“No. It's not okay. How am I supposed to understand something when I don't even know what it is? Maybe you should just trust me, give me a chance to understand.”

She glanced at her watch. “Dirk, I need to get going. Get them to loan you a radio car to take over to Yale's office. See what you can wring out of him. I'll touch base with you later.”

“When?”

“Later.” She gulped. “I love you, darlin'. You know that, right?”

His eyes searched hers, and she could see his anger turning to sadness.

The lump in her throat tightened. She felt like she was swallowing a chunk of rough cement.

She could handle his anger any day, but the thought that she was causing him pain was almost more than she could stand.

She began to question her decision to do this alone. But another glance at her watch told her that this wasn't the time to change plans. As Granny Reid often said, “Don't go changin' horses midstream.”

Once again, she squeezed his hand.

This time, he raised hers to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. “I love you, too, Van. Be safe, sweetheart.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He got out of the car, closed the door, and walked up to the station house entrance.

Savannah pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

In her rearview mirror she could see him, still standing there beside the door, watching her . . . until she turned the corner three blocks away.

 

Several years ago, when Savannah had first met Dr. Anna Dalano, she had thought it unusual for a physician to have five piercings on each ear.

Oh, Dr. Anna's choice and earrings were tasteful enough—diamond studs, descending in size from the earlobe upward. But it was still a bit unorthodox. As was her inch-long, spiked blond hair with its blue tips.

So was calling your family physician “Dr. Anna.”

But on a day like today, when Savannah was feeling as nervous as a cow with a buck-toothed calf, the informality was welcomed. She much preferred having Dr. Anna, with her ten earrings, sitting across from her wearing a pretty blue sweater set and a necklace with a skull and crossbones pendant, than the traditional, grim-faced fellow in a white smock.

“It's been a while since we've seen you,” the doctor said, flashing her an open, friendly smile. She glanced down at Savannah's chart, which was lying open on her desk. “I guess that means you've been feeling pretty good.”

“Yes, I have.” Savannah hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Until lately.”

“And what's been going on lately?”

“I've been really tired and cranky all the time, wanting to kill Dirk.” The doctor smirked, so she added, “More than usual, that is.”

Dr. Anna picked up the pen and began to scribble notes on the chart. “Anything else?”

“I've had some headaches. I haven't been sleeping well. And I've had these weak, shaky spells where I feel dizzy. Yesterday, it was bad enough that I fell down.”

Dr. Anna looked up from her writing and gave Savannah a quick once-over. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Just my pride. I was at the beach. Dirk and about a million little kids were watching.”

“Any nausea?”

“A little bit. You know, from the dizziness.”

The doctor scribbled for, what seemed to Savannah, an eternity. Finally, she set her pen aside and gave Savannah a long, searching look that told Savannah nothing.

Like most physicians, Dr. Anna had a great poker face.

Finally, she cleared her throat and said. “Savannah . . . when was your last menses?”

 

Savannah sat in Dr. Dalano's waiting room, pretending to read an article in
Cosmo
about the ten most romantic places to have sex in the great outdoors without getting arrested. But she had a feeling that it was that very activity that had led her to the doctor's office.

How many times had Granny told her when she was a teenager, “It only takes once, Savannah girl. A few minutes—ten seconds, if the knucklehead's particularly bad at it—and your life changes forever.”

It had only been once, about a month and a half ago, under the wisteria-draped arbor in her backyard when the light of the full moon and her husband's irresistible charms had seduced her. Throwing caution to the wind—along with a pair of her sexiest lacy panties—she had taken a chance on Mother Nature.

Caught in the throes of passion, she had forgotten that Mother Nature simply adored babies.

I could be pregnant
, she thought.
Pregnant. A baby. Pregnant with a baby.

And how do we feel about that, Savannah?
asked that quieter, far more calm and collected voice deep inside.

Quiet, sane Savannah didn't answer.

Well, and Dirk
.

Savannah smiled, remembering how Dirk had been with the kids on the beach—laughing, throwing the ball for them, picking them up and twirling them around. She pictured him petting and caring for Diamante and Cleo, whispering sweet nothings into their fuzzy little ears. Any guy who was that good with animals would make a great father.

Dirk, a dad. The very thought warmed her heart and allayed most of her fears. If those tests that she was waiting for came back positive, she would not be alone in this. Not at all.

Sometimes life gave you a nice surprise, a gift you weren't expecting. And this just might be the biggest one she'd ever received.

While she and Dirk hadn't been officially “trying,” she was sure he would welcome the news. In fact, as she imagined the joy they would have, telling each member of their family and friends, she could already see the delight on their beloved faces and—

“Savannah.”

Granny would beam and shout, “Praise the Lord!” Waycross and Tammy were bound to cry. Ryan and John would—

“Savannah. Would you come with me, please?”

It was the nurse, standing in the door, beckoning her back to the office area once again.

This was it! Now it would be official. Her world was about to change forever, and for the good.

She jumped to her feet, filled with so much pure happiness she thought she might just float away. She rushed to the door and hurried through it, more than eager and willing to face the most important role she had ever played.

 

“Menopause?”

The word hung in the air between Savannah and her doctor like a giant, black storm cloud blotting out the sun.

And her dreams of ever becoming a mother.

Dr. Anna gave her a sweet, sad smile. “I'm so sorry, Savannah,” she said. “Didn't you consider that as a possibility when you missed your last cycle?”

“No. I've always had irregular periods. I finally just stopped trying to chart them, years ago. I didn't even realize that I'd missed one until you asked me . . . I . . . oh, no, I didn't consider . . . I didn't . . .”

The tears she had been fighting for weeks started to flow hot and heavy as she covered her face with her hands and began to sob hysterically.

Dr. Anna got up from her chair, walked around the desk, and knelt beside Savannah's chair.

“There, there,” she said, patting her patient on the back. “I'm sorry this took you unaware like this. I thought you suspected you were in peri-menopause. The headaches, irritability, insomnia, even the dizziness—those can all be symptoms of menopause.”

“But, but aren't . . . aren't they . . .
hiccup
. . . for pregnancy, too?”

“Yes, the symptoms of pregnancy and menopause are quite similar for some women.”

“Well, I guess I'll, I'll never”—she accepted the tissue the doctor offered her—“never know about the, the pregnancy pa-aa-art.”

Her sobs commenced all over again, even worse than before.

Dr. Anna put an arm around her shoulder and rocked her gently. “I'm really, really sorry, Savannah. I didn't know becoming a mother meant so much to you.”

“Me either.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I didn't know either.” She stopped and blew her nose, filling the tissue. The doctor quickly gave her another. “Not until I told you I'd missed a period and you said let's do a test and I said okay and you said go wait in the waiting room.”

“I see.”

Dr. Anna rose from her knees and pulled an extra chair close to Savannah's. She sat down and said, “Out there in my waiting room . . . that was the first time you've ever really thought about motherhood?”

“No, of course not. I used to think about it when I was taking care of my little brothers and sisters. I had eight, you know.”

“Yes, I recall you telling me that. And back then, when you fantasized about becoming a mom, what did you imagine?”

Savannah laughed, but the sound was bitter and ragged. “I thought: I'm sure as hell not going to have nine kids!”

Dr. Anna laughed with her. “I can understand that. But did you have your heart set on it?”

Savannah thought about it and couldn't come up with a ready, definitive answer. “I guess. I mean, doesn't everybody?”

“No.”

“No?”