Killer Physique (A Savannah Reid Mystery) (16 page)

Dirk gave her an equal y ugly grin. “No problem. I’l go get a subpoena, and Satan wil be wearing ice skates.” Gerard’s eyes narrowed. “Get out of my hotel.”

“Listen,” Dirk said, “I’m in no mood for—”

“Get out! Now!”

Gathering their tattered dignity around them, Dirk and Savannah lifted their chins, straightened their backbones, turned on their heels, and walked across the lobby toward the door.

“We’re just going to leave like this?” Savannah whispered.

“What else are we gonna do? You know I can’t get a subpoena when, according to the coroner, no crime’s even been committed.” Savannah glanced back at the manager, who looked obnoxiously pleased with herself. “We can stil win this one, you know,” she said.

“How?”

“Easy. We just hang around out front and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Until she takes a break. Didn’t you notice—that younger gal loved it when you were giving it to her boss. She doesn’t like her.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Exactly. That’s why we just wait, bide our time for a little while. Sooner or later that grumpy old biddy’s gonna have to go to the bathroom.”

“And when she does—”

“Bada-bing bada-boom.”

“How long do you figure the lovely Ms. Gerard’s gonna be gone?” Savannah asked the young woman, whom they had learned was named Nancy.

“Forever. At least an hour and a half,” Nancy told them. “She’s supposed to only take a forty-five-minute break. But she’s having an affair with one of the security guards, and they always hook up in room 327. Sometimes she takes two or three hours. He must be doing something right and for long enough.”

For just a moment, it occurred to Savannah that she wouldn’t want Nancy as an employee. She spil ed the state secrets a bit too quickly and eagerly.

But at the moment, a degenerate gossiper was about the best friend she and Dirk could have.

Nancy leaned across the reception counter, her eyes aglow with curiosity. “What is it that you guys wanna know? I keep tabs on everything that goes on around here. I can probably help you.”

“Were you on duty the night Jason Tyrone died?”

Instantly, Nancy’s pretty face crumpled into a pout. “No. I got Jessica to take my shift for me, because I had a hot date. And I could just kick myself for it. I missed out on al the excitement!”

“Uh, yes, that is a crying shame,” Savannah told her, feigning great sympathy. “But mostly, we were wondering if there’s any security video of the lobby and hal ways from that night.”

Nancy brightened again. “Sure there is. And I know how to get it for you, too. I go into the office on my break sometimes and watch it. That’s how I know about Ms. Gerard and Leonard, the security guy. You want me to show you?” Dirk gave her one of his best smiles and a wink. “More than life itself, Nancy, my dear. Right now, it’s al I’m living for.” Thirty minutes later, as Savannah, Dirk, and Nancy sat in the hotel office and stared at a grainy black-and-white security video, Savannah was feeling far less celebratory than she had when they’d entered the room.

“That’s it?” Dirk asked. “Jason and his chauffeur walked through the front door like regular people and went straight to his room?”

“Apparently so.” Even the oh-so-helpful Nancy seemed a bit less perky than before.

Savannah sighed and turned away from the monitor and its boring images. “His chauffeur carries his bags upstairs for him, then leaves? And nobody else enters the room until Ryan and John arrive? Woo-hoo. We got this case wrapped up in a sparkly, silver package with a big, red bow.” Nancy stared at her for an awkwardly long time, then said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes, darlin’,” Savannah replied, trying to keep any hint of condescension out of her voice. It wasn’t easy. Usual y she automatical y defaulted to Condescending Tone whenever she found herself dealing with bimbos. “That was just a little sarcasm there—born of acute frustration. You know what I mean?”

Nancy nodded, but her eyes were frighteningly blank. “Yes, I think so. I get frustrated myself sometimes. I wouldn’t real y cal it ‘cute,’ but . . .” Savannah turned to Dirk. “Now that we’ve got our bunch of nothing, can we leave? Please? Pretty please with sugar on it?”

“Babe, we are go-o-one.”

When Savannah and Dirk returned home, they were surprised to find Tammy alone in the house. She was sitting at the desk, glued to the computer—her usual, pre-Waycross pastime.

“What happened?” Savannah asked, as she peeled off her linen jacket and her weapon holster. “Did you two lovebirds have a fight?” No sooner had the words left her mouth than Savannah reconsidered. It was ridiculous, almost unthinkable—the thought of her mel ow brother, Waycross, and Miss California Sunlight herself actual y having any kind of disagreement.

They were both the type of tender souls who went through life tripping over themselves in an attempt to harm neither man nor beast.

Unlike Savannah, who would never hurt a cat, a dog, a bunny rabbit, or even a seagul who was trying to snatch a hamburger out of her hand . . .

but felt little or no guilt at al when she found it necessary to smack a human being half-sil y. But only when she deemed it necessary, of course.

Tammy gazed at Savannah with open, guileless eyes. “What? Who? A fight? Us?”

“Never mind.” Savannah sighed and rol ed her eyes. “Whatever was I thinking?”

“Don’t tel me you and Brother Waycross never have a tiff,” Dirk said, as he walked in behind Savannah, dumped his bomber jacket on the sofa, and kicked off his sneakers.

Tammy shook her head. “Nope. Not one cross word. Not one difference of opinion. Not one misunderstanding. Never.” Savannah resisted the urge to gag on her own spit. As she watched Dirk meander into the kitchen, she lowered her voice and said, “You just wait until he leaves the toilet seat up or, worse yet, forgets to flush. You’l be ready to take him to the nearest dog pound and give him up for adoption.” It took only one second for Tammy to go from meek and mild to outraged and offended. “I would never do that. Not even to a real dog, let alone a wonderful person like Waycross.”

Savannah walked over to the desk, placed her hands on Tammy’s shoulders, and began a gentle massage. It was a gesture that usual y remedied any unpleasant situation. “Of course you wouldn’t, dear heart. It was a joke. A tasteless one, I admit. But please consider the source. I’m a newly married woman in that awkward period of adjustment. The time when—if it weren’t for the fact that you’re getting al the great sex you want for the first time in your life—you’d be running to the courthouse for divorce papers.” As Tammy melted beneath Savannah’s expert hands, she glanced toward the kitchen.

They could both hear Dirk puttering around the kitchen—opening drawers, rattling silverware, and running the sink faucet.

“Is it real y that bad?” Tammy asked.

“It’s Dirk.”

“Oh, right. Gotcha.”

A moment later, he stuck his head into the living room and said, “Hey, Van, I’m making me a bologna sandwich. You want one?”

“I told you when I bought that junk and stuck it in the refrigerator that you’d be the only one eating it. Believe me, I had way more than my share of bologna when I was growing up.”

“Then how about ham and cheese?” he asked, undeterred.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, she could see the love he had for her. This simple, unsophisticated man absolutely adored her. She wasn’t sure why. But she had the sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with her own sterling character than with his deep capacity for unconditional love.

She didn’t know what she had ever done to deserve his adoration. But at simple, everyday moments like this, she found she was infinitely grateful for it.

“I would love a ham and cheese sandwich,” she told him. “With a smear or two of Dijon mustard, if you don’t mind.” He smiled. “You got it. One ham and cheese with mustard for my beautiful bride. And what can I get for you, kiddo?” he asked Tammy.

“Since you offered . . . that cut-up mango in the little glass jar,” Tammy told him.

When he disappeared back into the kitchen, Tammy looked up at Savannah. Savannah shrugged and said, “Great sex, any time of the day or night, and room service. Pretty good, huh?”

“I’l say. Might even be worth having to lower the toilet seat yourself once in a while.” Savannah chuckled dryly. “Oh, the naïveté of youth. ‘Once in a while,’ she says, as though it were a rare occurrence.” Since Tammy appeared to be recovered from the whole dog pound conversation, Savannah ended the massage, pul ed up a chair, and sat down beside her assistant.

“While he’s slinging hash in the kitchen, maybe you and I can get some work done in here,” she said.

Tammy smiled and lifted one eyebrow. “We? We are going to get some work done on the computer? That would be you, as wel as me?”

“Al right, al right. You’re going to work, and I’m going to watch. Is that better?”

“No, but it’s more accurate.” She placed her hands on the keyboard and focused on the monitor. “Okay, let’s have it. What do you need to know?”

“The name of the livery company that transported Jason to the premiere. And also the name of the chauffeur who drove the limo.”

“No problem.”

“No problem? Real y?”

Tammy’s fingers were already flying over the keyboard, and images were popping up on the screen.

“I just watched some real y good footage of Jason arriving at the premiere,” she said. “I think I can get the plate number of the limo.” A few seconds later, there it was—the video of the star’s arrival. And just as Tammy had predicted, the image was sharp enough that they both could clearly see the letters and numbers on the license plate.

Tammy jotted them down on a bit of notepaper.

“And now,” she said, “al we have to do is run them through the DMV records.”

“California’s DMV records? The official state records?”

But the question was moot, because Tammy had already hacked into the government files and was entering the license number.

“How did you do that?” Savannah asked, more than a little surprised and a bit indignant.

Tammy snickered. “I shouldn’t reveal my sources.”

“Spit it out, kid, or I’l slap you neckid and hide your clothes.”

“Oh, you and your quaint Southern phrases. Okay, not because you threatened me, but since you’re my boss, I’l tel you. At the last SCPD

barbecue, Dirk introduced me to a nice lady who works in the records department at the station house. She slipped me her card and told me that if I ever wanted to know how to do it—hack the system, that is—she’d tel me how. And she did.”

“Wel now, wasn’t that just mighty nice of her?”

“It was. And in exchange, I taught her how to make homemade bath soap and organic, lavender-scented shampoo.” Savannah nodded. “Okay, as long as you’re reciprocating by sharing your wealth of knowledge—and don’t get caught by any authorities—I reckon you’re good to go.”

“And see here, it’s already paying off.” She pointed to the screen. “The limousine is owned by a company cal ed Diamond Transportation Services. It’s located in the val ey, the town of Rosado.”

With only a few clicks, Tammy brought up an image of a simple, modest house, draped with bougainvil ea, on a tree-lined street. “That’s it,” she said. “Right there. That house.”

“But it’s a . . . a house,” Savannah said. “That’s the whole business, right there?” Tammy produced an overhead, bird’s-eye view of the property. “They have an extralarge garage,” she observed. “But even at that, it looks like there would be room for only one limousine, at most.”

“Why would Jason Tyrone use a smal , obscure company like that?”

“That might be something you need to check out,” Tammy suggested. She did a bit more searching and found what she was looking for. “The company owner’s name is Leland Porter.”

At that moment Dirk stuck his head back into the living room. “Okay, girls. Your lunch awaits. Come to the table before it gets cold.” His announcement done, he ducked back inside.

“Ham and cheese sandwiches get cold?” Tammy asked. “And my mango was in the refrigerator. How much colder can it get?”

“I don’t know,” Savannah replied. “But I’ve learned one thing about Dirk—never get between him and his food bowl. You just might get bit.”

“You go ahead and have lunch with your husband,” Tammy told her. “I’m curious about this owner of Diamond Transportation Services. While you’re eating your ham and cheese sandwich I’m gonna find out how tal he is, if he’s ever been convicted of a heinous crime, and if he likes Dijon mustard on his ham and cheese.”

Savannah gave her friend a playful, loving smile. “What would I ever do without you, golden girl?” Tammy laughed. “I don’t know what you would do without me. Or what I would do without you. Let’s don’t ever find out.” Savannah stood, leaned over, and kissed her on the top of her glossy blonde hair. “I absolutely agree. Let’s never find out.” Chapter 15

The San Fernando Val ey was home to many charming, family-oriented towns with wel -maintained houses, careful y groomed yards, and bevies of children frolicking in public playgrounds.

The town of Rosado wasn’t one of those.

It wasn’t uncommon, when watching the evening news, to see stories of drive-by shootings, multiple murders, and drug and prostitution sweeps done by the cops in the vain attempt to improve its troubled neighborhoods.

On the surface, it didn’t look al that sinister. The tree-lined streets with their single-family houses seemed peaceful enough—in the daytime. And though the homes had been there a while, they had a certain Old World, Spanish charm. Much like Savannah’s house.

With one exception.

Savannah’s house didn’t have wrought-iron bars across the windows and doors.

However decorative those bars might be, with their graceful, swirling scrol work, they made a statement. The residents of Rosado lived in fear.

Some with only minor and occasional anxieties. Others in constant terror. But the wrought iron said it al . No one fastened metal bars across their doors and windows just to enhance their décor.

“Our buddy, the limo dude, ain’t exactly raking in the dough,” Dirk said, “if he lives in a place like this.”