Poisoned Tarts (5 page)

“You say they make fun of her. What exactly do they say when they do that?”

Pam twisted the tissue in her hand and fought back more tears. “Oh, the usual stuff that teenagers ridicule each other about, I guess—her clothes, her hair. Of course, none of that is up to
their
standards. But mostly they harass her about her weight.”

Savannah nodded. “Yes, sadly, that's an easy target today, what with all the emphasis on being abnormally thin.”

“Oh, and with these girls, it's an obsession. They're always dieting and purging to stay super thin, but my Daisy won't do that. I've raised her to love herself as she is. You know…a…a…”

“A well-rounded young lady,” Savannah supplied.

“Yes. Well-rounded. And she's very pretty just as she is.”

“I'm sure that's true. Do you have a picture of her with you?”

Pam reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out what appeared to be a man's wallet. She flipped it open and took out a much handled creased and faded picture.

Savannah took the photo and looked into the face that was so much like the woman before her. Daisy was just a softer, prettier version of her mom.

“You're right. She
is
pretty. A lovely girl. And she has very intelligent eyes. Smart and strong.”

Pam nodded. “She
is
smart. I mean, she's a little dumb where these girls here are concerned because she wants so much to be a part of their little club. But she's no fool. If they wanted to hurt her, they'd have to be very quick about it, plan it all out and surprise her. Otherwise she'd get the jump on
them
, not the other way around.”

“May I keep this picture? I promise I'll get it back to you later.”

The mother hesitated, then said, “Sure, if it'll help. I want to do anything that might help.”

“Can you tell me what she was wearing yesterday the last time you saw her?”

“The uniform,” she said with a sarcastic tone. “The stupid Skeleton Key Three uniform.”

“And that is?”

“Designer jeans and a pink T-shirt with a skeleton key in rhinestones on the front. Tiffy's favorite color is pink, so everything has to be pink. Daisy hated pink.”

Savannah never got used to asking the hard questions, but they had to be asked. “Pam, do you really feel that those girls would seriously harm your daughter? Deep down in your gut, do you believe they would?”

Pam gave it a few moments' thought, then she looked straight into Savannah's eyes, and Savannah could see her fear, raw, potent, and painful. She nodded. “Yes. Tiffy was so upset that Daisy got that part. I mean, really furious about it! And she isn't the kind of kid who takes disappointment well. I truly do think she might have hurt my daughter…or talked the other girls into harming her.”

Savannah put her hand on the woman's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, then a comforting pat. “We're going to do everything we can to find your Daisy,” she told her. “Detective Coulter is excellent at what he does, and I'm pretty good, too, if I do say so myself. We'll find her.”

“But when you do find her, do you think she'll be okay?”

Pam's eyes searched hers, and Savannah knew she was trying to read the future on her face. Victims' families always did that, and Savannah was miserably uncomfortable when they did it. She felt like a crystal ball that was trying to hide its dark, ugly mysteries.

Savannah fought the urge to look away. She also pushed down her thoughts:
The girl went missing yesterday afternoon. That was over twenty-four hours ago. And when we don't find them in the first twenty-four hours, it's not good. Sometimes, it's
really
not good.

“I think you're a strong woman, Pam O'Neil,” she said. “And from this picture, I can see that you and your daughter are very much alike. Not just your red hair, but the strength and courage I see in your eyes. As my Granny Reid would say, ‘Twasn't a very windy day when that apple fell from the tree.'”

“What?”

“Never mind. Granny has a lot of sayings. Anyway, if Daisy is anything like her mom, and I suspect she is, I'd say that she'll take care of herself, do whatever she needs to do to protect herself, her life, until we can find her. Try hard not to worry yourself sick.”

Pam sighed. “Easier said than done.”

“Oh, I'm sure it is. But meanwhile, let's go get you something to eat.”

“Where? Here?”

“A place this big has to have a kitchen somewhere—or even two or three kitchens—and plenty of food. At least a fruit bowl that we can raid.”

“Andrew Dante isn't going to give me permission to eat anything of his. He's always looked down on me, and after what I just said to him, I'm sure he hates me.”

“Nope. He probably wouldn't offer you even an apple or a banana. And that's exactly why we're not going to ask him. We're just going to nab you something and run.”

“Grab food and run with it?”

“Sure. Hey, I was one of
nine
kids, raised in a house where there was never an overabundance of anything but love. Believe you me…I know how it's done!”

A
fter Savannah had raided Andrew Dante's kitchen counter fruit bowl and had refueled Pam O'Neil and sent her on her way, she decided to take an unauthorized tour of the mansion's ground floor.

Somewhere off to her left, perhaps in a library or study, she could hear Dirk still questioning Dante, and judging by both men's tones, the interview wasn't going well. Dirk sounded cranky, and Dante testy. She decided that since the conversation could come to an abrupt end at any moment, she'd better get her snooping done ASAP.

From the kitchen, she passed through an arched doorway and into a delightful breakfast area. The room was octagonal, with windows reaching from waist high to the conical ceiling. Green plants of all types hung in long, twisting vines from baskets suspended from the ceiling, and Savannah couldn't help but pause for a moment and think how lovely it would be to sip a morning cup of coffee and read the paper in a room like this.

From the windows, she could see a lush tropical garden that, like the front of the mansion, was artistically illuminated with architectural lights of gold, blue, and green.

And in the midst of that garden, she saw movement among the palmettos, banana trees, bird-of-paradise, and bougainvillea. Somebody—or several somebodies—was out there milling about.

After one quick glance over her shoulder, Savannah opened a small door that led from the breakfast room to a patio and walked outside.

The moment she did, she heard raucous laughter coming from the garden and recognized the sound instantly—it was a gaggle of female teenagers.

Having been raised in a family with two boys and seven girls, Savannah was all too familiar with the sound of adolescent females who were up to no good.

Quietly, on rubber-soled loafers, she crept toward the center of the garden, closer to the voices. In her mind, she wasn't exactly sneaking up on them; she just wasn't going to announce her presence right away.

She knew there was a fine line between being plain old nosy and possessing a healthy curiosity. And it didn't bother her one bit to skip back and forth from one side of that line to the other.

She believed that a private investigator who wasn't gifted with an inquisitive nose wasn't worth taking behind the barn and shooting.

That was one of her most cherished mottos, and she lived by it. It was right up there with, “Don't flip on a light switch with wet hands or climb out on the roof to adjust the TV antenna during a Georgia thunderstorm.”

As she wound her way down a stone path through the thick, mature plant growth, she saw that there were, indeed, three young females ahead of her. They were lounging around an Oriental fish pond on chaises like any other trio of teenagers, hanging out with friends, chatting and laughing, enjoying each other's company.

Except that as she drew closer, Savannah could hear a tone in their voices that didn't sound all that friendly. Although she could only catch a word, then a phrase here and there, their conversation didn't seem to be lighthearted chitchat about boys or the latest fashion trends.

“…she'll miss her big shoot…boo hoo…”

“Eh…won't embarrass herself…”

“I couldn't believe it was going to happen anyway.”

“Tiff, you
so
should have…way better…just disgusting!”

“…doesn't matter now…she…”

“Who did she think she was…? If my dad…nothing. If I hadn't felt sorry for her, she never would have even…”

Savannah strained to hear, but bits and pieces were all she could catch, and as she took a few steps closer, she heard one of them say, “Sh-h-h, somebody's out there.”

“Where?”

“Over there…coming this way.”

Rather than waiting to be “discovered” snooping among the banana plants, Savannah stepped into the clearing around the pond.

“Good evening, ladies,” she said brightly. “I was hoping I'd find you back here somewhere.”

One of the girls, a thin gal with long, blond hair, jumped up from one of the chaises and rushed toward Savannah. Even with only the dim glow of the property's accent lights to see, Savannah knew it was the girl whose picture hung over the fireplace.

Savannah also recognized her face from the grocery store magazine displays. This was the tabloid queen Tiffany Dante in all of her Skeleton Key rail-thin glory.

The first thing that struck Savannah was how petite the girl was. Somehow, Savannah had imagined her to be much taller. Maybe it was the perpetual high-high heels that she wore. Even now, dressed casually in pink silk pajama bottoms and a lacy camisole with rhinestones across the chest that proclaimed her to be, “HOT! HOT! HOT!,” she was wearing ankle strap sandals with four-inch heels.

Her heels clicked out a fast staccato on the stone walkway as the young woman hurried up to Savannah with an ill-tempered frown on her face. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And why were you spying on us?”

“Spying? Who was spying? I was just coming out here to talk to you. You're Tiffany Dante, right?”

The girl rolled her eyes and gave Savannah an indignant, “Well, yeah…duh.”

Savannah chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” Savannah said evenly. “I just didn't realize that people still say, ‘Duh.' That's all.” She held out her hand to the girl. “My name is Savannah Reid. I came with Detective Sergeant Coulter. He's a San Carmelita police officer. We're investigating the disappearance of one of your friends, Daisy O'Neil.”

Tiffany Dante did not shake Savannah's hand. Instead, she gave her a quick once-over, head to toe, then lifted her nose slightly as though she had just sniffed something unpleasant.

Savannah withdrew her hand and resisted the urge to lift her middle finger in salute to the disrespectful girl.

Granny Reid wouldn't have approved.

Tiffy glanced over her shoulder at her friends, a pretty brunette and an almond-eyed beauty with waist-long black hair.

“Daisy…disappeared?” Tiffy said. “I wouldn't say she's ‘disappeared.' Would you?” she asked the girls. They simply shrugged, shook their heads.

Turning back to Savannah, she said coyly, “I mean, Daisy probably just decided to take off for a week or two and not mention it to her mom. We do that kind of thing all the time. Don't we?” Again, she turned to her friends for some sort of affirmation.

“Yeah,” said the brunette. She stood and walked over to Savannah and Tiffy. Savannah noticed that she was wearing the same exact pajamas as Tiffy, only in bright blue. And according to the rhinestone embellishment, she was equally, “HOT! HOT! HOT!”

The girl continued in the same cocky tone as her blond friend. “We take off all the time, like to South Beach or Cancun or Aspen, you know, to party a little when we're really stressed out about something. And Daisy's a bit weird. She does crazy stuff sometimes. I don't think anything…like…
bad
…has happened to her.”

The brunette shot Tiffy a quick glance, as though looking for her approval, and smiled when the blonde gave her a slight nod.

“And you are…?” Savannah asked, thinking that this girl couldn't be a day over sixteen.

Savannah remembered reading something about Tiffy's garish, outlandish high school graduation party last year. But this teen looked more like a sophomore at most.

And Savannah remembered that this girl had some sort of silly name, too. She just couldn't recall what it was. Kitty? Puppy? Chickie-pooh?

“I'm Bunny Greenaway,” she said. “I'm a friend of Tiffy's. We're the Skeleton Key Three. The three of us, that is. You've probably heard of us. We're like…famous, you know.”

Savannah smiled and nodded. “Of course, I've heard of you. Anybody who buys groceries knows about you three. How very exciting for you to be so well-known, and at such a young age.” She mentally added,
And for having done absolutely nothing but starve yourselves to death and wear designer clothing and spend your parents' money with wild, vulgar abandon.

Tiffy shrugged and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “It's not that great, really. You have to put up with all the paparazzi all the time. I mean, we can't go anywhere or do anything without getting our pictures taken. Especially
me
. A lot of people probably think it's fun being me, but it's really a pain in the ass sometimes, having to look good everywhere you go. It's actually quite a lot of work and responsibility.”

Savannah wondered if this young woman would ever grow up and realize how very transparent her conceit was to others and learn to at least tone it down a bit.

Something told her that Tiffy's strong sense of herself and her indispensability to the world at large was firmly in place and was going to remain so throughout her life.

Savannah also decided that someone had done Tiffany Dante a terrible injustice, teaching her that she was extraordinarily valuable while neglecting to mention that every other being on God's green earth was equally precious.

Savannah couldn't help feeling sorry for her. But she felt a lot sorrier for any husband or children this girl might have down the road.

Savannah looked beyond Tiffy and Bunny to the almond-eyed, black-haired girl who remained seated on a chaise, staring down at her own high-heeled sandals. Her silk pajamas and lace camisole were bright yellow, and her rhinestones declared her, “GORGEOUS!”

Savannah had to agree. Of the three of them, this girl was by far the prettiest. Her exotic looks made Savannah wonder if maybe she had both Asian and African ancestors. Her skin was an exquisite golden tan, her lips full and sensuous, her eyes tilted upward at the edges, giving her an almost feline beauty. She appeared to be around the same age as Tiffy—maybe eighteen or nineteen.

Savannah walked over to her. “And you are…?” she asked, unable to remember what this third Key member was named. Biffy? Dippy? Sneezy or Goofy?

“Kiley Wallace,” she said softly. “But everyone calls me Kiki.”

The girl glanced up at Savannah but just as quickly, looked away. In spite of her reluctance to make eye contact, she didn't strike Savannah as a particularly shy girl, which made Savannah wonder if perhaps she had something to hide. Something she wasn't proud of?

Savannah decided she simply must have some serious private time with Kiki Wallace.

Experience had taught her that if she could find one person in a group who had a tender conscience, they could be the key to solving a case.

“And how about you, Kiki?” Savannah asked. “Is Daisy a friend of yours, too?”

Kiki replied, but in a voice so low that Savannah couldn't hear her.

“I'm sorry. I didn't catch that.”

“I said, ‘Yes, Daisy is my friend.'”

“And do
you
think that she would have just gone off, disappeared without telling anybody—her mother, any of you girls—where she'd gone?”

Kiki shot a questioning look over at Tiffy, then shrugged her thin shoulders. “I don't know. Maybe. Yeah, I guess so,” she said.

“Would you do that? Would you just take off somewhere without telling anybody?” Savannah asked her.

“I don't know. I might.”

Kiki looked like she was about to start crying.
Yes
, Savannah decided.
I'm definitely going to have to get Kiki here alone. Maybe hold her upside down by her high heels and see what I can shake out of her.

Tiffy hurried over to them and stood between Savannah and Kiki. “Do you have, like, a warrant or something? My dad doesn't usually let cops on his property unless they have a warrant or something.”

“No, I don't have a warrant…or something. I don't need one. I'm not even a police officer.”

“Then what are you doing on our property?”

“I was invited.” Savannah didn't feel the need to mention it was the maid who had let them in. “I'm sure everyone, including your father, is concerned about Daisy's disappearance and would be relieved if we could find her safe and sound. I'm sure you would like that, too, right?”

Tiffy locked eyes with Savannah and gave her what, no doubt, was intended to be an intimidating glare. But since in the course of Savannah's career, she had been glared at by hardcore street thugs, members of organized crime, a serial killer, and a rabid pit bull, she didn't scare easily.

In fact, she decided to get a little rough with Tiff.

“I understand that Daisy came over here yesterday afternoon,” she said with all the steadfast authority of a practiced liar. “In fact, I hear that you girls were the last people to see her alive.”

“We were not! No, we weren't! I mean,” Tiffy stammered, “we couldn't have been the
last
ones to see her…what do you mean ‘
alive'
? She's not dead!”