Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal by G. A. McKevett Page B

the empty yard. “I thought you were interviewing the gardener or somebody like that out here.”
    “I was. You missed out. He was…well…I didn’t exactly notice, being a guy and all, but you would have thought he was gorgeous.”
    “Really? I am sorry I missed him.” She waggled one eyebrow. “Maybe he’ll just have to be interviewed all over again.”
    “Oh, I’m sure you’ll work him over sooner or later.”
    “Anything out of him?”
    “Naw, says he hardly knew the vic. Hasn’t been working here long—just a couple of months.”
    “Did you get anything more from Dona this morning?”
    “Get anything? Hell, I didn’t even see her. She was gone before I even got here at eight o’clock, some sort of meeting in Hollywood.”
    “Yes, that’s what Mary Jo told me.”
    Dirk made a face. “There’s a whack-job for you. Have you read what they say about her?”
    “What who says?”
    “Magazines. You know…in the grocery store.”
    “You buy that junk? You actually subsidize an industry that destroys people’s lives by printing pure lies and—”
    “Eh, come on, Van. You know me better than that!” She was surprised that he looked so indignant, so genuinely offended. Until he added, “I don’t buy them. I pick them out of my neighbors’ garbage cans there at the trailer park.”
    “You take them out of the garbage? With garbage still on them? And handle them, and take them into your home?”
    He shrugged. “Hey, if you lay them out in the sun for a while, the wet coffee grounds dry and you can just brush them off. Good as new.”
    Savannah rolled her eyes. “Well, duh…of course. What was I thinking?” She glanced around to see if they were still alone, then leaned closer to him. “Well? What do they say?”
    “Oh! Now she wants to know! Now she wants to hear all the evil lies and gossip. Well, not from this guy! I don’t want to be accused of—”
    “Oh, shut up and dish the dirt.”
    “Okay. They say Mary Jo’s a no-talent loser who’s been riding Dona’s coattails for years, working her with a big guilt trip because Dona made it big and she didn’t.”
    Savannah sniffed. “Big deal. I figured that out after talking to her for two minutes.”
    “Well, so did I . Even airhead Tammy could see that one.”
    “Speaking of Tammy, and don’t call her names, I’ve got to think of an excuse to get her over here. She’s having a conniption sitting there at home, missing all the fun. Especially now that some of my relatives have arrived.”
    “Oh, no! Which ones?”
    “Jesup.”
    “The wannabe vampire queen, mistress of darkness?”
    “Yeah, and her husband of a few hours. A creepo named Milton Pillsbury, thirty-three years old, from Vegas, birth date one-thirteen. Run him for me, would you?”
    Dirk laughed. “Come on. How bad can a guy be who’s named Milton Pillsbury?”
    “Alias, Bleak Manifest.”
    He nodded. “Vegas, one-thirteen, you say. Got it.” He pulled a small notepad from the inside pocket of his bomber jacket and wrote it down. “By the way,” he said, “if you’re really serious about getting the squirt over here, do it right away. I think she could probably weasel more out of that gardener guy than you or I could. Especially if she’s wearing that cute little bluejean minskirt of hers.”
    Savannah grinned, making a mental note to tell Tammy that Dirk had noticed she looked cute in her denim skirt, whether he would ever deign to tell her so or not. “Oh, you think he’s the sort of guy who would enjoy the sight of Tammy in her mini?”
    “He’s breathin’, ain’t he?”
    Savannah had done a cursory exam of the house’s exterior, checking windows that were surrounded by thick shrubbery, which could provide coverage for an intruder, and upstairs windows that were easily accessed by climbing trees or lattice trellises. And before she went inside to continue the examination, she decided to give Tammy a call on her cell phone.
    She sat down on one of