Читать книгу Murder A'la Mode - G. A. McKevett - Страница 9

After spending only three hours in the “Middle Ages,” Savannah had already reached a conclusion: The good old days weren’t all they were cracked up to be. In fact, the romantic era of knights and ladies pretty much stunk.

Standing in her costume, an ensemble that she wouldn’t wear to a dog fight—or, as the case might be, a cat fight—she cursed the man who invented laced bodices. No woman would have dreamed up such a torture device; she was certain of that.

When the make-up/wardrobe woman, a cute young thing named Kit Eckert, had laced her into it, Savannah had complained bitterly, only to be told that she’d better get used to it. She’d be wearing a medieval costume for the next two weeks. Then Kit had put a silly-looking hair net thing that she’d called a snood on the back of Savannah’s head and slapped an obscene amount of make-up on her face before sending her on her merry way.

Many times, Savannah had fantasized about meeting Lance Roman. But in none of those erotic scenarios had she been looking like a gothic hooker with a fishnet on her head.

The only upside to the outfit was the cleavage. Looking down at her uplifted and overflowing bosom, she had to admit that the costume made the most of her womanly charms. And Tess’s words, “Lance will like you,” kept running through her mind, making the need to breathe seem a little less important. What sacrifice for love? she kept telling herself. Not to mention a diamond tiara.

But that was before she had been told to go stand in the courtyard and wait. That was before she had seen the horse that Ryan had led out of the stable—a horse as tall as a building with a stupid contraption called a sidesaddle on its broad back. And Ryan was holding its bridle and telling Savannah she was supposed to climb aboard.

“Yeah, right,” she whispered, trying to avoid having her words picked up by the tiny microphone they had clipped to the inside of her blouse. “Like there’s a chance I’m going to get on that beast. No way.”

She fought the urge to glance right, toward the big, shaggy guy who had a camera trained on her. Tess had warned her a dozen times that she wasn’t to look at the camera. She had to pretend that woolly Leonard with the mop of long, curly hair and the scraggly beard wasn’t even there, pointing a lens at her.

Also, she had been told to ignore Pete the soundman, who could appear at any minute carrying a long boom with a fuzzy “sock” on the end of it. Even if the wind sock was practically hitting her on the head or if Pete was shoving it up her nose, she was supposed to pretend it didn’t exist.

Pasting a phony smile on her face, she leaned closer to Ryan and whispered, “I can’t do it. I’m afraid…I mean…I’m not big on horses. One bit a plug out of me when I was a kid.”

Ryan smiled down at her, reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. His expression was that of a supportive, caring, older brother. But it wasn’t nearly enough to convince her to start playing Annie Oakley at her age.

“John told Tess you could ride,” he said. “You can’t?”

“Sh-h-h-h,” she said, nodding toward the microphone clipped to his tunic front.

“They aren’t recording us,” he told her. “This scene is just visual. They’ll play some schmaltzy music in the background when and if they show it.”

“How’s it going over there?” Tess shouted across the courtyard. She was standing near the front door of the keep, waiting for Savannah to ride over to her.

“Fine,” Ryan called back. “I just have to adjust the saddle.” He pretended to busy himself with a strap beneath the horse’s belly.

“No, I can’t ride,” she said, nearly choking on the admission.

“Have you ever been on a horse?”

Ever been on a horse? Her mind flashed back to a summer day back in Georgia when she was thirteen. Trying to impress a boy she liked, she had attempted to ride his father’s farm horse. After two unsuccessful attempts to launch herself onto the enormous animal’s back, she had given it a mighty third effort. She had sailed over the horse and promptly fallen off the other side. And then the horse had reached around and bitten her on the rear end.

But…for half a second, she had technically been on the horse.

“Of course I’ve been on a horse,” she replied with what she hoped was just the right touch of righteous indignation. “I just don’t particularly like riding them. They smell and attract flies.”

“You’ll be fine,” Ryan said, again flashing her a sweet, big-brother smile. “I’ll give you a boost up onto the saddle, and you’ll be on your way over there to meet Lance.”

Savannah looked across the courtyard at the keep where Tess, Mary, and John waited. The directions had been simple enough. “Get on the horse, ride straight toward us and wait on your horse. Lance will ride through the gate and across the courtyard to greet you.”

Only one ride on a flea-bitten mule stands between you and your prince, she told herself. Then she took another look at the exquisite black horse in front of her, odor free, fly-less, and dignified. She chided herself for her cowardice. Since when did you sprout wings and start clucking, Savannah girl? asked a voice in her head that sounded a lot like her Granny Reid’s. Get up on that horse before you’re a minute older!

“Let’s do it,” she told Ryan. “Daylight’s a’burnin’.”

Ryan placed his hands on her waist, and much more smoothly than she had expected, lifted her onto the horse. From her seat, which felt at least ten stories aboveground, she said, “I can’t tell you how stupid it feels to be sitting sideways on a horse.”

“But that’s the way fair ladies sat in days of yore,” Ryan told her.

“Yeah, well, if straddle was good enough for Dale Evans, it should be okay for me. I’m afraid I’m going to slide off.”

“I’ll walk beside you, and if you do, I’ll catch you.”

At any other time, Savannah might have been tempted to fall off intentionally, just for the chance to land in Ryan’s arms. But the prospect of meeting Lance Roman was even more enticing. Realizing that those were her two worst possible scenarios, she decided she might just be the luckiest woman on earth, sidesaddle or not.

Her only scare was when the horse first began to move, but before she knew it, she was across the courtyard and standing near Tess, who was hidden from the camera’s view behind a hedge.

“That’s it,” Tess was saying. “Just wait right there. Leonard—the gate! Lance should be coming through it right about…now!”

The cameraman and everyone else turned toward the castle wall’s arched gateway. Anticipation built by the second, until Savannah felt as though she would pass out cold, then and there. Then she realized she wasn’t breathing, and she knew it wasn’t because of the bodice.

She was about to see him. Lance Roman himself. And if she didn’t stop shaking she was going to fall off the horse and onto her face. And having that happen twice in a lifetime—in front of a male she was in lust with—would simply be more than a body could bear. She’d wind up shopping on eBay for a hara-kiri knife.

Fortunately, the suspense was quickly broken by the sound of a galloping horse, coming toward the castle entrance. She heard the thundering of its hooves on the wooden drawbridge, then suddenly, a white horse and its rider burst through the gate and into the courtyard.

It was Lance all right, dressed in blue and black medieval garb, racing toward her, his dark hair streaming out behind him, wearing thigh-high leather boots, leggings that hugged his famous muscular thighs, a blue suede doublet that accented his broad shoulders and narrow waist, a white cavalier’s shirt that was open just enough to reveal a sprinkling of hair on a deeply tanned chest. He was the living embodiment of Savannah’s favorite highwayman fantasy. And he was riding straight to her.

The next few minutes were a hazy pink blur for Savannah as he pulled his horse to a halt beside hers and jumped down from his mount. In a couple of strides, he was standing beneath her, looking up at her with the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

“Lady Savannah,” he said, extending his hands to her, “what a pleasure to meet you. May I help you down from your horse?”

“Ye-es, please,” she managed to croak.

She was going to place her hands in his, but he reached for her waist instead, and a moment later she was on the ground in front of him, her hands on his broad shoulders, gazing up into those amazing eyes.

He smiled at her, and she felt herself melting into a puddle at his feet. “You’re just as lovely as they said,” he told her. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

Know me? she thought. Know me intimately? Know me in the biblical sense of the word? Her eyes traveled over his face, taking in the high cheekbones, the patrician nose, the strong jaw and chin line that would have been perfect for a shaving commercial. Oh, yes…know me, darlin’! Know me good!

But Granny Reid had raised her to be a lady…or at least to act like one when being filmed for a television show, so she batted her eyelashes, smiled demurely and said, “Why, kind sir, it will be my pleasure, I’m sure.”

He offered her his arm. “Would you join me this evening at my banqueting table?”

“I would be delighted.” She laced her arm through his, and together they strolled through the front door of the keep.

As they walked together she momentarily forgot everyone and everything around her: grungy Leonard with his camera in her face, Pete the soundman with his fuzzy microphone over her shoulder, even Tess and Mary…they all faded into oblivion as she savored the touch of her hand on his arm, the warmth that radiated through his shirt, the hard, rounded muscles just below the cloth.

And the way he looked down at her, his sapphire eyes aglow, locked with hers as though they were the only two people in the wor—

“Cut!” Tess yelled. “That should do it.”

Do it? Do what? What do you mean, “Cut”? Savannah thought.

“Let’s go get the other girls. We’ve got a lot to do this afternoon before we lose the light,” Tess said, motioning to Lance.

Other girls? What other girls? He was looking at me like I was the only woman on earth.

Instantly, Lance dropped her arm and walked away from her without a backward glance, let alone a lovelorn gaze.

The spell had been so abruptly broken that Savannah felt a bit like a princess who had been changed into a frog. And Tess was the wicked fairy godmother who had given her warts.

“Well, if that ain’t a fine how-do-you-do,” she muttered.

She sensed someone standing behind her and turned to see Mary Branigan watching her, a sympathetic look on her face. “You did that well,” she said, “for someone without acting experience.”

“Who was acting?” Savannah said. “I mean, he’s so gorgeous.”

Mary looked over Savannah’s shoulder at the retreating figure and sighed. “How true! Every woman between the ages of eight and eighty must fall in love with Lance at first glance,” she said dreamily. Then she shook her head as though coming out of a trance. “You’d better go upstairs and get some rest while you can. It’s going to be a long, long night for all of us.”

“No more horseback riding, I hope.”

Mary shook her head. “No. Tonight’s the royal banquet.”

Savannah brightened at the thought of food. “A medieval feast? Warm, honeyed mead, roasted venison, and all that?”

“Well…” Mary gave her a quick, sideways glance that didn’t inspire confidence. “I don’t know how much eating and drinking anybody will actually do, but that’s the impression we’re supposed to give…for the camera, that is. And you’ll get to meet the other girls.”

“Ah, yes, my competition.” Savannah looked around and leaned closer to her. “What do you think of them?”

For just a second, Savannah was certain she saw a flicker of disgust cross Mary’s face, but it disappeared just as quickly. The young woman shrugged her thin shoulders. “They’re okay, I guess. A diverse group. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see tonight. Like I said, you’d better get some rest. Knowing Tess and Alex, they’ll work our butts off this evening.”

Work? Savannah thought as she climbed the stairs to the third story, where her assigned bedroom was located. Feasting, drinking, making merry, and looking at Lance Roman’s face. How much work can that be?

“I’ve gotta tell you,” Savannah whispered to her nearest competitor, a petite redhead named Brandy, “I don’t recall when I’ve been so aggravated, tired and hungry.”

Brandy sat to Savannah’s right, and a pretty Asian woman named Leila sat to her left at the banqueting table—a table where not a lot of banqueting had been going on. At least, not nearly enough to suit Savannah, who hadn’t had a decent meal since breakfast, and that seemed like years ago.

Platters of bread, cheese, and all sorts of fruit had been placed before her, the other four ladies who were vying for Lance Roman’s attention, and the lord of the manor himself. Ryan, John, and Mary, dressed in medieval garb, had also poured great mugs of golden and dark red liquids that looked like rich ale and wine and placed a suckling pig with an apple in its mouth in the middle of the table.

While Savannah was a bit turned off to the head—never having been fond of letting her food watch her while she ate it—she was ready to devour the wee-wee piggy, even if he was still oinking.

But then she had realized that all the “food” was fake, plastic stuff, like one might see displayed in the window of a really bad deli, which explained why the sumptuous fare had no aroma, sumptuous or otherwise.

Even the beverages were nothing more than kiddy fruit punches of the powdered variety.

“I know what you mean,” Leila said, tugging at the bottom edge of her laced bodice. “I’m tired of doing this same old scene over and over again, and I’m sick to death of this stupid corset thing!”

From the other side of the room, Pete Woznick, the soundman, motioned to them, then laid his finger across his lips. Apparently, the sensitive microphones clipped to the necklines of their blouses were picking up their whispers. He looked as irritated as Savannah felt.

So much for a romantic dinner with Lance Roman. He sat at the opposite end of the table, flanked by a blond sexpot called Roxy Strauss to his right and a lean black beauty named Carisa Middleton to his left. Both women had dominated his attention and the conversation since the taping began. Savannah had heard far more about Roxy’s lingerie modeling career and Carisa’s television commercial auditions than she would ever want to know.

Tess Jarvis had been standing on the sidelines for a change, allowing her husband to run the show. A stout, bald fellow in a gaudy tropical shirt and baggy Bermuda shorts, Alexander Jarvis looked at least ten years older than his wife. But he was as energetic and nervous as she. His voice was high and nasal with a whining quality that gave Savannah the jitters.

“Cut, cut, cut!” he shouted, waving his arms wildly. “This isn’t anything we can use—a total waste of tape. Start over. And this time could we have some scintillating conversation, please? I’m not seeing any chemistry here, Lance. Wake up, man. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on us.”

Tess stepped forward and added her bit. “Roxy, enough about the underwear modeling already. Carisa, deodorant commercials are not the stuff great TV is made of, okay?”

Roxy’s lower lip stuck out in a pout, and she turned to Alex with a plaintive expression that clearly asked him to intervene. He pretended not to see, but Tess shot her a hateful look so intense that Savannah was startled. Apparently, there was bad blood between the two women.

Carisa bristled, too, and said, “Yeah, well, you try to think of something cutesy to say when you’ve been at this for five hours and haven’t had anything to eat all day. And these stupid costumes suck! Nobody told us we’d have to wear these tight girdles that—”

“Corsets,” Roxy interjected. “They’re corsets. Don’t you actresses know anything?”

“Actually, they’re bodices,” Kit, the make-up and wardrobe woman, said from her position behind the cameraman. “And—”

“I don’t care what they’re called!” Carisa shouted. “I’m not going to wear this thing for two weeks. It’s so damned tight it’s choking me.”

“Too bad it’s not around your neck,” Roxy muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Savannah gouged Brandy and Leila in the ribs. “Okay, girls, that’s our cue. Enough of this crap already. Come on.”

She stood, pulling Brandy out of her chair, then hurried around the table to the other side where Lance sat. With not-so-gentle pressure, she placed one hand around Roxy’s upper arm and pulled her to her feet. “You’re outta here,” she told her. “Our turn. Same with you, Carina or Catrisa or whatever your name is. You’ve been hogging the spotlight long enough. Brandy, sit down there in her place. Leila, scootch closer over here, and let’s get this show on the road.”

Other than a couple of soft gasps, nobody objected. Even Carisa and Roxy cooperated, surrendering their chairs and retreating to the other end of the table.

Savannah patted her hair, adjusted her bodice and its contents for the maximum effect, licked her lips and turned to the cameraman. “Let her roll, Leonard.”

Leonard looked at Tess and Alex; they nodded. The camera started to purr.

Savannah scooted her chair next to Lance’s and leaned against him, making sure he had an unobstructed view of her décolletage. Placing one hand on his sleeve, she ran her fingertips over his world-famous biceps and said in a hushed, breathy voice, “So, Lance…I have a lot of fantasies about you, but my favorite is from Pirate of Wolf Cove…that steamy scene in the lighthouse where you…ah…pillage the heroine’s treasure chest.”

Lance’s blue eyes widened, then he gave her a suggestive smile.

Our cover boy’s wide awake now, she thought a moment later when she glanced down at his lap.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Alex and Tess Jarvis cheer up instantly. Even Kit and Pete the soundman looked acutely interested.

So far, so good. She trailed her hand up to Lance’s throat, where the deep vee of his shirt revealed a sprinkling of dark chest hair. “Tell me, darlin’,” she breathed, “what’s your favorite fantasy?”

When Savannah woke at one-thirty in the morning, she wasn’t sure where she was. The canopy hanging over the bed confused her, as did the unfamiliar shadows cast by the moonlight shining through a stained glass window to her left. The mattress beneath her felt like wooden planking compared to her cushy feather bed at home—courtesy of Granny Reid. And the pillow under her head was twice the size of her usual one, causing a major knot in her neck muscles.

But those were only small discomforts compared to the major rumblings and grumblings of her near-empty stomach. Although she was known for her larger-than-life appetite, she couldn’t recall when she had been so ravenously hungry.

I wonder if there’s the makings of a bologna sandwich in that kitchen downstairs, she thought. Or maybe a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich, some macaroni and cheese, and a big bowl of ice cream and some chocolate chip cookies.

Just a little something to take the edge off her hunger—that was all she asked.

The two measly pizzas that Tess’s assistant had ordered earlier in the evening hadn’t gone far with the famished girls and crew. One and a half slices of a thin-crust pepperoni pie wasn’t Savannah’s idea of a meal…not unless it was chased by a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.

She threw back the lace-trimmed sheet and the pink satin duvet and got out of bed. After fishing around in the dark for her slippers, she stubbed her toe on an accent table and decided to turn on a light. It took her a while to remember that she hadn’t yet unpacked her robe. Pulling it out of her suitcase, she again congratulated herself for having at least a few nice pieces of sleepwear.

Although she operated on a cotton and rayon budget, she had treated herself to a few silk gowns and matching robes. This set was a particularly becoming shade of sapphire, a rich brocade that set off her dark hair and accented her blue eyes.

She didn’t really think she would happen to see Lance Roman during this next two weeks when she was dressed in her nightclothes, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Slipping the robe on over her gown, she tied the sash with its satin fringed end and glanced at her reflection in the dresser mirror.

“You look fine, darlin’,” she told the woman looking back at her with soft eyes and hair that was just bed-tousled enough to be moderately sexy. “Yep, just fine and dandy. That’s you!”

Her morale bolstered, but her stomach still empty, she left the bedroom.

Although she generally had a keen sense of direction, Savannah wandered around the dark halls of the keep’s third floor quite a while before she finally located the staircase that led to the lower levels. And, although she didn’t usually spook easily, she had to keep a tight rein on her imagination as she passed the castle’s creepy props. A suit of armor made her jump as she hurried by it on the stair landing, and a panther’s skin stretched on the wall of the second set of stairs gave her the shivers.

“I wouldn’t want to try to shove a pill between your teeth,” she told the trophy as she stared at the bared yellow fangs and golden taxidermy eyes.

As well as its eccentric décor, the keep had a thick, heavy silence about it that was broken only by the occasional creak of Savannah’s footsteps on the wooden stairs and the far-off yelping of some coyotes in the distant hills.

But that was fine with Savannah, who wanted complete solitude on this little excursion. If she could just find her way to the kitchen, score a triple-decker sandwich and a dessert of some sort, and return to her room undetected, she would be a happy wench, indeed. The last thing she needed right now was to run into one of those other—

“Roxy!” she said as she reached the bottom of the staircase and nearly ran headlong into the blonde, who was headed up, an apple in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

Like Savannah, Roxy was in her nightclothes, but as Savannah might have expected of a professional lingerie model, her gown and robe were a cut above anything in Savannah’s wardrobe. Upon closer inspection of Roxy’s plunging neckline, Savannah decided that the black silk gown with its strategically placed lace inserts was definitely a few cuts below anything she would wear…even on a hooker stakeout.

For a moment Roxy looked flustered to be running into anyone, even a bit guilty as she stammered out an explanation. “I, um, was still a little hungry, and I’m on this ten-day, apple-and-water-only diet and didn’t eat any of the pizza tonight and….”

Savannah shook her head in disgust. “Shoot, girl, you don’t have to apologize to me for what you eat. If you want an apple, have one. But you need a big hunk of cheese and a glass of wine to go with it, and maybe a handful of cashews, too.”

Roxy’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped, as though she had just heard a string of blasphemy. “Why…why…no! I couldn’t. I…oh….” Then Roxy took a long look up and down Savannah’s figure and a nasty smirk appeared on her face. “But, I guess you could,” she said, “and do…quite often.”

Savannah gave her a too-sweet smile in return. “I do,” she said, “and I highly recommend it. How do you think I got this divine cleavage? It sure wasn’t from eating apples and drinking water. I have better things to do than spend my life in a bathroom.”

Leaving Roxy to ponder the possible disadvantages of her apple diet, Savannah made her way through the dark maze of the downstairs hallways to the back of the building, where she had caught a glimpse of a kitchen during their brief tour.

As she approached the kitchen’s open door, she heard the murmur of lowered voices coming from inside. And her heart skipped a beat as she got closer because, even though she couldn’t hear their distinct words, she recognized the male voice as his.

Apparently Lance himself couldn’t sleep tonight either.

When she entered the room, she saw Lance and Mary Branigan sitting on high stools at the center island. A large stained glass lamp shade, suspended over the marble-topped counter, lit Lance’s dark hair and bronzed skin, giving him an aura that was almost other-worldly. Savannah had to fight the urge to just stop dead in her tracks and stare at him for an hour or two.

The fact that he was wearing a simple gray UCLA sweatshirt and a pair of well-worn jeans did nothing to detract from his appeal. In fact, Savannah considered it all the more amazing that this Grecian god of gorgeousness would deign to walk among them, dressed like a mere mortal.

He and Mary didn’t seem to notice her at first, so intent were they on their conversation. When, finally, Mary looked her way, she jumped and said, “Oh, hi.” She nudged Lance’s forearm. “Look, Lance; it’s Savannah.”

He turned his head and locked eyes with Savannah. Again, her knees weakened, and the thought passed through her head that if she were to just fall down on the floor for no apparent reason, it would be most embarrassing, indeed. How could you gracefully explain how you tripped over your own feet when you weren’t even walking? It was about as difficult as trying to look cool while choking on your own spit during an important and tense conversation—something she had done more often than she cared to admit.

Legs, don’t fail me now, she thought as she walked across the flagstone floor to the island where they sat. She noticed that Mary was also in her nightclothes, a simple white gown with a cheap purple velour robe. Her hair was mussed, as though she, too, had just rolled out of bed.

A heavy silence hung in the air, along with a whiff of tension. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” she said, looking from one to the other.

Mary and Lance glanced at each other, then Mary giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. “Just some gossip,” she said.

“Something juicy?” Savannah asked.

Lance shrugged. “Just your standard, on-set rumor mongering.”

More interested in food than gossip, Savannah looked around the kitchen with single-minded purpose. Ordinarily she might have taken time to admire the rustic ambiance: the giant, stone fireplace with its iron spit, the stained glass-fronted cabinets, the marble counters and copper sinks. But not with her stomach growling and her blood sugar level dropping by the moment.

It was only when she had stuck her head into the double-wide refrigerator that she realized—this was the perfect moment to score some contest points.

She looked over her shoulder and gave Lance one of her most beguiling, deep-dimpled smiles. “So, tell me, big boy,” she said, “are you as hungry as I am? If you are, I’d be happy to dish you up something tasty.”

He grinned, and his blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll just bet you could. What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I have an extensive repertoire.” She waggled one eyebrow. “But judging from the contents of this ice box, I’d say you’re lookin’ at steak and eggs. Maybe some home fries….”

“You can do that?” He looked highly impressed…just the way she wanted him to be.

“Darlin’, you’d be surprised what I can do.” She turned to Mary. “And how about you, Miss Mary? I’d be glad to scare up some for you, too, while I’m at it.”

Mary shook her head. “Not for me, thanks. I think I’ll head back to bed…if I can get some sleep, that is,” she added, giving Lance a sideways look.

“Am I missing something here?” Savannah asked as she assembled the ingredients for their late night breakfast on the counter. “If I’m willing to slave over a hot stove, the least you two could do is share your gossip with me.”

Mary cleared her throat and glanced toward the kitchen’s front and rear doors. Seeing no one else about, she said, “Lance and I both heard Alex and Tess arguing earlier. Woke us up from a sound sleep, in fact.”

Savannah grabbed a copper skillet from an overhead rack and plopped it onto the eight-burner gas stove. “Oh? What were they fighting about?”

Lance looked uncomfortable with the topic as he shifted on his stool. “Who knows?” he said. “Something about the way the taping’s going so far. I think Alex is happier with the results than Tess. But that’s nothing new.”

“Tess is a bit harder to please?” Savannah asked.

Mary gave a sniff. “Tess is impossible to please. And I should know. I’ve been her personal assistant for five years. I have the battle scars to prove it.”

“I hope you’re speaking figuratively, not literally,” Savannah said as she hauled some potatoes and onions out of the pantry.

“Sure,” Mary replied dryly. “Not all scars are on the outside.”

Lance nodded. “Tess knows how to hit you so that the cuts and bruises don’t show.”

“Sounds like you have a history with the Jarvises, too,” Savannah observed.

“Even longer than Mary’s,” he said. “Tess got me my first book cover ten years ago. You might say she ‘discovered’ me.”

“Working a soda fountain in Hollywood?”

“No, nothing so glamorous.” A shadow crossed Lance’s face. Savannah noted the brief sadness in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure how to interpret it. He didn’t elaborate.

“Well, like I said, I’m going back to bed.” Mary slid off her stool and patted Lance’s shoulder as she walked away. “You two have a nice breakfast and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be worse than today.”

“Ah, something to look forward to,” Savannah said as she began to scrub the potatoes in the sink.

“By the way,” Mary said, pausing in the doorway. “I don’t suppose you’ll have room for dessert after all that, but if you do…”

“Yes?” Savannah perked up. “There’s always room for dessert.”

“Then you might want to raid the big walk-in freezer downstairs, next to the wine cellar. Tess always has a big bowl of gourmet ice cream after dinner. She’s bound to have some stashed down there. Just don’t let her know I told you about it.”

“Mary, you’re a gem of a woman!” Savannah said. “I owe you one.”

“You’ll owe me more than that before this is all over.” With that, Mary disappeared, leaving Savannah deliciously alone with Lance.

“Sounds ominous,” Savannah told him.

“She’s just been on locations before with Tess and Alex. She knows the score.”

“Sounds like you do, too.”

“Let’s just say it’s been a long ten years.” He watched her quietly for a few moments as she popped the potatoes into the skillet and the steaks under the broiler. “What do you do, Savannah? Are you a chef?”

She laughed. “Not even close. Although sometimes I feel like a greasy spoon short-order cook when I’m feeding a batch of my friends. Actually, I’m a private investigator.”

“A private detective? Really? Wow!”

She was accustomed to a bit of surprise when she told people her occupation, but not shock. Lance looked like she had just told him she was an international spy and then socked him in the solar plexus.

“Yep,” she said. “That’s how I earn the cat food and potatoes around my house. It’s a living…most of the time.”

“How did you get into that line of work?”

“Well, a million years ago I was a cop, and then—”

“A cop? You? Really?”

She gave him a sly grin. “Handcuffs and everything.”

Before he could respond, someone walked into the kitchen, and Savannah silently cursed them before even turning to see who it was.

“What’s going on down here?” asked an abrasive voice that Savannah instantly recognized. Carisa swept across the room, wearing a marabou-trimmed, hot pink negligee with matching high-heeled slides.

“Savannah’s making us some breakfast,” Lance told her. “Would you like to join us?”

Savannah didn’t particularly like the gleam of interest in Lance’s eyes as he watched Carisa sashay over to the stool where he sat. And she certainly didn’t appreciate him offering her services to someone she didn’t even like. Cooking for Mary was one thing, but Miss Priss Carisa could rustle up her own grub.

“Breakfast?” Carisa said, instantly interested. “What are we having?”

“We are having steak and eggs,” Savannah replied coolly.

“Oh, good.” Carisa sat on the stool next to Lance and began to play with a strand of her long, black hair. “I’m on a high-protein diet. I can have steak and eggs, but no toast.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Savannah told her, “because there are at least three more steaks and a dozen eggs there in the refrigerator. Help yourself.”

Carisa flipped her hair to the right, then the left, while batting her eyelashes at Lance. “But I don’t cook,” she said in a breathy tone that Savannah had only heard in cheap porn films.

“Then you’ll be eating your steak raw,” Savannah said, “because I’m starving, and these suckers are about ready to eat.”

Lance appeared to take pity on the starving actress. “Mary said that there’s some ice cream in the freezer downstairs,” he told her. “It’s Tess’s, but I won’t tell.”

“That’s so-o-o not on my diet,” Carisa said. Then she reconsidered. “But I’m really hungry, so….”

She glided across the kitchen, a pink cloud of feathers and billowing chiffon. After searching several cabinets and drawers, she found a bowl and spoon and disappeared through the rear door.

Savannah grabbed a couple of plates and began to dish up their meal, while Lance looked on with acute interest. As she slid it under his nose with the panache of a diner waitress, she said, “There ya go. Sink your choppers into that, Sir Lance, and tell me if it hits the spot.”

He cut off a large chunk of steak, and when he bit into it, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “Ah…oh…Savannah this is absolutely—”

A terrible shriek split the air, cutting off his words, followed by another and another, coming from the direction of the rear door.

“What the hell?” Savannah said.

Lance jumped off his stool. “Carisa?”

Another scream seemed to answer his question.

Savannah dropped her plate onto the counter and raced to the door with Lance right behind her.

They opened the door and saw a long flight of stairs that led down to the cellar. Another scream echoed upward from the darkness below.

Instinctively, Savannah reached to her side for her Beretta and realized she was unarmed.

Don’t enter a dark room and face a threat unarmed, she told herself.

But the cries below were too horrible to hesitate. Someone was in trouble. Savannah took only a few seconds to make her decision…and run down the stairs into the castle’s dank, gloomy cellar.