Killer Market

“She’s your friend, too, isn’t she?” I asked.

“Well, sure. I mean, we don’t go fishing together, but my boy dated her girl a few times when they were in high school and we ran the PTA’s haunted house a couple of Halloweens.” He speared a piece of his French toast. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t haul her into court if I find she’s the one put your penicillin in his brownies.”

“She didn’t do it,” I said earnestly.

“Maybe not, but you have to admit she could’ve if she was so inclined.”

He knew he didn’t have to lay it out again for me and when I nodded, he said, “So what it comes down to is Savannah, Dixie, or you, Judge.”

“Me? I thought we agreed—”

“Well, ma’am, what I agree is that it doesn’t seem likely, but you did have means and opportunity, even if there’s no apparent motive.” He took a swallow of his orange juice. “Yet.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Detective Underwood, it seems to me you’re not taking Savannah very seriously. She’s the one with the baggies, brownies and my penicillin. She obviously changed her mind about bringing my tote to the soup kitchen. Instead, it winds up next to Nolan’s body. She’s the only one who could have put it there.”

He put the last morsel of bacon in his mouth and chewed a moment “Maybe. Good thing for that Heather McKenzie that you thought to dial your cell phone, else I could argue that she took the bag from Savannah and —”

“No, you couldn’t,” I said. “She was with me from the moment we ran into each other till she dropped me off in front of the GHFM building.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

“Just the same, there is something odd about her,” I said and told him how the editor of Furniture/Today couldn’t place her at first. “I wish you’d check her background.”

“Anything else?” he asked dryly.

“Actually, there is. If I had time, I’d go sit in the public library and read all the microfiche editions of your daily newspapers from six years ago.”

He frowned. “Why?”

I’d spoken with Pell that morning and he’d narrowed down the specific time for me. “For the week after the spring Market, six years ago, to see if there was any mention of a hit-and-run that week involving a black sports car. That was the first time Savannah flipped out really badly. Did you know that she took a sledgehammer to her black Porsche after Drew put a little dent in it?”

Underwood nodded as he discarded yet another napkin. “Yeah, I did hear something about that.”

“What if there was more than a little dent? What if there were blood and threads picked up when Drew hit a pedestrian, or paint smears from another car?”

“She really smashed a gorgeous car like that with a sledgehammer?”

“Savannah’s been obsessed with Drew almost since the day she was born,” I said. “From all I’ve been told, she might well have trashed her car to protect Drew. And now, when she believes that Chan is married to Drew and Lynnette is Drew’s daughter? If you think his taking Lynnette off to Malaysia is a motive for Dixie, you have to think that same motive’s just as strong for Savannah.”

“Something to consider,” he agreed, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Why?

23

« ^ » “The education of our children has a mental and moral value, but its importance as a matter of every- day business, in dollars and cents, is not so often mentioned.”The Great Industries of the United States, 1872

Back at the house, Dixie and Pell had both gone to Market, leaving Lynnette with a baby-sitter who was in deep panic over tomorrow’s French test. I couldn’t help her with irregular verbs, but I could keep an eye on Lynnette.

“Lynnette’s barrette/ has come unset,” I teased, and refastened it so that the side wisps of her sandy blonde hair were held away from her face.

“Let’s go walk/ and talk/ and gawk,” she giggled, which sounded like something Pell would say.

So we took a walk around the block, stopping along the way to pet the neighbor’s friendly golden retriever and to speak to a haughty Persian cat, who condescended to let Lynnette stroke under her chin. We talked about the latest Disney movie, her first-grade teacher, and why boys always thought it was so funny to burp and break wind.

We came back through the kitchen for something to drink and commiserated with the baby-sitter, who was sure she was going to flunk and never get accepted to the college of her choice. In the living room, Lynnette briefly longed for her electronic games, “but Grandmama’s got some great games, too.”

I was amused to realize that Parcheesi, played with real dice on a three-dimensional board, was now a novelty. I beat her there, but she wiped me out in Mancala, easily capturing most of my stones even though she’s just turned seven and the instructions say that it’s for ages eight to adult.

When games palled, she offered to “read” to me from their family albums.