Cereal Killer

tears in her eyes.
    “Then Kevin was right,” Leah said. “Cait did kill herself trying to lose weight for this stupid cereal campaign.”
    Savannah hesitated, wondering just how straight to aim with this self-acclaimed straight-shooter. She looked genuinely distressed, as anyone might who had lost a friend under tragic circumstances. The last thing she wanted to do was add to her grief.
    “I’m just telling you what the medical examiner said,” she said. “The case is still open.”
    Leah grabbed a tissue from a box on her desk, wiped her eyes—smearing her liner—blew her nose, and tossed the issue into a waste can. “And what do you think? Do you think she died because she was dieting and exercising too much?”
    “I think the cause of her death was heat stroke, like the coroner said. But I don’t necessarily think her manner of death was accidental.”
    ‘You aren’t saying she deliberately killed herself, are you?”
    Leah’s dark eyes searched hers so intensely that Savannah was tempted to glance away. But she didn’t.
    “No, I don’t think she committed suicide,” she replied evenly.
    Leah thought for a moment. “Then you’re saying it was homicide. That somebody murdered her.”
    ‘You asked me what I believe. And at the moment, I think that’s the most likely scenario.”
    “Do you have any proof?”
    “Nothing definitive.”
    Again, the agent’s eyes probed hers. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
    Savannah refused to blink. “Not yet.”
    “And how about Kameeka?”
    An ugly picture played across Savannah’s mental screen—the wound on the victim’s head, the tire marks on her bronzed skin.
    “What about Kameeka?” Savannah said, hedging.
    “Do you think it was simple hit-and-run?”
    It was Savannah’s turn to do a visual probe, and she fixed the agent with her own blue lasers. “Probably not. How did you find out about Kameeka?”
    “The modeling industry is a tight community—the legitimate sector, that is. News travels fast.”
    “And,” Savannah repeated, unwilling to let it slide, “how did you find out?”
    “Jerrod Beekman called me. He’s the president of the public relations firm that handles the Wentworth Cereal account.”
    “How did he know?”
    “He didn’t say.”
    “And you didn’t ask?”
    “No. He called me about an hour ago and told me that Kameeka had been killed by a hit-and-run driver while she was out jogging this morning. And, of course, he had heard about Caitlin on the news this morning. Needless to say, he’s quite upset.”
    Savannah nodded. “I see. Then he knew both women personally?”
    “No, but he’s based a multimillion-dollar, nationwide campaign on four plus models losing weight while eating Slenda Flakes, and now two of them are dead. He’s beside himself.”
    “Hmmm... I’ll bet he is.” Savannah retrieved a notepad and pen from her purse and began to scribble. “And where can I reach him?”
    Leah threw up her hands. “No, no, no. I don’t need you poking around, acting like a detective, asking people like Jerrod Beekman questions and causing problems.”
    Savannah looked up from her writing. “But I thought that’s what you were hiring me to do, work this case as a private detective and—”
    “Heavens no. That’s the last thing I want you to do. That would be a disaster!”
    Savannah shook her head, confused. “Then why am I here? If you don’t want an investigator, I don’t think I can help you. I—”
    “I don’t want you to work this case as a private detective,” Leah Freed said, clicking her long acrylic fingernails together in a manner that set Savannah’s teeth on edge. “No, no, no. That would be far too obvious.” She swept Savannah from head to toe with the experienced eye of a professional. “You’re a pretty girl, so we might as well take advantage of the fact. I want you to work the case as a model.”
     

Chapter
    9
     
    The next morning, Savannah stood at the foot of her bed and surveyed what seemed like an acre of accessories, makeup items, and foundation garments that she had spread across her satin comforter. In her right hand she held a black bag that was approximately the size of Marietta’s overnight suitcase.
    Leah Freed had given her the bag... and the endless list that she held in her left hand.
    Tammy poked her head through the half-open door. “Aren’t you packed yet?” she said with a sarcastic little grin on her face that made Savannah want