Cereal Killer

softened so much and so quickly that Savannah was taken aback. “Because we loved her. And if you’d known her, you would have, too. Cait was the funniest, most charming, intelligent, and generous person I ever knew. She could make you feel so very special about yourself and—”
    Her voice broke. She jumped up from her chair and ran to get some tissues out of a box on the table.
    With her back to Savannah, she quietly sobbed, the tissues over her face.
    But just as Savannah was about to rise and see if perhaps she could comfort her, Leah blew her nose hard, turned around, and returned to her seat.
    “Caitlin was difficult in some ways,” Leah continued, “but she was worth it. Let’s change the subject.”
    “Okay. Do you know about a guy named Ronald Tumblety?”
    “That sounds familiar, but I can’t place him. Who is he?”
    “A stalker who was interested in—”
    “Oh, yes. That creep. He kept showing up at our shoots, bothering the girls.”
    “How did he know the locations?”
    “From what I understand, he found out where Cait lived. He’d seen a picture of her beach house on the Internet, and he figured it out. Then he started hanging around outside her house, following her to the shoots. Then he followed Kameeka home, and Tesla.” Leah’s eyes widened. “Why? Do you think he might have something to do with this?”
    “We’re investigating him. It’s too early to tell.”
    Leah shook her head. “Wouldn’t that be awful, if it was a stalker?”
    “Maybe better that than someone close to them.” “True.”
    “Tell me about Jerrod Beekman.”
    “Like I told you before, Jerrod is a complete pain. He also owns one of the most successful ad agencies in L.A. At least, he does now. If this campaign falls on its face— which it just might, considering what’s happened to the girls—his company may fold.”
    “That bad?”
    “Oh, yes. Wentworth Industries is his largest client. And Charles Wentworth is furious about what’s happened. If Jerrod doesn’t pull this out of the fire...”
    “Charles Wentworth.” Savannah searched her mental files. “Let’s see... elderly cereal tycoon, lives in Mystic Canyon?”
    “That was Charles Wentworth II. This is his son, Number Three. Doesn’t have a fraction of his father’s business sawy, morals, or work ethic. Wentworth Industries has hit the skids, and it’s just a matter of time until it goes over the cliff.”
    Savannah tucked that particular tidbit into her “to be considered later in depth” file. “So, Number Three must be pretty upset that his campaign is in jeopardy,” she said. “It sounds like his new cereal, this Slenda stuff, was a pretty important gamble. And with the campaign based on those two girls and both of them murdered...”
    “Oh, Charles was upset before the girls died. He was already furious because they hadn’t lost the required weight. He was leaning on Jerrod, who was pressuring me. Why do you think I was calling Cait every day, checking on how she was doing? I don’t like coercing my girls like that. Especially Cait. I was afraid her eating disorder might kick in again under that kind of stress. And I was right.”
    Again, her eyes filled with tears, and she dabbed at her nose with the tissues. “Are we about done here?” she asked. “I think I’ve enjoyed this conversation about as much as I can stand for one day.”
    Savannah resisted the urge to remind her that she had requested the interview. For the first time since meeting her, Savannah actually felt a bit of warmth toward the woman. Anyone who loved a friend—warts and all—the way Leah had obviously cared about Caitlin, had to have a spark of good in her somewhere.
    “Sure,” she told her. “No problem.” She glanced at her watch. “Actually, I have to meet someone soon. I’ll write up a report for you tonight. I can drop it off with your receptionist tomorrow if you—”
    “Don’t bother. I don’t want you wasting time writing reports.” Leah stood, walked to the door, and opened it wide. “I want you to catch the bastard who killed my girls, and I want you to find Tesla... hopefully alive and healthy.”
    “Believe me,” Savannah told her, “that’s what I want, too.”
     
    In the rear of Dr. Pappas’s parking lot, Savannah sat in her Mustang, waiting for Dirk, listening to an old tape of the Eagles. Glenn Fry still did it for her after all these years.
    Someday she’d have to break down and have a CD player