Cereal Killer

deliberately murder your wife, who would you put your money on?”
    “Leah Freed.”
    That one took Savannah by surprise. “Oh?”
    “Yes. Wentworth and Beekman and Pappas might have contributed to her accidentally killing herself, but if she was outright murdered, I’d bet on Leah.”
    “Why?”
    “Caitlin was furious at Leah for getting her into that contract, and the day before she died, she told Leah that she was looking for another agent.”
    “And how did Leah take it?”
    “Like she was a spurned lover. She figures she made Caitlin everything she was, that she owned her. And Cait was talking to the other girls about leaving Leah, too. Kameeka and Tesla were seriously considering going with Cait to another agency—one in L.A.”
    “Hmmm.” Savannah mulled that over for a minute. “Are you aware that Leah has hired me to investigate this case?”
    “No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Leah likes to know what’s going on, and she knows you’re friends with the police detective who’s in charge of the case. Knowing her, she’s probably been pumping you to find out everything you know, right?”
    Savannah didn’t reply. She wasn’t going to tell him about all the persistent, insistent phone calls from Leah, night and day. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she had been thinking along the same lines as Leah squeezed her for information.
    She rose from the table. “Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate your time and your input.”
    “No problem,” he said. “I’m glad you came by. If there’s anything else you need, give me a call.”
    “I will.”
    He escorted her through the house to the front door. Shaking his hand, she said, ‘Just for the record, Kevin... I’m with you on that lawsuit. If you can prove that those guys pushed Caitlin into ruining her health, all for the sake of an ad campaign, I hope you win a bundle. And I hope it makes the lead story on the eleven o’clock news.”
    He grinned broadly, and it occurred to Savannah— not for the first time—that Caitlin Connor had been married to a very handsome man.
    An open marriage, huh.? She chuckled as she left the house and walked to her car, thinking of that magnolia tree in her backyard bursting with buds. Nope. Not this girl. No way in hell.
     

Chapter
    19
     
    A fter Savannah left Kevin Connor’s house, she drove to her favorite doughnut shop on Main Street and ordered a large coffee and a couple of maple bars. Sitting in her car, raising her blood sugar and her serum caffeine, she phoned Tammy to see what was happening at home. Tammy informed her that Leah Freed had called twice already, insisting on the latest update.
    “And it’s not even nine o’clock yet,” Tammy complained. “That woman is the most irritating client we’ve ever had.”
    “How quickly you forget,” Savannah reminded her. “We’ve had some extremely difficult clients in the past. Remember the one who turned out to be the killer?”
    “Yeah, but at least he didn’t call constantly,” Tammy replied. “And he behaved like a gentleman... except for that killing part.”
    “Is Marietta up yet?”
    “She just ran out the door. She’s headed for the mall. Said she’s going to buy herself a cell phone so that she can call What’s-His-Face.”
    Savannah took a long, stiff drink of the coffee and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling it hit her bloodstream like a shot of much-needed adrenaline. “I’m surprised,” she said, “that she didn’t try to talk you into giving her one of the phones.”
    “Oh, she did! Big time! In fact, I had to lock the two extra ones in my car trunk, and I kept this one beside me all the time. Even took it to the bathroom with me.”
    “Good girl. You get a raise.”
    “A raise, huh? Yeah, right. If I had a raise for every time you gave me a raise...”
    ‘You’d probably be all the way up to minimum wage by now.”
    “Exactly. Listen, I’ve got to go now. Dirk gave me an assignment.”
    Savannah smiled. The kid sounded so proud that it touched her heart.
    “Doing what?” she asked.
    “He wants me to tail Tumblety today. Isn’t that cool?” Savannah felt a twinge of misgiving, like a mother hen who worried that her chicken-little might be pecking off more than she could chew. ‘Yeah, it’s cool. Be careful, huh? That guy’s creepy. And you’re not exactly inconspicuous in that hot-pink VW Beetle of yours.” ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Mama Savannah. I’ve learned from the