Death by Chocolate

a bustle of activity, and since it
was lunchtime, the traffic was bumper to bumper and the sidewalks were filled
with pedestrians on their way to their favorite restaurants or bistros.
    A thousand colorful signs
screamed at passersby from every building front and rooftop, insisting that
they drink a certain booze, smoke a particular cigarette, or visit a cabaret or
comedy club. The visual clutter made Savannah grateful for San Carmelita’s sign
ordinances that wouldn’t have tolerated such gaudiness.
    But the building where
Burton Maxwell had his offices, the corporate headquarters of all the Lady
Eleanor enterprises, was relatively unremarkable. The only identifying marker
was a small pink cameo-shaped sign with Eleanor’s profile that adorned the
front door of the three-story building.
    It had taken Savannah half
an hour to get a parking spot in view of the door. And now that it was one
o’clock in the afternoon and she hadn’t seen any sign of Burt Maxwell coming or
going, she was beginning to doubt that this approach was going to work.
    She called Dirk on her cell
phone, leaned back in the bucket seat, and took a drink of the iced tea she had
bought at a nearby McDonald’s.
    “Coulter here,” he barked.
He was in a bad mood... again.
    “Reid here,” she returned,
just as tersely. “What’s up?”
    “I’ve been checking Streck
out all morning. And I’m startin’ to think he ain’t our guy.”
    Ah, Savannah thought, the
answer to Dirk’s grouchiness. There was nothing quite like a dead end in an
investigation to cause Dirk to plummet from his usual heights of mildly
ill-tempered pissy to downright grump.
    “Why not?” she asked,
dreading any further conversation on the depressing topic.
    “Because I’ve been going
over these files here with the D.A. and some accountant dude she dragged in to
look at ‘em, too. They say that they can tell by looking at the way he was
draining off the money that he wasn’t near done yet. They saw that if Eleanor
hadn’t died when she had, he could have milked her for a lot more and probably
gotten away with it. Her getting killed when she did pretty much guaranteed
that he’d be caught, because he hadn’t gotten all his tracks covered yet.”
    “Are they going to charge
him at least for the embezzling?”
    “That’s what they’re
talking about right now. I think we’ve got a pretty solid case against him for
that, but you know how long it takes for these people to get the lead out and
move.”
    “I hear ya, buddy.”
Savannah took a swig of her tea, her eyes on the still inactive front door of
the building. “Did you go talk to Louise?” he asked.
    “Yep. She didn’t know. Had
no idea what I was talking about.”
    “You didn’t actually mention
Martin, did you?”
    “No, of course not. Just
hinted that she might not be rolling in as much dough as she thinks. By the
way, she told her little girl that they’re rich now. Nice, huh?”
    She heard Dirk growl on the
other end. “I think she’s next on my list,” he said. ‘You going to see
Maxwell?”
    “I’m sitting outside his
office building even as we speak.”
    “You going in?”
    “No, I figured I’d hang out
awhile and see if he comes out for lunch. If he does, I’ll follow him and
approach him there. It’s harder to throw somebody out of a public place than
your own office.”
    “Yeah, and you like being
in close proximity to food whenever possible.”
    “Hey, I think I hear Porky
calling Petunia a pig here. What did you have for lunch?”
    He laughed. “Nothin’ yet,
but I’m looking at a foot-long Italian sub and a pile of potato chips.”
    “Oink, oink.”
    Savannah glanced back at
the building and saw the front door opening. “Hey, somebody’s coming out.” Two
young women in casual office attire strolled out, chatting between themselves,
and made their way down the street toward an outside Mexican restaurant with
umbrella tables that advertised Dos Equis beer.
    “False alarm,” she said.
But then the door opened again, and this time a tall blond man in a navy suit
exited. “Bingo, it’s him. Gotta go,” she told Dirk.
    “With any luck he’ll go to
a donut shop,” Dirk replied, “and you can have your favorite
lunch—custard-filled and chocolate-frosted.”
    “Cram it, Coulter. Your
foot-long sub, that is.”
    She shoved the phone back into
her purse and got out of the car. Following Burt from across the street, she
had no problem blending into the crowd on