Death by Chocolate

“shop talk.” And it was halfway through their
chateaubriand that Ryan asked, “How’s the case going?”
    “Nowhere fast,” Savannah
replied. “We thought it might be that Streck guy, the accountant. But the D.A.
brought in some hotshot CPA who looked over those files we had, and they say it
wasn’t to his advantage to murder her right now. That doesn’t mean he’s totally
in the clear, but we’re looking elsewhere.”
    From the corner of her eye,
Savannah saw Cordele sigh and start picking at her food. Apparently, this line
of conversation wasn’t as exciting as movie stars and the British royal family.
    Too bad, she thought. She
never missed an opportunity to bounce ideas off Ryan and John. Their combined
experiences in the FBI had made them first-rate detectives in their own right.
And there was no point in letting all that expertise go to waste.
    “How about the former
husband?” John suggested. “I do believe you mentioned that it was the lady
herself who initiated the divorce proceedings. Perhaps he was bitter.”
    “We did just find out that
he’s carrying on with the woman who produced Eleanor’s TV show.”
    “Hmmm.” Ryan took a sip of
his merlot. “What would they have to gain from Eleanor’s death?”
    “Nothing that’s obvious at
this point. Dirk’s checking.”
    “How about the servants on
the estate?” John asked. “You know, we always say it was the butler who did
it.” ‘There’s no butler. Just a maid and a chauffeur-sometimes-handyman. They
seem like decent people. I doubt that Eleanor left them anything in her will or
anything like that, so no motive there.”
    “I suppose that leaves the
daughter,” Ryan said. “Didn’t you mention that she’s an unpleasant person who
had a rocky relationship with her mother?”
    At Savannah’s left, Cordele
perked up. “Eleanor Maxwell’s daughter didn’t like her mom?” she asked.
    “No,” Savannah replied.
“She was quite outspoken about what a crummy mother Eleanor had been and how
messed up her life was because of her mom.”
    “Figures,” Cordele said,
stabbing at her meat with her knife. “A mom can really mess you up. A rotten
one, that is.”
    There was a brief, heavy silence
around the table. Ryan broke it. “Do you think it might have been the daughter?
Was she that upset with her mother?”
    “Maybe. She’s hot-tempered
and selfish. Doesn’t appear to be overcome with grief at Eleanor’s passing. She
told her own daughter that now that Grandma’s gone, they’re rich.”
    “I would take a very close
look at that young lady,” John said. “She sounds like the most likely of your
suspects at the moment.”
    “It isn’t her,” Cordele
said softly but with quiet authority. “She didn’t kill her mother.”
    They all three turned and
stared at her, a bit surprised, but Cordele was looking down at her plate.
    “Really?” John said. “Would
you care to elaborate? We’d like to hear your opinion on the subject.”
    Cordele looked up. “You
would?”
    “Of course,” Savannah said.
Though she was doubtful.
    “Okay.” Cordele laid down
her knife and fork and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before answering.
“If this woman goes around telling everybody how much she hates her mom.... if
she blames her for everything that’s wrong in her life.... if she feels like
her mother neglected or abused her... then she would have still been hoping.”
    “Hoping for what?” Savannah
said.
    “That her mother would
change. That she’d become a better person. That she’d realize how much she had
hurt her kid and try to make it better somehow. And as long as her mom was
alive... there was still a chance.” Savannah swallowed hard, nearly choking.
She could hear the conviction in her sister’s voice, the hurt, the longing.
Cordele still hadn’t given up on their mother.
    Long ago, Savannah had
resigned herself to the fact that Shirley Reid was very probably a lost cause.
She was going to spend her days sleeping and her nights sitting on that bar
stool under the autographed picture of Elvis, smoking and belting back the
booze. She would sit there until she was carried out of the bar and taken to
the local funeral home.
    She was never going to walk
up to one of her nine children and say, “I realize how selfishly I’ve spent my
life and how much that has hurt you. Please forgive me.” It simply wasn’t going
to happen.
    Savannah had finally
realized that she was never going to have a