Sour Grapes

ruining the moment. Just shut up and hug me.”
    “Oh... okay.”
    His arms tightened around her until she could hardly breathe. But she- liked it. She felt that same, sweet, protected feeling that she had experienced as a kid when Gran would allow her to crawl into bed beside her in the middle of a big, scary lightning storm.
    She felt safe. She felt loved.
    “I liked that thing you were doing... you know... with my hair,” she said, her face still against his chest.
    He hesitated, then reached up, laced his fingers into her curls and combed them through. “You mean this?” His voice sounded husky, a little breathless.
    “Yeah, just like that. Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome, honey.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and gave her a long, sweet kiss, then put another, quicker one, on her cheek. “Sh-h-h... be quiet now,” he said. “You’re ruinin’ the moment”

Chapter

22

    S avannah could feel the electricity in the air. It was the final night, talent contest, final judging, the awarding of the Miss Gold Coast crown, and the girls were almost hysterical with excitement
    But there wasn’t enough energy in a nuclear power plant to recharge her depleted batteries. The only force driving her was sheer anger... channeled into determination to catch the son of a bitch that had turned a lovely girl into a heap of garbage at the bottom of a musty, old stairwell.
    Not that she knew for sure that anyone was responsible for Francie’s death. During Dr. Liu’s initial examination, the only injuries she found were consistent with taking an accidental tumble down a flight of stone steps.
    But Savannah knew she had been pushed. And she was going to find the person who did it and throw them off a cliff or out a window or whatever was handy at the time... if she didn’t fall down dead in her tracks from sheer emotional exhaustion and sleep deprivation first.
    The evening’s festivities were being held, once again, in the tasting room. And Villa Rosa was living up to its name with multicolored bouquets of roses on every table, roses that had been cut from bushes on the property. The heavenly scent filled the room and spilled out into the gallery, even to the courtyard.
    Teenage girls, wearing every sort of garb imaginable, were scurrying about. Ten minutes ‘til talent-show time.
    Standing in the doorway separating the tasting room and gallery, Savannah watched them and tried to guess what their talent might be. Some were obvious: the majorette with her baton, the one in the formal black gown carrying a flute, the cowgirl with a rope, another dressed in a tunic and tights, carrying a skull and reciting, ‘To be, or not to be...” under her breath.
    She had left a tense Atlanta upstairs, strumming her guitar and making strange sounds that she called, “warming-up exercises.” Savannah hoped that she would at least place somewhere in the top five. If she didn’t, she was going to be difficult to get along with... even more difficult than usual. And if one of the Reid gals got to be cranky tonight and tomorrow, Savannah had already decided that she was the one. After the day she’d had, she deserved it.
    On second thought... it had been a pretty rotten week. The whole month hadn’t been that great.
    But before she plunged headfirst into the deep end of the self-pity pool, she reminded herself of Francie’s mother—her daughter in the morgue and her son in Juvenile Hall for malicious mischief, suspected of murder. No matter what was going on, somebody else always had it worse.
    “Is it true?”
    Savannah turned around to see Marion Lippincott, her perpetual notebook in her hand, her tortoiseshell glasses perched on the end of her nose, a worried look on her face.
    “You mean about Francie?” Savannah asked. “ Yes. I just heard that—”
    “It’s true. But it may have been an accident.”
    Marion’s eyes searched hers, and Savannah knew she was taking into account her tear-swollen lids and red nose that a generous dusting of powder hadn’t remedied.
    She also knew that the All-Seeing Mrs. Lippincott didn’t believe it had been an accident either.
    Marion glanced around, then took Savannah’s arm. “Come with me,” she said.
    She led her out into the courtyard where they found a private spot beside the fountain, which was lit with pink floodlights in honor of the final night of competition.
    “I wasn’t going to mention this,” Marion said, “because I didn’t think it was important. But