Sour Grapes

insecticide residue was there, even though it’s been cleaned.”
    She could just see him presenting that to the DA, along with Anthony Villa’s suspicious reaction to the telephone. And if that weren’t enough concrete evidence, they had Savannah’s equally useless gut feeling that he was a guilt-ridden, fearful man.
    Okay, so she needed more. But what?
    Closing the trunk, she stepped back from the car and looked it over one more time. Shining her light on the rear left tire, she noted that it was well worn, not new. So, Anthony hadn’t had them replaced when he had the car detailed.
    Maybe they could get a match from the plaster mold of the track up by the cliff.
    She shone her light on the front left tire, and saw that it, too, was well worn. But something caught her eye. It was different. The two tires on this side of the car were different makes, even different sizes.
    “Hmm,” she said, as she walked around to the other side. The rear tire matched the one on the left, but the front right was yet a third make, and it wasn’t even a whitewall.
    Three brands, three sizes on one car.
    Savannah mulled that one over. She was far less vain about such things than Catherine Villa, but she had insisted that Dirk replace her shredded wheels with matching tires. This mishmash seemed completely out of character for the persnickety lady.
    As Savannah left the car and walked across the parking lot back to the center and the evening’s festivities, she could feel the adrenaline hit her tired bloodstream.
    Contrary to popular opinion, a private detective’s life involves a lot of boring, solitary work and few moments of true drama. But now she was getting close. Like a bloodhound with her nose to the ground, she knew she was on a fresh track, and her prey wasn’t far away.
    For just a moment she wished that it was almost anyone other than Anthony Villa. But she thought of Francie, lying crumpled like a broken doll at the bottom of the staircase, and she didn’t give a damn who the killer was. She just wanted to get her teeth into him.

Chapter

23

    “I sang good tonight.”
    “You sang great.”
    “And I looked good, too.”
    “You looked fantastic.”
    “So... so... so, why didn’t I win... anything!” Savannah sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hysterical sister in her arms, rocking her as she had years ago-when she had fallen down and skinned her knees. But this was much worse than a boo-boo that would respond to a kiss and a Donald Duck bandage.
    “I’m not kidding, ‘Lanta,” she told her, wiping her cheeks with a wad of tissues that was getting more soggy by the moment. “I thought you were amazing! I had no idea that you could work an audience like that! They were behind you all the way.”
    “But... but...” She hiccuped. “But the judges liked that stupid girl with the skull. What was that ‘To be or not to be’ crap? That doesn’t even make sense.”
    “Well, actually, it’s Shakespeare, and it’s a really cool speech but—”
    Okay, so that wasn’t the right thing to say, Savannah decided as Atlanta’s sobbing reached new levels of volume.
    “It isn’t fair!” She hit the mattress with her fist and kicked her foot. ‘That girl wasn’t even cute, let alone pretty. Did you see how fat she is?”
    Savannah figured it wouldn’t be wise to mention that she thought the winner had a beautiful figure, or that she was especially poised and seemed like a very nice person. No, she thought she’d just keep that two-bit opinion to herself.
    “Life isn’t fair, ‘Lanta,” she said, rubbing her back and continuing to rock. “I hate to say it, but it’s so true. Rotten things happen to great people and wonderful things happen to crummy people, and that’s just the way it is. The sooner you stop expecting things to be fair, the sooner you’ll be a happy camper. Or at least, not so miserable.”
    “Oh, shut up!” She pushed her away. “I just lost the most important thing in my life. I’m devastated, and I don’t want to hear any of your Chinese proverbs.”
    It had been a long, hard day. Savannah snapped. The most important thing in your life? Get real! And get over it already!”
    Her face screwed up again. “You don’t understand!”
    “No, Atlanta Reid. It’s you who’s clueless. In a world where little babies get burned with cigarettes, and nuns get raped, and good cops with families at home get shot dead in dark alleys... you losing a beauty pageant just ain’t