Poisoned Tarts. G. A. McKevett
mature plant growth, she saw that there were, indeed, three young females ahead of her. They were lounging around an Oriental fish pond on chaises like any other trio of teenagers, hanging out with friends, chatting and laughing, enjoying each other’s company.
Except that as she drew closer, Savannah could hear a tone in their voices that didn’t sound all that friendly. Although she could only catch a word, then a phrase here and there, their conversation didn’t seem to be lighthearted chitchat about boys or the latest fashion trends.
“…she’ll miss her big shoot…boo hoo…”
“Eh…won’t embarrass herself…”
“I couldn’t believe it was going to happen anyway.”
“Tiff, you so should have…way better…just disgusting!”
“…doesn’t matter now…she…”
“Who did she think she was…? If my dad…nothing. If I hadn’t felt sorry for her, she never would have even…”
Savannah strained to hear, but bits and pieces were all she could catch, and as she took a few steps closer, she heard one of them say, “Sh-h-h, somebody’s out there.”
“Where?”
“Over there…coming this way.”
Rather than waiting to be “discovered” snooping among the banana plants, Savannah stepped into the clearing around the pond.
“Good evening, ladies,” she said brightly. “I was hoping I’d find you back here somewhere.”
One of the girls, a thin gal with long, blond hair, jumped up from one of the chaises and rushed toward Savannah. Even with only the dim glow of the property’s accent lights to see, Savannah knew it was the girl whose picture hung over the fireplace.
Savannah also recognized her face from the grocery store magazine displays. This was the tabloid queen Tiffany Dante in all of her Skeleton Key rail-thin glory.
The first thing that struck Savannah was how petite the girl was. Somehow, Savannah had imagined her to be much taller. Maybe it was the perpetual high-high heels that she wore. Even now, dressed casually in pink silk pajama bottoms and a lacy camisole with rhinestones across the chest that proclaimed her to be, “HOT! HOT! HOT!,” she was wearing ankle strap sandals with four-inch heels.
Her heels clicked out a fast staccato on the stone walkway as the young woman hurried up to Savannah with an ill-tempered frown on her face. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And why were you spying on us?”
“Spying? Who was spying? I was just coming out here to talk to you. You’re Tiffany Dante, right?”
The girl rolled her eyes and gave Savannah an indignant, “Well, yeah…duh.”
Savannah chuckled.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing,” Savannah said evenly. “I just didn’t realize that people still say, ‘Duh.’ That’s all.” She held out her hand to the girl. “My name is Savannah Reid. I came with Detective Sergeant Coulter. He’s a San Carmelita police officer. We’re investigating the disappearance of one of your friends, Daisy O’Neil.”
Tiffany Dante did not shake Savannah’s hand. Instead, she gave her a quick once-over, head to toe, then lifted her nose slightly as though she had just sniffed something unpleasant.
Savannah withdrew her hand and resisted the urge to lift her middle finger in salute to the disrespectful girl.
Granny Reid wouldn’t have approved.
Tiffy glanced over her shoulder at her friends, a pretty brunette and an almond-eyed beauty with waist-long black hair.
“Daisy…disappeared?” Tiffy said. “I wouldn’t say she’s ‘disappeared.’ Would you?” she asked the girls. They simply shrugged, shook their heads.
Turning back to Savannah, she said coyly, “I mean, Daisy probably just decided to take off for a week or two and not mention it to her mom. We do that kind of thing all the time. Don’t we?” Again, she turned to her friends for some sort of affirmation.
“Yeah,” said the brunette. She stood and walked over to Savannah and Tiffy. Savannah noticed that she was wearing the same exact pajamas as Tiffy, only in bright blue. And according to the rhinestone embellishment, she was equally, “HOT! HOT! HOT!”
The girl continued in the same cocky tone as her blond friend. “We take off all the time, like to South Beach or Cancun or Aspen, you know, to party a little when we’re really stressed out about something. And Daisy’s a bit weird. She does crazy stuff sometimes. I don’t think anything…like…bad…has happened to her.”
The brunette shot Tiffy a quick glance, as though looking for her approval, and smiled when the blonde gave her a slight nod.
“And you are…?” Savannah asked, thinking that this girl couldn’t be a day over sixteen.
Savannah remembered reading something about Tiffy’s garish, outlandish high school graduation party last year. But this teen looked more like a sophomore at most.
And Savannah remembered that this girl had some sort of silly name, too. She just couldn’t recall what it was. Kitty? Puppy? Chickie-pooh?
“I’m Bunny Greenaway,” she said. “I’m a friend of Tiffy’s. We’re the Skeleton Key Three. The three of us, that is. You’ve probably heard of us. We’re like…famous, you know.”
Savannah smiled and nodded. “Of course, I’ve heard of you. Anybody who buys groceries knows about you three. How very exciting for you to be so well-known, and at such a young age.” She mentally added, And for having done absolutely nothing but starve yourselves to death and wear designer clothing and spend your parents’ money with wild, vulgar abandon.
Tiffy shrugged and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “It’s not that great, really. You have to put up with all the paparazzi all the time. I mean, we can’t go anywhere or do anything without getting our pictures taken. Especially me. A lot of people probably think it’s fun being me, but it’s really a pain in the ass sometimes, having to look good everywhere you go. It’s actually quite a lot of work and responsibility.”
Savannah wondered if this young woman would ever grow up and realize how very transparent her conceit was to others and learn to at least tone it down a bit.
Something told her that Tiffy’s strong sense of herself and her indispensability to the world at large was firmly in place and was going to remain so throughout her life.
Savannah also decided that someone had done Tiffany Dante a terrible injustice, teaching her that she was extraordinarily valuable while neglecting to mention that every other being on God’s green earth was equally precious.
Savannah couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. But she felt a lot sorrier for any husband or children this girl might have down the road.
Savannah looked beyond Tiffy and Bunny to the almond-eyed, black-haired girl who remained seated on a chaise, staring down at her own high-heeled sandals. Her silk pajamas and lace camisole were bright yellow, and her rhinestones declared her, “GORGEOUS!”
Savannah had to agree. Of the three of them, this girl was by far the prettiest. Her exotic looks made Savannah wonder if maybe she had both Asian and African ancestors. Her skin was an exquisite golden tan, her lips full and sensuous, her eyes tilted upward at the edges, giving her an almost feline beauty. She appeared to be around the same age as Tiffy—maybe eighteen or nineteen.
Savannah walked over to her. “And you are…?” she asked, unable to remember what this third Key member was named. Biffy? Dippy? Sneezy or Goofy?
“Kiley Wallace,” she said softly. “But everyone calls me Kiki.”
The girl glanced up at Savannah but just as quickly, looked