Sam looked at her for a minute, then stood and came to her side. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“You look pale.”
“My blusher must be fading,” she said softly, then, “Sammy, there’s a gun involved. Megan had a small pistol with her. She usually kept it in her nightstand, but Will says it’s gone. I assume she brought it down here, and if so, she may have tried to use it when the kidnappers broke in. Have you found any evidence”—she sent a glance toward Hank, who had also straightened and was listening—“of a gun having been fired in this room?”
Sam, too, shot a glance at Hank, then looked back at Savannah. “Damn good thing I’ve got a change of clothes in my duffel. It could take a good long time to inch along every one of these bookshelves looking for a bullet hole. Why couldn’t the damn walls have been covered with white plaster?”
Savannah looked at the ceiling, then shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut, and spoke through gritted teeth. “This case sucks shit.”
Hank shushed her. “Ladies don’t talk that way.”
She opened her eyes. “Right now, I’m no lady. I’m a prosecutor investigating a case that I shouldn’t be investigating in the first place, because I have a personal involvement in it.” She held up her hand. “And as far as my language goes, whatever I know,” her gaze took in both detectives, “I’ve learned from you.” Swinging around, she left the room.
No sooner had she passed through the living room when the doorbell rang. She continued on into the vestibule and peered around the edge of the gathered sheer. The woman who stood on the front step, her head wrapped in auburn curls and her body in silver fox, was a welcome sight. Savannah quickly opened the door.
“I don’t believe this,” Susan said and hurried in past her sister. “I’ve been trying to grasp it since you called.” Her voice was low and urgent. “Poor Meggie. PoorWill.Has anything happened? Anyone called?”
Closing the door, Savannah shook her head. “Will is waiting in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, and there really isn’t much he can do but wait.” Belatedly, she wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulder and gave her a quick hug, then reached to relieve her of the large overnight bag she’d brought. “Thanks for coming. I can’t handle this myself, and Will shouldn’t be left alone.”
Susan regarded her with a mixture of annoyance and nervousness. “I’m not sure I was the best one to call.”
“I am,” Savannah countered.
“I don’t do well under pressure.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“Will needs someone to give him strength.”
“You can do that. You’re Megan’s friend.”
“What does one have to do with the other?”
“Dedication,” Savannah said. Dropping her voice, she urged Susan down onto the vestibule bench. “When was the last time you talked with Megan?”
“Last week.”
“Did she say anything odd?”
“No,” Susan said. She began unbuttoning the fur jacket. “But she didn’t look great. I think she and Will are having problems.”
“What made you think that?”
“We’d be talking, and suddenly she’d say things like, ‘Why is life so hard?’ or ‘I’m tired of fighting.’ I mean, as statements went, they were in context with the rest of the conversation, but somehow I knew she really meant it. You know Meggie; she spent most of her life struggling to break even. She thought that was over when she married Will… What happened?”
The question was almost rhetorical, but Savannah needed to talk as much as her sister needed to listen. Savannah, Megan, and Susan had been a tight trio for years. Though Savannah’s career had distanced her somewhat, the emotional bond between the three remained. For that reason, Savannah had no qualms about betraying what would, in other circumstances, have been a confidence. Moreover, she had called Susan for a reason, and if she expected her to be of help, Susan had to know the score.
“Money,” she said very quietly. “The business is failing.”
Susan didn’t seem at all surprised. “Then the talk is right.”
“Talk?”
“Gossip. It’s my specialty, Savvy. You know that. I may not be good for much else, but I do know the latest rumors.”
“And the one about the Vandermeers—”
