Wicked Craving. G. A. McKevett

what a sorry commentary that is on my social life.”

      By the time they walked into the house, Dirk had stopped complaining, and Savannah had put aside all thoughts of teasing him.

      Few things were more important than tormenting Dirk, but talking to the deceased person’s family—who also just happened to be your primary suspect—was one of those things.

      Neither of them wanted to have to draw Dr. Wellman out of his bedroom seclusion at a time like this, but it had to be done.

      After examining the body and the edge of the cliff, they were both pretty certain that Mrs. Wellman hadn’t simply taken one step too many while strolling around her backyard in the dark. She had fought for her life before being pushed to her death.

      And that meant they were looking for a killer.

      But as they entered the living room, they heard voices. Angry voices. A man’s and a woman’s.

      The two were arguing in an adjoining room, so loudly that Savannah and Dirk could hear everything they were saying.

      “I want my money,” the female was saying, “and if I don’t get it, I’m going to make a lot of trouble for you.”

      “You’ve already made trouble for me,” he replied. “You’re nothing but trouble.”

      “When am I getting it? When?”

      “I can’t believe you’re hassling me at a time like this.”

      “Oh, yeah, you’re just heartbroken. I’m sure. Give me a break. Like you give a damn that she’s dead. You’re probably happy. You probably did it yourself, just to—”

      “Shut up! Shut your mouth! You say something like that with the cops right outside my door? What’s wrong with you?”

      “I’ll say a hell of a lot more than that if you don’t have my money to me by this time tomorrow. I mean it. If you don’t believe me, you just wait and see.”

      They heard quick, heavy footsteps as someone stomped through the house, away from them and toward the front door.

      Savannah rushed past Dirk, heading for the foyer, trying to step as quietly as possible.

      She was just in time to see an extremely thin young woman, with lots of curly blond hair, rush to the front door, jerk it open, and leave the house.

      Mostly, Savannah had seen her backside, but she was fairly sure she’d know her if she saw her again. Even in a culture where being stick skinny was the primary measure of a female’s worth, this one was exceptionally scrawny. Her tight jeans had displayed thighs that weren’t much thicker than Savannah’s forearm.

      Savannah hurried to the beveled glass sidelight and looked through it to the front yard. The blonde darted back and forth among the patrolmen, making her way to a little blue compact parked on the side of the road.

      As she sped away, Savannah caught the first three letters of the license plate. PLW. She pulled a notebook and ballpoint from her jacket pocket and scribbled down the letters.

      Replacing the pad and pen, she turned, intending to rejoin Dirk in the living room. But, instead, she found herself face-to-face with the man of the house.

      And Dr. Wellman didn’t look happy to see her.

      He was red haired with a ruddy complexion and a thin, auburn mustache, dressed in a violet polo shirt and sharply creased, beige slacks. His cheeks were brightly flushed, and he was sweating profusely, considering that the house was a comfortable temperature.

      That must have been a heck of an argument, Savannah thought. Or was it all because his wife’s dead body had been found at the foot of his cliff?

      She thought it over for a moment, then decided that he looked more mad than sad. And that little bit of info she would scribble in her mental notepad, to be considered later.

      “Who the hell are you?” he asked her. His eyes were narrowed and intense, but his tone was slightly shaky.

      “Her name is Savannah Reid,” said a deep, authoritative voice behind them … without a bit of shakiness. “And she’s with me.”

      Dirk walked into the room and stood beside Savannah, hands on his hips, his best Clint Eastwood scowl on his face. And it was a pretty good face, because he practiced it regularly in his rearview mirror when he was supposed to be driving—much to Savannah’s consternation as his frequent passenger.

      She chuckled inwardly. She didn’t exactly need his protection from the good doctor in his purple shirt, but she appreciated the thought.

      “Did you find … um … the body?” Wellman asked Dirk. “Was it where the jogger said it was?”

      “Yes, it was,” Dirk replied.

      “And is she … I mean … is it for sure that she’s … ?”

      “Yes.” Dirk softened his tone a bit and added, “I’m sorry.”

      Savannah watched closely as something that truly looked like grief flitted across Wellman’s face. But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by the stony stare that was giving her the creeps.

      In some ways, it was more disconcerting, this lack of emotion, than the more common outpouring of sorrow.

      “How did she die?” the doctor asked. “Did she fall off the cliff?”

      “She definitely fell off the cliff,” Savannah said. “We don’t know yet exactly why she fell.”

      Dirk cleared his throat. “Doctor, the last time you saw your wife, was she intoxicated?”

      Wellman shrugged. “She’d had a glass of wine during dinner. And maybe a couple more between dances.”

      “How many people would you say attended the ball last night?” Savannah asked.

      “Oh, a hundred. Maybe more.”

      “Did your wife spend her time talking to any one person in particular?”

      “Not really. She was quite comfortable in social settings. She liked to flit around the room, visiting with first one, then the other. I didn’t notice her talking to anybody special … other than me, of course.”

      “Of course,” Dirk said.

      “I know this is a difficult question,” Savannah said, “but, to your knowledge, was anyone upset with your wife? Did she have any enemies that might wish her harm?”

      He hesitated and glanced away, looking through the house to the rear windows and beyond that, to the cliff edge. “No, not really. Maria had a temper and spoke her mind, and that didn’t exactly endear her to some people. But nobody hated her enough to do something like that.”

      “I beg to differ with you,” Dirk said, watching the man closely, studying every nuance of the doctor’s facial expression, tone of voice, and body language. “It takes a lot of hate to push somebody off a cliff to their death.”

      Dr. Wellman stared at Dirk for a long moment, then at Savannah, his eyes searching theirs. And Savannah could feel a deep, gut-shaking fear radiating out of him.

      “And that’s what you think happened?” he asked.

      Savannah nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

      “It couldn’t have been an accident?”

      “We don’t think so.”

      Savannah waited for him to adjust to the news before she asked, “Dr. Wellman, your wife was dressed beautifully for the party. Can you tell me if she was wearing any jewelry?”

      “Yes! She was wearing a sapphire and diamond necklace and earrings that she’d rented from a jewelry shop on Rodeo Drive. Don’t tell me they’re gone!”

      “I’m afraid