Murder A'la Mode. G. A. McKevett

tiara. I’m going to go to this audition, and I’m going to win the contest, too. You wait and see.”

      “And maybe you’ll fall in love, find your true soul mate,” Tammy said, a sappy grin on her face.

      “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

      Ryan chuckled and nudged Savannah’s arm. “You haven’t asked who he is.”

      “Who who is?”

      “The star of the show, the man of your dreams, the guy whose heart you have to win.”

      She shrugged. “Eh, who cares. If I set my cap for him, I’ll get him. I just turn on the old Southern charm spigot and he’s a dead duck. He’ll—”

      “Lance Roman.”

      Savannah sat, stunned, not believing her ears. “No,” she whispered.

      Ryan nodded. “Yep. Lance Roman, the model, the guy on the covers of those books you like to—”

      That was when Savannah started screaming, shrieking incoherently—emitting cries that sounded like exclamations of ecstasy one moment and wails of agony the next.

      It would only be much later, when she was reliving the moment in her memory, that she would recall somebody saying, “Uh, oh! Is she all right?” and someone replying, “I don’t think so. I’m afraid she’s gone. What should we do? Somebody throw water on her! Or maybe slap her!”

      Chapter

      2

      As Savannah left her house the next day, suitcases in hand and a joy born of greed and lust in her heart, she paused beside Tammy’s classic Volkswagen bug. Looking back at the modest Spanish-style house with its white stucco walls draped in flowering bougainvillea and its crumbling red tile roof, she said, “I’m doing this for you, you know. I’ve got every piece of sexy lingerie I own in those suitcases. I’m going to prostitute myself by going on a television show and pretending to fall madly in love, just so that you can have a new roof. I hope you appreciate it.”

      Tammy popped the trunk on the front of the bug and motioned for her to hurry. “You and I and your house know exactly why you’re doing this,” she told Savannah as she helped her place the suitcases inside. “And it’s got a lot more to do with lechery than a diamond tiara.”

      Savannah grinned. “Whatever are you implying, young lady? You know full well that my intentions are completely mercenary in nature.”

      “Baloney. You’re hoping to lock lips with Lance Roman, and you know it, so don’t try to pretend you’re doing it for a roof. I’ve seen how you look at those book covers with his picture on them.”

      “How?”

      Instantly, Tammy arranged her face into a dreamy, sappy, brainless grin that made Savannah slightly nauseous.

      “I do not!”

      “Do, too!”

      “Huh-uh. Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

      “Oh, well, since you argue your point so intelligently….” Tammy opened the driver’s door and said, “Get in. You’re going to be late for your audition.”

      A few minutes later, they were following a winding road along the foothills that bordered San Carmelita on the east. Below them and to the west, they could see the little town spread along the coastline, five times as long as it was wide. The ocean was mostly obscured by a haze of winter fog, created by the warm, inland air meeting the cooler sea breezes. As usual, the overcast would burn off by the afternoon, giving way to the famous Southern California golden sunshine.

      “Are you nervous?” Tammy asked as they left the city limits and headed east into a long, deep valley that ran perpendicular to the coast.

      “A little, but not much,” Savannah replied. She reached into her purse and pulled out a compact. Applying a third layer of powder to her nose, she said, “John and Ryan said this audition is more of a formality than anything. Apparently one of the five contestants dropped out at the last minute, and they’re supposed to start filming tonight. John recommended me so highly that they said they’d take me sight unseen.”

      “He and Ryan are friends of the producers, right?”

      “Yes. It’s a husband-and-wife team, Alexander and Tess Jarvis.”

      “I’ve heard of them,” Tammy said. “Aren’t they the head honchos of the Romance Network, that cable channel?”

      “They’re the ones. This show is going to play on their network, which isn’t like being on HBO or Showtime, but still….”

      “It’ll be fun.”

      “It will. Especially with John and Ryan part of the party. John is going to play the butler—or manservant, as they called them back in the olden days. The show has some sort of medieval theme. And Ryan will be the head coachman.”

      Tammy’s lower lip protruded slightly. “I wish I could play some part and hang out with you guys. All I get to do is stay at your house and feed the cats.”

      “Ah, don’t pout. You’ll have fun. Don’t forget; you have to give them their medicine, too.”

      “Gee, I can’t wait. Better check to make sure my tetanus shot is current.”

      Savannah reached over and gave her a sisterly pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. As soon as my foot’s firmly in the door, I’ll see if we can get you in, too.”

      “Really?”

      “Sure. Maybe you can be my scullery maid. You can play Cinderella, and I’ll be one of the ill-tempered stepsisters who’s got all the cool clothes.”

      “Gee, thanks,” Tammy said as she turned off the main highway and drove into a small canyon. The road ran beside a meandering, rock-strewn creek that was lined with ancient, gnarled oaks. Several miles from the ocean, there was no sign of morning haze, only brilliant sunlight that streamed through the oak leaves, dappling the ground beneath the trees in a thousand shades of brown and green. The breeze flowing through the car’s open windows smelled of dust, wild sage, and eucalyptus.

      “We should be just about there,” Savannah said, studying a piece of paper with the map that Tammy had downloaded for her on the Internet. “Right after the curve up there, we should see a road on our right. Ryan says the entrance gates are distinctive.”

      “A distinctive entrance? What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Savannah shrugged. “He wouldn’t elaborate, said we’ll know it when we see it. The place has a name: Blackmoor Castle. Sort of romantic, don’t you think?”

      “Castle?” Tammy thought for a moment. “Wait a second. I think I’ve seen pictures of this place. A few months ago, the Sunday paper had an article about it, and….”

      “And?”

      Shooting Savannah a quick, evasive look, she said, “Uh…it wasn’t a very long article. I don’t remember much about it.”

      “You’re such a lousy liar. Spill it.”

      Tammy cleared her throat. “I think they said something about some eccentric guy from Texas building a mansion that looked like an old castle. He was…you know…into that sort of thing.”

      “Medieval history?”

      Tammy grimaced. “Well, maybe more like…Dracula.”

      “Dracu—?” The word caught in Savannah’s throat because they had rounded the curve and to the right was, indeed, the distinctive entry to Blackmoor Castle. Two enormous marble columns stood on either side of the gravel road, and the pillars were topped with a pair of hideous, snarling gargoyle-like statues. The monster on the left held a dove in its talons and the bird looked as dead as the proverbial duck. His equally evil twin held what appeared to be a squirming cherub