Free Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal by G. A. McKevett Page B

dressmaker’s form that stood next to an ornately painted dressing screen in the corner of the room. The form was draped with a long, beaded, fringed, velvet duster and had a feather boa draped around its neck. “Dona is, and always has been, more comfortable in almost any era other than this one. She’s only truly happy when she’s surrounded by things from…yesteryear. It’s an escape, I suppose.”
    “An escape from what?”
    “Being Dona Papalardo.”
    Savannah watched the play of emotions that crossed Mary Jo’s face: sadness, pity, and maybe a hint of resentment?
    “What’s so bad about being a beloved actress?” She glanced around the opulent room. “And a rich one to boot?”
    “You’d think it would be enough, wouldn’t you?”
    Yes, Savannah was sure she detected some jealousy, maybe even some bitterness there.
    “But not everybody loves Dona,” Mary Jo continued.
    Savannah’s detective antenna rose. “Oh? Anyone in particular who doesn’t?”
    Mary Jo was on instant alert. “Not anybody who would want to kill her, if that’s what you mean,” she said.
    “So, what do you think that shooting was about yesterday?”
    Mary Jo shrugged, a blank mask firmly in place. “Who knows? Some kook probably. Or maybe somebody who had it in for Kim. Just because she looked a bit like Dona, who’s to say it was Dona they were trying to kill?”
    “Do you know anyone who would want Kim dead?”
    “I didn’t really know Kim that well.”
    “Even though she worked for your best friend’?”
    Mary Jo’s chin raised a notch and her eyes narrowed. “That’s right. I don’t get close to the help. I hardly knew Kim at all, and I have no idea why that happened yesterday. I’m as much in the dark as anybody about it.”
    Savannah didn’t believe her. After years of trying to squeeze information out of people, she was an excellent judge of which fruits had juice in them and which ones didn’t. She was sure that Mary Jo had a lot more to give than she was offering.
    And that’s just not smart, lady, Savannah thought. Hold out on me, and I’ll look at you that much closer to find out why.
    Savannah gave Mary Jo a long, searching look designed to make her squirm—if, indeed, she had anything to squirm about. But the woman returned the look with a dead-level stare that Savannah could only describe as bordering on defiant.
    Yes, she would definitely have to watch this one. It wouldn’t be the first time that a so-called “best friend” had stabbed somebody in the back. Or shot them, as the case might be.
    “It’s very kind and supportive of you,” Savannah said evenly, “to be here for your friend in her time of need.”
    “I live here,” Mary Jo snapped, again with a defiant, defensive manner that made Savannah’s right eyebrow rise a notch.
    “Oh? You said you’re staying here. I didn’t realize you actually live here.”
    “There’s probably quite a bit you don’t know about us. The tabloids don’t tell the whole story, you know.”
    The tabloids? Savannah wondered what the tabloids had to do with the price of pecans in Georgia. But she made a quick mental note to have Tammy get her hands on as many as she could that mentioned Dona Papalardo, and especially her good buddy, Mary Jo.
    “I’m sure they don’t,” Savannah said. “In fact, I’m sure they tell a lot of half-truths, and that’s on a good day when they aren’t just plain ol’ outright lying through their snaggled teeth.”
    For just a moment, Mary Jo’s expression softened, as though she appreciated the fact that Savannah and she were on the same side when it came to the politics of supermarket rags. But their “strange bedfellow” bond was short-lived.
    “I’ve been living here for a few months now, since I sold my house in Malibu,” Mary Jo said, her chin a couple of notches higher than normal. “And Dona is very nice to have me here. But it isn’t like the tabloids said. I wasn’t homeless, for heaven’s