Free Death by Chocolate by G. A. McKevett Page A

here or not.”
    Sydney gave a slight bow in
Gilly’s direction and turned on his heel to leave. But a split second before he
walked away, Savannah saw him shoot a quick look at Eleanor Maxwell that
radiated pure hatred.
    And although Savannah could
hardly blame him, she was surprised how completely that look changed his
otherwise pleasant face. She didn’t envy Eleanor, who seemed to have a knack
for bringing out the worst in everyone around her.
    “Those are my favorites,
right there,” Gilly said, pointing to a crystal plate holding pink, yellow, and
white petit fours. ‘The pink ones have strawberry jam in the middle. The yellow
ones are lemon. Marie puts roses on the top of them, just for me, ‘cause she
knows I like roses.”
    “And”—Eleanor interjected
as she shoved one of the cakes into her mouth and chewed—“because Grandma tells
her to.”
    Gilly looked down at the
plate of sweets and shrugged. ‘Yeah,” she said, the sparkle gone from her
voice. “Everybody does what Grandma tells them to.... if they know what’s good
for them.”
    Eleanor smiled broadly.
    Savannah took a sip of her
tea and tried not to hate Eleanor Maxwell. It was a personal policy of hers:
Don’t hate the people who are paying your bills. At least, not so that they can
tell.

Chapter

5
     
     
     
    S avannah chased Eleanor
throughout the afternoon, trying to finagle a moment of quality time with her
uncooperative client. But Eleanor was too busy barking orders on the phone,
then taking a long, leisurely bath and an even longer nap to discuss something
as mundane as personal safety.
    “Just find out who sent me
those damned letters and leave me alone!” she screamed when Savannah attempted
to present her with a list of suggestions to enhance security at the house and
studio.
    Standing at the recently
slammed bedroom door, list in hand, Savannah resisted the urge to kick it open
and throttle the wicked queen.
    “I’ve just about had my can
full of this,” she muttered to herself as she walked downstairs to the kitchen,
where Sydney was loading dishes into the dishwasher. He had shed his tuxedo
jacket, which was hanging on the pantry door, and his sleeves were rolled up to
the elbow.
    At his feet, the three
terriers pranced about on tiptoes, their toenails clicking on the highly
polished oak floor. They were watching his every movement, hoping some food
tidbit might drop. One of them was even sitting up and begging quite
beguilingly.
    But Sydney didn’t appear to
be beguilable. His face looked as glum as Savannah felt.
    “There’s gotta be an easier
way to make a buck, Syd, my man,” she said, feeling an instant companionship
with anyone in Eleanor’s employ.
    He chuckled and scraped
some leftover petit fours into the garbage compactor. The dogs yipped and ran
in circles around him, but they might have been invisible for all the attention
he gave them. “I was just thinking the same thing myself,” he said as he shook
some powdered soap into the washer’s dispenser. Just the flowery smell of the
detergent made Savannah’s nose tickle, but she pushed down the urge to sneeze.
Her head ached enough already.
    “How long have you worked
for Eleanor?” she asked “Seems like my whole life, but it’s really only been
about seven or eight years.”
    “Time flies when you’re
having fun, right?”
    “Yeah, really. It’s been a
blast.” He laughed again, but there was no humor in the sound.
    “So, why do you stay?”
    He looked at her with eyes
that were deeply tired, reflecting a spirit whose life force was ebbing low. He
shrugged. “You get used to a place, you know, and the people.”
    “And the way they treat
you?”
    He paused, then shook his
head. “No, I don’t think anybody really gets used to that.”
    “What exactly do you do
here, when you aren’t playing butler for Gilly?”
    He smiled and for a moment
Savannah could see that he would have been handsome when he was younger. And
less tired. He took