“We were sorry to hear about Bobby,” said King quietly.
“He’s tough; he’ll pull through,” she said confidently.
“I heard you might be heading out on your own,” said King.
Savannah’s expression darkened. “I expect people are having a good time trying to figure out what I’m going to do. Trust-fund Baby Battle,” she added bitterly.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Savannah,” said King gently.
She waved off his apology with a dismissive karate chop through the air. “I’ve been dealing with that all my life, why stop now, right? I have my own way to make in the world, and it’s not always easy with parents like I have. But I’ll make something of myself. I’m not going through life using my credit card to buy happiness.”
As she listened, Michelle felt her opinion of the young woman turning more positive.
Savannah wiped her mouth with her hand and said, “I know why you’re here. It’s about Junior Deaver, right? I can’t figure why he would’ve done anything so stupid. I mean, like my mother’s going to just look the other way while he walks off with her wedding ring? I don’t think so.”
“Maybe he didn’t do it,” said King.
“Sure he did,” said Savannah as she toweled off her wet hair. “From what I heard he left so much evidence behind he might as well have just sat on the floor and waited for the police to show up and arrest him.” She shoved another piece of sandwich into her mouth and
crammed in a handful of potato chips as a chaser.
“Stop eating like some damned pig, Savannah!” the voice said sharply. “And while you’re doing that, try and halfway sit like a lady, if your imagination can possibly grasp such a concept.”
Savannah, who’d been slouching in her chair with her legs spread wide like a hooker on the prowl, instantly straightened up and cemented her thighs together, stretching the robe over her knees.
Remington Battle strode onto the terrace with as much presence as a Broadway legend convinced of her ability to effortlessly dominate an audience.
She was dressed impeccably in a dazzling white pleated skirt that fell several inches below the knee. On her feet were stylish if conservative low-heeled pumps. A patterned blouse of cool blue was partially covered by a white sweater that was draped around her shoulders. She was taller than her daughter by several inches—around Michelle’s height—and her touched-up auburn hair and makeup were expertly done. Her features were strong, indeed almost visually overpowering. Michelle guessed that Remmy in her youth had probably been even more beautiful than her daughter. Now in her sixties she was still a very handsome woman. Yet with all that, it was the eyes that caught and held you: part eagle, part buzzard and intimidating as hell.
Remmy shook hands with King and then was introduced to Michelle. The latter felt the woman run a severe gaze over her and suspected that Remmy Battle found much to find fault with in her very casual clothes, nonexistent makeup and windswept hair. She didn’t have long to ruminate on that, though, as Remmy turned her attention to her daughter once more.
“In my day we didn’t greet guests without any clothes on,” she said icily.
“I was swimming, Mama. I don’t usually go swimming in my debutante gown,” Savannah shot back, but her fingers flew to her mouth and she chewed nervously on a nail.
Remmy gave the young woman such a penetrating stare that Savannah finally grabbed another sandwich and a fistful of chips, rose, muttered something under her breath that to Michelle sounded pretty close to “old bitch” and stalked off, her wet flip-flops smacking against the brick in a series of exclamation points.
Then Remmy Battle sat down and turned her full attention to King and Michelle.
They each drew a deep breath as her gaze bored into them. To Michelle it was quite an introduction to Casa Battle. Now she understood exactly what King had meant about judging the “interior.”
CHAPTER
15
“I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE
for Savannah,” said Remmy. “I love her, but some days I can’t believe we’re actually related by blood, or anything else for that matter.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Battle, she’s just a kid,” said Michelle. “They all do crazy stuff.”
Remmy snapped, “She’s not a child. She’s twenty-two! She’s a graduate of one of the finest schools on the East Coast. Rings in her belly and tattoos on her butt! I didn’t send that girl to college so she could lose her damn mind!”
Michelle looked at King for help.
“Uh, Remmy, we were sorry to hear about Bobby. How’s he doing?” he asked.
“His condition is still critical,” Remmy answered in the same harsh tone, and then her hand crept to her lined forehead and she said in a more restrained voice, “I’m sorry. Here I am complaining about Savannah, and I’m not exactly being Miss Hospitality myself. It’s just that a lot has happened lately.” She paused and said slowly, “Bobby was in a coma for the longest time, and the damn doctors didn’t know when or even if he’d come out of it. But then he did. They were even able to take him off the ventilator. Two nights ago he said his first words.”