He did take half a step backward, but his face was still contorted with rage when he said, “I know your type. You’re one of those women’s lib bull-dykes who hate men. You think men should go around henpecked, kissing women’s asses and—”
“That’s quite enough,” she said, her words even, clipped.
“You think just because I set my old lady straight and discipline my kid that I’m some kind of abuser. I watch the TV talk shows. I know what shit they say about guys who are just trying to keep their families in line. I know what they say about us being abusers and crap like that.”
Savannah felt her tether strain, strain, and then snap. Yes, she had to. She just had to…
She looked around for the cart with the baby in it. He was out of sight behind a salad dressing display.
“Okay then,” she said with a nasty little smirk of her own, “if you’re that all-fired informed, you know about the latest scientific findings.”
He looked confused. “What? What findings?”
“About abusers like you. Oh, you haven’t heard? Then let me tell you.” She held her little finger up in front of his face, only a few inches from his nose. “They’ve done tests and discovered that abusers, guys who yell at their kids and belittle their wives in grocery stores just for the fun of it, just to prove what a big shot they are, this…this right here…is the average size of their—”
“Hey, your news story is coming on next,” Tammy called from the living room. “They said they’ve got film and everything!”
In the kitchen, Savannah grabbed plates laden with rocky road fudge and peanut butter chip brownies and scurried into her living room.
Her guests were stretched out on the sofa and across the floor, holding their bellies and moaning in pain. They were soldiers laid low, not from battle but from Savannah’s determination to make sure that every morsel of food possible had been consumed—and then some.
She wasn’t content until the aftermath looked like the scene in Gone with the Wind, with casualties stretched as far as the eye could see. When no one could move, or even breathe, only then would her job as hostess be finished.
“A little post-dessert repast,” she said.
The chorus of groans mingled with pleas of “No, no! I couldn’t eat another bite!” as they snatched up the offerings.
Even the svelte and health-conscious Tammy took a piece of the fudge before passing the plate to Ryan Stone and John Gibson.
A couple of Savannah’s closest friends and honorary members of her Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency, Ryan and John had fought the urge to eat every delectable morsel that Savannah had forced on them for years—but with pathetically little conviction. If not for the hours spent at the gym and on the tennis court to counteract the effects, their ultratrim physiques would have disappeared long ago.
And that would have been a shame because lusting after the two of them—hard bodies and all—was one of Savannah’s favorite pastimes, second only to watching Dirk walk away.
With Ryan’s dark good looks, his six-foot-plus frame, and his impeccable sense of style, he could set any female heart pitter-patting. And although John was older than Ryan, his life partner, John’s thick silver hair and his soft, aristocratic British accent was enough to make a girl melt.
For all the good it did her, Savannah had been pitter-pattering and melting into puddles in their presence for years.
“Hey, Van, bring some of those brownies over here,” Dirk called from the other side of the living room. “And is that fudge? Is it rocky road?”
Snuggled into her favorite rose-print chintz easy chair, he leaned back and unbuckled his Harley–Davidson belt.
“What are you doing there in my chair?” she asked as she brought the plates of goodies to him. “I’ve told you time and again not to sit in it. I’ve got the cushion molded just right for my own hind end, and you’re gonna wreck it. Get out! Now!”
“It’s comfortable,” he objected as he reached for the plate. “I can see now why you like sitting here, even if it is a sissy, pansy chair with stupid flowers all over it.”
“Get out of it!” she said, kicking him on the shin with her fuzzy red slipper. “You insult my chair and expect me to let you sit there? Move your carcass over to the couch and take those boots off. They’ve got mud and heaven knows what else on ’em.” She took a sniff and wrinkled her nose. “Lord have mercy, boy, what have you been wading through? Meadow muffins?”
“Meadow whats?” He lifted his boot and stared at the sole.
“Cow pies,” she said. “You know…bovine biscuits.”
“Ah. You mean bull shit,” he said. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I—”
“Sh-h-h,” Savannah said, seeing her grandmother descend the stairs, a cloud of Hawaiian print in her floor-length pink and red muumuu. “Watch your mouth. Gran’s coming down.”
“I heard that,” Gran said, a twinkle in her eye as she joined them in the living room. “Who’s been tippy toeing through the bullpucky?”
“Me,” Dirk admitted as he quickly stood and offered Gran the chair. “I had to chase a suspect through a pasture yesterday out in Mooney Canyon. I guess I haven’t gotten around to scraping off all the…uh…forensic evidence yet.”
He held Gran’s arm as she settled into Savannah’s easy chair and gently placed the ottoman under her feet. Then he handed her his brownie and a piece of fudge.
Savannah smiled, loving him just for a moment, then she said, “Go put those boots out on the front porch and get back in here before my news story comes on.”
Glancing at the television, she could see that the weather report was nearly finished. And that meant the colorful, local story would be next. She wasn’t sure how she felt about her latest exploits being broadcast for God and everybody to see. With cameras everywhere these days, a body had precious little privacy.
On the other hand, the footage had convinced the cops who had appeared on the scene that the other guy was the one who had thrown the first punch…or at least attempted to before she’d effectively blocked it.
There were times when a bit of store security videotape could be a girl’s best friend.
“I don’t need to see it on the screen,” Dirk said as he plodded off to the hallway. “I was there. I saw the whole bloody, gory scene in person.”
“Bloody?” Tammy was all ears. “Gory?” She looked anything but appalled. In fact, she looked deliciously intrigued—embarrassingly so.
Ghoul, Savannah thought proudly.
She’d taught the kid everything she knew about crime scene gore, its significance, and how to process it.
Granny settled her generous self into the easy chair and looked perfectly at home, the golden light of the reading lamp setting her white hair aglow with a fire that matched the one burning in her bright blue eyes.
Granny Reid might be an octogenarian who had traveled a lot of long, bumpy, pothole-pitted roads, but her passion hadn’t dimmed one bit over the years. And one didn’t need a second glance to see where Savannah had gotten her feisty spirit.
Gran took a bite of Dirk’s brownie, closed her eyes, and savored it for a moment, then she said, “Perfection, Savannah girl. Sinful, scrumptious perfection.” Then she opened her eyes, the moment for savoring over. “Now, what’s this business about you committing murder and mayhem at the local supermarket? I thought I taught you better than that.”
“You did, Gran,”