Killer Calories

tequila—and she fainted and drowned herself.”
    Ryan was on a roll. “And how did Dr. Liu... leap... to this conclusion?”
    Dirk ignored him and turned to Savannah . “Like the doc said at the scene, you shouldn’t mix booze and a hot tub. Apparently, Kat had been knockin ’ those margaritas back somethin ’ fierce.”
    “ Mmmm ...” Savannah tapped her fingernails on the base of her wineglass. “That’s sorta anticlimactic, don’t you think?”
    “But it’s good news,” Gibson said. “At least the poor lady wasn’t murdered.”
    “Of course, it’s good news.” Savannah wondered at her own reaction. An unexpected death was tragic enough, without the added horror of knowing it was homicide. For those who cared about Kat Valentina—like Tammy—this was the best report possible.
    So, why did she feel so uneasy? Had she been petty enough to be hoping for the worst. No, she hadn’t disliked the woman that much. Surely...
    “How do you feel about it?” she asked Dirk.
    “One less folder on my desk,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Hey, here’s my Buffalo wings.”
    He bent over the plate that Antoine had left behind and peered at the thin, flat pieces of meat, artistically arranged in a half circle and garnished with greens.
    “These don’t look like chicken wings,” he said, darting a suspicious look at Ryan.
    Ryan smiled benevolently. “Of course not. They’re French chickens.”

    * * *

    Half an hour later, Dirk had devoured his food and downed several more beers. After all, he was off-duty, and, most importantly, Ryan was picking up the tab.
    Savannah offered to drive him home.
    “Hey, Dirk,” she said, as they were leaving the restaurant. “I’ve got a silly little joke for you, one I heard years ago.”
    “All right. What is it?”
    “How do you eat a frog?”
    His expression darkened, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I’m gonna like this... but how?”
    “It’s easy. You just hook one little leg over one ear, and one little leg over the other and...”

    When Savannah opened her front door, Diamante and Cleopatra were there to meet her, as always. Their sleek black fur, their pale green eyes, and their rhinestone collars gleamed in the porch light.
    They curled around her ankles and purred as she bent over to stroke them, arching their backs as they slid beneath her hand.
    “Hello, girls. I’m happy to see you, too. Did any tomcats come prowling while I was out?”
    She was about to step inside, when she saw the corner of something protruding from her mailbox beside the door. Looks like we did have a visitor,” she said, reaching for the 0versize beige envelope. “I distinctly remember getting the mail earlier.”
    There was no postage or even an address on it. But it was sealed, very well, with several passes of cellophane tape.
    Once inside the house, Savannah took the envelope to the kitchen and ripped it open with a steak knife. Green. At first, that was all she could see. The envelope was absolutely stuffed with cash.
    Her heart skipped a beat. In the olden days, as a public servant, an envelope crammed with money could only spell trouble, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to keep it.
    But as a private citizen... maybe... just maybe...
    On the bottom of the pile was a small note, the same beige stationery as the envelope.
    On it were a few typed words:

    Dear Ms. Reid,
    I have reason to believe that Kat Valentina was murdered. I would like you to prove this. If you do, there will be more where this came from.
    Please consider this money a retainer for your investigative services. Begin working right away, and I’ll be in touch.

    Murdered ? The word shot through Savannah ’s brain, verifying what some part of her had known all along. That was why she had been uneasy at dinner, hearing of Jennifer Liu’s “accidental” ruling. For some reason that was impossible to explain, but potent all the same, Savannah knew that Kat Valentina had been a victim of homicide, not just her own carelessness.
    And, apparently, whoever had left this in her mailbox knew it, too.
    Just the thought of trying to solve the crime, of going after the bastard who did it, gave Savannah a jolt of adrenaline. Nobody deserved to have their life taken. And everybody deserved justice. Even somebody like Kat Valentina.
    Then, of course, there were those other little words: more where this came from.
    In spite of the stack of overdue bills on her kitchen table and the