Wicked Craving. G. A. McKevett

she yelled around the cigarette, “I told you it was a scam. There’s ain’t nothing in that box they brung. I checked it! It’s empty as your head. You ain’t never been lucky enough to win nothin’!”

      “Ah, shut up, Ma,” Norbert replied, shuffling along as Dirk led him toward the pickup.

      Savannah wondered where the woman had found antique, pink, foam hair curlers. She wondered how old that chenille robe was. She won-dered if every time Norbert had abused one of his elderly female victims he had been thinking of his mommy.

      But there was something else that piqued her curiosity even more.

      She had to ask.

      Turning to Mother Weyerhauser, she said, “I have to know … who was the first person to call him ‘Stumpy’? Was it you?”

      “Hell no.” The cigarette, stuck to her lower lip, bobbed up and down a couple of times. “It was that idiot bimbo that he dropped out of high school to marry. She started calling him that right before she divorced him. I’ve always called him ‘Norbert.’”

      Savannah gave Dirk a big smirk as she opened the truck door and helped him tuck the bloody, grumpy Stumpy inside. “Told ya so.”

       Chapter 2

      By the time Dirk delivered Savannah back to her house, she could feel her tummy rumbling. The morning’s donuts had long worn off, along with the coffee caffeine buzz. She was in serious need of nutrition, and she figured Dirk was, too.

      As he pulled the pickup into her driveway, she made the generous decision to, once again, feed the bottomless human abyss.

      “Wanna come in and have some lunch?” she asked him. “I made chicken and dumplings for Granny Reid.”

      She waited for the ecstatic response that she knew was coming. Her chicken and dumplings were world renowned—both her grandmother’s and Dirk’s all-time favorite. Granny had been heard to say, “Savannah’s gotta put a brick bat on top of the lid on that pot, or her dumplin’s will just go floatin’ up and out the kitchen winder.”

      “Uh … no … not now,” Dirk replied, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

      “What? You not hungry? Since when?”

      “I shouldn’t have eaten that apple fritter earlier. I’m on a diet.”

      His last sentence had been mumbled, barely audible, but she had heard it. Heard, but not believed it.

      “You? On a diet? Lord, help us all. First global warming and now this?”

      Instantly, Dirk donned his sullen face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “Oh, we’re going to talk about it. We are so going to talk about it. Since when did you ever—”

      “Shut up, woman,” he said, but he was grinning. It was the only thing that kept him from getting his jaws smacked. “Or I’ll fly into a blind rage.”

      “You in a blind rage? Now that I believe. But you denying yourself food … free food … no way. ”

      “This discussion’s over. Hop out. I’ve got places to go.”

      “Oh, you do not.” She sniffed. “You have no life.

      You have to have a life before you have places to go.”

      He shot her another mischievous grin, leaned over, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the help with Stumpy. I’ll call you later.”

      “Yeah … okay,” she said, one eyebrow raised, as she grabbed her purse and climbed out of the pickup.

      “Tell Granny, ‘hi’ for me,” he shouted through the open window as he pulled out of the driveway. “I’ll come see her tomorrow.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      Savannah watched, her arms folded over her chest, as he drove away.

      She was still mulling over the mystery of a dieting Dirk as she walked up the sidewalk to the quaint, Spanish-style house that had been her home for years.

      The stucco could use some fresh paint, and a couple of the red, clay roof tiles had been loosened during the spring storms, but she loved her home and usually felt a twinge of satisfaction every time she walked up the path to her front door.

      But today she didn’t notice the sun shining on the marigolds and nasturtiums in their beds or the bougainvillea that arched across her porch. Even her adrenaline rush from catching a bad guy was squelched.

      Although she was reluctant to admit it, she was basically a nosy person who liked to know what was going on with the people around her. And having someone in her inner circle behaving unpredictably was particularly irksome for her.

      And a non-eating Dirk was as unpredictable and irksome as it got.

      She opened the front door, walked inside, and tossed her purse and keys onto a piecrust table in the foyer. And after placing her gun on an upper closet shelf and hanging up her jacket, she walked into the living room.

      Instantly, she was greeted by her entourage … more of her inner circle.

      Two enormous black cats bounded off the windowsills and began to twine themselves around her ankles, rubbing their faces against her legs and purring.

      “Hi, Cleopatra, Diamante,” she said, stroking first one silky head and then the other. “Did you miss Momma?”

      “Hi! How did it go?” asked a beautiful, young blonde woman who was sitting at a rolltop desk on the other side of the room. “Did you catch him? Did he try to run away? Hey, you’ve got mud on your slacks. Did you have to tackle him, take him down? Was it fun?”

      Savannah smiled at her—as always, just enjoying the pure, golden sunlight that was her friend and assistant, Tammy Hart.

      “Yes, sweet pea,” she said, scooping Cleopatra into her arms and nuzzling her, “to all of the above.”

      Long ago, Savannah had made a conscious decision to stop being envious of Tammy’s youth, her effervescence, her svelte figure and teeny-weeny hiney. After all, having such a bundle of positive energy in her life was a blessing. Savannah knew that it was Tammy who kept her young and infused with boundless joy.

      The kid’s size-zero butt—the decision not to envy that took daily reaffirming.

      “Anything new?” Savannah asked, setting Cleo on the floor and picking up Diamante. “Any messages?”

      “Just your granny. Her plane left a couple of hours late. She’s due to arrive at seven fifteen.”

      “Tarnation. I was hoping I could get her back here in time for supper.”

      Tammy looked confused. “But you can make it back from LAX by eight thirty or nine if traffic’s good.”

      “Gran has supper at four thirty and is in bed, reading her Bible and her True Informer by seven.”

      “Oh, right.” Tammy looked down at the mud on Savannah’s slacks. “Did Stumpy run very far before you caught him?”

      Savannah smiled as she set Di onto the floor beside her sister. “No, not far at all. His shorts were around his ankles. You can’t exactly make tracks very fast that way.”

      Tammy was amazed. “They fell down?”

      “With a little help.” Savannah thought of Norbert Weyerhauser in all his glory and shuddered. “I think I’ll go take a long, hot bubble bath. You know … wash the ‘Stumpiness’ off me.”

      As Savannah headed up the stairs, it occurred to her that maybe she should do a bit of extra house-cleaning before her grandmother arrived. But the sheets on the bed in