Murder A'la Mode. G. A. McKevett

Sheez, try to suggest something novel around here and you get shot down every time.”

      “We catch bad guys,” Savannah told her. “We don’t use our God-given feminine wiles to turn good guys—or even morally mediocre guys—into bad guys.”

      “It wouldn’t bother me,” Tammy said. “If they weren’t already bad, they wouldn’t go for it.”

      Savannah grinned. “Hey, with legs like yours, and boobs like mine, no man could resist, good or bad. With the way you and I look, darlin’, it would be pure entrapment.”

      Laughing, Tammy said, “So true, so true.”

      Savannah had just settled down in her chair, Diamante tucked tightly in the crook of her left arm, a pill in her right hand, when the doorbell rang.

      “Tarnation!” she said. “Would you get that, Tammy?”

      “Sure!” With a high degree of energy and enthusiasm that frequently irritated Savannah, Tammy bounded from the desk, across the living room, and into the foyer, leading to the front door.

      Savannah’s grumpiness evaporated instantly at the sound of a couple of familiar, deep voices.

      “Hi, Tammy,” said the first, decidedly male, visitor. “How’s it going?”

      “Good afternoon, my dear,” added the second man, his voice dripping with a deliciously classy British accent. “We were in your neighborhood and thought we’d call on Savannah. Is the lady at home?”

      “Ryan! John!” Savannah heard Tammy say, followed by an embarrassing amount of adolescent giggling.

      Tammy was a sucker for handsome hunks. Unlike Savannah, who was cool, calm, and collected no matter the circumstance.

      Savannah jumped out of her chair, spilling Diamante onto the floor, and shoved the pill into her jeans pocket. Running her fingers through her hair and tucking in her T-shirt, she hurried to the door, nearly stumbling over the indignant cat.

      “Hey, fellas! What a great surprise!” she said as she rounded the corner and soaked in the sight that always made her a bit weak in the knees. To say that Ryan Stone and his life partner, John Gibson, were easy on the eyes, was a monumental understatement.

      Long ago, she had decided that one look at Ryan, the quintessential “tall, dark, and handsome” romantic leading man type, could set her world right. And John, though older than Ryan, was no less debonair with his mane of thick silver hair, lush mustache, and aristocratic, English manners.

      The gorgeous twosome was always dressed impeccably. Today they apparently intended to play tennis and were smartly attired in white shorts and polo shirts that set off their tans to perfection.

      “Come in,” Savannah cried, throwing the door open and ushering them inside. “When did you get back from New York?”

      “This morning,” Ryan said, his shoulder brushing Savannah and giving her a thrill that—she hated to admit—was so intense as to be pathetic. “We caught a red-eye and got into LAX about three.”

      “You must be exhausted! We’re just so honored that you’d rush over here right away like this. Let me make you a pot of coffee…a cup of Earl Grey for you, John…and I’ve got some chocolate pecan pie that I baked last night. I could—”

      “No, no, love,” John said, taking her hand and ushering her like a princess to the sofa. “We didn’t drop by to have you entertain us.”

      “Or feed us either,” Ryan added, “although I can’t believe I’m turning down anything you baked!”

      “We have a birthday gift for you.” John pulled a small box from behind his back. It was white and tied with a lavender ribbon.

      Savannah sat on the sofa, and they settled on either side of her. Tammy perched herself on the edge of the ottoman, an excited grin on her face.

      “But it isn’t my birthday,” Savannah said, grabbing the box with an eagerness that could hardly be considered ladylike. “Not for another eight months.”

      “We know,” Ryan said, “but some presents can’t wait, so consider it a harbinger of gifts to come.”

      She studied the label affixed to the box. The silver lettering read: Li-Lac’s Chocolate, Greenwich Village, NY.

      “I think I’m going to like this. A lot!” she said as she untied the ribbon and opened the lid.

      “They’re truffles,” Ryan said. “The French creams and amarettos are our favorites.”

      “Yes, we’ve long been admirers of Li-Lac’s,” John told her. “When we lived in New York, years ago, I must admit we became shamefully addicted to them.”

      “And now you’re sharing your vices. How generous of you!” Savannah took a long, deep smell and felt herself ascending to chocolate heaven.

      “But are you intending to share?” Tammy asked her. “That’s what I want to know.”

      Ryan laughed. “We bought twice as many, figuring she would.”

      Holding the box close to her chest, Savannah said, “Since when do you eat junk food, Miss Celery Sticks for Breakfast and Carrot Sticks for Lunch?”

      “I make an exception for gourmet candies…or any other kind of food that these two recommend.”

      “It’s my birthday present,” Savannah said, “but maybe I’ll share. We’ll see how good they are first.”

      “Actually, the candy is for both of you.” John grinned mischievously. “And your real gift, Savannah, is tucked there, under the candies.”

      “There’s more?” Savannah peered inside and shuffled the chocolates around until she saw a small white envelope underneath.

      “Much more,” Ryan told her. “And when you open it, you’ll see why we had to rush over here this morning.”

      “Oh, this is fun.” Savannah recognized the fine white linen stationery as one of Ryan’s standard notecards. And her name was written across the front in his stylish handwriting.

      She opened the wax seal on the back, reached inside, and pulled out what looked like a formal invitation, also penned in Ryan’s calligraphy.

      Her eyes quickly scanned it, and she frowned as she tried to make sense of what she was reading.

      “Well, what is it?” Tammy asked breathlessly. “What does it say?”

      “It’s an invitation to…some sort of audition,” Savannah said, still reading. “Tomorrow…here in town…for a…Is it a television show?”

      John smiled, terribly pleased with himself. “It is, indeed. I’m afraid it’s nothing so highbrow as an educational program, but it promises to be fun, if you’re game.”

      Savannah squinted at the paper. “The name of it is Man of My Dreams, and I can audition to be some sort of contestant?”

      “It’s one of those reality shows,” Ryan told her, “like The Bachelorette or Joe Millionaire. You can be one of the ladies who’s competing to win a hunk’s heart.”

      Savannah’s expression went from confused to shrewd in a half second. “What’s the prize?”

      “A diamond tiara and a two-week spa vacation with the guy,” Ryan said, “to see if, well, you know…true love can really blossom.”

      “To heck with romance blooming and all that rigmarole. I could use a diamond tiara.”

      “What for?” Tammy giggled. “Are you going to wear it on a stakeout with old Dirko?”

      “No, I’ll sell the sucker and use the money to patch the holes in my roof before rainy season starts.”

      “Rainy season?” Tammy