Fat Free And Fatal. G. A. McKevett

Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency was basically a group of people who loved each other. Every one of them would readily defend the others from a rabid Siberian tiger attack. But even on a good day, not all of them actually liked each other. Especially Dirk and the couple sitting at her table.

      “Dirk caught a case this afternoon. That’s why he isn’t with us,” Savannah said as she stood and began to clear their plates from the table. “A homicide.”

      “The one over at Dona Papalardo’s estate?” Ryan asked.

      “Yes. How did you know about that already? It just happened around noon today. I don’t think even the AP has picked it up yet.”

      Tammy perked up; Nancy Drew was on the case. “What? A murder at Dona Papalardo’s place? No way! What happened?”

      “Apparently her personal assistant was shot and killed right in Dona’s front driveway,” Savannah said. She gave Tammy a sideways smirk. “The gal probably caused Dona’s computer to crash and lose all their billing data.”

      “That wasn’t my fault!” Tammy’s face crumpled into a pout, and she sank lower in her chair. “It’s that stupid new computer you bought. I told you to let me do the consumer research online, pick out the best system, but no…you have to go shopping yourself at some stupid department store and pick out the first thing that—”

      “It wasn’t the first one I saw. It was the third one.”

      “And you bought it because…?”

      “It was blue. The other ones were gray or black. That one was prettier.”

      Tammy sighed. “I rest my case. Anyway, what’s this business about Dona Papalardo’s assistant?”

      “Just that,” Savannah said. “She was shot dead in the driveway of that fancy mansion Dona has up in Spirit Hills, while getting into Dona’s limousine. Dirk seems to think the shooter may have thought she was Dona. She fits Dona’s general description, and Dona had loaned her one of those fancy furs of hers—you know, the ones that PETA was giving her so much grief about?”

      Tammy grimaced. “I don’t blame them. Dona really overdoes that silver-screen actress bit.”

      “And especially for one so young,” John agreed. “She can’t be a day over thirty-five, and yet she dresses like Jean Harlow.”

      Ryan shrugged. “Hey, it’s pure glamour, and it looks good on her.”

      Savannah sniffed. “Yeah, like you’d notice.”

      “I notice.” He laughed. “Notice is all I do, but I notice.”

      “Did you notice my kimono?” Tammy asked, carefully adjusting one of the chopsticks in her hair in a gesture that was so sickeningly girlie that Savannah nearly gagged.

      “Of course. The fabric is gorgeous.” Ryan turned to John. “Don’t you wish we had a few yards of that for throw pillows in the bedroom?”

      Tammy groaned. “Oh, gawd, why do I even bother?”

      “You look lovely, dear,” John said. “And, as Ryan knows all too well, that shade of red is far too bold for our bedroom. He’s just teasing you again.”

      She sighed and shook her head. Then, turning to Savannah, she said, “Just wait until the tabloids get a hold of this! Dona’s been on the front cover of every rag in the grocery store checkout line for the past year, what with her weight loss and all.”

      “So true,” John reached for a biscuit and began to butter it. “I’ve been shocked by how rapidly the pounds have melted off her. I guess these new surgeries really work.”

      “Of course they work,” Savannah grumbled under her breath. “Cut out most of somebody’s insides and there’s bound to be some changes made.”

      “Actually,” Tammy said, “I think she had gastric bypass—that doesn’t actually remove—”

      “Yeah, yeah.” Savannah shook her head. “It’s still messin’ big time with what the good God gave you. It’s a bunch of hooey, if you ask me. Dangerous hooey.”

      “That may be true,” John interjected, “but you must admit, she’s much thinner now. And healthier.”

      “Thinner? Yes. Healthier? Who knows? Chemo patients get thin. So do anorexics and bulimics. Doesn’t mean they’re healthy.”

      The table was silent for a tense moment, then Tammy said, a little too sprightly, “Well, so Dirk is out there now, processing the scene?”

      “He is. And interviewing the staff there at her mansion and whoever was present when it happened.” Savannah tried to keep the jealous tone out of her voice, but she wasn’t at all successful. It was only at times like this, when Dirk was assigned to something particularly interesting, that she regretted her parting with the San Carmelita police department all those years ago.

      She could take a day off, pretty much whenever she wanted. But Dirk had a pension, medical benefits, and juicy cases…like a murder at a movie star’s mansion in the hills.

      Sometimes she found herself wishing she had his job and he had a wart on his tail…as Granny Reid would say.

      “When do you think he’ll be finished over there?” Ryan wanted to know.

      She glanced up at the clock on her kitchen wall, a cat whose tail swung back and forth and whose green, rhinestone eyes clicked right and left—a gift from Granny Reid, which made it a treasure. “Oh, he’ll probably be wrapping up in an hour or so. Dirk doesn’t exactly dally.”

      “Which means he’ll be here in an hour and ten minutes,” Tammy said. “He can smell your fried chicken and hear it calling to him from the other side of LA.”

      Savannah stood and began to clear the dishes. “Everybody ready for cake and ice cream?”

      Ryan looked at John. “Oh, we can wait…for Dirk, that is.”

      “Most certainly,” John said. “’Tisn’t truly a party without him.”

      Savannah chuckled. Yes, they might be dysfunctional, but they were a family, this strange circle of hers. “We’ll wait then,” she said as she carried their dirty dishes to the sink. “But I’ll go ahead and give you your gifts now that—”

      The phone rang. Savannah wiped her hands on a towel and reached for it.

      The voice on the other end was gruff and abrupt. Typical Dirk. He had never gotten the hang of “hello” and “good-bye.” Pleasantries were a waste of time—unlike fishing and watching heavyweight bouts on Savannah’s HBO.

      “This sucks,” was his greeting and pithy report.

      “Oo-okay,” she replied. “Details?”

      “Come see for yourself.”

      “Really?” Savannah nearly jumped out of her skin.

      “Yeah.”

      “When?”

      “Now.”

      Savannah glanced over at the guests sitting around her table. Of course she couldn’t just leave in the middle of Ryan’s party, but—

      “Uh, I can’t right now.”

      “You sure? I got you a job here if you want it,” Dirk said.

      “A job? A paying job? Don’t you toy with me, boy.”

      “It’s yours if you want it. I told this spoiled rotten movie star bimbo that she needs a bodyguard. I told her either she hired somebody or I was going to assign my ugliest, meanest, nastiest cop to do the job. She fought me about it at first until I told her I knew a gal who could do it. You know, that you could watch out for her, even though you’re a chick.”

      “Ah,