Murder A'la Mode. G. A. McKevett

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СКАЧАТЬ amusement. Savannah was convinced that the kid had read too many Nancy Drew books in her lackluster childhood. Tammy was the only person Savannah had ever known in law enforcement or private detection who actually referred to themselves as a “sleuth.”

      As Tammy pecked at the keyboard, she said, “Too bad you don’t want to expand the agency’s horizons a little, try something new. We could make a bundle.”

      “I’ve told you before,” Savannah said, grimacing at the drop of blood appearing on her thumb, “the day I have to resort to taking dirty pictures of wayward wives, I’ll go get a job cleaning hotel toilets.” To the cat, she said, “Look at that! You hurt Mommy. And if it gets infected, Mommy’s gonna take you to the pound and tell them she doesn’t know you, that you’re a good-for-nothing varmint that she found rummaging in her garbage can.”

      The cat growled and laid back her ears.

      “Don’t you sass me, young lady!” Savannah told her. “There are plenty of good cats in the world who don’t bite their owners. You’ll find yourself walking that long green mile yet.”

      “Yeah, yeah,” Tammy muttered. “Like you don’t threaten those panthers of yours every day. Yesterday, if they didn’t stop scratching the sofa, you were going to stretch their hides out to dry on the barn wall. And you don’t even have a barn.”

      “Well, they don’t know that, and the garage would do in a pinch.” Having successfully shoved the pill down the cat’s throat, she gave it a kiss on its glossy black head. “There you go, sweet pea. That wasn’t so bad, huh?”

      “Really, Savannah,” Tammy said, “you should try to think outside the box with this business if you’re ever really going to succeed. I’ve been researching all morning, and I’ve found something that would be a lot of fun.”

      Savannah placed the cat on the rug beside her chair, rose and walked over to the window perch. “I’m afraid to ask,” she said, “but what is it?”

      “Well, like I said, it would be fun. We’d get to role-play, dress up, and go to fancy bars and clubs and—”

      “I’m getting too old to play hooker. Those four-inch heels kill me, and I swore that once my leather miniskirt didn’t fit anymore I’d find a new undercover persona.”

      “No, we wouldn’t be posing as hookers, just really hot chicks. And we’d be doing the community a great service.”

      Savannah raised one eyebrow. “The community? A service? What are you talking about, girl? Spit it out.”

      Taking a deep breath, Tammy launched into her spiel. “Some detective agencies are making handfuls of money by sending out females to…well…sorta ‘test’ certain men…to see if they’re faithful husbands and boyfriends. They come on to the guys in bars and see if they’ll go for the bait. And, of course, the whole thing is being taped so that the wife can hear what her man says when he’s presented with a temptation that—”

      “No!” Savannah reached out and snatched the preening cat off the perch, grabbing her in mid-lick. “I’d rather hose out the dog cages at the pound. I’d rather test urine and stool samples at a local lab. I’d rather—”

      “Okay, okay. You don’t have to be gross. I get the point. 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 СКАЧАТЬ