Cereal Killer

mates and —
    “Soul mate. Really, he is! I’ve never connected with any man in my life the way I’ve bonded with this man. He’s just so perfect for me in every way. We are just alike, really we are!”
    He has big hair? He wears rhinestone tigers on his shirts? Well, you did say he’s in West Hollywood, but...
    “Oh?” Savannah buried her nose along with her opinions in her coffee cup.
    Her sister had been in her house less than an hour. No point in getting her riled up this soon. Surely their first really big row could wait until tomorrow morning.
    But Mari didn’t take offense. Her eyes were still glassy. She was still deep in Love Loo-Loo Land and the inhabitants of that bright place seldom took offense. Even when offense was intended. Insulting such a person, Savannah had learned, could be a highly frustrating experience.
    “He’s so handsome and smart and rich and sensitive! That’s the best part, his sensitivity! I never had that with my other two husbands, you know, or with Lester, my last fiancé. Lester had all the sensitivity of a rock, but you know that. You went to our wedding. Well, not our wedding exactly because his wife broke it up with a shotgun, so... but you remember all of that.”
    Savannah flashed back on that lovely memory—of her standing between her sister and the raging woman with the shotgun, trying to talk the woman out of perforating Marietta’s hide.
    Yes, one seldom forgot such rich life experiences as staring down the double barrel of a shotgun, contemplating the indignity of dying in a peach-colored monstrosity of a bridesmaid’s dress.
    Remember?
    Yes, she’d been scarred for life. She now felt nauseous every time she saw peach taffeta.
    “So, where did you meet this love of your life?” she asked. “How did you get to know a guy in West Hollywood?”
    Marietta’s eyes darted to the right, then the left. She sipped her coffee before answering.
    Savannah braced herself.
    “Well, we’ve sorta been like pen pals for a while. You get to know a person really well that way. There’s something about writing instead of speaking directly to each other. You’re actually able to get to know the true person that way. You open yourself and so do they and you expose your soul, raw and—”
    “Oh, my God, Marietta Reid! You’re here to see some asshole you met in an Internet chat room!”
    Ding, ding. Okay, so much for waiting until tomorrow morning for round one.
    “Asshole? Asshole! How can you even say that, Savannah
    Reid!” She leaped up from her chair so abruptly that it nearly overturned. Her coffee sloshed onto Savannah’s white linen tablecloth.
    “Okay, I’m sorry about the asshole part,” Savannah said. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, but—”
    “That’s right! You shouldn’t have! He’s a wonderful, deeply spiritual and soulful person and—”
    “And you could tell that just from chatting with him online? You could absolutely tell that he’s not... say... Ted Bundy.”
    Marietta’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, which was as ample as Savannah’s. “Ted Bundy,” she said with sinister deliberation, “is dead! And I’ll thank you not to question my judgment in this matter, Savannah. Just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean that you can get all high and mighty and give me advice about a personal matter that has nothing to do with you!”
    For a moment Savannah entertained a mental picture of herself grabbing a pot off the kitchen stove and smacking her sister on the head with it, rearranging that updo of hers. Maybe even relocating it to... say... her butt crack. But then she switched the picture to one of herself biting down on her own tongue.
    Until blood began to trickle down her chin.
    While she silently quivered from head to toe. The very image of self-restraint.
    Yep, Savannah Self-Control Reid. That was her.
    Slowly, she opened her mouth, preparing to say something kind, patient, conciliatory. ‘You can’t fly across the country to go on a date with somebody who you’ve met in a chat room, Marietta! What the hell’s the matter with you, girl? That’s just plain dumber than dumb!”
    Okay, so much for restraint.
    Marietta drew herself up, hitched her nose into the air, and looked down its length with all the disdain of offended royalty.
    “If you would be so good,” she said, “as to get my room ready, I think I’ll go to bed.”
    “No problem. I’d be glad to do that,”