Cereal Killer

windows, and only a small amount of sunshine filtered between the slats, throwing thin blades of golden light onto a cream-colored Berber carpet.
    The room was sparsely but tastefully decorated with the clean lines of contemporary furnishings. In front of the window sat a tan leather sofa, and a chest with brass fittings served as a coffee table. Over a fireplace in the center of the far wall hung a large black-and-white photograph of Kameeka Wills. Draped in a sheer, hooded robe, she stood on a rugged cliff overlooking the ocean in a landscape that reminded Savannah of the Monterey area.
    A wind was whipping the garment around her long, shapely limbs, and she had a look of unworldly peace and soul-deep contentment on her beautiful face as she stared out across the horizon.
    Savannah’s mind flashed back to the bruised and bloodied body she had just seen on the side of the road, and her heart ached.
    “That her?” Dirk asked, nodding toward the picture.
    “It was,” Savannah replied.
    “Too bad. A pretty girl,” he said.
    Savannah smiled in spite of her sadness. One of Dirk’s most endearing qualities as a man was his complete oblivion to weight issues. The only time she had ever heard him complain about a woman’s build was when he occasionally remarked upon seeing an extremely thin woman, “Boy, she looks like she could use a cheeseburger and a milkshake.”
    “Anybody here?” Dirk called out again, projecting his deep bass voice down the hall to their right.
    As before, there was no reply.
    Ahead lay a dining area with a glass-topped table and bamboo chairs with comfortable-looking seat cushions. In the middle of the spotless glass sat a crystal vase and a simple arrangement of multicolored tulips.
    On the wall, stainless steel shelves that were equally free of dust or fingerprint smudges held a dozen picture frames containing photos of what must have been Kameeka’s family and friends.
    Loved ones—who probably didn’t know yet that she was gone from their lives, Savannah thought as she studied one picture in which Kameeka was in the center, her arms around the shoulders of two younger women who looked so much like her that they had to be sisters.
    For a moment Savannah allowed the thought to play through her mind of how she would feel to lose one of her own sisters in such a way. But just as quickly as the thought sprang into her mind, she pushed it firmly away. Professionals couldn’t think of such things when they were “on the job.” It clouded the judgment.
    Later, she knew it would return. When she was in bed and trying to get to sleep, about three in the morning, the thoughts would come back to haunt her the way they always did. But she would battle that problem when it presented itself. For now, one dragon to slay at a time.
    She looked around the living room and dining area for anything that might appear to be out of place. But the home was impeccably kept.
    “Either Kameeka’s a heck of a housekeeper or she’s got a great cleaning service,” she remarked.
    ‘Yeah, this is about the spiffiest place I’ve been in... ever,” Dirk added as he passed the table and chairs and headed toward the kitchen.
    Savannah followed and nearly bumped into his back when he stopped abruptly and sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?” he asked.
    She breathed deeply and grinned. “It’s called floor wax. An unfamiliar scent?” she asked, nudging him. “Like furniture polish and window cleaner?”
    He scowled at her. “I’ll have you know I bleach my toilet and my bathroom floor every Saturday morning, rain or shine.”
    “Yeah, well, big whoopty-do. With an aim like yours, you’d have to.”
    Standing at the doorway to the kitchen, she glanced quickly around the room, taking in the shining copper pans hanging from an iron rack on one wall, the garden window above the sink that was filled with growing herbs, and the butcher block counters lined with decorative botties of spiced cooking oils.
    Again, the place looked comfortable and lived in, but perfectly maintained. The only thing that might even be considered to be out of place was a daisy-spangled mug sitting on the counter beside the coffeemaker, and next to the cup was one small packet of a sugar substitute and what appeared to be a vitamin pill.
    The coffee pot was the same model Savannah had been considering buying, but hadn’t because it was beyond her budget. It had a timer that you could set so that it would grind the beans and