Cereal Killer

mean you necessarily have to use it.”
    Diamante rubbed her cheek against Savannah’s chin and purred like her Mustang’s Holly carburetor right after the mechanic gave it a fine tuning.
    Part of the irritation she had felt toward Marietta floated away. Ah... the healing qualities of unconditional kitty love.
    “What did you find out about Mari’s mystery man?” she asked, dreading the answer.
    “Nothing much. Not anything bad anyway,” Tammy said. “No criminal record that I could find. Not married. No kids. Pretty good credit rating. Owns his condo in West Hollywood.”
    “Sounds too good to be true. He’s probably an ugly little nerd who sent her a picture of his next-door neighbor, or maybe a pervert who—”
    She paused when she saw that Tammy was giving her an over-the-shoulder look she couldn’t quite decipher. “What?” she asked. “Is it something I said?”
    Tammy gave her a sweet, somewhat understanding smile that, for some inexplicable reason, irritated the crap out of her.
    “You think I’m being too hard on my sister and her so-called boyfriend?” she asked.
    Tammy shrugged. “Maybe. I mean... I don’t really approve of hooking up with people that you meet on the Internet, but I’ve heard of some cases where it actually worked out. People really have met their soul mates in chatrooms. Stranger things have happened.”
    Savannah scratched behind Cleo’s ear and was rewarded with a wet, sandpapery kiss on her wrist. “I suppose,” she said. “I want Marietta to be happy. And she sure appears to be smitten with this guy.”
    “Besides, you may be worrying over nothing. Chances are, she’ll get one look at him in the flesh and decide that a drink is all she wants from him. She could be back here in an hour.”
    Somehow, that thought didn’t offer Savannah any substantial comfort. And she felt guilty about it She should be happy at the prospect of spending time with her own flesh and blood. And she probably would have been, had she not been plagued with thoughts of homicide every time she was around Marietta.
    She hadn’t always felt this way about her sister. They had once been close... in their preschool years.
    But on the first day of kindergarten Marietta had started chasing boys, and she had been a sharp, aching pain in the hind quarters ever since. The very thought of being without a man to call her own was enough to send her into a dither. And Savannah had never had a lot of patience with dither-prone women. Life was too short and too precious to spend it in a state of agitation about a man. Her motto was: As appealing and delicious as some guys might be, there were just too many men in the world to get yourself all worked up over any one of them.
    Savannah sighed. “If she does come back in an hour, she’ll be crying in her beer over the dirty, rotten liar who broke her heart. And if she stays the night with him—” Fortunately, before her mind could wander too far down that dreary path, the phone rang.
    Tammy grabbed it, the picture of efficiency, and in her most official voice—the one tinged with just a tad of silver-screen siren—she said, “Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency. May I help you?”
    Her eyes widened with interest, and she looked over at Savannah. “Leah Freed? Certainly. Let me see if Ms. Reid is available.”
    Savannah jumped up from her chair, dumping both cats unceremoniously off her lap in the process. They sauntered back to their window perch, die picture of wounded dignity.
    Taking the phone from Tammy, Savannah entertained at least a dozen mental possibilities as to why Caitlin Connor’s agent might be calling her. But none of them made a lot of sense.
    “This is Savannah,” she said into the phone, trying to keep the curiosity out of her tone.
    “Yesterday you told me that you’re a private detective,” the voice on the other end stated without the customary greeting. Instantly, Savannah recognized the agent’s no-nonsense manner.
    “Yes, I am,” Savannah replied.
    “And that you sometimes work with that detective who was at Cait’s house yesterday...?”
    “That’s right. In an unofficial capacity, that is.”
    “Are you working with him on Caitlin’s case and Kameeka’s?”
    So, she’s heard about Kameeka, Savannah thought. News travels fast.
    “Like I said, only unofficially. Detective Coulter and I were partners for years when I was on the police force. Now, as friends, we sometimes help each other with our cases.