Cereal Killer

terra-cotta colored stucco, again with massive windows. The effect was spectacular as each glass pane caught the golden-red rays of the setting sun and glowed with its own individual fire.
    Savannah had noticed the house before when she had visited the beach, and she had heard that Cait Connor and her husband lived on the waterfront, but she had never put the two together.
    Apparently, plus-sized modeling paid well. At least if you were in the supermodel category with the likes of Caitlin Connor.
    She parked across the street from the house, defying a sign that threatened her not to, next to Dirk’s Buick and a black-and-white patrol car. A Jaguar S-Type sat in the Connor driveway, along with a silver Maserati Coupe GT. Savannah did a quick calculation and decided that both cars cost more than her house.
    After looking around for the Crime Scene Unit’s van and seeing nothing, Savannah decided they hadn’t arrived yet. She was glad. She liked to check out the scene before they arrived and cluttered the place with all of their equipment, disturbing what she called the “subtle, dark vibes” of the area.
    Not that Cait Connor’s house was a crime scene. She certainly hoped it wasn’t. If there was anything worse than a young person dying unexpectedly, it was finding out that foul play was involved. That made any tragedy a hundred times more painful for the deceased person’s loved ones.
    Yes, in spite of the yellow tape that Dirk had strung around the driveway and across the door, Savannah prayed that pretty Cait Connor with her long red hair; and turquoise eyes had died of a natural—or at worst, accidental—cause.
    No sooner had she stepped over the tape and started up the walk to the front door than it opened and a handsome, uniformed officer came out. Savannah recognized Mike Bosco by the stern, terribly officious look on his young face. But the moment he recognized Savannah, he grinned broadly. “Hey, girl,” he said. “Long time no see.” He strode down the brick walkway and put out his hand. “Should have known you’d be along sooner or later, since Dirk’s caught the case. Good to see you.”
    “Nice to see you, too, Mike. What’s shakin’, darlin’?” she asked, pumping his hand and nodding toward the house.
    “Gal’s down in the bathroom. Dirk’s checking her  out.”
    “She’s... gone?” Savannah knew the answer, but she couldn’t help asking, couldn’t help hoping just a little.
    “Oh, yeah. Has been for a while. Dirk said there’s some rigor already set in.”
    “Mmm. How does it look?”
    “No signs of violence to the body. Doesn’t look like anything’s been disturbed in the house.”
    “Were you first on the scene?”
    “Yes. I’ve been here about forty-five minutes. Dirk just got here, had me string up the tape.”
    “Who called it in?”
    “The husband. Called 911 about an hour ago. Says he came home from work and found her on the bathroom floor.”
    “Is he here?”
    “Yes. He’s a mess. When I first got here, I had a hard time calming him down enough to get anything out of him. I guess it was a big shock, her being young and healthy. Except for”—his eyes swept briefly over Savannah’s figure—“you know... her being... chunky.”
    Chunky? A dozen of Cait’s magazine and catalog cover shots flashed through Savannah’s mind. She recalled the videos of the redhead walking a runway, modeling the latest in full-figured fashions. A lot of words came to mind when she thought of Cait Connor: graceful, sultry, feminine, lovely. “Chunky” wasn’t one of them.
    Mike must have read her thoughts because he quickly added, “She had a pretty face, though.”
    Savannah decided to go inside before the urge to slap Mike stupid completely overwhelmed her. Anger management... she was getting better at it all the time.
    “I’m gonna go find Dirk,” she told him as she brushed by him and into the house. “Let us know when CSU gets here, okay?”
    “Sure.” He looked relieved. “No problem.”
    The moment Savannah entered the foyer of the house, she forgot all about Mike and society’s insensitivity to what she preferred to think of as the “horizontally enhanced.”
    Caitlin Connor’s seaside mansion was something! else.
    Savannah wasn’t sure what, but it was certainly something different than she had ever seen before.
    Either Cait or an overly enthusiastic professional decorator had obviously been in love with the tropics. The interior struck