Cereal Killer

looked like an exercise outfit made of aluminum foil. The one-piece suit had elastic around the neck, the wrists, and the ankles and a long zipper up the front. It was the sort of garment one might wear on a bitterly cold day and was totally inappropriate considering the warm temperature of the glass house.
    “It’s a vapor-impermeable suit,” she told him. “What’s that?”
    “They’re used for rapid weight loss. You put one on, exercise like a maniac, and sweat out your body fluids. Can be very dangerous, but hell, the numbers on the scale go down. That’s all that matters to some people. The all-powerful number.”
    “Wait a minute. I think I’ve heard of those suits.” He walked around Savannah and knelt beside her. “Didn’t some wrestler kids die from using those last year?” ‘Yeah. And from using diuretics and laxatives and exercising up a storm in the summer heat—all to get down to a certain weight before a competition.”
    Dirk pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and put them on. Then he fingered the material on the suit’s sleeve. “Do you suppose that’s what she was trying to do... get down to a certain weight for some reason?”
    The thought made Savannah sick as she stared down at the pretty face that looked considerably thinner than she remembered from the magazine covers she had seen. Suddenly the room didn’t appear so beautiful. The marble walls seemed to close in around her, and for the first time she noticed that the room was stifling hot, much warmer than the rest of the house. Looking down at the young woman on the floor, she felt a wave of nausea wash through her.
    “Lord, I hope she didn’t accidentally kill herself that way,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be a shame? I can’t imagine it. Caitlin was a plus-sized model and really proud of it. She was very outspoken about the dangers of starvation diets and eating disorders. Why would she put her health... her life... at risk like this?”
    “Slenda.”
    Savannah and Dirk turned to see Caitlin’s husband standing in the bathroom doorway. He was staring down at his wife, his eyes swollen and red from crying, his face the picture of familial tragedy.
    “I beg your pardon?” Savannah said, rising to her feet and taking a few steps toward him.
    “Slenda,” he repeated. “It was that damned cereal. She had to lose thirty pounds in two months, and she’d only dropped twenty so far. She was worried sick about it, that she’d lose the contract. We really need the money and—”
    His voice broke and his broad shoulders began to shake with sobs. He covered his face with his hands.
    Savannah grabbed a handful of tissues from a dispenser on the counter and offered them to him. But he continued to cry and shake his head.
    She looked back at Dirk; he had that helpless, close-to-panic look in his eyes that he got when confronted with grieving men. Women were a different matter; Dirk could handle a crying female. He performed the big brother/daddy routine just fine when called upon. Chivalry was definitely the better part of Coulter’s valor.
    But a weeping man made him miserably uncom-1 for table. The thought of actually hugging and soothing another male—it was enough to send old macho Dirko into a tizzy.
    “Come along, Mr. Connor,” Savannah said, taking his arm and leading him away from the door. “Let’s go downstairs and get you a glass of water. Sergeant Coulter can take care of... things up here.”
    She led him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he leaned against the counter, as though too weak to stand. She was already planning strategies for catching him before he hit the floor as she looked through the cupboard for a glass. Finding one, she filled it with water from the tap on the front of the refrigerator and offered it to him.
    He shook his head. “No, thanks. That’s not what I need.”
    He pushed away from the counter and walked over to another cupboard. Opening it, he revealed an ample supply of alcoholic potables. As he pulled out a bottle of Scotch, he said, “Something a bit stronger than water... that’s what I need. It isn’t every day you come home from work and find your wife dead on the bathroom floor.”
    Savannah nodded and said softly, “I’m sure it must be just awful.”
    He bolted the drink in one shot, reached for the bottle, and sloshed another generous one into the glass.
    Savannah stepped forward and gently placed one hand on his arm before he drank