Cooked Goose

inside and stir up a pitcher of lemonade,” Savannah offered. “Jillian was saying she wants grape juice, and maybe that would... oh, no... Vi.” She looked frantically around the deserted yard. “Where are those precious young’uns of yours?”

    They found the dreadful duo in Savannah’s kitchen. Savannah stood, looking, but unable to believe her eyes. Jack was balanced precariously on her countertop, searching the cupboard.
    “I want a hot dog,” he said. “Where are your buns, Aunt S’vannah?”
    Every burner on her stove was blazing. Savannah hurried to turn them off, but slipped on something slick and had to grab the edge of the counter to keep from falling. “Who… what...?”
    “I turned the stove on all by myself,” Jack said proudly as he dragged a loaf of bread from the cupboard. “I want to make the hot dog hot.”
    “Hot? Hot!” Savannah said, her temper soaring along with the heat on the top of her stove. She grabbed the boy, hauled him off the counter and set him on the floor.
    Behind her, Savannah could hear Vidalia make a couple of whimpering noises that sounded like muffled protestations, but she ignored her. She also chose to disregard the giggling she heard coming from Margie’s general direction.
    She dropped to one knee, eye level with her nephew. “So, big boy, you want a hot dog. Is that right?” she asked him.
    He nodded.
    “Well, next time, you ask for one and some grown-up person will turn on the stove and make it hot for you. Do you understand?”
    Another nod.
    “Because if you ever touch my stove knobs again, young man, I’ll turn you over my knee and when I get finished with you, your hind end will be hotter than a pepper sprout. Got it?”
    “Got it, Aunt S’vannah.” He nodded again vigorously, blond curls bobbing, but the mischievous twinkle in his eyes didn’t quite portray the picture of the vanquished spirit she had hoped for.
    She turned her attention to her niece who was hanging, half in, half out of the open refrigerator. “And what are you doing there, young lady?”
    “Making grape juice.”
    “Making grape...?” Ah, the mystery of the slimy object—-correction, objects—on the floor had been solved. Savannah watched, as though in slow motion, as her darling niece tossed yet another red grape onto the floor and stomped it with her shiny, black, patent leather shoe.
    “See?” the girl announced. “Grape juice. And we don’t have to go to the store!”
    Savannah turned to her younger sister. The cherubim were, after all, her offspring and theoretically her responsibility.
    “See why I’m so tired all the time?” Vidalia said wearily. “If you don’t mind watching them for a few hours, I’m going to go take a nice, long nap.”
    Savannah watched as her sister lumbered away into the living room and collapsed across the sofa. She did look exhausted, but...
    Looking back at the twins and their bright, beaming countenances, Savannah remembered hearing once in Sunday school that evil spirits sometimes disguise themselves as angels of light.
    Well, these two hellions weren’t demons, just undisciplined, lovable kids who had been allowed to get away with murder for the past five years. It shouldn’t be that hard to get them under control, right?
    She reached for the roll of paper towels on the counter and pulled off half a dozen. She handed several to Jillian and the rest to Jack. “Okay, you two,” she said. “On your hands and knees. You’re at Fort Reid now, and we’re gonna learn a little game called KP.”
    “I don’t think I’m going to like this game,” Jillian said, sticking out her lower lip in an adorable pout.
    “You don’t have to like it,” Savannah told her, ruffling her curls. “You just have to do it.”

    * * *

    7:28 p.m.

    Dirk walked into Savannah’s kitchen, sniffed the sugar-cookie-scented air and walked over to the table where Savannah , Margie, the twins and a refreshed Vidalia were decorating the latest ones to come from the oven.
    “Well, if this isn’t cozy,” he said, eyeing the platter brimming with goodies. “The picture of holiday family bliss.”
    “Looks can be deceiving,” Savannah muttered. “Sit down and decorate with us.”
    After being introduced to Vidalia and the children, and giving Margie a high five, he pulled out a chair and reached for the platter. “I’ll eat ‘em, but I don’t want to decorate nothin’,” he said. “That decorating’s girl stuff.”
    “It ain’t