Death by Chocolate

the cabinet, and poured herself a glassful of
water from the refrigerator. Meanwhile, she warned herself to speak kindly, gently,
tactfully. Treat your sister as you’d want to be treated yourself, Savannah
girl, she could hear her grandmother saying.
    She drank the water slowly,
giving herself time to carefully compose her words, while her sister stood
there, glaring at her, hands on her hips.
    Finally, she set the glass
on the counter, turned to Cordele, and said, “To be honest, I don’t really know
why you came to see me. All I do know is that my own life is very complicated
right now. I’m working on something that’s very important and—”
    “More important than me?
More important than your relationship with your own flesh and blood?”
    “No-o-o. My family is more
important to me than my work. But right now, I need you, my family, to
understand my situation. A woman was murdered.... a woman who hired me to
protect her. And now I have to find out who killed her. I have to find out so
that they won’t kill anybody else. I have to find out so that the people who
loved the victim can have closure.”
    “Revenge, you mean. You’re
not a cop anymore, but you’ve still got that vengeance mentality. Look at you,
standing there with a gun strapped on your body. The person who killed her is
probably a tormented soul who needs help and compassion more than punishment,
but you don’t see that. You’re only interested in catching them and having them
locked up—or worse.”
    Savannah stared at her
sister and shook her head. “Don’t you lecture me about vengeance, young lady.
You don’t know squat about it. Unless you’ve had someone that you love murdered,
ripped away from you by some no-good sonofabitch who thinks he’s got the right
to take somebody else’s life, don’t you shoot your mouth off about revenge.
What you call vengeance is another person’s justice. And don’t you tell me that
justice isn’t important, because justice is what I do! As long as it’s
within the bounds of the law, justice is a righteous, necessary thing!”
    Cordele looked shocked for
a moment. Then angry. Then the scowl on her face gradually faded, replaced by a
sappy, condescending smile. “I can see that you’re deeply upset by me
expressing my opinion on this issue.”
    “Really? Go figure.”
    “That’s understandable,
considering where you’re coming from.”
    “And where might that be?”
Savannah asked, although she was fairly certain that Cordele’s answer would
make her want to feed her her teeth on a knuckle sandwich.
    “You’ve always had a
simplistic, black or white, plus or minus, view of the world.... the good guys
versus the bad guys. And of course you see yourself as one of the good guys.”
    Savannah’s eyes narrowed.
“When it comes to murder and the apprehension of murderers, I am one of
the good guys. Believe me, I’ve seen plenty of the bad ones. You wouldn’t want
to run into them in a dark alley.”
    “So you see it.” Cordele
leaned back in her chair and folded her hands primly on the table in front of
her. “Of course, in my studies in the science of psychology, I’ve learned that
the human psyche is far more complicated than your elementary viewpoint. There
are no bad people in this world, only misguided ones who—”
    “Oh, can it, Cordele. What
the hell do you learn about anything sitting in a classroom? I could show you
crime-scene pictures that would make you puke. I could tell you things that
your ‘misguided’ monsters have done to innocent people that would scar your
soul. If you want to feel sorry for them, go right ahead. I’m going to go to
work. I’m going to find out who poisoned a woman to death, and I’m going to
stick their ass in a sling and wring ‘em dry. And if that offends your enlightened
sensibilities, tough.”
    Savannah turned on her heel
and stomped out of the kitchen. She paused at the hall closet to grab her
jacket.
    Cordele was right behind
her. “When are you coming home?” she demanded.
    “I told you already. Late.
Read a book, watch TV, and order yourself a pizza. There’s some money in the
cookie jar.”
    “I don’t eat pizza. It’s
junk food.”
    Savannah snatched her purse
and keys off the table by the door. ‘Then check the fridge. I think there’s a
head of lettuce in there and some carrots. You can—” She paused at the door,
debated whether to finish her statement, and decided not to. She left before
telling her