Death by Chocolate

Atlanta nice names.
How’d you like to have to go through life with a dumb name like Cordele?”
    Savannah sighed. “She could
have named you Jesup, instead of your sister.”
    “Yes, but at least you can
change Jesup into a nickname—Jessie. What can you do with Cordele? Cordie
sounds stupid and so does Delie. Sounds like a place to buy lunchmeat. You
know, I’ll bet Mom did that on purpose, just to embarrass us, like in that song
‘A Boy Named Sue.’ Remember that?”
    But Savannah didn’t answer.
She had stopped listening.
    It was a matter of
self-preservation.

Chapter

18
     
     
     
    W hen Savannah answered the
door, she expected to see Ryan or John standing there. But it was Dirk. She was
only mildly disappointed.
    “Boy, don’t you look
fancy-schmancy,” he said as he brushed by her and walked into the house. “Going
on a
    date?”
    She could hear the jealousy
under the surface—barely under—but she chose to ignore it. “Ryan and John are
taking us to Chez Antoine for dinner.”
    “Us? I guess that means me,
too.” He brightened.
    She tried to think of a way
to break it to him that his name hadn’t been on the engraved invitation. Not
even close.
    But before she opened her
mouth, he frowned. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that the French place where Ryan
ordered those friggin’ frog legs and tried to pass them off on me as buffalo
wings?”
    “Might be,” she said
demurely.
    “Oh, well, forget about it.
You couldn’t get me anywhere near that place. Hell, I gag just thinkin’ about
it!”
    He walked into the living
room and plopped down on the sofa. He gave her another once-over as she sat on
the other end. ‘You do look good, though. Is that a new dress?”
    She had worn the sapphire
blue silk wraparound several times in his presence, but Dirk wasn’t exactly a fashion
hound. He could remember every detail of clothing on a suspect, but not a silk
dress.
    “I’ve had it awhile,” she
said, adjusting the pearl necklace that dipped enticingly into her cleavage.
    He noticed that. Dirk might
not give a dang about fashion, but he was all male.
    “I just dropped by to see
what you got outta Burt today.” He glanced again at her neckline. “If you wore
that dress, you could’ve probably got him to confess to anything.”
    She batted her eyelashes.
“Why, thank you, kind sir. But I was wearing slacks and a sweater. And I didn’t
even talk to him.”
    “Oh, man... then the whole
day’s down the drain.” He flung himself backward on the sofa, arms outspread,
as though he’d been shot. Dirk could be a bit overly dramatic sometimes. “I
hate this damned job. I’m gonna become a professional wrestler or somethin’.”
    “Well, before you go
climbing into a pair of rhinestone-studded bloomers, let me tell you what I
saw—or rather, who I saw with him. Right there in Starbucks, in front of
God and everybody. Givin’ him a little kiss. Lettin’ him slide his hand down on
her heinie.”
    He perked right up.
“Really? Who?”
    “Kaitlin Dover.”
    His enthusiasm quickly
waned. Savannah understood; an avowed pessimist could celebrate only in spurts.
‘That doesn’t mean they knocked off ol’ Eleanor, or even that she’s the one
Eleanor was referring to in her diary. It just means they’re foolin’ around.”
    “It doesn’t really even
mean that. They could just be thinking about it.”
    “Naw, if he got a butt
squeeze in a public place, they’ve done it.”
    “You know that for a fact?”
    “Oh, sure. Every teenage
boy knows you don’t grope a girl’s rear for the first time in a public place.
If she’s gonna slap you, it should be in private—less embarrassing that way. I’m
surprised you don’t know that, Van.”
    “I was never a teenage boy.
Thank God.” She glanced up the staircase. “Listen, I don’t want to cut you
short, but I was helping Cordele get dressed up. She’s a little nervous about
going out to a fancy restaurant. There hasn’t been a lot of five-star dining in
her experience.” ‘Yeah, yeah.... I know. Get lost.” He hauled himself off the
sofa. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
    “Oh, please.” She groaned.
“I get enough of that whiny crap without you chiming in.”
    After shoving him out the
door, she hurried back up to her guest room, where she found Cordele standing
in front of a full-length mirror, eyeing herself with skepticism.
    “I look like a country
hick,” she said, frowning at her image.
    She was wearing her