Killer Calories

still chuckling when she rapped on Dirk’s door. Judging by the length of time it took him to answer, she knew Mr. Biddle had been right—Dirk hadn’t been up and about yet.
    “Sleeping in, huh?” she said, as he opened the door and glared down at her, wearing an undershirt, boxers, mussed hair, and a scowl.
    “Trying to,” he replied. “Did you bring food?”
    She held out a brown paper lunch bag, half-expecting him to loll his tongue, roll his eyes, and wag his tail. Dirk was a sucker for sweets... or food of any kind, for that matter.
    “What is it?” he asked, opening the door and reaching for the bag.
    “It meets two of your basic food group requirements: edible and free,” Savannah replied as she pushed her way past him and into the trailer.
    He peeked inside the bag and lit up instantly. “Donuts!”
    “More specifically, apple fritters and French crullers. I was hoping you’d share,” she added, watching him eagerly dig in.
    His smile drooped. “But there’s only four.”
    With a sigh, Savannah walked to his kitchen sink, shoved some dirty dishes aside, and began to make coffee in his old percolator pot. He removed a pair of jeans from a doorknob and slipped them on.
    “Now, you don’t have to go gettin ’ dressed up for me, sugar,” she said, setting the pot on the two-burner stove and turning up the flame. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.’
    He bristled. “You haven’t seen it all .“
    “That’s true. But not because you haven’t offered to show it to me.” She squirted some detergent into a couple of mugs.
    He grunted, his mouth full of fritter. “Humph... that was a long time ago. I’ve done given up on trying to get you into the sack.”
    “It wasn’t a good idea, and you know it. So don’t pout .“
    “It wasn’t a good idea when we was partners on the force. But since you’re not a cop no more, what’s your excuse now?” Savannah glanced around the cluttered trailer at the piles of unpaid bills on TV trays that served as end tables, the dirty laundry overflowing from a plastic milk crate in the corner, the kitchen cupboard littered with dishes and crumpled fast-food bags.
    Then there was Dirk himself . Chewing his fritter with his mouth open. Slouching in his frayed T-shirt and jeans that been washed in hot, hot water too many times and had shrunk to at least three inches above his bare ankles. He was in desperate need of a pedicure... even if it was done with gardening shears.
    She loved Dirk. He was a dear, sweet, gruff, teddy bear of a guy who had been her closest friend for years now.
    But she didn’t want to see it all.
    “You’re just too much man for little ol ’ me,” she said with an exaggerated Southern lilt and a down-in-Dixie grin that deepened her dimples. “If I were to take you on, you’d spoil me for all the other men to come.”
    He nodded his head solemnly, continuing to chew. “That’s true,” he said. “I would. Good point.”
    As she joined him on the sofa with two clean mugs full fresh coffee in hand, she decided to jump right in her Proverbial, verbal mud puddle with both feet. No matter how much sugar and caffeine he had careening through his bloodstream, he wasn’t going to be overjoyed with her news.
    Dirk loved investigating a case. But once he had filed it away, he hated nothing more than to have to resurrect it.
    He spared her the awkward gambit. “So, why did you show up here at this ungodly hour to bribe me with donuts ?“
    “Bribe you?” Her blue eyes widened, black lashes fluttered, dimples deepened. “Now why... after all the favors I’ve done for you ... some very recently... would I have to bribe you with donuts, just to get you to do me one small favor ?”
    He choked down the mouthful of pastry he was chewing and took a loud slurp of coffee. “Oh, man... let me get out my hip boots. It’s piling up deep in here.”
    “Just one itty-bitty favor ?”
    “How itty? How bitty?”
    “Okay, it’s a biggy . I want you to reopen Kat Valentina’s investigation.”
    He stared at her, glazed sugar trembling on his chin. “Now, why the hell would I do that?”
    “Because last night I found this shoved under my door.” She handed him the note. After he had read it, she shoved the envelope full of money into his hand.
    “Damn,” he muttered, doing a swift count. “And you get to actually keep this?”
    “I guess so, if I can figure out how she was murdered and by whom.”
    He sat for a long