Killer Calories

“Coulter here.”
    “Hi, Coulter here. Reid here. Whatcha doin ’?”
    “Staring at a green computer screen, going cross-eyed, getting the information that you asked for. You’d damned well better appreciate this.”
    “I know, I know... I’ll owe you free apple fritters and ham sandwiches for the rest of your unnatural life.” She made a fece at Tammy, who giggled and held her ear close to the phone so that she could hear.
    “I get ham and cheese,” he said.
    “That depends on what you’ve got for me.”
    “Oh, I think you’re gonna like what you hear. Several interesting possibilities: Louis Hanks is in deep financial trouble. Seems Kat was practically throwing money away these past few months, got them into a helluva mess.”
    “Throwing it away... hmmm... like there was no tomorrow.” She gave Tammy a sideways look, and she nodded solemnly.
    “That’s right,” he continued. “Otherwise, Hanks is pretty clean. Dion Zeller—no record, no money, some hefty debts in the past, but he seems to be a good boy now. Bernadette Willis—your all-American cheerleader type, not even a traffic ticket.”
    “She’s probably not old enough to drive,” Savannah said dryly, still pissed about Bernadette’s less-than-tactful body fat ratio references.
    “Dr. Ross—no criminal record, but he’s a bit controversial in the medical community. He’s pretty outspoken about his belief in physician-assisted suicide.”
    “Really? Now that’s interesting, because I’m beginning to think that might be what this was.”
    “Oh, yeah? Well, before you go too far down that road, here’s something else you may want to think about. That massage guy, Josef Orlet ...”
    She waited anxiously, but Dirk held back, milking the moment for suspense, the way he always did when he had something good. She could feel Tammy’s tension rising, too. Finally, she said, “All right, Coulter, spit it out.”
    “He’s got a record.”
    “For what? Rubbing somebody the wrong way?”
    “No. For harassing, and stalking, and attacking a young woman—an actress—about ten years ago.”
    “No way!”
    She and Tammy traded knowing looks.
    “He served seven years for it. I talked to one of his cellmates, and he says Orlet found a new sweetie while he was in the joint, someone new to focus his obsessions on.”
    “Let me guess... Kat Valentina?”
    “That’s right. Apparently he had her disco poster on his wall. Talked about her night and day. Told his cellmate that when he got out of the joint he was going to look her up, get close to her.”
    “Well, I’d say that her personal masseur is about as close as you can get.”
    “So...” She could hear the satisfaction in his voice. Dirk was pretty transparent; it was his greatest charm. You always knew what was going on inside his head. Not even a hint of mystery. “Did I earn my ham and cheese?” he asked.
    “Oh, baby... you get ham, cheese, and a big ol ’ slap of dijon mustard.”
    He groaned. “ Mmmm ... I love it when you talk dirty .“
    “ Shhhh , Tammy’s listening in, and I told her that we don’t do that sort of thing.”
    “Then she lied to you, Tammy,” he said with a wicked laugh. “Me and Van... hell, we’ve done it all. She just won’tadmit—”
    Savannah punched the red button once, effectively cutting him off. A few seconds later, the phone rang. Then again. And again.
    “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Tammy asked with a grin plastered across her face.
    “Nope.” Savannah rose from the rock, dropped the phone into her pocket, and dusted off the seat of her pants.
    Whistling a little tune, she strolled down the trail, heading back toward the spa with Tammy tripping along at her heels... and the phone still ringing in her pocket.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    A s Savannah passed the recreation hall, the heavy bass beat of disco music reached out and pulled her backward twenty years. Instantly, she was in a world of slick, shining polyester, white suits, gold chains, poofed hair, and clichéd pickup lines.
    Gee, those were the days. Thank goodness they’re gone.
    Deciding it would be a good night just to skip the tofu, bean-sprout dinner, she ventured into the hall to see if they were having some sort of disco cotillion. But the large room with its seating clusters, fireplace, Ping -Pong and air-hockey tables was unoccupied. Or so she thought, until she saw the big-screen television at the far end. One solitary figure sat on a worn leather sofa,