Killer Calories

wheel. It responded with a rude honk that grated on her nerves.
    “I must be getting old. These all-nighters kill me,” she mumbled as she pulled her tired body from the car and limped U P the sidewalk to the tiny Spanish-style bungalow that she called home. When she wasn’t calling it other, more foul, names because of leaking roofs, sagging foundations, and termite infestation. Actually, she was grateful for the termites. If it weren’t for the fact that the little boogers were holding hands and square dancing under there, the whole house would probably cave in.
    Halfway up the walk, she paused to pull off the spike heels. Tucking them under her arm, she saw her neighbor , nosy old Mrs. Normandy , peeking out her kitchen window. Once Savannah had tried to explain why she sometimes left the house dressed in strange garb. But Mrs. Normandy didn’t seem to grasp the concept of “undercover.”
    That, or it was more interesting for the old woman to think she lived next door to a part-time private investigator/ hooker. Mrs. Normandy was also convinced that aliens had abducted Jimmy Hoffa from her backyard, so Savannah hadn’t wasted a lot of time trying to cajole her about the risqué costumes.
    Savannah had just slipped her key into her front-door lock, when a cheery voice reached her from across the lawn. “Hey, Savannah! I’m he-e-e-re!” The nasal, Eastern seaboard twang grated on her sleep-deprived nerves.
    Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was exactly nine o’clock. Damn, that girl was punctual.
    She turned around and saw her trainee-in-private-detection, Tammy Hart, jogging across the lawn toward her.
    Savannah loved Tammy to pieces; the young woman was bright, good-hearted, and a whiz with computers—quite the opposite of the ditzy blonde she appeared to be at first glance. But Tammy had one major character flaw. She was a morning person.
    Her short, golden ponytail bounced from side to side as she trotted up onto the porch, where she continued to jog in place, bouncing... bouncing... bouncing until Savannah thought she was going to be seasick just watching her.
    She was wearing a smile that should have been illegal before noon, and a bright yellow short set that made Savannah wish she was still wearing that Buzz creep’s sunglasses.
    “Hope I’m not too late,” Tammy pealed. “My bug wouldn’t start, so I decided to just jog to work... get the old blood flowing... you know .”
    Tammy’s classic Volkswagen bug was the only car on the planet that was less reliable than Savannah ’s Camaro. But jogging? It had to be nearly ten miles, and she hadn’t even worked up a good sweat... just this nice, ladylike sheen that looked great on her golden, California tan.
    Sometimes, Savannah hated her.
    “Neat outfit, especially the shoes!” Tammy continued to bounce.
    Savannah thrust the heels at her. “Here, you can have them.”
    “Gee, thanks. I wonder if they’ll fit.”
    “They’ll fit,” Savannah growled, not adding the fact that their shoe size would be the only size they would ever have in common. Petite Tammy actually wore a minuscule size zero. Until Savannah had pinned her to the floor one day and turned her shirt wrong side out, looking for proof, she hadn’t even known there was a size zero.
    Savannah unlocked the door and found herself face-to-face with two hungry and unhappy felines. Diamante and Cleopatra were more like miniature black leopards than housecats, with appetites as healthy as their mistress’s.
    “ Oooh , they’re so pretty,” Tammy cooed as she followed Savannah into the house and bent to pet the cats. “Good morning!”
    “There’s no such thing,” Savannah grumbled.
    “Pardon me?”
    “I said , there’s no such thing as a good morning. It’s an oxymoron.”
    “Oh, you’re just grumpy because stupid old Dirk had you out all night.”
    Minutes after meeting him, Tammy had dubbed Dirk, “stupid old Dirk,” and she seldom mentioned his name without the accompanying adjectives.
    “I’m not grumpy.” Savannah tossed her bag onto a side table and entered what had once been her living room, but was now the office of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency. “I’m just not a morning person,” she said. “I hate mornings, and I hate morning people... like you.”
    Tammy laughed, so loudly that Savannah ’s ears ached. “That’s funny. You’re a kick, Savannah , even when you’re grumpy.”
    “Tammy, I mean it. Stop with the perky shit.