Killer Calories

But I’d say it’s in the top ten.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    “ W hen did you finally get in last night?” Tammy demanded, as she and Savannah sat in the dining hall, eating their nutritious, cleansing breakfast of miso soup. “I tried my best to stay awake, but I eventually nodded off .“
    “When did you go to sleep?” Savannah took a bite of the bland concoction and grimaced.
    “Just after eleven, I think.”
    “Hmm... I came in about eleven-thirty.”
    Tammy looked across the table at an elderly gentleman who was devouring his soup with a gusto that must have been born of acute starvation. She fixed Savannah with a suspicious eye, and whispered, “You weren’t eating, were you?”
    “You say that like it was a crime.”
    “Around here, it is.”
    “Well, I wasn’t eating. I was indulging other appetites by developing a long, deeply satisfying, intimate relationship.” Tammy’s eyes widened. “With Dr. Ross?”
    “No. To be perfectly honest... it was with one of the spa jets. But Dr. Ross and his teeny-tiny bathing suit were my inspiration.”
    Tammy gasped and looked around, obviously mortified that someone else might have overheard this vulgarity. But the old fellow was miso-absorbed, and the other five guests were too far away to eavesdrop.
    “That’s disgusting,” she said, taking a quick sip of her protein drink, followed by a green-gunk chaser.
    “Yeah, well... you spend half an hour in the close proximity of a spa with a man as gorgeous as Freeman Ross and then tell me that you don’t feel like sitting on an air jet .“
    “Savannah, for heaven’s sake! I don’t want to hear what you... sat on!”
    The fellow across the table looked up from his bowl, his eyes aglow with sudden interest. “I do!”
    “Oh, hush and eat your gruel,” Savannah told him before turning back to Tammy. “You know, kiddo. You used to remind me of my younger brothers and sisters. But lately, you’ve been coming across more like my mother.”
    “Well, somebody needs to. I swear , you’re out of control.’ “You don’t know what out of control is. You ought to see me at a Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream parlor . Mrs. Fields and See’s candies are good places to lose it, too.”
    Tammy shuddered. “Oh, yuck. All that sugar, the chocolate, the cream and butter.”
    “ Mmmmm ... exactly.” She took another spoonful of her soup and nearly gagged. “Oops. Here comes trouble,” she said, nodding toward the door.
    Louis Hanks had just entered the room. And judging from the stormy look on his face and the way he was striding straight for their table, he had direct confrontation on his mind.
    “Looks like I’m in the doghouse again,” Savannah whispered.
    “If you ask me,” Tammy replied smugly, “I think you might as well fill out a change-of-address card.”

    “This had better be important,” Savannah said as she faced off with Lou Hanks across a massage table. “I was right in the middle of a bowl of scrumptious miso soup.”
    He had practically dragged her from the dining room, down the hall, and into this eight-by-eight-foot cubicle, which contained nothing but a padded table, a tray of oils, and a stack of towels, and now... the angry owner of Royal Palms Spa and the apparent recipient of that rage.
    “To hell with you and your miso,” he said, his face scarlet and eyes bugged. “The cops are accusing me and my employees of murdering my wife!”
    “Murdering her? Really...?”
    “Don’t ‘Really’ me, as if you don’t know anything about it.”
    Savannah mentally rehearsed a few karate moves, just in case he decided to vault over the table and go for her throat. He certainly looked mad enough to try it.
    Though she doubted that the chubby Lou was accustomed to vaulting from place to place. He seemed more of a plodder, hut you couldn’t always tell. Some plodders became athletes when they were furious.
    “I probably don’t know as much as you think I do,” she said. “Which cops and which employees?”
    “Your old partner and Dr. Ross.”
    “That’s only one cop and one employee. Besides, Dirk isn’t all that old, he’s just a lousy dresser who’s going prematurely bald.”
    Lou’s scowl deepened. “Do you think my wife’s death is a joke, Miss Reid?”
    “Not at all. But when I feel threatened, I tend to resort to sarcasm. And I don’t like your aggressive tone.”
    “And I don’t like you coming to my spa, pretending to be a guest, and snooping