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Killer Calories

Killer Calories

Titel: Killer Calories Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: G.A. McKevett
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half an hour, and exercises begin at dawn.”
    She disappeared inside the cubicle, and Savannah stuck her tongue out at the closed door. “No shit,” she whispered, as she looked around for a receptacle for the used towel.
    For one brief, perverse moment, she considered hanging it on Eve’s perky boob or Adam’s ridiculously large dick. But in the end, she decided to be a lady and tossed it into the white wicker hamper beneath the sink.
    Granny Reid would have been proud.

    “I can’t believe she held out on you like that!” Tammy trudged along beside Savannah as they retraced their steps back down the driveway they had walked less than thirty minutes before. “If it hadn’t been for you, she wouldn’t have even known anything was going down.”
    “I reminded her of that,” Savannah said, “but—although she was adamant about fulfilling her promise to me to spy on said party—she didn’t feel morally obligated to spill her guts about what she saw.”
    “She probably didn’t see anything at all and just doesn’t want to admit it.”
    Savannah nodded. The kid was getting better. “I thought S of that, too. But if she didn’t see the person, how would she know they put something into the box.”
    “Maybe she made it up.”
    “No. I don’t think so. She may be a self-righteous pain in the ass, but I don’t think Phoebe Chesterfield lies. It’s a feeling I get about her. Besides, we’ll know soon.”
    Again, they exited the iron gates and walked over to the mailbox. Around them, the night seemed even quieter and darker than before. This time, Savannah didn’t feel as though they were being watched. Whoever their nocturnal visitor had been, she was pretty sure they had come and gone.
    Before reaching into the mailbox, she shined her flashlight—the one Fate had provided on the hillside—inside... just in case her contact hadn’t liked her report and had left something, like a rattler, behind.
    Inside, she saw a single piece of the beige stationery, folded in half. She took it out and opened it.
    “What does it say?” Tammy asked, straining to read over her shoulder.
    “It seems my client isn’t particularly pleased with my theories,” she said, studying the typed words.

    Dear Savannah ,
    By the way, I have heard that you think Kat may have committed suicide. That simply isn’t true. She was murdered. I’m sure of it. Your job is to find out who killed her. I don’t want you to waste your time and my money pursuing a dead end, so to speak.

    “Well, I’d like to know why they’re so sure it was a homicide,” Savannah said. “They want results, but they’re tying my hands here by not telling me at least everything they know.”
    “I’ll bet you’re frustrated, not being able to tell them that.”
    “Right now I’d just settle for a name or a face. Hell, I’d be content just to know who hired me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

    S avannah lay in bed, listening to Tammy’s soft snoring, cradling the cell phone next to her side, waiting, waiting . The phosphorous green numbers on the digital clock on her nightstand said it was ten-thirty.
    Any minute now. Any minute.
    There. The telltale buzz against her ribs signaled the call she had been waiting for... dying for. Finally, help was on the way.
    “Hello,” she breathed into the phone, hardly daring to eyen whisper. “Yes... yes... oh, yes, yes, yes.... I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. Thank you. Thank you so-o-o-omuch.”
    Turning off the phone, she buried it beneath her pillow, then slipped out of bed. Already fully dressed in her simple, basic black dress, she tiptoed over to the vanity, scooped up some accessories, tugged on a pair of sneakers... and sneaked out of the room.
    Tammy snored on, oblivious to her roommate’s escape. It was all Savannah could do not to cackle with glee.

    A few minutes later, she stood at the end of the gravel driveway, outside the wrought-iron gates for the third time that evening. Balancing herself with one hand on the mailbox, she slipped off the sneakers and replaced them with her black suede pumps.
    She had fastened a string of pearls around her neck and was adjusting a pearl drop earring when the classic Bentley rounded the corner. Its graceful curves glistened like liquid silver in the light of the half-moon.
    The elegant machine pulled to a stop beside her. The front door opened and John Gibson exited, dressed in formal chauffeur’s livery. His thick, wavy hair glowed as silver as the

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