Killer Calories

sad.

    “I have to tell you, I’ve made more satisfying busts in my day,” Dirk said as they entered the all-night diner and took a booth in the back. “Booking an old lady isn’t my idea of a good time.”
    “She’s a killer.”
    “Yeah, yeah. But...”
    “I know. Think how I feel. I actually like her.”
    “She was gonna kill you.”
    “I know. But I still liked her. It’s a female, flower-planting, bonding thing. You male nongardeners couldn’t understand .“
    “Thank God. I don’t want to understand. You’re very weird, even for a broad.”
    “Thank you.”
    They ordered their coffee, Dirk’s donut, and Savannah ’s cherry pie.
    “I guess Lou Hanks will be relieved,” Savannah said. “Now he’ll get his insurance money and maybe put Royal Palms on its feet again.”
    “He’s not the only one who’s relieved. I talked to Dr.
    Ross at the hospital, and he’s glad to be off the hook, too. By the way, I located the market where he rented that rug shampoo machine. He’d just screwed up the name of the place.”
    “Then why was he paying off Josef Orlet ?”
    “Because he didn’t want to go through all that hassle again, the medical board’s investigation, the bad press. He figured it was easier to just fork over the money and hope for the best. But he’s decided to file a complaint against Orlet for extortion. Looks like I’ll be able to get him for breaking his parole. He’ll be back in the slammer where he belongs.”
    “Good boy. I’ll have to buy your donut for you.”
    Dirk smiled. Free donuts were his favorite .
    “Dion’s going to be okay?” Savannah asked.
    “Last I heard, yes. And Ford Chesterfield will need a lot of rehabilitation therapy, but he’ll make it, too.” He took a big bite of the pastry and chewed... in ecstasy. Dirk was easily pleased. “All’s well that ends well, huh?”
    Savannah thought of the recently transplanted azalea bush and knew that the plant would thrive in its new setting. Phoebe wouldn’t be so lucky. Prison would destroy her. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.”

    “Heaven... I’m in heaven,” Savannah crooned as the gorgeous Polynesian hunk in the bright orange loincloth finished wrapping her body in the warm, herbal-scented cloths. “Now this is my idea of a spa.”
    “An improvement?” Ryan asked. He lay on the table next to hers, also cocooned in blissful warmth and delicate, floral fragrance.
    “No comparison. Absolutely none.”
    “We wanted you to have a pleasant spa experience,” said John, who was lying at her other side. “So, we decided to whisk you away for a few days. After what you endured at the hands of those barbarians, you deserve a little pampering .“
    “Amen and hallelujah!”
    All three were inside a tiny bamboo hut with a tin roof. A light tropical rain was tinkling on the metal, sounding like a hundred miniature jungle drums. Savannah couldn’t recall a more delicious moment in her entire life. Unless, maybe, it was the mint scalp massage she had received hours earlier, or the coconut oil, full-body rubdown, skillfully delivered by the same underdressed, overmuscled hunk in the loincloth.
    “There’s a luau this evening,” Ryan said. “The roast pork melts in your mouth.”
    “Those magnificent pineapple, mango, rum drinks of theirs...” John sighed. “...and the singing and dancing until dawn. I can hardly wait.”
    “Heaven, I’m in heaven.” Savannah closed her eyes as Ryan and John joined her in three-part harmony.
    In two days, she would be back in San Carmelita, paying overdue bills, wondering who her next client might be, scheming about how to keep a floundering detective agency on its feet.
    But for now... the real world could wait. How often did a woman get to experience pure paradise?