Sour Grapes

Both wore black, rhinestone-studded leather collars and expectant looks on their faces.
    “Ah, Cleopatra, Diamante”—Tammy reached down to stroke them as they passed, tails held high, on their way to their food dishes—“all you guys have to do is he in the sunshine and eat. Tough life being a cat.”
    “Feline Americans,” Savannah corrected her.
    “What?”
    “You heard me. This is a politically correct household.”
    Tammy snorted. “Since when?”
    The telephone rang, and Savannah grabbed it off the wall. “Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency,” she said, her voice Southern silk. “Good morning.”
    Tammy pointed to the kitchen clock, which showed a quarter past one.
    Savannah grunted and began to flip the bacon in the skillet. “Er... make that afternoon,” she said.
    The female voice on the other end was just as sultryand even more distincdy down-Dixie. “Don’t know if it’s morning or afternoon, huh? Late night?”
    Savannah smiled, instantly feeling better in all areas, even ones the caffeine hadn’t reached. “Ah,” she said, “if it isn’t my chronologically gifted maternal crone calling from Georgia.”
    “What?” The voice sounded a mite cranky.
    “We’re being politically correct around here this morning... or afternoon. We’re proving how enlightened and—”
    “Oh, hogwash. I didn’t call you to get an earful of bullpucky.”
    Savannah chuckled. “So, why did you call me, Granny Reid? Not that you have to have a reason, of course.”
    “I called to warn you.”
    “Warn me? Why? Did you have one of your prophetic dreams about me or—”
    “No, not this time. I’m letting you know that you’re gonna be getting some company, a visitor from Georgia.”
    “You? Are you gonna come see me again, Gran?” A mischievous snicker on the other end. “Not me. I don’t think California has recuperated from my last trip out there.”
    “That’s true. Mickey Mouse and Goofy still have hangovers. So, if it’s not you, who?”
    “One of your beloved siblings.”
    Savannah sighed. With one brother, seven sisters, and a gaggle of nieces and nephews, the nerve-wracking possibilities seemed limitless. “Not Vidalia and the twins... both sets, that is...”
    Glancing over at Tammy, Savannah saw her assistant make a wry face that reflected her own thoughts on the subject. Both recalled the previous invasion of sister Vidalia’s terrorist munchkins. The cats were traumatized for weeks afterward, their fur standing on end and their ears turned inside out And the major house repairs were on hold, waiting for the governor of California to declare San Carmelita a disaster zone and Please the relief funds.
    “Not me and not Vidalia,” Gran said. “It’s your baby sister, Atlanta, who hightailed it outta here first thing this mornin’ on a plane headed in your direction. I would’ve warned you sooner, but your mama just told me about it.”
    Savannah didn’t have to utilize any special detecting; skills to figure out why neither her mom nor Atlanta had phoned ahead to announce the visit. In spite of the fact that Shirley Reid had born nine children, naming them after cities in Georgia, mothering wasn’t high on the list of her priorities. It fell well below square dancing, Jack Daniels, turquoise and silver jewelry, and her favorite stool—third from the end, right below the autographed picture of Elvis—at Sam’s Honky Tonk.
    Mama Reid would be happy to be rid of the temperamental teenager for a while.
    Over the years, Big Sis Savannah and Gran had done most of the mothering of the Reid brood. Why should anything change at this late date? Savannah asked herself.
    “You there, hon?” Gran said, her voice soft with concern.
    “Right here, Gran.” Savannah reached for a spoon to stir the grits that were bubbling on the stove. “I’m just shocked into silence. I mean, I’m always glad to entertain a family member, but... Atlanta. She’s a bit of a... challenge... p. c. speaking, that is.”
    “Eh, forget the p. c. nonsense. She’s a pain in the hind end, that one. Don’t let her walk all over you, darlin’.”
    “That’ll be the day.”
    Savannah thanked her grandmother and said goodbye. As she hung up the phone, Tammy said, “So, when exactly is that day? The day you aren’t going to let your spoiled baby sister take advantage of you, that is.”
    “Today,” she replied with a weary sigh. “There oughta be a law against getting news like that before