Sour Grapes

Matthews in every nook and crook of Villa Rosa had rendered absolutely zip, and in spite of what Savannah had been telling everyone associated with the winery and the beauty pageant, she was worried about the missing teenager. She was worried sick.
    Having missed an entire day’s worth of food, and a whole night of sleep, Savannah had already decided that when they found the kid, she had better be dead, or she would kill her for having caused such a ruckus. But she was afraid someone might have beaten her to it, or at least done the girl some major harm.
    Stepping out of the shower and drying off with one of Villa Rosa’s lush towels, she silently thanked Catherine Villa for furnishing her guests with quality appointments. One nice thing about most snobs, Savannah had noticed: They tended to have good taste in clothing, furnishings, and cocktail-party guests.
    She pulled her robe around her and stepped into the room where her younger sister lay sleeping on a twin bed. This second-story room was similar to the one downstairs that Atlanta had shared with Barbie, only a bit larger and more lavishly furnished. Catherine had offered it to Savannah, making it clear that she hoped she would remain on the property until Barbie had been found. And Savannah had insisted that Atlanta sleep there, where she could keep an eye on her.
    “Van? What are you doing?” Atlanta asked, stirring beneath the covers. One foot emerged, then a hand and finally a tousled, platinum blond head.
    “Getting ready to go to work.”
    “Work? Have you been to bed yet?”
    “No, but I’m not a contestant; I don’t need that much beauty sleep.”
    Atlanta yawned, stretched, and opened one eye. “Did you guys find Barbie?”
    “No. That’s why I’m heading back out. It’s dawn now, and we’re going to check the grounds again. Hopefully, we’ll find something we missed, now that it’s daylight.”
    “Dawn?” Her other eye blinked and opened.- “It’s dawn? No wonder I’m still dog-tired. You can get up with the chickens if you want to, but I’m lyin’ here and relaxin’ for a couple more hours at least.”
    “How lovely for you,” Savannah replied dryly as she slipped into a silk tank, linen slacks, and loafers. “Catch a few winks for me, and don’t let anybody in here except members of the Moonlight Magnolia gang. Do you hear me?”
    There was no reply.
    Savannah strapped on her shoulder holster and Beretta and pulled a light jacket on over it. “You’ve gotta rise and shine, at least long enough to bolt this door behind me.”
    A grunt was all she heard from beneath the rumpled covers.
    “Shake a leg, gal. You’re holding me up here.” Finally, Atlanta rolled out of bed, a drowsy figure in pajamas with big, yellow roosters crowing on bright red flannel. She followed Savannah to the door, where she accepted a kiss on the cheek from her older sister.
    “Be careful, Atlanta . Stay in here by yourself with the door locked or out there in a crowd of people. Okay?”
    “Okay. Okay. Okay. Don’t worry, Mom. “
    “It’s my job. Throw the bolt and then go back to bed, Sleeping Snoozie.”

    In the twenty-five minutes it had taken Savannah to run upstairs and shower, reinforcements had arrived. As she entered the gallery she saw Ryan standing near the door, talking to Dirk, Tammy, and John.
    Tammy was holding a small, pink, paper bag in her hand, that Savannah didn’t dare to hope was...
    “Tammy, you darlin’ girl! Did you bring me donuts from the Patty Cake Bakery?”
    Smiling, Tammy held out the bag to her and gave her a hug. “Better than that. I bought you two chocolate-covered, custard-filled Longjohns and an apple fritter.”
    “I love you. I truly do. I’ll give you a nickel-an-hour raise.”
    “Gee, after a month or so, I’ll be reimbursed for the donuts.”
    Savannah attacked the bag with a fury born of acute starvation. And while she was filling her face with creamy custard and chocolate, Dirk presented her with a super-sized Styrofoam cup of coffee.
    “Ah, Dirk. Bless your little heart. You dropped by the Java Nut House and bummed them out of a free coffee. You shouldn’t have.”
    “An extra big one, too.”
    “What a guy! When you panhandle, you beg for only the best. You’re a class act, Coulter.”
    Dirk beamed, and Savannah wondered whether the fact that insults frequently flew over his head made the game more fun or a source of frustration. She decided it was a bit of both.
    Savannah looked