Killer Gourmet Read Online Free PDF Page A

bruised—but all for a good cause. “Yeah, but you’ll make a fool out of yourself for a stale donut and a cup of cold coffee. Me, I will debase myself only for the very best.”
    Reluctantly, she turned away from the door, surrendering the battle. The war was lost. She had to admit it was over and abandon all hope as gracefully and with as much dignity as she could muster.
    â€œDadgum-it!” She kicked a metal trash can beside the door. And because the simple act of violence felt so satisfying, she kicked it twice more just for good measure.
    â€œJeez, Van,” Dirk said. “It was one meal. I hate to say it, babe, but you might be overreacting just a little bit.”
    She turned on him with a vengeance. “One meal? Ryan and John invited us to join them for a chef’s audition! And not just any chef. A world-class chef! Even they can’t believe their good luck in maybe getting Chef Baldwin Norwood to run their restaurant. He was here tonight, cooking just for them—and Tammy and Waycross and us, if we’d been here. It was a private dinner where one of the best chefs in the world was trying to impress them and us! Can you even imagine how good that would’ve been?”
    Dirk thought it over for a long time. Then his face fell, his entire mood deflating to match hers. “You’re right,” he said. “It would’ve been amazing. Damn.”
    Yes, Savannah thought, he’s got it. He understands now.
    She turned on her heel and marched back around the building toward the street. Dirk trudged along behind her, muttering to himself. It was something about “life opportunities wasted” and “never to return again.”
    Finally, she thought, he feels just as rotten and disappointed as I do. Mission accomplished.
    Â 
    â€œYou don’t really think this is all my fault, do you?” Dirk asked Savannah as they walked up the sidewalk to the quaint little Spanish-style house that had been Savannah’s home for years and Dirk’s a matter of months.
    Deciding he had suffered long enough, she laced her arm through his and gave it a companionable squeeze. “No, of course not. It was those scuzballs’ fault. And if you’d busted them all by yourself, and I hadn’t gotten a piece of it, I’d be a lot more bitter about that than I am over a lost tart.”
    â€œThen why did you say it was all my fault earlier?”
    She giggled. “A gal’s gotta blame some stuff on her husband. There’s only so much crap that you can blame on the government.”
    He laughed with her, leaned over, and kissed the top of her gray wig. “That’s true,” he said. “But that should apply to husbands, too, and not just wives. The next thing that goes wrong around here, it’s going to be either your fault or the governor’s.”
    As Savannah passed beneath the lush arbor of crimson bougainvillea that arched over her front door, she glanced at the front window, instinctively knowing what she would see there.
    Two black, matching silhouettes that were always visible when she returned home. Waiting, watching, eager for “Mom” to arrive.
    Her pair of ebony fur-babies, her favorite felines in the world, Diamante and Cleopatra.
    Before her marriage to Dirk these two had been her nearest and dearest family members. Together, they now held second place, but they didn’t appear to mind their demotion. It meant having Dirk around all the time instead of once in a while. And that translated into extra treats and almost endless petting.
    Dirk was one of those men who actually loved cats. So the girls hadn’t found it all that difficult to train “Dad” in the finer points of kitty spoiling.
    â€œAw, look. How cute.” He pointed to the window. “The kids are waiting for us.”
    â€œOf course they are,” Savannah replied. “It’s past their dinnertime. We’ll be lucky