Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) Read Online Free PDF Page B

stretched some bacon strips across a hot skillettil
    her mom makes another trip to the local bar and 1gs home the next yahoo pervert."
     
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    Tammy winced. "Ouch, that's pretty cynical."
    "Yeah, well.. . . when you've been around that block a hundred times, you learn the lay ' the land."
    The smell of frying meat filled the kitchen and, apparently, wafted to the sunporch in the back of the house, because two sleek black cats--big enough to pass as miniature panthers--came running into the kitchen. 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 lie 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 sultry
    and even more distinctly 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 thi
     
    JLN.. 4.714-11- 'kJ
     
    morning. . or afternoon. We're proving how enlight'ened and--"
    "Oh, hogwash. I didn't call you to get an earful of buflpucky."
    Savannah chuckled. "So, why did you call me, Granny Acid? Not that you have to have a reason, of course."
    "I called to warn you."
    ,10
    "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 Carmefita a disaster zone and
    release 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