Sugar and Spite Read Online Free PDF Page A

Nancy Drew on the prowl.
    “Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked. “Because if you do, I—”
    “No… thank you.” Savannah stopped in the middle of the floor and was nearly rear-ended. She turned and gave Tammy a kind but don’t-push-it look. “Why don’t you knock off a little early?” she said gently. “Not much going on around here, right?”
    “Ah. Yeah, I guess right.”
    Savannah watched, feeling a little guilty as her deflated assistant walked into the front hall and retrieved her own purse and keys from the piecrust table. Savannah’s grandmother’s table. The table where Macon had tossed his keys, a lifetime ago.
    “Thanks for everything you do, Tarn,” she said. “I just want a hot bath and a well-balanced, nutritious, wholesome dinner.”
    “A pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey?”
    “You know me too well.”
    Tammy shook her head. “Junk food is going to be the death of you.”
    “I’ll die a happy woman… with chocolate on my breath and a smile on my lips.”
    “Call me later, if you need me.”
    Savannah smiled. Yes, Tammy was there for love, not money. “I will, sweetie. I will.”
     
    * * *
     
    But Tammy wasn’t the one Savannah called later that night when the decadent culinary treats and the sweetness of the romance novel wouldn’t take the bitter taste away. She called Granny Reid in Georgia. Even though it was late, she knew Gran would still be up, reading her Bible and her National
Enquirer
… both the absolute, gospel truth, according to her.
    No one could beat Gran when it came to lending an ear and giving advice. In her eighty-five years, Gran had seen it all and lived most of it. Nothing even surprised her, let alone shocked her.
    Savannah snuggled under the rose-spangled satin comforter on lace-trimmed sheets as she held the telephone receiver against her cheek and listened to the phone ring once, twice, three times. The sleeves of her white-cotton, Victorian-styled nightgown were also trimmed with lace, the bodice closed with a crisscrossing of tiny pink ribbons.
    Around the house and out in the hard, cold world, Savannah was denim and linen, wool and corduroy. But in bed… in bed she was all woman.
    Southern femininity—her heritage from the lady on the other end of the phone, whose voice was silkier than any satin spread.
    “Hi, Gran. It’s me.”
    “What’s the matter, sugar?”
    Nothing got past Gran. She could smell a whiff of trouble across a phone line three thousand miles away.
    “Macon’s looking for me.”
    There was a long silence on the other end. She could tell her grandmother was choosing her words carefully. Southern belles were known for their tact, their diplomacy, their—
    “What does that horse’s ass want with you?”
    Well, maybe not.
    “Don’t know. I haven’t talked to him. He left a message the Internet.”
    “On the what?”
    “Ah… the worldwide computer system.”
    “Can’t imagine he’d be bright enough to operate something like that.”
    “Maybe he had help.”
    “Like an accomplice? Naw. That would mean he had a friend. Not likely.”
    “I see your point.”
    They both shared a companionable giggle; then Gran got serious. “How do you feel about that, sweetheart… him trying to get in touch with you after all these years?”
    “Honestly?”
    “That goes without saying. I don’t ask if I don’t want to know.”
    “I wish he’d just leave me the hell alone. As far as I’m concerned, my business with him is over and done with, and that’s the way I like it.”
    “Then send him a message on that Internet thing and tell him so.”
    “Or just ignore him, drink lots of liquids, stay warm, and get plenty of rest, and like a bad case of the flu, maybe he’ll go away?”
    “One can always hope.”
    Savannah thought she could detect a note of sadness in her grandmother’s voice. Gran wasn’t the only one who could detect a problem long-distance. “I’m sorry if it hurts you to discuss him,” Savannah