"Yeah, yeah." Savannah elbowed him in the ribs. "Muy macho hombre."

Tammy laughed. "How macho can he be when he's afraid of you, Savannah?"

"Hey, everybody's afraid of my big sister," Waycross told her. "If you don't believe me, go upstairs and check out Miss Marietta. She's hurlin' clothes and high heels and cosmetics into them purple patent leather suitcases of hers to beat the band. Whatever Savannah did to her earlier this evenin' put the fear o' G.o.d in her."

"Fear of me-that's more like it." Savannah snickered. "Giving her that pillow whompin' did my soul a world of good. Should've done it long ago."

Waycross headed toward the kitchen with his load of dirty dishes. "I'm just sorry I missed it. One time in twenty years Mari's hairdo's outta whack, and I don't get to see it."

Savannah watched Tammy watch him. Yes, the kid was definitely goo-gooeyed. But then, watching a man tend to dishes was enough to set almost any woman's heart to pitter-pattering.

"So, what are y'all gonna do about this situation you got?" Granny asked.

"You can't let it ruin your honeymoon," Tammy added. "Ryan and John were so happy to score that lighthouse cottage for you. If you don't get to use it, they'll be heartbroken."

Gran gave a little snort. "They'll be more heartbroken if they have to come over there to that island and bail your backsides outta the crowbar hotel. a.s.suming they'd even letcha out. I've seen shows on TV about those foreign prisons. Some of 'em don't even feed you. If your family don't show up with a bologna sandwich once in a while, you just plumb starve to death."

"Yeah, well, we're going back," Dirk said. "We're not gonna let that gal with the black suit and the evil eye scare us outta having our romantic honeymoon." He nudged Savannah. "Huh, babe?"

"Uh, yeah." She had started to fade. Suddenly the day and its horror came crashing down on her, and every muscle in her body felt like a wrung-out wet rag.

He poked her again. "Hey, you going to sleep on me there?"

"I know the look," Granny said. "If you don't get her upstairs and in bed in a minute or two, you'll be totin' her upstairs like a sack o' taters, over your shoulder."

Dirk turned to Savannah, looked her over, taking in the droopiness of her eyelids and her size. "Okay, sweet cheeks, let's get you upstairs p.r.o.nto. Manly man that I am, it's been a tough day for me, too. I'd just as soon not have to do the Rhett Butler Carrying Scarlett Up the Staircase routine tonight."

He stood and pulled her to her feet. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he turned to Tammy and said, "We'll wanna get on this first thing tomorrow morning-figure out what we're gonna do. You mind a.s.sembling the rest of the gang?"

"Sure!" Tammy beamed. She was never happier than when being called upon to officially sleuth. "I'll have Ryan and John here at nine sharp."

"Make it ten sharp." Dirk grinned. "We might wanna sleep in."

"Can I sit in on this powwow you're havin'?" Granny asked. "I'll make biscuits, and I brought a couple jars of my peach preserves from home."

"Of course, Gran," Dirk told her. "Are you kidding? You are an honorary lifetime member of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency."

When Dirk had Savannah tucked into her bed, and he was settled next to her, the kitties at their feet, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm sorry you had such an awful day, babe," he said.

"Wasn't exactly a Sunday picnic for you either."

"It was harder for you. You were the one with her when-"

"Yeah."

"And you're the one who, well, was in a similar situation as her, not that long ago. So it had to be rough on you. Brought back memories, I'll bet. All that stuff."

Cleopatra wriggled her way between them, moving under the covers until she was at Savannah's waist. Savannah reached down and, a moment later, the cat's warm nose nuzzled her palm with a loving sweetness, which brought tears to Savannah's eyes. Cleo always seemed to know when she could use an extra bit of affection and comfort.

Sort of like Dirk.

"Thank you, honey," she said, slightly embarra.s.sed by the crack in her own voice.

"Tomorrow'll be better," he said. "I promise."

She chuckled dryly and snuggled against him. "Wouldn't take much to improve on today. Like . . . if Southern California doesn't have an eight-point-one earthquake, and we don't see another person murdered in front of our eyes on our honeymoon."

"Yeah." He sighed. "That'd do it."

Chapter 7.

When Savannah greeted Ryan and John at her front door, she gave them both rib-cracking hugs. "You two are the sweetest, most generous, cla.s.siest friends on the planet," she said as she laid a kiss on Ryan's cheek and then one on John's. "That lighthouse and the keeper's cottage are a dream! How did you ever think of that?"

"We remembered you saying you loved lighthouses," Ryan told her as she pulled them into the living room. "John's a big fan, too. He spent a night there once, years ago, and thought you'd enjoy it."

John put his arm around Savannah's shoulders and pulled her to his side. "So tell me, love . . . what's this nasty business that brought you two home in the midst of your honeymoon?"

"Come on into the kitchen and have a seat. Granny made a big ol' country breakfast for us. We'll fill you in on all the ugly details."

More than a dozen soft scrambled eggs, fried green tomatoes, a skillet full of sausage gravy, two pans of b.u.t.termilk biscuits, and an entire jar of Gran's homemade peach preserves-all prepared to Granny's highest standard of Southern perfection-served to take the edge off everyone's hunger.

In fact, more than one belt had been loosened as they all pushed away from the table, picked up their cups of strong coffee, and took them out to the backyard patio.

The basic details of the case had been discussed over the meal, and now it was time to digest and strategize.

Savannah had lagged behind everyone else, tidying up the kitchen before Granny had the chance to do it. For as long as Savannah could remember, Gran had been a hard worker.

Lazy people didn't offer to raise their nine grandchildren.

If Savannah didn't watch out for her, she'd do far more than her share.

As Savannah was folding the hand-embroidered, crochet-trimmed dish towel-another gift from Granny's busy fingers-Marietta flounced into the kitchen, holding an oversized suitcase in each hand.

When she saw Savannah, she stopped so abruptly that she nearly stepped out of her purple ostrich feathertrimmed mules.

"Oh, it's you," she said as she set one suitcase down, patted her hairdo, then ran her hand down the side of her leather miniskirt. "Where in tarnation is that Waycross? He's supposed to be givin' me a ride to the airport."

"He's out back with the others," Savannah said, hanging the towel on the drying rack. "We missed you at breakfast."

"Yeah, right. Like one pig at the trough misses another."

"I nabbed a couple of biscuits for you and saved 'em back."

"You did not."

"I most certainly did. Put b.u.t.ter and preserves on 'em, too. They're wrapped up in tinfoil, there in the oven."

Slowly Marietta set down the other suitcase, walked over to the oven, and peeked inside.

Savannah watched the battle of "indignation" versus "gluttony" war upon her sister's face.

Finally Marietta opened the door, pulled out the foil package, and lovingly unwrapped it.

Gluttony triumphed again, as always in the Reid clan.

"How many did the rest of y'all get?" she asked.

"I don't know, Mari," Savannah said, suddenly feeling quite tired. Marietta frequently had that effect on her. "We might've put away three apiece."

"But I notice you only saved me two," she complained with a mouth filled with biscuit.

Savannah said nothing, but she walked over to the coffee machine, pulled out the pot, and dumped the remaining coffee into the sink. She couldn't help grinning just a little as she thought how good that coffee was and how dry biscuits, even Granny Reid's, could be without a cup of good java to wash them down.

Marietta didn't notice. She was too busy getting comfortable at the table with her biscuits.

Finally she was settled "just so" in her chair. She glanced around the kitchen. "Got any coffee to go with these?"

Savannah slid the pot back into the machine. "Nope. Nary a drop."

Marietta took a big bite, then choked, sputtered, and coughed. "Well, I'm about to gag myself to death here. Do you at least have some sweet milk to offer me?"

"Yep."

Marietta looked at her expectantly.

Savannah ignored the look and said far too cheerfully, "Feel free to help yourself. I keep it in the icebox."

With a great sigh and a lot of huffing and puffing, Marietta trudged to the refrigerator, got out the milk, poured herself a huge gla.s.s, and returned to her seat . . . leaving the carton on the counter.

Savannah waited until she was comfortably seated, biscuit poised in front of her face. "You wanna put that milk away?" she said. "It'll go bad, left out like that."

That did it!

Marietta flew up out of her chair, stomped to the counter, grabbed the milk carton, and practically hurled it back into the refrigerator. "There!" she shouted. "Are you happy now!"

Savannah gave her a half-smile and said very calmly, "Thank you."

"Well, you aren't welcome. You aren't welcome, because you don't give a hooey about milk goin' bad. You're just bein' as contrary as you possibly can be to me, and I do not appreciate it!"

Slowly Savannah walked to the table and sat down in the chair across from her. Folding her hands demurely in front of her, she said, "No, Mari, I'm not being as contrary as I can possibly be. You'd be surprised just how contrary I can get when somebody pushes me too far. And, sugar, you're at that line and hangin' your toes over it."

"You tell me that, after you beating the tar outta me yesterday?"

"With a pillow. Marietta, it was a pillow fight."

" 'Tweren't no fight. I didn't have a pillow. It ain't a fair fight if the other person ain't armed."

Savannah sighed. "Marietta, do you want to go upstairs right now to my bedroom? I'll give you a pillow. No, I'll give you two of my biggest ones, and you and I can duke it out, fair and square. Is that what you want?"

Marietta thought it over. "No. I'd just have to do my hair again. It'd make me late for my plane."

"So it's official, then? You're going home today?"

"After what happened last night? Of course I am! Why shouldn't I?"

"Because Dirk and I are going to be leaving in less than an hour to go back to the island, and then you'll have the house to yourself again. Well, you and Granny and Waycross. So you leaving in a big ol' huff, with your back up and your tail in the air, that ain't exactly to your advantage, now is it?"

Savannah ran her fingers through her hair and closed her eyes. Why did she bother? It would be so much easier just to let Marietta be Marietta . . . far, far away. But this was her flesh and blood. Somewhere, sometime, someone had said something about how you had to go the extra mile for family.

She thought of Tammy, Ryan, and John-the family her heart had adopted. She thought of how little they asked and how much they gave. Why couldn't blood relatives be the same?

"I want you to listen to me, Marietta," she said, opening her eyes and fixing her sister with a steady, solemn gaze. "And I want you to listen good. I apologize for losing my temper with you yesterday. I shouldn't have struck you. Not even with a pillow."

"You're darned right you shouldn't have."

"And I'll never do it again. But I'm warning you that there are more ways for me to get even with you than to whup you."

Marietta didn't reply, but she stared coldly at her older sister, eyes narrowed, lips tight.

"Since we were kids in junior high school," Savannah continued, "and since your figure done filled out, you've been chasin' after my boyfriends."

"I didn't have to chase 'em. They were fallin' all over me."

"You should probably be very quiet and refrain from saying c.r.a.p like that, or I might take back what I just said about whup-pins."

Savannah drew another deep breath and began again. "As I was saying, you've been showin' your tail and chasing after every male I ever set my cap for since I can remember. But we were just kids, and they were just boyfriends.

"Now . . . now I'm a married woman. Dirk is my husband. And I'm telling you right now, you'd best keep your skirt tail down and your legs together when you're in his presence. You better watch what comes outta your mouth, too. 'Cause if you go talkin' s.l.u.tty trash to him, like you always do, gal, I am gonna mop the floor with you."

Less than terrified, Marietta gave her a little smirk. "What's the matter, big sis? You feelin' a mite insecure? You afraid somebody like me's gonna take your man away from you?"

Slowly Savannah stood and walked around the table to stand beside Marietta. She reached down and, with surprising speed and ease, grabbed handfuls of her sweater front and yanked her to her feet.

Eye to blazing eye, she said, "It would never occur to me that the likes of you would interest my husband. He has much more sense and far better taste in women than to go for anything you've got to offer. But it's insulting to me and to him that you think he might. So I'm warning you, once and for all, do not flirt with or act like a brazen hussy around my man.

"Because if you do," Savannah continued, "I promise you, I will make that pillow thumpin' I gave you look like nothing at all. Girl, I will knock you clean into next Tuesday. Once I'm finished with you, a messed-up hairdo will be the very least of your concerns. You, Miss Marietta, just might find yourself s.n.a.t.c.hed plumb bald!"

She released Marietta's sweater.

For a moment, one brief instant, Savannah saw what she was looking for in her sister's eyes. It was just a smidgeon of fear mixed with grudging respect.

That was all she'd wanted.