Free Killer Calories by G. A. McKevett Page A

how good a friend I was to her.”
    â€œI’m sorry for your loss,” Savannah added, meaning it. If she were any judge at all, she could swear she saw genuine sadness in his eyes as she sneaked sideways glances at him.
    Chugging along beside him, matching him stride for stride, she was thankful for her sturdy constitution. She was hardly huffing and puffing at all.
    For all of Tammy’s bitching at her about health, Savannah decided she was in remarkably good shape for someone whose most strenuous form of exercise lately had been hefting forkfuls of Black Forest cake. Compared to police work, being a private detective was pretty soft employment. But she hadn’t lost it all. Not by a long shot.
    They came to a fork in the path, and he chose the one leading toward a large, sprawling hacienda that crowned the top of a hill.
    â€œAre we still on Royal Palms property?” she asked, beginning to feel the burn in her calves and thighs. Yes, she would definitely be sore tomorrow. Hopefully, he would turn around and head for home soon. The last thing she wanted to do was fall flat on her face with exhaustion in front of this ravishing male specimen.
    â€œIt runs right up to that fence, the one near that big Spanish-style house,” he replied, wiping the sweat from his face with his forearm.
    A very muscular, tanned forearm ... she couldn’t help noticing.
    â€œWow, nice place,” Savannah observed, as they rounded a corner and still more of the estate was revealed.
    The white stucco gleamed in the rose-tinted, early-morning light, as did the red tiled roof and the cobalt blue mosaic accents around the windows and doors. An elegant belfry graced the center of the building, giving it the old-world charm of an adobe mission.
    She could see at least three fountains, meticulously manicured flower gardens everywhere, and an arbor draped with lavender and white wisteria that ran from the backyard to a huge, modern barn.
    â€œYeah, that’s the Chesterfield estate,” Dion said. Savannah detected a note of ... something ... in his voice when he spoke the name. Was it contempt? Or maybe simple dislike? “Ford and Phoebe Chesterfield own the whole hill. They’re brother and sister, and they’re a matched set.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œOld, cantankerous, and richer than God.”
    â€œDoesn’t sound as though you like them very much.”
    â€œThey don’t make it easy. Ford was always hanging around the spa. He was nuts about Kat—even asked her to marry him. Can you believe that? An old fart like that?”
    Actually, Savannah could believe it. If Chesterfield was richer than God, an opportunist like Kat Valentina must have at least thought about it.
    â€œAnd his sister, Phoebe ...” Dion shook his golden head. “... now there’s one irritating lady.”
    He paused in the middle of the path and pointed to the belfry. “Phoebe’s favorite pastime is to sit up there in that tower and spy on everything that goes on at the spa.”
    â€œShe must have great eyesight for an old woman.”
    â€œNaw ... but she has a great telescope.”
    â€œAh. I see.”
    â€œSo does she. Everything. And she complains about it all. To hear her tell it, she’s living next door to Sodom and Gomorrah.”
    â€œHow entertaining. Lucky her.”
    â€œExactly. As you may have heard, Kat and her friends weren’t known for their modesty or self-restraint,” he said with a chuckle, “and they gave the old lady quite an eyeful.”
    â€œThey?” she asked him with a mischievous grin that deepened her dimples.
    He laughed. “Okay, we. I’m not exactly a saint myself.”
    A couple of butterflies in her belly fluttered around and did a mating dance. It was an enticing situation, being up here on this beautiful, sun-drenched hill, waist-high in marguerite daisies with an Adonis who admitted he wasn’t