Poisoned Tarts Read Free Page B

martial arts training.
    Dirk smirked. “I see you’re still using that ‘the average size is…’ line to provoke suspects,” he said.
    Savannah winked at him. “Hey, the classics hold up.”
    The only less than jovial person in the room was Gran, who sat with her arms crossed over her ample chest, a scowl on her face.
    From Savannah’s seat on the floor beside her grandmother, she looked up into that infinitely dear face and cringed. Her grandmother had raised her and her eight brothers and sisters. Savannah knew the look all too well—she was in trouble.
    â€œWhat was that business you did with your finger there?” Gran wanted to know. “Is that what I think it was?”
    Savannah giggled and nudged Gran’s leg. “Naw, it wasn’t that at all. Like the gal there on TV said, it was my pinkie. A perfectly innocent gesture. I’d never do that other one…after you teaching me to be a genteel Southern lady and all.”
    Dirk cleared his throat, and Savannah shot him a warning look.
    â€œWell, you must have said something pretty unladylike for him to take a swing at you like that,” Gran said.
    â€œHe was being nasty to his wife and little boy, mouthing off and threatening them,” Savannah told her. “And I just couldn’t abide it. You know, like ol’ Leon Hafner used to do. And Gran, I remember all too well what you did to Leon that Saturday night when he came calling uninvited.”
    A mischievous grin flitted across Gran’s face. She shrugged. “Eh, well, Leon deserved to get a skillet upside his head,” she said. “He was always thumpin’ on poor Alice and her too scared and broke to leave him with three little young’uns in tow. She came over to our house that day with a bloody nose and a black eye, and when he came bustin’ through my kitchen door after her, hollering and carrying on, I had to do something. So, I grabbed a twelve-inch skillet and gave him a good talkin’ to.”
    Savannah laughed. “After their little, uh, conversation, Leon needed seven stitches to close that gash on his forehead. But he never came over to our house in a rage again. Not even when Alice finally left his ugly a—, I mean, left him flat.”
    â€œIt looked like that accountant in the grocery store was needing some stitches himself,” Tammy said. “There was blood everywhere!”
    â€œNaw,” Savannah laughed. “Most of it was ketchup.”
    â€œMost?” Gran asked.
    â€œKetchup?” Ryan added.
    â€œShe was next to the condiment section,” Dirk explained. “You work with what you’ve got.”
    John nodded. “Our Savannah is resourceful, if nothing else.”
    â€œDid they arrest that fellow?” Gran wanted to know. “Are you going to have to go to court and testify and all that rigmarole?”
    â€œNaw, I didn’t press charges,” Savannah told her. “He never actually got the chance to lay a finger on me, so why bother?”
    Dirk reached for the plate of fudge. “I’d say he got the point when that shelf full of ketchup and mustard came crashing down on him. I swear I saw a pickle sticking out of his ear.”
    â€œOh, you did not.” Savannah chuckled. “But I wasn’t trying to make a point with him. Guys like that never get the point anyway, so what’s the use? My statement was for his wife. I wanted her to see that he’s not God Almighty, no matter what he’s told her. Seeing another woman take him down a notch or two might have done her some good. I sure hope so.”
    A cell phone began playing the theme song to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Dirk reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone. “The captain,” he offered in explanation. He shrugged and added, “Seemed appropriate somehow.”
    They nodded, understanding perfectly. Dirk’s rocky relationship with