Killer Calories by G. A. McKevett

nothing to the imagination. Her friend, Kat, had been thoroughly bisected, then dissected at Dr. Liu’s expert hands.
    Dirk shoved another cookie into his face. For him, having a full mouth seemed to be a prerequisite for speaking. “Bloss said, ‘No way,’ to reopening the case. He’s satisfied with Dr. Liu’s ruling.”
    Savannah sniffed her disgust. “Yeah, right. I’m sure Bloss’s decision not to reopen had more to do with his precious budget and saving man-hours than anything in this file.”
    â€œSo, where do we begin?” Ryan asked as he-leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
    â€œWhat do you mean ... begin?” Savannah grabbed a cookie from Dirk’s hand, deciding he’d had enough. “You said you agree with Liu, that it was accidental.”
    â€œI do. But more importantly, you don’t. And that’s enough for me.”
    Tammy beamed, gratitude and infatuation shining through the slits of her puffy eyes. Unlike Savannah, Tammy had never given up hope that Ryan might someday be persuaded to join the ranks of womanizers and assorted skirt chasers.
    â€œAnd for me,” John said, toasting her with his Earl Grey. “If I can be of service in any way at all, dear lady, don’t hesitate to call on me.”
    Savannah thanked him and turned to Dirk. “Well ... ?”
    â€œWell what?”
    â€œWell ... you’re the one who wolfs down most of the goodies at these little soirees. Are you going to earn your keep, or what?”
    He sighed and shrugged. “I’ll do the cop stuff. Check records, junk like that.” Nabbing a couple more chocolate chippers, he added, “And how about you? What are you going to be doing, Van?”
    Savannah looked over at Tammy and saw her friend’s pain and desperation, the pleading in her eyes. Reaching deep inside her character, summoning every ounce of self-sacrifice and nobility she possessed, she opened her mouth and spoke those fatal words:
    â€œI never thought the day would come when I would have to do such a thing. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Lady and gentlemen ... I, Savannah Reid, hedonist extraordinaire, am going to join a health spa!”
    Â 
    â€œMs. Reid, your body-fat percentage exceeds the recommended ratio by quite a bit.”
    â€œReally ... imagine that.”
    â€œIt appears you have been consuming an excess of calories.”
    â€œAh, huh ...”
    â€œAnd possibly leading a sedentary lifestyle.”
    â€œHmmm....”
    â€œHere at Royal Palms, we will light the way to a brighter, healthier future for you.”
    â€œYeah, great....”
    â€œYou will learn the value of nutrition, of exercise, of becoming one with your body, mind, and spirit.”
    â€œOh, wow....”
    â€œWholesome food, physical and spiritual cleansing—that’s what we’re all about here at the Royal Palms Spa. Welcome.”
    The scrawny, anemic-looking receptionist in the gauzy Royal Palms toga, who couldn’t have been a day over twenty, extended her bony hand. Savannah forced herself to shake it, solidifying the contract.
    On the office walls hung color posters of other equally skinny bodies, slender to the point of emaciation. Quintessential glamour.
    In one area near the water cooler hung a collection of pseudocelebrity photos, pictures of the famous and infamous guests who had frequented the Royal Palms Spa in its heyday. The recently departed hostess, Kat Valentina herself, occupied center stage in most of the shots.
    The unspoken promise delivered by such advertising: Royal Palms can turn even your flabby, out-of-shape body into one of these lean, mean machines!
    Savannah could hardly wait.
    For the next two weeks, Royal Palms would starve her, subject her to the physical tortures of a chain gang, deny her every creature comfort that she held dear ... and for this dubious pleasure, she would