Killer Gourmet by G.A. McKevett

splendor and grandeur, its diamond-dusted waves breaking against the city’s pier, sailboats gliding in and out of the harbor, pristine beaches where children splashed with their families and chased their dogs.
    All these things had lured a little girl from rural Georgia years ago. And the little girl, all grown up, had never gotten over the beauty of her new home. She would never take its charms for granted.
    This sort of distraction she could take.
    But once she turned the Mustang left and began to descend into town—more specifically, a not-so-great part of town—and head toward the police station, her moment of soulish rejuvenation was over.
    Time to get down to business.
    â€œTell me again,” she said, “why you want to question Carlos and Manuel again today.”
    â€œI already told you.”
    â€œI know, but I’d only had two cups of coffee and I was half asleep.”
    â€œBecause they were acting suspicious last night. Extra nervous for a couple of innocent guys with an alibi.”
    â€œI noticed that, too. But I chalked it up to an immigration issue. I know, I shouldn’t profile and all that. But it’s the first thing that crossed my mind.”
    â€œMine too. But Tammy texted me first thing this morning. She checked them out, and they’re both here perfectly legal. Carlos Ortez was born and raised right here in San Carmelita. His parents, too. And Manuel Cervantes married himself an American gal five years ago. He even took the citizenship test last year and passed it. He’s as legal as you can get.”
    â€œI hear that test is really tough. That most of us couldn’t pass that if we had to.”
    â€œTell me about it. Took me two years to get through U.S. history in high school, and even then I just squeaked through with a D.”
    â€œThen you want to know why they were acting hinky last night if it wasn’t an immigration problem.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œThey’re in trouble for being legal. Because they’re bona fide citizens, they’re murder suspects.”
    â€œIronic, ain’t it?”
    â€œOkay. Are they both going to be at the station house?”
    â€œJust Manuel. I couldn’t get ahold of Carlos. We can go looking for him later.”
    â€œOnce we’re done with them, what’s next?”
    â€œThe morgue.”
    â€œWhen did Dr. Liu say she’d be finished with the autopsy?”
    â€œBetween three and four this afternoon.”
    â€œThen you’ll be clamoring to go over there about, what, one? Two at the latest?”
    â€œOnly if you think noon would be pushing it.”
    â€œI think if you go in there, three or four hours before she’s finished, to do your usual nudging crap. It might be you that she’d be pushing.”
    He looked moderately alarmed. “What? You didn’t bring any kind of bribe?”
    â€œOf course. On the backseat.”
    He turned and saw the large, square, plastic container sitting in the middle of the rear seat.
    Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, “Oh, wow, thanks. For a minute there I thought I’d have to pull in somewhere and try to score a box of Godiva chocolates.”
    â€œHeaven forbid.”
    He sat for a moment in silent contentment. Then suddenly he sat up straight, fully at attention.
    â€œWait a minute,” he said. “How much does it cost for the ingredients to make a big container full of cookies like that?”
    Savannah sighed inwardly, steeling herself for the next dip on the Dirk Roller Coaster Express. “Um-m-m. I don’t know. About twenty-five bucks I’d say, give or take.”
    â€œTwenty-five bucks! Holy cow! Really?”
    â€œUnless I use macadamia nuts, like these. Then closer to thirty-five.”
    His eyes narrowed. His forehead crinkled. His lower lip shot out.
    Watching him, she nearly blew through a stop sign.
    Her mental cogs whirred, but only for a moment. She was