Peaches And Screams (A Savannah Reid Mystery) by G. A. McKevett

she saw Savannah standing at the sink, her eyes lit up momentarily with recognition and affection. But as she hurried over to embrace her older sister, her eyes flicked lightly over Savannah’s ample figure, and a slightly sad expression replaced her smile.
    “Savannah,” she said, putting her arms around her waist and giving her a limp hug, “Gran said you’d probably be here when I got home. You look good. You know . . .” Another quick glance up and down Savannah’s full figure. “. . . Considering . . .”
    “Yeah, right. Considering,” Savannah replied, giving her a hearty embrace, slapping her on the back, and not bothering to dry her wet, sudsy hands first. “I’d say a lot’s happened since you left for school . . . when was it, this morning?”
    “Eight o’clock. It isn’t easy, you know, having to drive all the way to Macon to attend classes, getting your degree, especially in a science field like psychology.”
    “Eh, big deal,” Vidalia said with a snort. “Psychology’s just a bunch of stupid stuff about wanting to have sex with your parents, dreaming about trains and tunnels, looking at nasty pictures called inkblots, and other dirty crap like that.”
    Cordele’s chin lifted a couple of notches. “Oh, please, Vi. Just because you have inferiority issues about not even getting your high school diploma, you don’t need to insult the noble art of psychology.”
    “Why don’t you sit down,” Alma said, shoving a glass into Cordele’s hand, “and have some tea?”
    “No, I have to hit the books and—”
    “Take the tea, Cordele,” Savannah said giving her a gentle shove toward an empty chair. “And park yourself right there. We gotta fill you in on the latest family news, and you’re gonna want to be sitting down when you hear this.”
    Fifteen minutes later, when Savannah left the kitchen, Alma was comforting an almost hysterical Cordele, while Vidalia and Marietta laughed at her.
    As Savannah walked into the living room, Gran set her Bible and her glasses on the end table and rubbed her eyes wearily. “That Cordele bawling in there?”
    Savannah sank onto the sofa next to Gran’s chair. “Yeah, I don’t think she gives a hoot about Macon, but she’s convinced we’ll all be ostracized by McGill high society over this.”
    “No more tea and crumpets with the mayor’s wife?” Gran sighed and smiled. “No more thousand-dollar-a-plate fund-raisers for the chamber orchestra? Whatever will I do with all my spare time?”
    “Sit in that chair with your toes pointed toward the ceiling. That’s what you should be doing a whole lot more of. Let this lazy bunch do for themselves, Gran. You’ve spoiled them all rotten.”
    “Ah, old habits are hard to change, Savannah. You know that. I noticed that, even though you’re officially the guest tonight, you were the one in there doing dishes. You and Alma always were my hard workers, Lord bless you. And Waycross, too. He mows the front yard for me and weeds the garden without me even asking him to.”
    “And how about Macon? Does he help out?”
    Gran glanced away quickly and cleared her throat. “He does in his own way. Once in a while.”
    “When’s the last time he offered to do something around here?”
    Tears filled the old woman’s eyes, and she reached for a half-embroidered pillowcase from the basket on the floor beside her chair. “Just last week,” she said. “He, well, he brought me a pretty chandelier thing to hang over the kitchen table. It had crystal things hangin’ down and all. I told him it was a little outta place in a country kitchen, but thanks anyway.”
    Savannah was silent for a moment, reading between the lines. Her grandmother would never turn down a gift from a loved one if it was offered in good faith. For years, she had wallpapered the kitchen with their drawings, 100% correct spelling tests, and any school paper that was a “C” or above. Whether the offering was a macaroni-encrusted picture