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really in the mood for another burger so soon after lunch. Or anything else, for that matter.
    Now that was a scary thought! The fact that she had lost her appetite was a surefire sign that something was amiss. And, apparently, her subconscious and her stomach knew it.
    “Do you think it’ll be natural causes?” Savannah asked, as the taillights of the coroner’s van disappeared around a far corner.
    Dirk, too, stared down the now vacant street, his face screwed into a thoughtful grimace. Savannah knew Dirk all too well, and she knew the look. He had that niggling feeling, too, that all wasn’t well in the world.
    “Don’t know,” he said. “I guess it could have just been ‘accidental death, due to crazy-ass, starvation dieting.’ ”
    “That would be a shame,” Savannah said.
    Dirk cut her a heavy, sideways look. “It’d be better than the alternatives.”
    Savannah briefly considered the other choices: suicide or homicide.
    ‘Yes... accidental or natural. That’s what we’ll be hoping for.” She sighed. “Sorry state of affairs when those are your best choices....”
     
    Long ago, Savannah had decided that there were few times in life when a bubble bath, a glass of wine, and a box of chocolates couldn’t make a bad situation a heck of a lot better.
    So it was with great expectation that she slipped into the hot tub full of glistening rose-scented bubbles. Who said you couldn’t melt all your cares away? Or at least most of them.
    Probably some guy who only believed in showers.
    Ah, those manly men just didn’t know what they were missing.
    Along the countertop she had placed half a dozen votive candles, and on the wicker hamper beside the tub, comfortably within arm’s reach, sat a china dessert plate covered with a delicate chintz rose pattern and four chocolate truffles: raspberry crème, lemon chiffon, mocha delight, and peach parfait. Pure heaven. And a glass of merlot to wash them down with.
    Her wine connoisseur friends, Ryan Stone and John Gibson, might not approve of the combination, but it worked for her.
    Usually.
    But as she lay there, watching the candlelight shimmer on the bubbles, listening to them popping and feeling them tickle her skin, the typical magic wasn’t working.
    And when she bit into the raspberry truffle and didn’t experience the expected culinary orgasm in her mouth, she knew what was wrong: She was thinking about Cait Connor, her beautiful red hair spread out on the jade-green marble floor, her famous turquoise eyes staring up at... what?
    What was the last thing Cait had seen before her spirit slipped out of her body and made its way into the hereafter?
    Had she died alone?
    A sad thought, but like Dirk had said, maybe the best of other unpleasant choices.
    Savannah glanced over at the cell phone she had placed on the hamper beside the chocolates and wine. She hated having to get out of the tub to answer the phone. She hated having to get out for any reason. So she habitually brought it into the bathroom with her, just in case.
    Call Dirk, she told herself. Call him and tell him that you think ....
    What? the more sensible of her multipersonalities asked. What do you think?
    That Caitlin Connor didn’t just up and die all by herself. Somebody killed her.
    You don’t know that. There’s no reason to think that.
    Yes there is. She was —
    Ding dong.
    The sound cut through Savannah’s brain waves, interrupting the domestic fight in her head. Also short-circuiting the problem-solving process that had just been on the verge of figuring out... something....
    Ding dong.
    “Go away,” Savannah said, knowing her unwelcome visitor couldn’t possibly hear her, but hoping they would somehow get the psychic message.
    Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
    “Tarnation,” she muttered, rising from the sea of bubbles and stepping out of the claw-foot tub onto the plush bath rug... a treat she couldn’t resist from the latest Pottery Barn catalog. “You’d better not be