Salvaged to Death by Vanessa Gray Bartal

magic, but it wasn’t magic; it was Fiona, working so hard her cheeks were red with exertion and heat.
    “Fiona, can I help you?” Sadie asked.
    “I’m good,” Fiona said.
    “Sit with us,” Sadie said.
    “I’m fine,” Fiona said.
    “I already tried,” Hal said. “Fiona’s the hostess with the mostest.” In the corner of the room by the stove, Fiona smiled. Now Sadie realized that her cheeks were pink because of a blush. Hal had apparently been heaping praise, probably providing a handy distraction from the events of last night. Fiona set a mounded bowl of grits on the table and returned to the stove while the bowl made the rounds. With Fiona happily distracted, Sadie turned her attention back to Bo.
    “What brings you this morning, Bo?”
    “It’s afternoon, and Fiona invited me for breakfast,” he said.
    Sadie glanced at Fiona again. Apparently after their conversation last night about needing to look into Bo, Fiona had devised a plan. Sadie appreciated her craftiness. “Where are you from?”
    “Alabama,” he drawled, not looking up from his plate.
    “How long were you in the army?” Sadie asked. He froze and finally regarded her with a chillingly flat stare.
    “I never said I was in the army.”
    “Weren’t you?” she asked.
    “Just because a man wears fatigues doesn’t make him a soldier,” he pointed out.
    “No, it’s your plate. You arranged it according to military tradition—small piles, nothing touching. And you’re eating clockwise with rapid bites. I’ve only seen two types of people eat that way—soldiers and prisoners. Which are you, Bo?”
    He smiled, a creepy maneuver that did nothing to make him friendlier. “I might ask the same of you, ma’am. How does the cousin of an investigator know so much about soldiers and felons?”
    She shrugged and smiled. “I’m an astute observer of human nature. People are surprised because they think blond hair makes you stupid. I bet you get that a lot.”
    “Maybe you are stupid because my hair’s not blond,” he pointed out.
    “No, but you’re quiet. Quiet people are often taken for stupid.”
    “Not by smart people,” he said. “Smart people understand that silence is often a testimony to wisdom.”
    “Or laryngitis,” Hal added.
    Bo turned his laser focus on Hal.
    “Please don’t scalp me,” Hal said.
    “More sausages?” Vaslilssa said, raising her plate in the air as a request.
    “Back to the army,” Sadie redirected while Fiona filled Vaslilssa’s plate for what was probably more than the second time. “You never said how long you were in.”
    “No, I didn’t,” Bo said.
    Sadie waited him out, staring at his face while she ate. She could be silent when she wanted, too.
    “A few years after high school,” he said at last.
    “Long enough to acquire skills with weaponry and hand-to-hand combat,” Sadie observed.
    “A man doesn’t need the army to learn those things,” Bo said.
    “That’s right—there are also video games,” Hal added. “Although, thanks to Street Fighter, I constantly scream out ‘hadouken!’ and give away my best move.”
    “Where else did you learn?” Sadie asked Bo.
    “Around,” he said.
    “Sausages,” Vaslilssa announced, holding her empty plate aloft again. Sadie reached over the table and snatched it away.
    “There are only so many pigs in the world,” she snapped as she began piling grits on Vaslilssa’s plate. “Have some filler material.”
    “Sadie,” Luke warned.
    Vaslilssa gave the grits a dubious poke and then tucked in, finishing the steaming pile in record time. “What are these being made from?” she asked when she was finished.
    “The dried bones of former communists,” Sadie muttered.
    “Sadie,” Luke said. To her right, she could swear that she heard Bo chuckle, but when she looked at him, he was dabbing his lips with a napkin. He stood and tossed the napkin onto his plate.
    “Delicious, Fiona. Thank you.” The assembled group watched him walk