Corpse Suzette (4 page)

Savannah found the
pocketbook quickly. It was on an accent table in the living room, next to the
door that led into the foyer. And beside the Louis Vuitton bag was a set of
keys and a cell phone.

The living room resembled
the kitchen in that it was beautifully decorated with high-end mission style
furniture but was cluttered with magazines, newspapers, clothing, and a
plethora of used wine glasses. Savannah noticed that nearly all of the glasses
were smudged with the same shade of bright red lipstick. Apparently, Suzette Du
Bois drank alone... and a lot.

But there was more than
just the usual disorder caused by messy housekeeping... or a lack thereof.
Books had been pulled off shelves and the drawers of an entertainment center
were open, their contents on the floor. A desk against the far wall had been
rifled through, as well.

Suzette Du Bois’s home had
been searched.

And Savannah had seen
enough houses that had been burgled by professionals to know that whoever had
searched this house was an amateur. Somebody had been looking for something,
but wasn’t very good at finding it. She wondered whether they had.

On the floor near the sofa
sat a miniature bed, and at first glance, Savannah thought it was for a doll.
With a red velvet tufted headboard and a coverlet of the same fabric, it looked
like something out of a tiny boudoir. But when she walked over to it, bent
down, and examined it more closely, she saw the name “Sammy” embroidered on the
bedspread.

Something told her that
Sammy was a pet of some sort. And the fact that there was no hair on the velvet
ruled out a cat.
Probably a poodle
, she thought.
Or some other type
of pooch that doesn't shed.

“There’s some kind of mutt
living here,” Dirk called from the bedroom. “The damned thing’s got a whole
wardrobe of ridiculous junk to wear in here.”

“And a bed for it in here,”
she yelled back.

“Somebody tossed this
room,” Dirk hollered. “All the drawers are open.”

“In here, too.”

On the coffee table, amid
the heap of magazines and next to a nail file and bottle of polish lay a small
leather dog collar. It was bright pink, studded with purple rhinestones.
How
gaudy,
she thought, fingering the tiny collar. Cleopatra and Diamante wore
only black with
clear
rhinestones. In Savannah’s household, no
self-respecting pet would be caught dead in
purple
rhinestones.
Especially if his name was Sammy!

Dirk walked into the living
room just as Savannah was picking UP a daily planner from a side table next to
an easy chair. She thumbed to the current date and found two entries. “AS
workup” under 9:15 A.M., and “Lunch—Toscano’s” under 1:30 P.M.

“The barking rat’s not
here,” he said, “or it would already be nipping at our heels. I checked all the
other rooms. No sign of her or Fido.”

“AS work-up,” Savannah
muttered. “I’ll bet that is for Abigail Simpson, Tammy’s cousin. Wonder if
Suzette made her luncheon date.”

“What makes you think she
had a date for lunch?”

“Toscano’s is one of the
most romantic restaurants in the county. No woman would go there alone.”

“Maybe she was meeting
another chick.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it.
‘Chick’ lunches, as you call them, usually go down at Kimberly’s Garden or Casa
del Sol.”

“So, we gotta check
Toscano’s first thing when they open tomorrow,” he said.

“Nothing in the bedroom?”

“Nope, nothing but more
mess, like in here and the kitchen.”

“Was her bed slept in?”

He shrugged and looked
puzzled. “How can you tell?” Savannah thought of the tiny cubicle in Dirk’s
trailer that served as a bedroom and its perpetually mussed sheets and
blankets. “Never mind,” she said. “She probably doesn’t make hers daily
either.”

“I never did understand the
logic behind that,” he replied. “I mean, you’re just going to get right back in
it again, so what’s the point?”

“The same could be said for
doing dishes and changing your underwear. It’s what separates us civilized
folks from the heathens.”

“Or us practical people
from the fusspots.”

“Whatever.”

“You always say that when
you’re losing an argument.”

“Or when I’m tired of a
stupid one.” She glanced around the room once more. “What do you think?” she
asked him.

“I still think you quit every
time I’m getting the best of you.”

“I meant about Suzette Du
Bois.”

“I think she’s dead.”

Savannah nodded
thoughtfully. “Me, too. She leaves her car, her purse and keys, her cell phone.
Is her makeup in the bathroom?”

“Yeap. You taught me to
always check that first when it’s a broad who’s gone. A woman goes off without
her face, that’s a bad sign.”

“The worst. But what about
Sammy?”

“Sammy?”

“The dog.”

“How do you know its name?”

Savannah pointed to the
bed.

“Oh,” he said. “Well,
there’s a nice little sweater with four arm—or leg—holes in it, layin’ on the
bedroom floor, and it’s a chilly night out.”

“And his rhinestone collar
is there on the coffee table.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“I agree. I’ve got a sinking feeling that Dr. Suzette Du Bois is a goner. And
things don’t bode so well for Sammy Du Bois either.”

Chapter

S
avannah stood in front of
her stove, spatula in hand, watching the breakfast eggs fry in the skillet, the
grits bubble on the back burner, and Abigail stew at the kitchen table.

“I can’t believe they’d
cancel the press conference this morning,” she was complaining to Tammy, who
sat across from her, her elbows propped on the table, her head in her hands.
“Why? Why would they do that!”

“Because Dr. Du Bois has
gone missing,” Tammy said for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. “Dr.
Du Bois owns Emerge. She
is
Emerge. They can’t have a press conference
to announce the opening of Emerge without her there! I’m sorry you’re so
disappointed, Abby, but...”

Savannah left her position
at the stove and walked over to the table with a basket of hot biscuits and a
jar of Granny Reid’s peach preserves. She set them in front of Abigail, hoping
that the sight of fat-filled, carbohydrate-rich foods would improve her mood.
Hey, it always worked for
her.

“Yes, Abigail,” she said as
she shoved the butter plate in Abby’s direction, “why
are
you so
disappointed? Frankly, I’m a little surprised. In the beginning you were so
opposed to the whole idea and now you’re plumb beside yourself that
everything’s been put on hold. What’s that about?”

Abigail fixed her with a
baleful eye, then reached for the biscuit basket. “I didn’t like the idea at
first, but I had decided to go ahead with it. At least until. .

Savannah searched her face,
but Abigail would have made an excellent poker player. Other than general anger
and habitual annoyance, nothing more registered on her features.

“Until what?” Savannah
prompted. “You were going to go ahead with it until what?”

Abigail shrugged. “I don’t
know. I just figured when the time was right, I’d…”

“What?” Tammy said,
dropping her hands from her face. She looked as suspicious as Savannah felt.
“What were you up to, Abby? I want to know, too. I think I have a right to
know, since I’m the one who—”

“Who got me into this mess
in the first place?” Abigail dropped two of the biscuits onto her plate and
started to slather on the butter. “I know. I owe you one, too, cousin.”

Savannah didn’t like
Abigail’s tone. It wasn’t the sort of “I owe you a nice lunch some time” tone
she would have preferred. It was more like an “I’m gonna get you, sucker, in a
dark alley some night” tone.

And the “too” stuck in her
craw even more.

She walked back to the
stove, and, while she tended the eggs, she glanced at the woman sitting at her
kitchen table and wondered what was behind that angry face. A world of hurt.
She was sure of that.

And Savannah understood
that pain all too well. Living as an unsvelte woman in a svelte-worshipping society...
hurt was inevitable. Deep, soul-scarring hurt.

On most days, Savannah
could fend off the barbs and arrows with her own inherent self-confidence. Who
cared if your butt was big if you had great boobs and helped take a bad guy off
the streets so that he couldn’t hurt anybody else for a while? She’d be damned
if she’d hate herself and her own flesh just because somebody else thought
there was a bit too much of it.

But Savannah knew that not
everyone was as satisfied with their life as she was, and not everyone had
benefited from having a grandmother who had raised them with such daily
helpings of wisdom as: “Don’t fret about such nonsense as a number on a scale,
Savannah Girl. People measure everything by numbers in this world—mostly so’s
they can feel they’ve got a leg up on everybody else—and most of what they’re
measurin’ ain’t worth squat in the overall scheme o’ things.”

Savannah strongly suspected
that Abigail Simpson hadn’t been raised to believe that she was far more than
just a number on a scale. Sadly, there weren’t enough Granny Reids in the world
to go around.

But was all that hurt and
anger a danger to society? More specifically, was it a threat to the missing
owner of Emerge—an establishment that symbolized the intolerance that caused
Abigail and others so much pain?

Savannah slipped into
detective mode and made a quick mental note of Abigail’s whereabouts since she
had arrived. She realized there were numerous holes in Abby’s schedule that
were large enough to allow for mischief.

But if Abigail had actually
done something to cause Dr. Du Bois to disappear, that would involve far more
than mere mischief. And looking at the woman who was sitting at her table,
eating her biscuits and peach preserves, Savannah found it hard to believe that
Tammy’s cousin was capable of kidnapping. Or worse.

She decided to talk it over
in detail with Dirk later, when they met at Emerge as planned.

After a few more unpleasant
exchanges with Abigail, Tammy left the table and walked behind Savannah to the
refrigerator. Pouring herself a glass of apple juice, she shot Savannah a
haunted look. Savannah shrugged. There was only so much she could do. Abigail
might be staying in her house, but she was Tammy’s guest.

Lucky Tammy.

“Why don’t you take Abigail
over to the pier today?” she suggested. “Check out the carousel and get your
palms read. Have one of those giant ice cream waffle cones.”

“Is that what you think I
do all day? Eat?” Abigail snapped while chewing on a biscuit. “Is that why
you’re suggesting stuff like that and feeding me every minute?”

Savannah slipped the eggs
onto a plate and shoved them in front of Abigail, along with a bowlful of grits
and a platter of bacon and sausages. “I don’t know how much you eat, Abigail,”
she said, “and I don’t give a hoot what you eat. I have a lot more interesting
things to think about on any given day than your dietary habits. I just know
what
this
kid”—she nodded toward Tammy—“has for breakfast, and I wanted
to spare you eating a bowl of sawdust covered with soy milk. Don’t get your
dander up, sugar. I’d do it for anybody.”

Abigail’s mouth dropped
open for a moment, then she snapped it closed and smiled.

She actually smiled
, Savannah thought in
wonderment.
I got a grin out of her!

“Well,” Abigail said, “as
long as you’d do it for anybody.”

“Yeap. Anybody. You ain’t
nearly as special as you think you are, Miss Abigail,” she said with a sweet,
soft tone that sounded in her own ears a lot like Granny Reid. “Leastwise, not
special in
that
way.”

Tammy gave a little gasp,
and for a moment, a heavy, awkward silence hung in the air between them.

Then Abigail threw back her
head and laughed. It was a hearty, throat-roaring laugh that echoed throughout
the house, startling both Savannah and Tammy and the cats, who left their
feeding bowls and raced for the living room.

When Abigail finally caught
her breath, she studied Savannah for a few long moments and then said, “You’re
a pisser, Savannah. I think I like you.”

Savannah dumped another
biscuit onto her plate. “Yeah, yeah... well, you don’t know me yet. Wait’ll I
make you my usual, run-of-the-mill Southern fried chicken dinner with all the
fixins. That’ll probably be more of an insult than your system can handle.”

Abigail’s eyes softened,
and for a moment, Savannah noticed that she really could look pretty. Quite
pretty, in fact. “You go ahead and make that dinner for me, and I won’t take
offense,” Abigail said. “Throw in some old-fashioned cream gravy, and I’ll even
be nice and say ‘Thank you.’”

“Well now, we don’t have to
go that far. You go straining yourself like that, you might bust somethin’.”

Savannah had driven past
the building site for the new Emerge facilities many times, as it was situated
on a major road that skirted the foothills at the edge of town. Like too many
areas in San Carmelita—in Savannah’s opinion—that section of the city had been
“improved” by chopping down the orange and avocado groves and planting
commercial buildings and condominiums in their stead.

Savannah missed the
strawberry fields and lemon trees. While a giant office supply store and a
sprawling home improvement center might be handy when you needed an ink
cartridge for your printer or wallpaper and paint, they didn’t smell half as
sweet when warmed by the morning sun.

But she had to admit that
the new Emerge building was a beauty. Set back from the road, a wide driveway
took the visitors to an elegant, contemporary facade. An asymmetrical
arrangement of rose-colored granite walls and brass-trimmed windows and doors
set with copper-tinted glass, the establishment exuded both modern
sophistication and warmth.

The word “Emerge” and a
simple butterfly were displayed in brass over the wide, double front doors.
Savannah drove into a parking area to the right and behind the building, where
she found Dirk, sitting in his Buick and waiting for her.

She glanced at her watch.
It was two minutes past nine.

She was late. Two whole
minutes. Mr. Fidget Britches would be having a hissy.

He glowered as he saw her
approach the car and tapped a finger on the dial of his wristwatch.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she
said, casually opening the passenger door and climbing inside. “Get over
yourself. Like your schedule’s any more important than anybody else’s.”

She reached into her
oversized purse, pulled out a wad of aluminum foil, and tossed it into his lap.

“What’s this?” he asked,
brightening instantly.

“Biscuits. Still warm from
the oven.”

“Wow, Van, thanks!” He dug
in immediately, ripping away the foil. “Did you butter them?”

“Of course.”

“Peach jam?”

“Yes, shut up and eat.”

He bit into one and groaned
in gluttonous, orgiastic pleasure. “Oh, man, that is heaven,” he said. “Pure
heaven. I forgive you for being late.”

She sniffed. “That’s big of
you.”

He glanced over toward her
bag. “Where’s the coffee?”

“What?”

“You brought me biscuits
and
no coffee
?”

“I figured you’d have your
own.”

His smile evaporated. His
shoulders slumped. “Well, I guess I can just gag them down without—”

She snatched the foil out
of his lap. “Forget about it! I do something nice for you and you bellyache
about it?”

“Gimme those biscuits,
woman, before I fly into a blind rage!” She laughed and handed them back. “Did
you get over to Toscano’s yet?”

“Yeah. Nobody was there but
the cleaning crew, but they let me in. I looked at their reservation book.
There was a one-thirty entry for a ‘Lawrence.’ The other names were marked
through, but Lawrence wasn’t. I figure that’s because they didn’t show.”

“Likely. But does Du Bois
know a Lawrence?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.
But I’ll keep my eyes open for a Larry. How was our girl Abigail this morning?”

“Testy after she got the
phone call from Myrna, Emerge’s receptionist, this morning. She told Abigail
that not only was the press conference cancelled, but the whole kit and
caboodle has been put on hold for the time being.”

“That Abigail’s up to
something, I’m telling you. There’s just something sneaky about her.”

“Yeah, I think so, too. But
‘sneaky’ is a long way from kidnapping or murder.”

“Did you say anything to
Tammy?”

“Over breakfast we discussed
the fact that Suzette Du Bois is missing, but of course I didn’t mention that
we were wondering about Abigail. You don’t seriously think she’s done
anything... you know... like that, do you?”

Dirk brushed the biscuit
crumbs off the front of his shirt and back onto the foil. “Naw. I can’t see her
doing anything drastic. But she’s up to no good of some kind. You wait and
see.”

As they left the car and
walked to the front door of the building, Savannah thought of Tammy, so kind
and well-intentioned. The young woman didn’t have an evil or even cranky bone
in her body. It was hard to imagine that she and crabby Abigail were even
related. Savannah couldn’t bear the thought that Abigail intended to cause any
serious trouble that would bring grief to Tammy, who had only intended to
benefit her cousin.

“Whatever’s gone wrong
here,” Savannah said, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with Abigail.”

“We’ll see,” Dirk replied.

He opened the front door
and held it as Savannah passed through. Savannah liked that about Dirk. He
opened doors for women, even in this day and age, and he preferred his ladies
well-cushioned
—his
term, not hers—in all the right places. You could
forgive a guy for a lot—cheapness, impatience, and occasional indelicacies—in
exchange for opened doors and comments like, “Eh, she’s too skinny for my
taste. Looks like she needs a few cheeseburgers and milkshakes.”

But the moment Savannah
stepped inside, she forgot all about Dirk’s virtues—both of them—as she felt
herself caught up in an unexpected, magical environs. Sunshine flooded the
lobby, streaming golden from enormous skylights overhead. The walls were the
same rose-colored granite as the building’s exterior on either side, but
straight ahead was a long wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. On the other side of
the glass was an atrium, a sunlit fantasy garden of tropical greenery with a
misty waterfall, moss-covered rocks... and butterflies. Hundreds of
breathtakingly beautiful butterflies flitted from plant to plant, from rock to
rock, their iridescent wings glimmering with jewel-rich shades of gold,
sapphire, emerald, and amethyst.