Corpse Suzette (8 page)

They laughed, and John
said, “Savannah, my love, if we ever decide to take a wife, it will be you. No
other woman on earth would do.”

“You’re darned right,” she
said. “That’s just understood.” Ryan glanced around. “So, where are you in this
break and enter escapade of yours?”

“B and E? I prefer to think
of it as a clandestine search for truth. And I’m finished, thank you very
much.”

John beamed. “Ah, then our
timing was perfect. Let us take you to a late dinner.”

She glanced down at her
simple slacks, casual sweater, and loafers. “I’m not dressed for it.”

Ryan quickly slipped off
his jacket and tie and rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms. “You are
now,” he said.

John did the same and
offered her his arm as though she were royalty and he her courtier.

“Well, if you put it that
way,” she said. “How’s a girl to resist?”

A couple of hours later,
Savannah arrived home, sated with fine French cuisine, a glass of even finer
French wine, and the company of witty, intelligent, not to mention sexy, men.

She parked the Mustang in
the driveway, too tired to mess with putting it in the garage. “The occasional
night out won’t hurt you,” she told the car as she walked away from it and up
the walkway to her front porch.

It was late, and Savannah
had assumed that her houseguest would be in bed. Tammy would have gone home by
now and Abigail, still on New York time, would have retired.

But as Savannah was about
to put her key in the front door, she noticed a flickering of light in the
window. The television was on in the living room. And she could hear music, a
strange, exotic, Middle Eastern sort of melody coming from inside.

She paused. Then, rather
than going directly into the house, she stepped softly over to the window and
peeked inside.

What she saw astonished
her.

Abigail was watching
something on the television. Savannah couldn’t see what from where she was
standing. But Abby wasn’t just watching. She was standing in the middle of the
living room floor, dancing, swaying to the music, lifting and moving her arms
in the most graceful, feminine motions.

Her long hair was loosed
from its braid and flowed in gentle waves down her back nearly to her knees. As
she moved, her body tilting to one side then the other, hips rolling, her hair
nearly sweeping the floor when she dipped, she was the picture of womanly grace
and sensuality.

Savannah watched,
transfixed. There wasn’t a trace of the sullen, homely, graceless woman who had
sat, sulking, at her kitchen table that afternoon. This lady was beautiful,
exuding an elegant sexuality all her own.

When Savannah recovered
from her shock, she left the window, walked back to the door, and stood there,
wondering what to do next. She sensed that this was a side of Abigail that the
lonely woman never showed to the world. And sadly, as lovely as she looked,
Savannah was sure Abby wouldn’t want to be seen in what appeared to be a
private moment of self-expression.

So, Savannah took as long
as she could and made as much noise as possible messing with the front lock and
opening the door. Then she waited in the foyer, making a production of putting
down her purse, removing her gun, and locking it in the coat closet safe before
finally strolling into the living room.

When she did, she found
Abby, hair pulled back and twisted behind her, a DVD in her hand and an
awkward, irritated look on her face. The television had been turned off.

“Oh, hi, Abby,” Savannah
said brightly. “I’m surprised you’re still up.”

“I was just going to bed,”
she snapped, shoving the disk into the pocket of her skirt.

Without another word, she
headed for the stairs.

“Good-night,” Savannah
called after her. But all she received in return was the sound of Abigail’s
booted feet, heavy on the stairs, and then the bedroom door shutting firmly
behind her.

Savannah shook her head and
marveled.

“Yes, Gran,” she whispered
to her far away, Georgian grandmother. “You’re so right. It just takes all
kinds to make the world an interesting place to live.”

Chapter

T
he next morning, Savannah
was grateful that Abigail slept late because it gave her some private time with
Tammy and Dirk. While Tammy sat at the desk in the corner of the living room,
typing away at the computer, Savannah and Dirk stood behind her, leaning over
her shoulder, staring at the screen.

“Emerge appears to be on
good footing financially,” Tammy said, studying the screen in front of her.
“The Mystic Twilight Club, on the other hand, is in trouble. Looks like they
were fine until about six months ago. Their credit rating started to decline
last summer, and now they’re running ninety days late on many of their payments
to creditors.”

Savannah stared at the
screen, trying to see what Tammy was seeing, but the columns and figures there
might have been a foreign language for all they meant to her.

“I’m glad I’ve got you,
kid,” she said, patting Tammy’s shoulder. “You’re worth every penny I pay you.”

Tammy looked up at her, a
bright grin on her pretty face. “You pay me? Since when?”

“Maybe since this weekend
if Sergio gives me that retainer check today. I’m going by Emerge in a little
while to shake him and see if it falls out of his pockets.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Dirk
shifted from one foot to the other. “And how about this guy’s finances? How’s
he sitting?”

“Pretty, just like Dr. Du
Bois,” Tammy replied. “That condo on the water costs him a bundle. So do the
cars, the private clubs he belongs to, not to mention his jewelry bills.
Apparently, he keeps himself and some females in sparkling style.”

“Any engagement rings?”
Savannah asked, thinking of Devon and that passionate butt-feel in the parking
lot.

“No. Three-carat, princess-cut
earrings and a pinky ring for him, but no diamonds on ladies’ fingers.”

“And he’s not up to his
neck in debt?” Dirk wanted to know. “Nope. Credit is perfect. He looks great,
at least on paper.”

“And Suzette’s finances
seem fine, too,” Savannah told him. “No obvious money problems to prompt any
skullduggery.”

Dirk grunted. “Most people
don’t need prompting. They can be rotten for no reason at all.”

Tammy looked up at him and
rolled her eyes. “You are so negative, Dirko. Do you get enough fiber in your
diet?”

He returned the look. “Do
you have to get that head of yours aired up regularly like a leaky tire or—”

“Okay, okay. Enough of
that.” Savannah gave them both a swat. “We’ve got work to do. I’m headed over
to the vet’s office. Then I’m off to Emerge. I’m meeting Sergio there at ten.
Tam, you see what you can do with that account number and password I gave you.
And keep working on Suzette, too. Her finances may be in order, but something’s
got to be amiss somewhere. Whether she disappeared on her own or had some
serious help, there has to be a reason.”

“I’ve got to get back to my
drive-by,” Dirk said. “Until we find some of the doctor’s blood or body parts,
I’m not going to spend much time on this thing. Unlike you rich private
detectives, I’m not getting paid to chase down women who decide to run away
with their good-looking, stud-muffin poodle groomer.”

Tammy closed down the
computer and stretched a kink out of her neck. “I’m going to have some
breakfast, and then I'll work on that account number until Abby gets up. I
promised I’d take her to the old mission today. It’s sorta spooky and gloomy.
Thought she might like it. Unless we hear from Emerge, that is. They’ve kind of
left her hanging.”

“I’ll see what I can find
out about that, too, while I’m there,” Savannah said. “How long do you think
she’ll be with us... if the makeover is off, that is?”

Tammy squirmed in her seat.
“Not too much longer, I hope. I’m sorry that she’s such a pain. She’s always
been a bit on the negative side, but I swear she’s a lot worse than I remember.
I know it’s been hard on you having her here.”

Savannah thought of the
woman dancing in her living room the night before. She recalled how nicely
Abigail had smiled when she had teased her, how well she had taken good-natured
ribbing. She thought about the lonely little girl, the “fat kid” in every
class, the absentee parents.

Savannah’s parents had been
absent, too. But she had been fortunate enough to have Granny Reid. And she
knew her life would have been sadly much different without Gran’s loving care
and input.

Without Gran, she might
have been a lot like Abigail... without the dancing.

“Enjoy the old mission,”
Savannah told Tammy. “There’s a great bookstore in the museum next door to the
church. Abby might like that. I’ll bring home something good for dinner.” Tammy
smiled. “Thanks, Savannah.”

“No problem. And don’t
worry about how long she stays. I’d like the chance to get to know her better.”

* * *

Savannah resisted the urge
to hold her breath the entire time she was in the vet’s office. The odors of
pet urine and medicines made her remember every time she had showed up here, a
sick or hurt pet in tow, and the associated traumas. The last time she was
there, Cleopatra had something stuck in her throat, a piece of plastic from the
seal around a water bottle. One hundred and fifty dollars, and five painful
scratches later, Cleo was plastic-free but Savannah’s nerves had been shattered
and her monthly budget left in tatters.

Yes, going to the vet’s
office was only slightly less stressful than a Pap smear.

So, she didn’t waste time,
but strode up to the receptionist’s window.

The young woman behind the
desk recognized her instantly. “Hi, Savannah. How’s Cleopatra?”

“You remember our names.
How sweet.”

“I remember the patients
who give me scars.” She held up a forearm, exposing a inch-long white mark.

“Oh, sorry. Cleo’s fine,
thanks, but not any better about taking pills.”

“Do you need a refill on
her methimazole?”

“Thanks, but we’re set with
that.” Savannah glanced around and, although she could hear conversations and
occasional barking down the hall, there was no one else around. “Actually, I’m
here in sort of a professional capacity.”

“Professional?”

Savannah flipped open her
investigator’s ID. “I’m a private investigator. I just want to ask you a couple
of quick questions... totally off the record, of course.”

The receptionist looked
skeptical. “What do you want to know?”

“Just one little tiny
thing.” She leaned into the window and lowered her voice. “Can you tell me,
when was the last time Dr. Suzette Du Bois filled Sammy’s prescription?”

The receptionist squirmed
in her chair. “Well, we aren’t really supposed to reveal confidential
information like that.”

Savannah flashed her
brightest, warmest, down-homiest smile. “I know. And as one of your patients, I
really appreciate your discretion. But I’m a little worried about Sammy. We’re
trying to find Suzette, and I know he needs that phenobarbitol twice a day.
He’s such a sweet little dog, and...”

“You won’t tell anybody
that I said anything?”

“Honey, wild horses
couldn’t drag it out of me. I just need to know for myself... and Sammy, of
course.”

After a quick glance down
the hallway, the receptionist whispered, “Four days ago.”

“She came in here four days
ago and got a refill?”

“Well, not Dr. Du Bois. She
never comes and gets it herself. She sends her secretary.”

“Her secretary?”

She nodded. “Blonde gal,
lots of makeup, late fifties maybe. I can’t remember her name.... It might
start with an M.”

“Myrna?”

“That’s it. Myrna. She came
in and got the new bottle.”

“Thanks a bunch. And I’ll
do you a big favor in return.”

The receptionist
brightened. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll send you a box
of Godiva chocolates, anonymously, of course, and the next time Cleo or Di
needs a shot or to get something pulled out of their throats... I’ll take them
somewhere else.”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart and swear
to swallow my bubble gum.”

“You got it!”

Myrna, the receptionist,
was the first person Savannah saw when she stepped through the doors of Emerge.
She greeted Savannah with a warm but curious “hello” as Savannah walked up to
her desk.

“Hi,” Savannah replied,
taking her first close look at the woman Dirk had described as “trampy
looking.” And while it was obvious by her too-high eyebrows, too-pronounced
cheekbones, too-plump lips, and too-bleached hair that Myrna had fought the
losing battle against aging a bit too vigorously, she seemed like a nice
person. Her smile—though suspiciously white and perfect—was sweet enough.

“My name is Savannah,” she
said, “and I have an appointment with Mr. D’Alessandro at—”

“Savannah, like in
Georgia?” Myrna asked.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“How nice. What a lovely
name that is. A lot better than Myrna. Were you born in Savannah?”

“No, but my mom had a thing
about Georgian names,” she replied. “My siblings are Atlanta, Marietta, Macon,
Waycross, Vidalia, and so forth.”

“Cute.”

“Yes, a little
too
cute, but Mom’s a little... well.... About that appointment with Mr. D’Alessandro...?”

“Of course, I’ll let him
know you’re here.” She picked up the phone, punched a couple of numbers, and
said, “A lady named Savannah is here to see you. Okay, sure, I’ll tell her.”

She hung up and looked a
bit apologetic. “Sorry, but Mr. D’Alessandro will be a few minutes. He’s on a
phone call to London. May I get you a bottle of spring water while you wait?”

“No, I’m fine.” Savannah
leaned her elbows on the countertop and assumed what she hoped was a casual, conversational
pose. “I’m happy for the opportunity to visit with you, if you aren’t too
busy.”

Myrna laid down her pen and
interlaced her fingers. “No, I’m not that busy at all. If you don’t mind me
saying so, I’m surprised you’re here today. There isn’t much going on,
unfortunately. You
are
a reporter, right?”

Savannah nodded with only a
twinge of a conscience pang. Thanks to Granny Reid’s strict teaching against
the evils of lying—more than one trip behind the barn to dance to the tune of a
willow switch—Savannah had never gotten used to telling a bold-faced lie. And
in her line of work, that was a bit of a handicap.

At least now, thanks to
Tammy’s creative ingenuity, she had several business cards in her purse to give
to anyone who demanded one.

She figured that if you’re
going to sully your soul with lies, you might as well have good props to back
you up.

“I’m here to talk to Mr.
D’Alessandro—and anyone else who will talk to me—about the disappearance of Dr.
Du Bois.”

Instantly, a guarded look
came into Myrna’s hazel eyes. She glanced down at her desk, picked up her pen
and began scribbling on a piece of paper that looked to Savannah like some sort
of release form.

“I don’t know anything
about that,” Myrna said. “We don’t even really know for sure that something’s
happened to her. Dr. Du Bois could just be... taking a few days off or...”

“Was she in the habit of
doing that?” Savannah asked.

“Well, no, but I guess a
person could get really tired of... you know... things... and need a break.”

“Was she tired of...
things?”

Myrna’s eyes wouldn’t meet
hers. “She might have been. She’d been working hard, and the last day we saw
her here, she was—”

She stopped abruptly,
leaving Savannah dangling on that unfinished sentence.

“She was...?” Savannah
prompted.

“Well, she was a bit upset,
and sometimes people need some space for a little while when they’re upset.”

“What was she upset about?”

Myrna glanced warily down
the hallway. “I’m not sure exactly. She had just had a bad day, some arguments
and... I’d better not say any more. You should ask Mr. D’Alessandro about it.”

“Oh, I will,” Savannah
said, “but you know how men are. They always give you the
Readers’ Digest
condensed version, and they leave out the really good, juicy stuff.”

Myrna snickered, then
caught herself and went back to scribbling on her papers. “Yes, but I don’t
know if we really want Emerge’s ‘juicy stuff showing up in your magazine.”

“That’s very discreet of
you. I’m sure that Dr. Du Bois and Mr. D’Alessandro appreciate that sort of
loyalty on your part.”

For half a second, a look
crossed Myrna’s face—sour, angry, maybe a bit hurt—then disappeared. But it was
so intense that Savannah knew right away: all wasn’t well with Myrna and her
employers.

There was definite
animosity there. But with whom? One or both?