Savannah put the pictures back into the drawer, closed it, and continued to look around. The small wastebasket beneath the nightstand held only a small amount of trash. She pulled it out and looked inside.
Some used tissues, a wadded piece of paper, and what appeared to be an empty prescription medicine bottle were all she found.
She uncrumpled the bit of paper and saw a string of ten numbers, separated by several dashes. It looked like a credit card number or maybe a bank account number. Beneath the number was a single word: rosarita.
A bank account number and password?
The thought also occurred to her that if Sergio had searched the house for his lost money, maybe he should have been looking for something less obvious than the actual cash. She reminded herself that, these days, one saw less and less of the real green stuff. People were paid in direct deposits and often one’s money was nothing more than a string of numbers on a sheet of paper or a computer screen. Gone were the good old days of tossing a pound of cash onto the bed and rolling naked in it.
Not that I ever had enough to actually do that with, she reminded herself. It was one of those dreams of hers that would probably never be fulfilled, along with getting naked—or even semi-naked—and rolling on absolutely anything with Mel Gibson.
Wishing upon a star, contrary to Jiminy Cricket, didn’t always work.
She took a small tape recorder from her jacket pocket, turned on the record button, and read off the numbers aloud, along with the password.
Then she reached for the small, brown medicine bottle. Instead of some drug store chain’s logo, as she was expecting, the label had the name and address of a local vet. In fact, it was the veterinarian where she occasionally took Diamante and Cleopatra for their checkups. Dr. Desiree Harney. The prescription was for Sammy Du Bois: phenobarbital, half a pill, to be taken every twelve hours.
She noted the date on the bottle and the quantity of pills and counted the days. If Sammy had been given his meds faithfully, this prescription would have run out three days ago.
Again, she flipped on the recorder. “Check with Dr. Desiree about Sammy Du Bois’s phenobarbital,” she said, “if a refill was picked up, and by whom.”
She was just leaving the bedroom, flipping off the light when she heard a sound, a rattling from the front of the house.
She froze, her heart pounding in her throat.
Instinctively, she reached inside her jacket for the Beretta in her shoulder holster. The feel of the rough textured grip against her palm was reassuring, but not enough to take away the jelly feeling in her knees as the adrenaline hit her system full force.
She eased down the dark hallway toward the foyer, being careful to step lightly and not make a sound on the marble floor.
She could hear muttering, male voices, speaking low to each other, but she couldn’t make out any words. And she recognized the rattle. Someone was picking the lock on the front door.
Just as she neared the end of the hallway and the moonlit foyer, she heard the door creak open.
She pulled her weapon and pointed it toward the ceiling.
Finger off the trigger, she reminded herself.
Of course her subconscious knew the drill. It had been second nature to her for years now. But where firearms were concerned, you always reminded yourself. You took only conscious actions.
The door was open, she could tell by the change of light in the entrance. She could see their shadows stretching long across the floor only a few feet away.
She remained around the corner, wondering what to do next. She couldn’t exactly jump out, see who it was, and demand they explain their presence. Not when she had no business being there herself.
“Do you think she’s here?” one of the voices said.
“She has to be. Her car’s half a block away,” replied the other.
They were talking about her! She had parked the Mustang down on the corner rather than directly in front of the house. It had to be someone who knew both her and her vehicle. The thought was more than a little unsettling.
“We’d better watch ourselves,” said one of them. “She might shoot us.”
The other one snickered and with a distinctly British accent replied, “We’d better use caution, indeed. She’s an excellent shot, that one. Why only the other day, she and I were at the shooting range and—”
Savannah reached over and flipped a wall switch, illuminating the hallway where she stood. She stepped out of the shadows and said, “You two like to have scared the piddle right outta me. I thought you had a dinner theater to go to.”
Ryan closed the door behind them, and John hurried over to embrace her. “Savannah, love, we were just talking about you,” he said.
“I heard.” She reholstered her gun and gave him a hearty hug.
John turned to Ryan. “See... she had her weapon drawn and everything. I’m telling you, we had a close brush with the Grim Reaper just now.”
She playfully shoved him aside and gave Ryan a peck on the cheek. “You should have called me on my cell and let me know you were coming. I would have met you at the door, and you wouldn’t have had to pick the lock.”
“We thought about it,” Ryan said. “But it’s good practice for us, picking a lock now and then, and besides, an ill-timed cell phone ring can spell trouble. I’ll never forget, I was sneaking up behind a suspect one time, my phone started playing Beethoven’s Fifth and…”
He grinned down at her with that breathtaking smile of his, looking fantastic in his evening wear, a smartly cut black suit and white shirt with French cuffs. She grinned up at him. “Oh, don’t worry, darlin’,” she said. “When I’m expecting a call from either of you, I always set my phone on vibrate.”
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
7
The 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 ope
n 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.
Corpse Suzette Page 8
