Corpse Suzette

by G. A. McKevett

  Savannah could agree with that, absolutely and completely. In her years of experience she had seen the ripple effect caused by a homicide that was more like a tsunami. The taking of a human life could destroy not only the victim, but entire families. Even communities were deeply damaged by the act of homicide, taking generations to heal.

  “It does damage us all,” Savannah said. “That’s why I feel so strongly about bringing a murderer to justice. For the victim, for the family, for all of us.”

  Yasmina wiped her eyes and straightened her back. “How can I help you, Savannah? Tell me what you need from me.”

  “I need to know if he had any enemies, anyone who may have threatened to do him harm recently.”

  “Other than Suzette... and the women he’s thrown aside when he was finished with them... and the husbands of the women he’s seduced... and the patients who weren’t happy with their results... and the people who have lost the fortunes they invested in his dubious business ventures... the professionals whose careers he has destroyed through his lies and incompetence... people like that?”

  Savannah’s jaw dropped. Then she recovered herself and nodded. “Yes. Exactly. People like that.”

  “Come inside,” Yasmina said, heading back to the building. “We might as well get comfortable. This could take a while.”

  An hour later, Savannah’s brain and her notebook were filled with the names of people who were everything from disgruntled to furious with Sergio D’Alessandro. She didn’t know whether to feel grateful or overwhelmed.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve had a list of suspects this long,” she said, flipping through the pages. “I must admit, I didn’t care for Mr. D’Alessandro when I met him, and I think even less of him now.”

  Yasmina sighed and took another sip of hot herbal tea. “I hate to speak ill of the dead. But under these terrible circumstances, we must also tell the truth, even if it’s ugly.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  When the doctor had first brought Savannah into her office, she had made them each a cup and offered her some coconut macaroons from an antique tin. Savannah had settled into a comfortable chair next to her desk and allowed herself the luxury of temporarily basking in the peaceful ambiance the woman seemed to create around her.

  Some people had an air of spirituality about them, an aura of otherworldliness that calmed and nourished those fortunate enough to spend time in their presence. Savannah’s grandmother was one such soul. And Dr. La Rue was another.

  Savannah was reluctant to leave her, but she had work to do— processing this list, among other things.

  She looked around the office with its pictures of tranquil island scenes on the walls, candles and fresh flowers floating in sparkling, cut glass bowls, the sweet, exotic scent of lemongrass in the air. “So, you’re moving out of here, huh?” she said.

  “I am. This part of my life has been dying for a long time. And that’s fine. All things die sooner or later.”

  “A sad thought.”

  Yasmina smiled. “Not at all. The leaves die and fall in a blaze of glory, and they feed the hungry saplings that grow and flourish. Everything in its time.”

  Savannah offered her hand and wondered at the power that radiated from the other woman’s touch. “Thank you, doctor,” she said humbly, “for all your help. I’m so glad we met.”

  “Me, too, Savannah. Do stay in contact. I’d like to hear from you from time to time, and I’d be pleased to get to know you better.”

  “Absolutely. It would be my pleasure.”

  The two women walked out together, as Savannah took yet another box to the Jaguar.

  It was when Savannah was saying good-bye that she glanced back at the main building—the back door in particular—and she thought of one more question she wanted to ask Dr. La Rue.

  “By the way,” she said, “did you speak to Jeremy Lawrence a while ago, before I arrived.”

  “Indeed I did. Jeremy rushed over here from Emerge to say good-bye and wish me well.”

  “And how long was it, would you guess, from the time you said good-bye to him and I met you there in the hallway?”

  Yasmina shrugged. “I don’t know, a few minutes. I was involved, packing all those books into that box. I really can’t say.”

  “Okay.” Savannah thought for a moment. “And one more thing. Did you see anyone else here today, other than Jeremy and me?”

  Yasmina nodded. “Just one other person, someone else who came by to say farewell, right before Jeremy arrived.”

  Savannah had a feeling she knew the answer even before she asked. “And who was that, Dr. La Rue?”

  “Someone else who, like Sergio, needs to find and love herself better. Then she could love others better. It was Devon. My other visitor today was Devon Wright. Now there is a troubled soul.”

  Sitting at a table in Chez Antoine was one of Savannah’s most enjoyable sensual experiences. The food, the wine, the crisp, white linens, the classic French decor and the hospitable, solicitous Antoine, who hovered and pampered his guests, all combined to create the perfect dining experience.

  But the reason Savannah loved the place most was because when she was here, she was always the guest of Ryan Stone and John Gibson. And they were, hands down, the best dates a gal could have... if a gal was satisfied with having chocolate mousse for dessert, and not a serving of hunk á la mode.

  And tonight the experience was even richer, because she could share it all with two young women who were enjoying every moment.

  Across the table from Savannah sat Tammy—relaxed and happy for the first time since her cousin had arrived—chatting away with John, discussing the finer points of breaching online security systems.

  Next to her sat Abigail... a transformed Abigail, thanks to the talents and efforts of the Emerge staff. Savannah had decided, the moment she saw Abigail at the spa, that maybe this idea of a metamorphosis wasn’t just hype, after all.

  Abigail Simpson had, indeed, unfurled like a beautiful butterfly.

  Her hair had been cut, and although it was still well past her shoulders, it fell in soft waves around her, with feminine layers framing her face. And they had colored it a stunning shade of golden red that brought out the peach tones of her complexion.

  Before the makeover, her brows had been bushy and well-knit in the middle. Now they were shaped and gracefully arched, setting off her big eyes to perfection.

  Her new makeup was a mixture of golden and bronze tones, expertly applied to look glamorous, yet natural.

  The blouse they had chosen for her was an elegant copper silk affair, and her chocolate velvet skirt had a split that showed off her nicely shaped calves and ankles.

  Even Dirk had commented upon seeing her earlier, “Gee, Cousin Abby’s got great gams. Who would’ve thought it?”

  High-heeled sandals of bronze-metallic leather and a matching handbag completed the ensemble, along with a necklace, earrings, and bracelet that featured mystic twilight topazes—the perfect final touch.

  But it wasn’t the hair, the makeup, the clothes, or the jewelry that had transformed Abigail and made her shine. It was the unaccustomed attention she had received at the hands of the staff and now from her friends, the interest in her concerns and preferences, the pure pampering—being treated like a lady.

  And a lady she had become.

  Tonight her expression was softer, her gestures more feminine, her whole demeanor more gracious. The difference was simply amazing.

  And underlying all that womanly pulchritude was a purely female strength, born of newfound confidence. The sort of female strength that, in another era, could have led armies of chariots against enemy troops or ruled the civilized world from a queen’s throne.

  “Abby,” Savannah said, “I just can’t stop staring at you, girl. You’re gorgeous!”

  “Isn’t she though?” Ryan said, giving their guest of honor the benefit of his heart-stopping smile. “You’re absolutely glowing.”

 
Abigail blushed under the compliments, but for once, no self-deprecating comments came out of her mouth.

  “What do you like best about your makeover?” Savannah asked her.

  Abby tossed her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “I like being a redhead. I was when I was a kid, but then it turned dark.”

  “And now you’re a redhead again. Come to think of it,” Tammy said, “you’ve always been a redhead... temper-wise, that is.”

  “Now, now... you aren’t buying into any old stereotypes, are you?” Savannah cautioned.

  “Stereotypes?” Tammy cleared her throat and grinned. “Tell me the truth now... have you ever known a boring, passive redhead?”

  The guys at the table laughed heartily. “She’s got you there, Savannah,” Ryan said. “I have to admit that every redhead I’ve known could be classified as feisty, to say the least.”

  “Absolutely,” John agreed. “And here’s to feisty redheads! May they rule the world!”

  “I think we already do,” Abby replied.

  “To Queen Abigail,” Tammy said, lifting her glass. “Long may she reign!”

  “Here, here!” John raised his own glass and they clinked all around.

  “And now,” Abby said, “if you two could solve this murder case, we’d have even more reason to celebrate.”

  “Oh, talk about popping somebody’s bubble.” Savannah visibly deflated. “You had to bring that up?”

  “Yeah, really,” Tammy added. “Just when we’re celebrating your ‘coming out’ you have to remind me of my wasted hours, sitting there, messing with that stupid computer.”

  Ryan leaned closer to Tammy and lowered his voice, “Actually, we brought you a little present tonight to help you with that.”

  Tammy’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. You’re going to love us after you see this.”

  “I already love you.”

  “Okay, then we’ll be adored. I borrowed a little something for you from a friend of ours at the Bureau.”

  “The FBI?” Abigail said, instantly all ears.

  “Sh-h-h,” Ryan replied, giving her a discreet nod.

  “What is it?”

  “Software,” John said. “Forensic software.”

  Ryan pulled a square envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to Tammy. “You use that, you’re going to be able to find everything in that computer... even the stuff your poor, dead buddy thought he had deleted.”

  “Really?”

  “Would I lie to one of my girls?”

  “Sweet!” Tammy clutched the envelope to her chest, a look of pure rapture on her face. “Oh, this is so-o-oo sweet!”

  “Speaking of sweets,” Savannah said, eyeing an overladen dessert tray that was passing her by. “I think we should all have crêpes suzette tonight. It just seems appropriate somehow.”

  Chapter

  16

  “Isn’t there a song that says, ‘It never rains in California’?” Abigail asked as they all stood huddled in a sodden lump, trying to ignore the fact that their umbrellas weren’t doing a bit of good. Umbrellas only worked when the rain was falling vertically. Thanks to an unseasonable and particularly fierce, onshore storm, the horizontal precipitation was drenching everyone present and making them generally miserable.

  But it was the perfect setting for a funeral.

  Savannah, Tammy, and Dirk had insisted on being present when the mortal remains of one Leonard Roy Hoffman of Bakersfield, California, aka Sergio D’Alessandro, were laid to rest.

  Abigail had come along because she didn’t want to sit at home alone. And not even the previous day’s Emerge experience was going to lift her dampened spirits as she stood there in the cemetery in the pouring rain, shivering with the other mourners.

  “Sh-h-h-h, it’ll be over soon,” Savannah admonished her, seeing a couple of heads turn their way at the sound of Abby’s complaining.

  She, too, wanted nothing more than to go home, peel off the cold, wet clothes, and get into a warm robe. But she wasn’t there just to pay her respects. Especially since she had precious little respect for ol’ Sergio. She was working.

  She, Tammy, and Dirk were all working, as they scanned the faces of the crowd and accounted for everyone.

  It was commonly known among the members of law enforcement that murderers were frequently nearby after a killing, hanging about the crime scene, helping with a search if one was conducted, and attending funerals.

  What was the fun of causing a horrific hullabaloo if you couldn’t be around to appreciate it and watch its effect on others?

  So the Moonlight Magnolia team was at the funeral in full force, studying the attendees and the interactions between them, looking for anything out of the ordinary or suspicious.

  Savannah squinted against the cold, driving rain, shivering, listening to the minister go on and on about how loved Leonard had been, such a fine son, a dear friend, an accomplished businessman, and what a contribution he had made to his community. The clergyman made ol’ Sergio sound like a real peach.

  Savannah wondered if the preacher had ever met him.

  The coffin was suspended over the freshly dug grave on straps, waiting to be lowered. A temporary pavilion had been stretched over the site, and a ring of folding chairs placed around it.

  Unfortunately, only those seated in the chairs were sheltered by the covering. Everyone else had to stand outside it and be pelted.

  Savannah kept repeating the mantra, “Hot chocolate. Hot chocolate,” to herself to keep her teeth from chattering as she studied the small, intimate gathering.

  The elderly woman sitting nearest the head of the coffin had to be his mother. An elderly and frail woman, dressed in black with the traditional veil over her face, she wept softly into a lace handkerchief. The minister seemed to be addressing his parting words to her alone. Savannah speculated that he might be her minister, rather than Sergio’s... or Leonard, as he was being called today.

  She appeared to be the only one genuinely, deeply distressed at Leonard’s untimely passing. Except, perhaps, for Devon Wright.

  From her spot at the foot of the grave, Devon was wailing, eyes heavenward in what certainly appeared to be a display of wrenching, soulful agony. Except for the fact that there didn’t appear to be a tear in sight.

  Directly behind her stood her son, the little boy that Savannah and Dirk had seen that night at her house. He was just far enough outside the canopy to receive absolutely none of its protection and he was being soaked to the skin. Shivering violently, he was staring at his mother in alarm.

  It took all the self-control Savannah could muster not to go grab the boy and rescue him from the scene. The kid didn’t need to be standing in a cold rain at the funeral of some guy who was nothing more than his nitwit mother’s Bang of the Month. The boy needed some hugs, a change of warm, dry clothes, and a hot fudge sundae with a cherry on the top.

  At least, according to Basic Savannah Reid Child-Rearing 101.

  In the crowd, someone else was watching the interplay between Devon and her boy. It was Dr. Yasmina La Rue who watched for a moment, then locked eyes with Savannah and shook her head sadly.

  Savannah thought of what Dr. La Rue had said—that Devon needed to love herself more so that she could love those around her.

  Savannah supposed that was true. But she also decided that Yasmina was a better person than she was. The good doctor saw Devon as a lost soul who needed to find herself, someone who needed to be loved, understood, and upheld.

  But Savannah was just as quick to admit she, personally, just wasn’t that virtuous. She’d much prefer to just push Devon Wright off the end of the San Carmelita pier and find out later whether she could swim or not.

  She decided to pray about it and ask the Lord to make her a better, more loving, understanding, and tolerant person. But she’d prayed that quite a few times before and hadn’t noticed any great changes in her personality. So she wasn’t overly optimistic that it
would take this time either.

  Jeremy Lawrence stood about twenty feet away from them, wearing a somber, dove-gray suit and an even more somber expression on his handsome face. He was holding an oversized umbrella, trying to keep himself and Myrna Cooper dry. She stood stoically beside him, clinging to his arm. And for all of the water soaking the lower halves of their bodies, neither of them had even a hint of moisture in their eyes.

  From time to time Myrna shot an angry, hurt look at a man who sat beside the coffin under the canopy. The object of her disdain looked to be in his early fifties. A relatively handsome man, he was holding the hand of a woman young enough to be his daughter, but who bore no resemblance.

  Savannah would have bet her detective agency’s petty cash that the guy was Myrna’s former honey who had dumped her for a younger woman after she had paid for his face-lift.

  And she didn’t blame Myrna for the nasty looks either. If a guy had done that to her, he wouldn’t have been able to walk straight for months, and the last thing he’d need was another girlfriend.

  Behind them, Nurse Bridget stood quietly, clutching a rosary, her head bowed and eyes closed. She was mumbling under her breath. Next to her stood a man, who had one arm around her shoulders and held in his other arm a little girl who looked exactly like Bridget.

  A few other faces were vaguely familiar to Savannah, employees of Emerge, like the maid who had discovered the deceased’s body, a young woman who had been Abigail’s hair stylist and another who had been introduced to Savannah earlier as the spa’s manicurist.

  Apparently, Sergio had no other close friends or family.

  Savannah wasn’t particularly surprised.

  “Anybody here you don’t know?” Dirk whispered, leaning close to her.

  “Just the older woman, who I think is his mom,” Savannah replied. “And that gal over there with the platinum blond hair and the big sunglasses.”

  “The older lady is his mom. I’ve talked to her already. She’s a real mess over him dying so young. And the blonde is Suzette’s sister, the one I interviewed in Santa Barbara.”