“You’ll have to tell me about her later,” Savannah whispered.
“Nothing to tell. She thought her sister was a nutcase for caring about this guy. That’s it.”
“How much longer are we going to stay?” Abby said, nudging Savannah in the ribs with her elbow. “I’m about to freeze to death here.”
“I hate to say it, but I’m really cold, too,” Tammy added. Savannah could see that she was turning a little blue under her perpetual tan.
The mourners were beginning to throw roses on top of the coffin. And the minister had gotten to the “dust to dust” part of his eulogy.
“Let’s go home,” Savannah said. “I think we all need to thaw out. How’s about some double fudge hot chocolate?”
“With a shot of Bailey’s?” Dirk asked, “Savannah style?”
“Of course. Let’s let the dead rest in peace.”
Dirk groaned and wiped a hand wearily across his wet face. “Rest? God knows, somebody needs to.”
As Savannah heated milk in a pan and melted some chocolate chips in her microwave, she looked across the kitchen to the table where Dirk sat, his elbows propped on the table, his head in his hands.
“Dirko doesn’t look so good,” Tammy whispered in her ear. “I’m worried about him.”
Savannah nodded. “I know. He just can’t burn the candle at both ends like he used to. When he tries it, he fizzles like a defunct Fourth of July bottle rocket.”
“I heard that,” he said, raising his head and glaring at them with bloodshot eyes. “I may be tired, but I’m not deaf, and I’m sure as hell not old. So watch it over there.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’s tremblin’ here. Shakin’ in our boots,” Savannah replied. “That’s us. Did you eat good today? Want me to scramble you up some eggs? Make you a bowl of chicken noodle soup or something?”
“Naw, I’ll perk up in a minute. I just need to rest my eyes.” Savannah poked Tammy. “You just wait. He’ll be snoring in thirty seconds. Happens every time he ‘rests his eyes.’ He closes those peepers and a second later, he’s making zz-zz-zz’s like a cartoon bear.”
Savannah and Tammy left him alone and continued to make the hot chocolate and, as Savannah had predicted, it was less than a minute before he started to snore. When the cocoa was finally ready, steaming hot mugs topped with peaks of whipped cream and sprinkled with shaved dark chocolate, Savannah was reluctant to wake him.
“Leave him alone for now,” she told Tammy. “Let him get a few winks. That’ll do him a world of good. Perk him right up.”
Tammy snickered. “I don’t think the words ‘Dirk’ and ‘perk’ even belong in the same sentence.”
“Sh-h-h.” Savannah took the tray with its bounty and tiptoed past Dirk and into the living room.
Ryan and John sat with Abigail, who had changed out of her wet clothes and into a dark green Georgette skirt and matching blouse. The color accented her new hair color and even though the outfit was a bit bohemian with its flouncy layers, the monochromatic scheme was an enormous improvement over her previous mixture of paisley and plaid.
She still had multiple bangles on her arms and gypsy hoops in her ears, but the look was more elegant than eccentric. No more Bag Lady Abby.
“I love this new look of yours, love,” John was telling her. “It’s still you, but more sophisticated.”
She beamed and blushed. For a moment, she looked more to Savannah like a demure Southern belle than a tough gal from New York City. But then, John and Ryan had a way of making any woman melt.
“Jeremy helped me pick out everything,” she told them. “He talked to me a long time about what I liked, and I admitted to him that I’ve always thought I must be part gypsy. I love stories about them, their mysticism, their travels. I always dressed up like a gypsy at Halloween and pretended to tell everyone’s fortunes. Jeremy encouraged me to embrace my passions, to express myself through my clothes and accessories. So... this was the result.”
“And a charming outcome it was,” John said. “That Jeremy chap seems to have captured more than just your style. He seems to have snared your fancy just a bit... or is that my own romantic imagination working overtime?”
Her blush deepened. “I like him, sure,” she said. “Who wouldn’t? He’s really sweet, not to mention gorgeous. He actually told me that he might move to New York someday. He’s already found a surgeon in Manhattan who may be interested in what he has to offer. I told him that I’d do everything I can to help him make the move and get settled, if he decides to try the East Coast for a change.”
Savannah set the tray on the coffee table and began to hand out the mugs. “Well, he certainly did a good job for Suzette and Sergio. He’s a highly creative, resourceful young man. And I can see why you would like him, Abby. It might be nice for you if he did move to New York.”
But even as she spoke the words, Savannah thought back on her visit to Mystic Twilight the day before and the person in the shadows who had watched her and then run from her.
In the past twenty-four hours she had replayed her conversation with Jeremy Lawrence outside the back door of the place, and she still wondered... had he been the one watching her?
Or if he hadn’t been the one following her, spying on her, had he seen Devon Wright run out that door and then covered for her?
And if so, why?
Nothing in his behavior today at the funeral told her anything. He had been stoic. Moderately attentive to Myrna. That was about all.
And now he was actively seeking employment or business opportunities elsewhere. That could be suspicious. With Suzette still missing, it might seem a bit premature to assume that she wasn’t coming back, that he needed another place to work. Unless, of course, he knew something that others didn’t.
Tammy took a mug of cocoa, walked over to the desk and sat down. Turning on Sergio’s laptop, she motioned to John. “You should come look at what I found,” she said, “thanks to that awesome forensic software you loaned me.”
Both John and Ryan hurried over to the desk and leaned over her shoulders.
“What did you find?” Savannah asked. “I didn’t know you found something.”
“Well, it isn’t a 7.6 on the Richter scale, but I thought it was interesting.” Tammy typed away on the keyboard for a minute or so, then said, “Voila! There it is.”
Savannah squeezed into a spot beside Ryan. “What? What is it?”
“Ah!” John said. “I see!”
“Wow, look at that!” Ryan added.
“I thought you’d like it.” Tammy beamed up at them, terribly proud of herself.
“What in Sam Hill are you guys talking about?” Savannah said, staring at the screen. All she could see was a long list of words, abbreviations, and symbols that made no sense at all to her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Savannah,” John said. “We computer nerds forget that not everyone is as savvy about this foolishness as we might be, because—”
“What is it, plee-ease?” Savannah held in a scream. “Speak to me in English! Now!”
“Simply put, someone was messing with Sergio’s computer behind his back,” Ryan told her. “They installed a special program into his notebook here, probably without his knowledge, that would record every single keystroke he made when he used it. At a later time, the person who placed the program there in the first place could retrace his keystrokes, see everything he’d typed, every online site he visited, etcetera.”
John nodded. “It’s a program that’s used by parents who want to see what their children are looking at online; who they’re talking to.”
“And,” Tammy added, “it can be used by employers who want to know what their employees are doing on company time: if they’re working, playing video games, or looking at naughty pictures.”
Ryan said, “Many a cheating spouse has been caught by these, emailing their honeys, setting up dates or whatever. Or maybe a hubby has sworn off his pornography addiction and his wife wants to know if he’s fallen off the
wagon or not.”
“Can you tell who put the program in there?” Savannah asked.
“Not who, but when,” Tammy told her. “It was installed about a year ago.”
“If it was a year ago, I’d vote for the wife... or perhaps I should I say ‘girlfriend.’ That’s about the time Suzette kicked Sergio out of the house. I’ll bet you it had something to do with this program. She probably nailed him with other women, using that program.”
“And get this,” Tammy added. “It was uninstalled. That’s why I couldn’t find it before. It was uninstalled and all files relating to it deleted. With this new program of yours I was able to dig it out. This thing rules!”
“I’m so glad it’s helping,” John said. “And you’ll find as you work with it, you’ll be able to uncover even more. It’s the equivalent of going through someone’s personal garbage.”
“Without getting potato peels, tomato sauce, and kitty litter all over you,” Savannah said, recalling some of her less favorite searches.
“Hey,” Tammy said, leaning forward and studying the screen. “I just noticed something else. Something that could be important.”
“What’s that?” Savannah asked.
“As I said, the snooper’s program was uninstalled and all the pertaining files deleted. I can see right here when that was done.”
“When?”
Tammy looked up at Savannah. She lifted one eyebrow. “It was done three days ago.”
Savannah caught her breath for a moment, then nodded. “Yeap, three days ago was the day our old buddy Sergio kicked the bucket.”
Chapter
17
When Savannah hurried into the kitchen to tell Dirk about the snooper software on Sergio’s computer, she found him exactly where and how she’d left him, his arms folded on the table, his head on them. He looked like an over-sized kindergartner taking a “rest break.”
And while Dirk might be a bit lazy from time to time when it came to domestic chores like cleaning or microwaving a TV dinner, he never slacked on the job. He lived for his work, and he tended to be a pit bull when it came to never letting go until the job was done.
He had to be sick.
She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. Giving him a gentle shake, she said, “Hey, buddy. You asleep?”
His only response was a muffled groan.
“Dirk?” She ran her fingers though his hair. “Sugar, you okay?”
He raised his head slightly and looked up at her with glassy eyes. “I don’t think so,” he muttered. “To be honest, I feel like shit.”
“To be honest, you look a bit like dog poo, too. Here, let me feel your head.”
She laid her hand across his forehead and was not surprised at how hot he was. “You’ve got a fever, big boy,” she told him. “You’re sick.”
“I don’t get sick when I’m on a case, and especially not a homicide.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, you’d better revise that motto of yours, ’cause you’re burnin’ up with fever there.”
“I’m just tired and run down. I’ll be all right.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will be, once Dr. Savannah has taken care of you. I’m going to get you some aspirin to bring that fever down and put you in bed.”
Dirk squinted at his watch. “It’s six o’clock. I ain’t going to bed at six. I was going to go back over to Du Bois’s place and—”
“I was going myself anyway,” Savannah said. “I’ll go for both of us, and you’re staying home. I reckon you caught your death o’ cold, standing out in that rain today. You’re not going out in it again.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Over my dead body, boy.”
He started to rise from his chair, but she put one hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down. She was surprised at how easily he complied.
Dirk was many things. Compliant wasn’t one of them.
“What’s going on in here?” Ryan asked as he and John walked into the room just in time to see the mini-skirmish.
“Dirk’s sick,” she said. “He’s been running himself ragged, and he’s plumb worn out. He’s got a fever. I’m going to give him some aspirin and put him to bed.”
“So she says,” Dirk mumbled.
John leaned over Dirk, studying him closely. “Any other symptoms?” he asked Savannah.
“Other than general cussedness and standard orneriness... just fatigue and fever.”
“I’ve known several people who’ve come down with something like this lately,” Ryan said. “It’ll knock you off your feet for weeks if you don’t nip it in the bud early.”
He looked at John, and they both nodded.
“Fix him up, John, like you did me,” he said.
Dirk scowled. “What? What are you talking about? Fix me up how?”
John left the table and walked over to the kitchen counter where Savannah kept a perpetually full bowl of fresh fruit. He picked out a large orange.
“Savannah,” he said, “be a dear and get me some whole cloves, your sugar bowl, and your finest Irish whiskey. I’m going to make the lad a hot toddy.”
“I ain’t drinkin’ when I’m on the job,” Dirk said, but he was scowling a bit less and his bleary eyes reflected more than a passing interest.
“I’m making you an Irish toddy, and by god, you’ll drink it and like it,” John replied.
As Savannah searched her relatively sparse liquor cabinet for whiskey, John set to work, heating water on the stove and cutting the orange crosswise, then studding the thin slices with the cloves.
He dissolved a couple of spoonfuls of sugar in a cup of steaming water and floated a few of the orange slices on the top, then added an obscene amount of the whiskey to the mixture.
He took it to Dirk and set the mug in front of him on the table. “Drink up, old chap,” he said. “It’s the cure for the common cold. Works in twelve hours. You’ll be a new man by tomorrow morning, I assure you.”
Dirk lifted the mug and sniffed it. “Really?”
“Well,” Ryan said, “let’s put it this way: If it doesn’t cure what ails you, at least you won’t mind being sick half as much.”
Dirk took a sip, grimaced, and looked up at John, who was leaning over him with a parental, no nonsense expression on his face.
“Drink it down,” John said. “Now.”
Dirk did as he was told, and even licked his lips afterward. “It’s not really all that bad,” he said. “In fact, it’s pretty kickass.”
Ryan laughed and turned to Savannah. “We’d better get him upstairs and in bed right away,” he told her. “That stuff’s going to kick his ass any second now, and then he’ll be dead weight.”
And Ryan wasn’t exaggerating. By the time the three of them had Dirk up the stairs, peeled down to his skivvies, and tucked between Savannah’s pink satin sheets, he was too looped to even resist.
But, being Dirk, he managed to complain at least a little during the process. “I don’t want no gay guys undressing me,” he said as Ryan removed his shoes and Savannah tugged his jeans off.
“Oh, hush up,” Savannah told him. “Ain’t nobody here interested in what you’ve got. And you’re not getting into my clean bed in those dirty, damp clothes.”
John grabbed the hem of Dirk’s Harley tee-shirt and yanked it over his head. “Not to worry, Dirk, old lad. Ryan and I can resist ravishing such a fine model of manhood as yourself.” He chuckled. “ ’Tis a hardship, to be sure, but we’ll bear up.”
True to her word, Savannah wasted no time once dinner was finished and hurried over to Suzette Du Bois’s house. In her hand she had a checklist of the things Dirk had wanted her to cover: numbers on her phone’s caller ID, last number dialed, and numbers programmed for speed dial. She also needed to pick up Suzette’s address book and look again for any sort of diary or journal.
To satisfy her own curiosity, she intended also to look for a certain black teddy bear wearing a green and red plaid vest... the toy named “Baby” w
ithout which Sammy Du Bois never left the house.
It was still pouring rain when she pulled up in front of the house, and she made a dash for the front door. The feel of the cold rain on her skin brought back less-than-fond memories of the funeral earlier in the day. No wonder Dirk had gotten sick. “Depressing” and “cold” were a bad combination, especially when mixed with “exhausted.”
She was a little worried about him. But his fever had broken before she left, and Tammy had promised to check on him every hour or so until she returned, so she wasn’t overly concerned.
She unlocked the door with the house keys she had nabbed out of Dirk’s leather jacket pocket and let herself into the house. This time she went ahead and flipped on the foyer lights. With Dirk’s expressed permission, she wasn’t exactly breaking and entering this time.
And while convenient, she had to admit it was a little less exciting.
Until she saw' the light on in the living room and heard someone stirring in there.
Instinctively, she reached inside her raincoat and unsnapped her Beretta’s holster.
A moment later, a woman walked out of the living room and into the foyer. She looked Savannah up and down, then said, “May I help you?”
Savannah recognized the platinum blonde, even without the big sunglasses she had been wearing at the funeral. She was Suzette Du Bois’s sister.
Savannah took her hand out of her raincoat and held it out to the woman. “My name is Savannah Reid,” she told her. “I’m investigating your sister’s disappearance with Sergeant Coulter. He asked me to drop by over here and check a couple of things. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“I’m Clare Du Bois,” the woman replied, accepting Savannah’s outstretched hand and giving it a brief shake. “No, you aren’t disturbing me. I was just...” Her voice broke as she waved a hand toward the living room. “...looking at some family pictures.”
“I’m so sorry... about your sister,” Savannah said, avoiding the customary words for your loss. Her loss wasn’t exactly established just yet, although Savannah figured it was probably only a matter of time.
Corpse Suzette Page 18
