11-Corpse Suzette

by G. A. McKevett

  Dirk made the emergency call himself.

  He also brought an entire box of the napkins over to Savannah, knelt next to her, and tried to help her staunch the flow.

  She glanced down at Roco’s ashen face, his dark eyes wide with pain and fear. She had to admit; she felt just a little bit sorry for the guy... until she thought of his previous victims... the

  D guy he had pistol-whipped, who still couldn’t walk.

  Then she decided that maybe Lady Justice wasn’t such a bad old broad after all.

  “Guess this was my lucky day,” Dirk said as he tossed away a handful of soaked napkins and grabbed some fresh ones. He looked down at Roco. “You, on the other hand... you’re going to the hospital and then right back to prison.”

  Savannah could hear sirens approaching. She could also hear the clerk talking on her cell phone. She was saying to somebody, A “Yeah, I got him good. Right in the leg. He’s the third one I’ve shot in only five years! Sure, let’s get together tonight at O’Henry’s and celebrate.”

  A Savannah nudged Roco to keep him conscious. “Stay awake for me, there, buddy. Help’s about here.” She shook her head.

  “Boy, you’re just havin’ a bad night, aren’t you? You get fired from a job, you pick the only convenience store in three states with a gun-totin’ granny WAG behind the counter, you violate S, your parole and get a hole blown in your leg... all in one hour. How piss-poor unlucky are you?”

  “I sure appreciate you letting my cousin stay with you,” Tammy said as she brought Savannah a second hot-from-the-oven cinnamon bun on a china dessert plate. “I just don’t have room for her there in that tiny little apartment of mine, and you have a nice extra bedroom upstairs. It’s just so much handier, and you’re so nice to do this for us and...”

  She babbled on as she placed the roll on the end table next to Savannah’s easy chair, then fluffed up a pillow and shoved it under Savannah’s feet, which were resting on an ottoman. Still in her bathrobe, pajamas, and fluffy slippers, Savannah looked the picture of Saturday morning leisure. Except that it was Tuesday.

  Tammy tried to grab the mug out of Savannah’s hand. “Here, let me refresh that cup of coffee for you and—”

  “Hey, hey... hold on.” Savannah clutched the mug to her chest. “Not that I don’t enjoy having my hiney kissed like this first thing in the morning, but the homemade rolls are enough. You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, too.”

  “I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. Here, is that enough cream in your coffee? Enough frosting on that bun?”

  Savannah paused mid-slurp to watch her assistant over the rim of her Mickey Mouse mug.

  Something was up.

  Tammy Hart had been Savannah’s so-called sidekick for years, a delightful addition to her Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency, not to mention a close personal friend. Tammy was always energetic, eager to please, and beaming with exuberance— often more exuberance than the less feisty Savannah could stand.

  But the tall, slender, athletic, and health-conscious blonde despised junk food of any kind. She considered the “three deadly whites,” Sugar, Flour, and Salt, to be the greatest evils upon the face of the earth—far ahead of Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, or Envy.

  So why would she appear on Savannah’s doorstep first thing in the morning with a piping hot pan of cinnamon rolls? And why was she scurrying around like a chamber maid in a queen’s court? A grumpy queen, who was likely to scream, “Off with her head!”

  “Tell me more about this cousin of yours,” Savannah said, keeping her voice even, her face expressionless.

  Tammy shot her a quick look as she poured a dollop more cream into her cup. “Uh... Abigail? Mmmm... yes. Abby’s well, she’s.... What did you want to know about her?”

  “What she’s like. If you two were close growing up. And why you feel so guilty about dumping her off on me.”

  Bingo. Tammy’s golden tan turned two shades paler. She spilled some of the cream onto the floor beside Savannah’s chair.

  Instantly Savannah’s two black cats, a couple of mini-panthers named Cleopatra and Diamante, scrambled off the windowsill and began to lap it up.

  “Guilty?” Tammy choked on her own spit—always a bad sign. “I just hope the two of you will get along. That’s all.”

  “Why wouldn’t we? You said she’s a big girl, like me. She probably likes to eat and cook. We’ll swap recipes.”

  “Well, actually, Abigail’s bigger than you. Quite a bit bigger, in fact.”

  Savannah shrugged. “Good. Then she’ll probably have better recipes.”

  Tammy set the creamer on the end table and sat down on the sofa. “Abby’s really big. Really heavy. The family is all worried about her health. That’s why I entered her in the contest.”

  “The makeover thing that new spa is offering?”

  “Yeah. The place is called ‘Emerge,’ and the woman who runs it is this famous Beverly Hills surgeon, Dr. Suzette Du Bois.” The guilt briefly left Tammy’s face and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “She’s been running a spa for movie stars in the Hollywood Hills—”

  “The Mystic Twilight Club... yeah, I’ve heard of the place. But you have to have a bazillion bucks to even get through the gates.’

  “That’s there, but this new place, Emerge, is for the average person.”

  “The average person with money to burn, you mean.”

  “Well, yes, I’m sure it’s expensive, too. I mean, plastic surgery and personal trainers and fashion consultants, they don’t come cheap, but what they can do there is amazing! The idea is, you go in as a disgusting old caterpillar and emerge as a beautiful butterfly!”

  “And you’re going to send your cousin, Abigail, through this... process?”

  “Yes! I won it for her! Dr. Du Bois had a contest; people wrote in to enter the people they love and to recommend them for a metamorphosis. I had to write this long letter all about Abigail and how she deserved to enter the program and find the true, beautiful self she has hidden under all that... you know... inside.”

  Savannah took a sip of coffee, then said quietly, “Don’t you consider Abigail beautiful, as she is?”

  “Well, yes, but... she could be so much more... or less... or... You know.”

  Savannah stifled the urge to take offense. As a woman who carried some extra pounds above what the weight charts considered “ideal,” she was a bit sensitive to disparaging remarks aimed at less-than-svelte folks. But she knew that Tammy, for all of her own weight-consciousness, wasn’t really prejudiced against any group of people.

  Tammy meant well. She had a good heart. And that was the only reason Savannah hadn’t shoved the carrot and celery sticks that she was always offering up her left nostril.

  You don’t do serious damage to nitwits who mean well. It was a motto Savannah lived by, most of the time.

  “How does Abigail feel about you entering her into this contest?” Savannah asked.

  Tammy shrugged. “I haven’t told her yet. I thought I’d wait until she gets here this afternoon. Then I’ll surprise her with it. Don’t you think she’ll be thrilled? I mean, this is the chance of a lifetime! Who wouldn’t be?”

  Who wouldn't be thrilled to know that their cousin entered them into a contest for a total physical makeover—an ordeal involving torturous exercise, a starvation diet, and having your body carved, vacuumed, and stitched—the chance for a big, fat “caterpillar” to emerge as a socially acceptable “butterfly”? Yeah, who wouldn’t be just jazzed about that? Savannah mulled that one over.

  “When is Abigail getting here?” she asked with lackluster enthusiasm.

  “I’m picking her up at LAX this afternoon. She’s flying in from New York. I figured I’d bring her straight here from the airport. She thinks she’s just here for a California vacation: some sun, some beach, Disneyland. Wait until she finds out! She’s going to be so happy!” Tammy bounced off to the kitchen and quickly returned with yet another roll.

  Savann
ah took it and held it close to her nose, breathing in the warm, cinnamon-scented sweetness. Yes, she intended to savor this frosting-coated bit of bribery. Because, in spite of Miss Tammy-Pollyanna’s optimism, Savannah had a feeling that before Cousin Abigail’s California visit was over, she was going to earn every stinking, guilt-laden calorie.

  Chapter

  2

  “I thought you’d made a New Year’s resolution not to let any ¿relatives come visit you,” Ryan Stone said as he dished up bowls full of Savannah’s banana pudding and handed them to her for the mega-dollop of whipped cream.

  Savannah shrugged. “Yes, but you know as well as I do that New Year’s resolutions don’t even last as long as the Christmas fudge. Besides, I meant any of my own crazy Georgian relatives. I forgot to include Tammy’s family.”

  Ryan leaned over her to pull another bowl out of the cupboard, and Savannah had to remember to breathe. Even after years of friendship, Savannah hadn’t gotten over her crush on Ryan. He was straight off the pages of one of her romance novels: tall, dark, and heart-stop handsome. A simple smile from him could set her knickers aquiver, but having him close enough for her to smell his two-hundred-dollar-a-half-ounce cologne was enough to cause all of her vital systems to shut down.

  But long ago, Savannah had given up any dreams of sharing anything more than banana pudding-scooping with him. And the reason had just walked into her kitchen: Ryan’s life partner, John Gibson.

  “May I be of any assistance?” John asked in his velvety British accent. His thick silver hair glowed against his pale blue cash-mere sweater, which was the same shade as his eyes. John wasn’t exactly hard to look at either. And he was the epitome of grace and generosity.

  “Why don’t you go ask Tammy and Abigail if they want coffee or tea,” she suggested. “I made both... Earl Grey for you, John, of course.”

  He leaned over and gave her a kiss, tickling her cheek with his lush mustache. Lowering his voice he said, “Must I? I was hoping to escape for just a moment or so. Ryan, would you be so kind?”

  Ryan gave him a withering look. “Right, send me back in there. No thanks. Savannah asked you to do it.”

  They looked at each other, then at Savannah, and they both gave her sheepish grins.

  “What is this?” she said. “Neither one of you wants to go back into my living room and visit with my guests?”

  Ryan chuckled. “We love Tammy.”

  John nodded. “It’s true. We’ve always had a special fondness for Tammy, darling girl that she is.”

  “And Abigail is her cousin,” Savannah said, “and this little party is to welcome Abby to California, so go get welcoming. Why do you think I invited you guys over here tonight?”

  “Uh... to dilute the bitter cup of social tea brewing in your household,” John replied evenly. “At least, that would be my guess.”

  “Mine, too,” Ryan added. “I know if I had to contend with... that person... for any length of time, I’d be inviting you over to smooth out the bumpy patches.”

  “That bad, eh?”

  John sighed. “I merely mentioned something about a fascinating program I’d watched on the Discovery Channel about the hippopotami the Congo, and she took offense. Asked me if that were some sort of wisecrack aimed at her.”

  Savannah placed the bowls on a serving tray along with some spoons and napkins. “She does seem to be a bit touchy about the topic of weight. But we need to be patient. It isn’t easy being overly-curvaceous in a supermodel-skinny world.”

  “But I love curves,” Ryan said, giving Savannah an approving once-over.

  John nodded vigorously. “As do I! We both appreciate the sensuous beauty of a voluptuous woman.”

  “Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You’re both shameful teases.” She took the last bowl from Ryan and emptied the remainder of the whipped cream on top of it. Then she shoved the tray in John’s direction. “Here, take that in there, give them a bowl, and find out what they want to drink. And whatever you do, don’t give Abigail the one with the extra whipped cream... unless she asks for it. She’s bound to get riled if you do.”

  John and Ryan didn’t stay long. Not nearly as long as Savannah would have liked. She had hoped they would at least hang around long enough for Tammy to work up the courage to tell Abigail about her “gift.”

  But they were long gone, and it was just the three women and the two cats when Tammy dropped her bombshell.

  Savannah was sitting in her comfy chair, letting Cleopatra lick whipped cream off her fingertip when it happened.

  “I have a really special reason why I invited you to come visit me,” Tammy began. She was sitting on Savannah’s footstool and facing Abigail, who was on the sofa, her feet propped on the coffee table.

  Normally, Savannah didn’t allow people to put their shoes on the table. It had been Granny Reid’s and that made it sacred. But there was something about Abigail that didn’t invite criticism, advice, or even a simple request. Savannah wouldn’t have admitted that she was actually afraid of Abigail Simpson, but she was.

  In the first place, Abigail wasn’t what she had been expecting. Savannah knew that Tammy came from a well-to-do East coast family, and knowing that Abigail lived in New York she had anticipated a stylish dresser. But Abby was less than Fifth Avenue chic. If she had, indeed, been walking down Fifth Avenue, she probably would have been mistaken for a bag lady.

  Tammy had called her “grooming impaired” and that was kind.

  Her waist-length hair hung in a limp braid down her back and looked as though it hadn’t been washed in a month of Sundays. She wore no makeup of any sort on her sallow face, and while Savannah didn’t particularly wear a lot herself, she couldn’t help thinking that even a bit of color on Abigail’s cheeks and a dab of lipstick would have made her look better. Maybe even... alive.

  Her blouse and skirt hung in shapeless drapes around her, the top a bright paisley print and the skirt an equally brilliant plaid. Her shoes were scuffed black boots with laces that were knotted in several places.

  The only sign of vanity or personal fashion statement was her jewelry. She wore enormous gold hoops in her ears and at least eight or ten bangles on each wrist.

  Yes, “grooming impaired” was kind.

  Earlier that afternoon, upon opening her front door and seeing Abigail standing there in all of her frumpish glory, Savannah had decided that this “Emerge” idea of Tammy’s was a pretty good one, all in all.

  But after a few hours in Abigail’s company, Savannah was afraid for Tammy’s life. Abby seemed to take offense at absolutely everything that might even be remotely weight-related. If she glowered when told she would have a really “big” time in California, how would she take the news that her cousin thought she needed “making over?”

  “You invited me here for a special reason?” Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “What special reason? You said it was because Mom told you I needed a vacation after working so hard this last semester.”

  “Well, it is, partly.” Tammy scooped the cat off Savannah’s lap and held her tightly. She looked like a scared kid clutching a teddy bear. Savannah winced when Cleo growled and switched her tail back and forth. If Tammy kept squeezing her like that, she was going to be on the receiving end of fang and claw.

  Cleo knew when she was being used.

  “It’s really a... a wonderful surprise,” Tammy stammered. “You’re just going to love it!”

  “I doubt it,” Abigail replied with a sniff. “If I were going to love it, you wouldn’t be beating around the bush like this. Spit it out.

  “I won something for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a stay at a spa. A new luxury spa here in San Carmelita that—”

  “I don’t do spas.”

  “But... but...” Tammy shot a panic-filled look at Savannah. “It’s a very high-end spa,” Savannah offered, deciding to dive headfirst into the deep end with her friend. Hey, what are friends for? she thought as she hear
d herself add, “...with all sorts of extras besides just the massages and—”

  “I don’t do massages.” Abigail crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin. “That’s just what I need... some skinny woman massaging my naked body, thinking of the wisecracks she’s going to make to her friends the minute my back is turned.”

  Savannah thought of the kind, gentle, nonjudgmental therapists who had soothed her aching muscles when she had been fortunate enough to afford a massage. “I don’t think they’re all that way,” she said. “They see and touch bodies all day long and the vast majority of us don’t look like runway models.”

  “And the majority doesn’t look like me either,” Abigail snapped. “That’s what you’re thinking. You might as well go ahead and say it.”

  Savannah’s temper flared. “That isn’t what I was thinking at all. And I don’t like people telling me what I’m thinking, especially when they’re just flat dab wrong about it. You’ve been doing that ever since you got here, and frankly, I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Uh, well, um…” Tammy interjected. “This spa isn’t really known for its massages anyway. It has a lot more to offer. It’s run by this doctor, Suzette Du Bois, and she’s famous. A lot of movie stars go to her for... um... rejuvenation and stuff.”

  Abigail’s nostrils flared. “What kind of rejuvenating stuff.”

  “Well,” Tammy continued as Cleo growled, “she’s a surgeon, and she does all sorts of amazing things like... uh... liposuction and tummy tucks and butt lifts and skin resurfacing and... you know... stuff that anybody would just love to have if they could only afford it, but I could never afford it, and I suppose you couldn’t either, so I put your name in the drawing and told them what a fantastic person you are, and how deserving you are, and they said, ‘Okay, she wins!”’ Tammy took a deep gulp of air and added, “Now isn’t that just about the best news you ever heard?” What they heard was nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  Silence reigned for what seemed like ten and half years.