Corpse Suzette (2 page)

She did a split-second
mental check to see if she had fired. No. She hadn’t put her finger on the
trigger yet.

A quick, sideways glance at
Dirk told her that he hadn’t fired either. He looked as confused as she was.

Roco had fired a shot?

With a plastic gun?

Roco. She looked back at
him and saw an ugly, dark red stain appearing on the back of his thigh. He was
starting to shake, violently. Then he dropped to the floor like a sack of
flour.

Now Savannah had a clear
view of the old lady behind the counter... all of her... including the Colt .45
in her hand that still had smoke curling from its barrel.

“That’ll teach you!” the
clerk said as she slowly lowered the weapon and laid it on the counter. “Try to
rob
me
will you! And with a toy gun?! You oughta be ashamed of yourself.
I’ll bet you thought I was just some poor, helpless old woman. Well, I served in
the Women’s Army Corps, buster! You just held up the wrong woman!”

Dirk wasted no time rushing
the counter and securing the .45 before Annie Oakley, Sr. could do any further
damage with it.

Savannah holstered her own
weapon and turned her attention to Roco, who was lying on the floor, bleeding
profusely from his leg wound.

So far, he hadn’t said
anything. He wasn’t even moaning or groaning in pain. He looked like he was in
complete shock as he stared up at Savannah with blank eyes.

“How bad is he?” Dirk asked
her.

She looked down at the
wound and saw that blood wasn’t just flowing from it; it was spurting. Annie O.
had hit an artery. “Pretty bad.” Savannah turned to the clerk. “Do you have any
sanitary napkins in here?”

“What?” The old lady looked
confused. “I... uh... there are some tampons on that shelf there. I—”

“No, I need sanitary
napkins... pads... if you’ve got them. To stop the bleeding.”

“I don’t carry anything
like that.”

“Paper towels?”

“I got regular old napkins
over there by the coffee machine,” the clerk said, “but I’m not getting them
for you if it’s to help him.”

Dirk ran to the coffee
station, grabbed a handful of napkins, and thrust them into Savannah’s hands.
She used them to apply pressure to the wound but the blood quickly saturated them,
welling between her fingers. She silently cursed herself for not having a pair
of gloves. “Roco, my man, you better not have AIDS,” she muttered. “Call 911,”
she told the clerk. “Tell them t0 get an ambulance here, code three.”

The lady shook her silver
head. “I’m not calling anybody. I hope he bleeds to death right there on that
floor. Then he won’t be holding up some other poor soul who
hasn’t
served time in the military.”

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.

Savannah 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

“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 heard 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.

Then Cleo yowled, bit Tammy
on the thumb, jumped out of her lap and ran away.

Abigail sat there,
smoldering for another eternity before she said in a quiet, deadly tone, “Let
me get this straight. You ‘won’ me a chance to have some butcher carve up my
body and—”

“And liposuction!” Tammy
offered feebly. “Don’t forget the liposuction! That’s not cutting anything,
it’s...” Her voice faded away as she watched her cousin’s face grow purple.

“Carved up and vacuumed
away. My body hacked up and parts of it thrown away as biohazard material just
because you and society think there’s too much of me! And that’s why you
invited me to come visit you here in sunny California? Is that what you’re
saying to me, dear cousin of mine?”

Tammy sat there on the
footstool, holding her bleeding thumb, opening and closing her mouth like a
goldfish who had just jumped out of his bowl, and staring at Abigail. “I...
I... well... I...”

Savannah couldn’t take
anymore. “I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said in her
most conciliatory tone, “but knowing now how you feel about it, Tammy can just
contact the people there at Emerge tomorrow morning and gracefully decline on
your behalf. And you, Miss Abigail”—she fixed her with the no-nonsense,
big-sister glare that she had perfected over the years when dealing with eight
younger siblings—“can assume that your cousin had nothing but your best
interests at heart. You can say a simple, ‘No, thank you,’ and spend the rest
of your vacation lying on the beach, soaking up some of our golden California
sunshine and thanking Tammy that you’re not back there in New York City,
enjoying that foot and a half of snow the weather man says they just got.”

Abigail glared back and
said, “Oh, yes, that’s just what I want to do... go lie on a beach with all the
skinny California girls in their bikinis, who look like heroin addicts or
escapees from a concentration camp, who starve themselves to conform to
society’s standard of...”

Savannah sighed and shook
her head. Some days it just didn’t pay to gnaw through the restraints.

The next morning, Savannah,
Tammy, and Dirk were sitting at the picnic table in Savannah’s backyard, eating
a lunch of fried bologna sandwiches and potato salad that Savannah had fixed
for them. At least, Savannah and Dirk were eating it. As usual, Tammy had
brought a healthier selection of her own, a Tupper-ware container full of
salad.

“I swear, I never saw a
body do a turnaround like that so fast in all my life,” Savannah said,
spreading mustard thickly on a slice of bread. “Last night Abigail was madder
than a wet hen, squawking about how degrading the very idea of a makeover was.
And today, she comes downstairs to the breakfast table, sunshine and light, and
says she’s rarin’ to go!”

Tammy beamed. “I know! I
can’t believe it myself, but she couldn’t wait for me to take her over to
Emerge and get her started. You should have seen the fuss the staff was making
over her, TV cameras and news crews everywhere. Abby was eating up all the
attention.”