Corpse Suzette (5 page)

She walked over to the
glass and resisted the urge to press her palms and nose against it like a
mesmerized child. “Wow,” she said under her breath. “Look at that! Did you ever
see anything so beautiful?”

“Why, thank you,” replied a
male voice behind her. And it wasn’t Dirk’s.

She turned and saw that
Dirk had left her and walked over to a desk on the right side of the room. And
behind her stood the most truly beautiful man she had ever seen. Probably in
his late twenties or early thirties, he had an ethereal quality about him—
cream-colored skin that was as flawless as a cover model’s, platinum blond
hair, and eyes that were the palest sky blue.

He was dressed in a
long-sleeved, ivory silk shirt and linen slacks of the same color. His build
was slight but muscular, and although he was a couple of inches shorter than
Savannah, his long legs and proportions made him appear taller.

He stepped closer to
Savannah and gazed into the atrium, his eyes following the flight of one of the
butterflies as it fluttered near the glass where they stood. “It’s nice to see
people enjoying it,” he said with quiet pride, “taking time to really
appreciate it. People don’t take enough time for beauty these days.”

“That’s true,” she said
thoughtfully. He sounded older than his years, and there was a quiet air of
wisdom and grace about him that seemed ageless.

She extended her hand to
him. “I’m Savannah,” she said, “and you are...?”

He took her hand in his and
gave it a firm but gentle shake. “I’m Jeremy Lawrence,” he replied, “the
stylist here at Emerge.”

“Stylist?” She glanced at
his hair. It was a nice, standard, GQ cut. Nothing too fancy. “You’re the
hairdresser?”

He smiled... a patient
smile, like that of a teacher with a student. “No,” he said, “we have another
person who does the hairdressing. I’m more of a style consultant. I coach our
clients in developing their own unique styles... in all aspects of their lives.
Hair and makeup are certainly part of that, but we also offer guidance while
they find the best ways to express their inner selves through clothing,
jewelry, home furnishings, social etiquette, entertaining, even leisure
activities such as music and the arts.”

“And you do all that?”

“I help. I guide whenever
possible,” he said with quiet humility.

Savannah glanced over at
Dirk, who was having a conversation with a woman at the desk, a highly made-up,
overprocessed, sixtyish blonde who looked as though she would have benefited
from this young man’s input.

“May I help you with
anything?” Jeremy asked. “Are you a member of the press, or...?”

Savannah opened her mouth
to say, “No, I’m with that guy over there,” but at the last moment, she
swallowed the words and decided, on instinct, to lie. “Yes,” she said. “I’m
with
San Carmelita Today...
the magazine in the Sunday paper. I’m sure
you’ve seen it.”

“Of course. I read it every
weekend.”

He was lying, too; she
could tell. But at least he was blackening his soul in an attempt to be polite.
She wasn’t sure why she had given him the cover story. Maybe she was getting
too old to trust young men who were prettier than she was.

“Is he with you?” he asked,
nodding toward Dirk.

“No,” she said, “I
overheard him tell the lady there at the desk that he’s a detective with the
San Carmelita Police Department.”

A look of pain crossed
Jeremy’s face. “Is he here about Suzette? Did you hear him say if he’s here
because she’s...”

She waited for him to fill
in the blank. When he didn’t, she added, “Missing? Yes, I think I heard him say
something about that.”

“I hope nothing’s happened
to her,” he said, then he seemed to realize he was talking to a “member of the
press” and a guarded look crossed his face. “I suppose you came for the press
conference today. I’m afraid you’ve made a trip for nothing. I thought Devon
had called everyone to reschedule.”

“Devon?”

“Devon Wright, our
publicist. I’m surprised you haven’t met Devon. She’s the one who usually deals
with the press.”

His pale blue eyes studied
hers with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Her own eyes were a deep,
cobalt blue, and long ago she had learned to focus their laserlike intensity on
suspects and make them squirm in their interrogation seats. She wasn’t
accustomed to being on the receiving end of such scrutiny.

“Devon Wright. Ms.
Wright.
Oh, of course I’ve spoken to her before on the phone. I didn’t know her first
name.”

“And she didn’t call you
about the press conference being postponed?”

“Oh, she probably did. My
assistant at the paper is a dingbat intern. Always forgets to give me my
messages. Has the news conference been rescheduled?”

“Here’s Devon now.” He
nodded toward a petite young woman who was striding down the hall to the left,
coming toward the lobby. “You can ask her directly. I have to be going now. It
was nice speaking with you.”

“And with you.”

She noticed that he gave
Dirk one more sad, anxious look before he retreated down the hallway to the
left, passing Devon Wright. He paused to say a couple of words to her before disappearing
into one of the doors that lined the corridor.

As the publicist approached
her, Savannah decided rather quickly that she didn’t particularly like Devon
Wright. Hyper people got on her nerves... even more so if they were hyper
salespeople.

And Devon was wearing the
tissue-thin grin of a salesperson as she scurried up to her, her high-heeled
boots clicking on the granite floor. Her brightly embroidered, skintight jeans,
fringed leather jacket, and super-short, red-tipped, black hair were, no doubt,
intended to announce to the world that she was quite “hip” ... a “with-it” sort
of professional.

But to Savannah, she just
looked
un
professional.

And Savannah was also
willing to admit that maybe she, herself, wasn’t all that “hip” or “with-it”
anymore.

Getting older did that to
you.

“Hello, hello!” Devon
greeted her, hand outstretched, fake grin broadening. “I understand you’ve come
for the press conference. I’m sorry you weren’t contacted, but we’ve had to
postpone it for today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I
was looking forward to learning more about what you’re doing here at Emerge.
This is just beee-autiful!”

Devon’s eyes glistened with
a nearly maniacal gleam. Savannah had seen the same fire of enthusiasm in the
eyes of vacuum cleaner salesmen on her front doorstep... seconds before she
threw them off the porch.

“Oh, isn’t it though!”
Devon gushed. “This place and the work we’ll be doing here is
so
important! Literally changing lives! Women—well, men, too—will walk through
those doors sad and ugly worms, and emerge as the glorious butterflies they
were meant to be!”

“Worms... turning into
butterflies... hmmm....” Savannah considered for a moment how Abigail would
react to that particular terminology. She hadn’t even warmed up to the idea of
being called a fuzzy caterpillar. She’d probably pitch a fit, and Savannah
couldn’t blame her.

“They emerge... as they
were
meant
to be,” Savannah mused, “versus, how they were actually born
into this world.”

“Exactly! Isn’t that a
mind-shattering concept! Everyone, even the simplest people in society, being
able to come to a place like this and transform themselves, fulfill themselves,
live life as the person they always wanted to be!”

Savannah returned the
too-bright smile and adopted the carnival barker tone of voice. “And they only
have to take out a second mortgage on the house, sell the kids, and hawk the
family pooch to pay for it all! Ya-a-y-y!”

Devon’s grin vanished,
replaced by an aggravated, suspicious scowl. “Emerge offers payment plans for
the underprivileged... upon credit approval, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

After several moments of
awkward silence, Savannah decided to make a bad situation worse. “I hear that
Suzette Du Bois has gone missing,” she said.

Yes, every vestige of Devon
Wright’s faux smile evaporated. “Where did you hear that?” she snapped.

“I overheard that police
detective over there asking your receptionist about her.” She shrugged. “Hey,
I
am a
reporter, after all. I keep my ears open. Of course, I could be
persuaded to keep what I heard off the record for the time being....”

Devon opened and closed her
mouth several times as she seemed to search for the right words.

“That would be... um...
nice. I mean, there isn’t really anything to report now anyway.”

“And in return for my...
waiting... you might give me the first phone call when you do have something
substantial to report?”

Devon looked doubtful, but
she said, “Okay. Give me your business card, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Business card?

Savannah paused, thinking
fast. The cards in her purse represented her as a private investigator, not a
newspaper reporter.

“I don’t have any with me
right now, but I’ll leave my number with your receptionist at the desk.”

“You don’t have a business
card, Ms....?”

Savannah’s mental gears
whirred. “McGill. Savannah McGill.”

Devon’s eyes narrowed. “And
do you have your press pass with you, Ms. McGill?”

“Darn. No. It’s in my other
purse... with my cards... you know, changed pocketbooks last night to go out to
dinner at this fancy-schmancy place, forgot to put everything back into my
everyday purse. Do you ever do that? I just hate it when I do that.”

“Maybe you should leave for
now, Ms. McGill. Emerge isn’t really open to the public today. You can come
back when we have our press conference.”

“When they find Suzette Du
Bois, you mean. When they figure out what’s happened to her.”

The publicist’s eyes
narrowed even more, and Savannah saw a light shining there that made the
hackles on her back rise. Devon Wright might be dressed as a bebopping,
hip-hopping fluff-head, but underneath the frivolous facade was a dangerous
woman.

“You should go now.
Really,” she said. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Savannah glanced over at
Dirk, who was still hanging out by the desk, questioning the aging, floozy
receptionist. “Thanks, but I can find my way to the door,” she said, “since
it’s only twenty feet away. I’m quite resourceful that way. Toodle-ooo. See you
later.”

Devon didn’t reply. Or walk
her to the door. But she did stand there and stare after her, boring eyeholes
into her back. Savannah half-expected her sweater to burst into flames
somewhere between her shoulder blades.

Savannah willed Dirk not to
call out to her, to inquire about her untimely exit. And he didn’t. They had
worked together long enough to know that they should save potentially
embarrassing questions for behind closed doors.

Once outside, she returned
to her car and waited for him to join her.

It didn’t take him long.
Five minutes later, he rounded the side of the building and walked across the
lot to her Mustang. She rolled down the window. “Let’s go somewhere else to
talk.”

He nodded. “The pier?”

“Sounds good. Follow me
over.”

“Nope.
You
follow
me
.”

“Eh, bite me.”

She knew he would break at
least five major traffic rules to beat her to the pier. Dirk was just... such a
guy. He couldn’t help himself.

Savannah had worked on him
for years, trying to smooth out the rough spots. And she had succeeded in a few
instances. He no longer propped his feet on her coffee table without first
removing his sneakers, and he remembered to lower the toilet seat at her house
at least fifty percent of the time. That was about as civilized as Dirk Coulter
was ever likely to get.

But Savannah loved him
anyway. When she wasn’t plotting creative ways to murder him and dispose of the
body, she appreciated the fact that his bravado, bordering on aggression,
masked a heart that was remarkably soft toward the half a dozen people Dirk
loved in the world.

He was as loyal as they
came.

She and Dirk had known each
other since way back when. “Back when,” for her, meant “fifteen years and
thirty pounds ago.” For him, it meant a bit more hair and less around his
middle.

But one of Dirk’s sweetest
qualities, the one that endeared him most to Savannah, was the fact that he
hadn’t really noticed those years or pounds. She was pretty sure that, at least
in his eyes, she was still that feisty, sexy young cop who had been assigned to
work with him... and had agreed to, although everyone else in the department
had refused.

Dirk had always been
difficult, rebellious, a pain in the neck... the proverbial loose cannon that
everyone wanted to throw overboard. Other men on the force couldn’t stand him.
The females had the hots for him, responding to that tough-guy-with-street-smarts
appeal, not to mention more than his share of brawn. But none had lasted longer
than a couple of days in the field with him... until Savannah.