Corpse Suzette

resembled
the kitchen in that it was beautifully decorated with high-end mission style
furniture but was cluttered with magazines, newspapers, clothing, and a
plethora of used wine glasses. Savannah noticed that nearly all of the glasses
were smudged with the same shade of bright red lipstick. Apparently, Suzette Du
Bois drank alone... and a lot.
    But there was more than
just the usual disorder caused by messy housekeeping... or a lack thereof.
Books had been pulled off shelves and the drawers of an entertainment center
were open, their contents on the floor. A desk against the far wall had been
rifled through, as well.
    Suzette Du Bois’s home had
been searched.
    And Savannah had seen
enough houses that had been burgled by professionals to know that whoever had
searched this house was an amateur. Somebody had been looking for something,
but wasn’t very good at finding it. She wondered whether they had.
    On the floor near the sofa
sat a miniature bed, and at first glance, Savannah thought it was for a doll.
With a red velvet tufted headboard and a coverlet of the same fabric, it looked
like something out of a tiny boudoir. But when she walked over to it, bent
down, and examined it more closely, she saw the name “Sammy” embroidered on the
bedspread.
    Something told her that
Sammy was a pet of some sort. And the fact that there was no hair on the velvet
ruled out a cat. Probably a poodle , she thought. Or some other type
of pooch that doesn't shed.
    “There’s some kind of mutt
living here,” Dirk called from the bedroom. “The damned thing’s got a whole
wardrobe of ridiculous junk to wear in here.”
    “And a bed for it in here,”
she yelled back.
    “Somebody tossed this
room,” Dirk hollered. “All the drawers are open.”
    “In here, too.”
    On the coffee table, amid
the heap of magazines and next to a nail file and bottle of polish lay a small
leather dog collar. It was bright pink, studded with purple rhinestones. How
gaudy, she thought, fingering the tiny collar. Cleopatra and Diamante wore
only black with clear rhinestones. In Savannah’s household, no
self-respecting pet would be caught dead in purple rhinestones.
Especially if his name was Sammy!
    Dirk walked into the living
room just as Savannah was picking UP a daily planner from a side table next to
an easy chair. She thumbed to the current date and found two entries. “AS
workup” under 9:15 A.M., and “Lunch—Toscano’s” under 1:30 P.M.
    “The barking rat’s not
here,” he said, “or it would already be nipping at our heels. I checked all the
other rooms. No sign of her or Fido.”
    “AS work-up,” Savannah
muttered. “I’ll bet that is for Abigail Simpson, Tammy’s cousin. Wonder if
Suzette made her luncheon date.”
    “What makes you think she
had a date for lunch?”
    “Toscano’s is one of the
most romantic restaurants in the county. No woman would go there alone.”
    “Maybe she was meeting
another chick.”
    “Maybe, but I doubt it.
‘Chick’ lunches, as you call them, usually go down at Kimberly’s Garden or Casa
del Sol.”
    “So, we gotta check
Toscano’s first thing when they open tomorrow,” he said.
    “Nothing in the bedroom?”
    “Nope, nothing but more
mess, like in here and the kitchen.”
    “Was her bed slept in?”
    He shrugged and looked
puzzled. “How can you tell?” Savannah thought of the tiny cubicle in Dirk’s
trailer that served as a bedroom and its perpetually mussed sheets and
blankets. “Never mind,” she said. “She probably doesn’t make hers daily
either.”
    “I never did understand the
logic behind that,” he replied. “I mean, you’re just going to get right back in
it again, so what’s the point?”
    “The same could be said for
doing dishes and changing your underwear. It’s what separates us civilized
folks from the heathens.”
    “Or us practical people
from the fusspots.”
    “Whatever.”
    “You always say that when
you’re losing an argument.”
    “Or when I’m tired of a
stupid one.” She glanced around the room once more. “What do you think?” she
asked him.
    “I still think you quit every
time I’m getting the best of you.”
    “I meant about Suzette Du
Bois.”
    “I think she’s dead.”
    Savannah nodded
thoughtfully. “Me, too. She leaves her car, her purse and keys, her cell phone.
Is her makeup in the bathroom?”
    “Yeap. You taught me to
always check that first when it’s a broad who’s gone. A woman goes off without
her