Corpse Suzette

face, that’s a bad sign.”
    “The worst. But what about
Sammy?”
    “Sammy?”
    “The dog.”
    “How do you know its name?”
    Savannah pointed to the
bed.
    “Oh,” he said. “Well,
there’s a nice little sweater with four arm—or leg—holes in it, layin’ on the
bedroom floor, and it’s a chilly night out.”
    “And his rhinestone collar
is there on the coffee table.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“I agree. I’ve got a sinking feeling that Dr. Suzette Du Bois is a goner. And
things don’t bode so well for Sammy Du Bois either.”

Chapter

4
     
     
     
    S avannah stood in front of
her stove, spatula in hand, watching the breakfast eggs fry in the skillet, the
grits bubble on the back burner, and Abigail stew at the kitchen table.
    “I can’t believe they’d
cancel the press conference this morning,” she was complaining to Tammy, who
sat across from her, her elbows propped on the table, her head in her hands.
“Why? Why would they do that!”
    “Because Dr. Du Bois has
gone missing,” Tammy said for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. “Dr.
Du Bois owns Emerge. She is Emerge. They can’t have a press conference
to announce the opening of Emerge without her there! I’m sorry you’re so
disappointed, Abby, but...”
    Savannah left her position
at the stove and walked over to the table with a basket of hot biscuits and a
jar of Granny Reid’s peach preserves. She set them in front of Abigail, hoping
that the sight of fat-filled, carbohydrate-rich foods would improve her mood.
Hey, it always worked for her.
    “Yes, Abigail,” she said as
she shoved the butter plate in Abby’s direction, “why are you so
disappointed? Frankly, I’m a little surprised. In the beginning you were so
opposed to the whole idea and now you’re plumb beside yourself that
everything’s been put on hold. What’s that about?”
    Abigail fixed her with a
baleful eye, then reached for the biscuit basket. “I didn’t like the idea at
first, but I had decided to go ahead with it. At least until. .
    Savannah searched her face,
but Abigail would have made an excellent poker player. Other than general anger
and habitual annoyance, nothing more registered on her features.
    “Until what?” Savannah
prompted. “You were going to go ahead with it until what?”
    Abigail shrugged. “I don’t
know. I just figured when the time was right, I’d…”
    “What?” Tammy said,
dropping her hands from her face. She looked as suspicious as Savannah felt.
“What were you up to, Abby? I want to know, too. I think I have a right to
know, since I’m the one who—”
    “Who got me into this mess
in the first place?” Abigail dropped two of the biscuits onto her plate and
started to slather on the butter. “I know. I owe you one, too, cousin.”
    Savannah didn’t like
Abigail’s tone. It wasn’t the sort of “I owe you a nice lunch some time” tone
she would have preferred. It was more like an “I’m gonna get you, sucker, in a
dark alley some night” tone.
    And the “too” stuck in her
craw even more.
    She walked back to the
stove, and, while she tended the eggs, she glanced at the woman sitting at her
kitchen table and wondered what was behind that angry face. A world of hurt.
She was sure of that.
    And Savannah understood
that pain all too well. Living as an unsvelte woman in a svelte-worshipping society...
hurt was inevitable. Deep, soul-scarring hurt.
    On most days, Savannah
could fend off the barbs and arrows with her own inherent self-confidence. Who
cared if your butt was big if you had great boobs and helped take a bad guy off
the streets so that he couldn’t hurt anybody else for a while? She’d be damned
if she’d hate herself and her own flesh just because somebody else thought
there was a bit too much of it.
    But Savannah knew that not
everyone was as satisfied with their life as she was, and not everyone had
benefited from having a grandmother who had raised them with such daily
helpings of wisdom as: “Don’t fret about such nonsense as a number on a scale,
Savannah Girl. People measure everything by numbers in this world—mostly so’s
they can feel they’ve got a leg up on everybody else—and most of what they’re
measurin’ ain’t worth squat in the overall scheme o’ things.”
    Savannah strongly suspected
that Abigail Simpson hadn’t been raised to believe that she was far more than
just a number on a scale. Sadly, there weren’t enough Granny