Corpse Suzette

caught up in an unexpected, magical environs. Sunshine flooded the
lobby, streaming golden from enormous skylights overhead. The walls were the
same rose-colored granite as the building’s exterior on either side, but
straight ahead was a long wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. On the other side of
the glass was an atrium, a sunlit fantasy garden of tropical greenery with a
misty waterfall, moss-covered rocks... and butterflies. Hundreds of
breathtakingly beautiful butterflies flitted from plant to plant, from rock to
rock, their iridescent wings glimmering with jewel-rich shades of gold,
sapphire, emerald, and amethyst.
    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