Corpse Suzette

are all plumped up like
she’s been bee-stung. It’s gross, I tell you. If she’d had one more face-lift,
I swear she’d have a beard.”
    Savannah groaned. “That’s
an old one.”
    “But applicable in her
case. She asked for my number. Can you believe it? She was commenting on the
fact that I’m not wearing a wedding ring and wanted my home phone number.”
    “Did you give it to her?”
    “Hell no. I gave her Ryan
and John’s.”
    “You’re a bad boy.”
    He snickered. “I know.”
    “Did you get a read on her
about Suzette?”
    “Just that she doesn’t like
her. Has worked for her and ol’ Sergio forever, but doesn’t have an ounce of
respect for either one of them.”
    Savannah shrugged. “Well, I
can understand that where Sergio’s concerned. He seemed more than a bit smarmy
to me.”
    “And Suzette lived like a
pig.”
    “She was a bit
sanitation-challenged, yes...
    “And who was that pretty
boy you were talking to over there by the butterfly cage?”
    “The gentleman by the
atrium was Jeremy Lawrence, Emerge’s style consultant.”
    His eyebrows raised a
notch. “Lawrence?”
    “Yeap. How much do you want
to bet he was Suzette’s luncheon date that didn’t show at Toscano’s?”
    “Gotta be. I’ll be talking
to him next. And the gal with the weird hair and the sprayed-on jeans?”
    “Devon Wright. She handles
public relations for Emerge. We don’t like her much either.”
    “Oh, why not?”
    “Because she doesn’t
like me. Didn’t believe me when I told her I’m a reporter with San
Carmelita Today magazine.”
    “That newspaper thing that
comes out on Sunday?”
    “That’s the one. And just
because I didn’t have a press pass or a business card, she didn’t buy my story.”
    “You’re slippin’, gal. Once
upon a time, you’d have had a business card for at least six businesses at a
given time in your wallet.”
    “I know. Tammy hasn’t
printed any for me lately. It’s her fault.
    Anyway, I—”
    Her cell phone began
playing an obnoxious tune from her purse. She made a face as she reached inside
and pulled it out. “Damn it, Dirk,” she said, “I told you to stop messing with
my phone. ‘La Cucaracha' just ain’t my song.”
    “You started it, setting
mine to play ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’ Embarrassed me to death in the middle of
a meeting with the chief.”
    “Shhh,” she said as she
pressed the Talk button. “Hello?” She gave Dirk a quick, knowing glance. “Uh,
yes, Sergio. It was nice meeting you earlier, too. How can I help you?”
    “What does he want?”
Dirk whispered. She reached out and put her free hand over his mouth.
    “Yes, I’m alone. We can
talk freely. What is it?”
    She listened for a long
time, then said, “Of course I’m very discreet about my investigations. No,
Detective Coulter wouldn’t need to know anything at all. Yes, I’d be
interested. Good. I’d be delighted. See you at noon.”
    She clicked the phone off
and sat there grinning at Dirk for as long as she could hold the secret. Then
she spilled it. “Sergio D’Alessandro wants me to investigate Suzette’s
disappearance privately for him.”
    “And not tell me anything
about it.”
    “That’s right.”
    They both grinned... big,
evil, face-splitting grins.
    Then Savannah sang, “In the
mornin’, in the evenin’...”
    And he replied with, “…ain’t
we got fun!”

Chapter

5
     
     
     
    S avannah made a practice of
arriving at appointments early. Funny how much you could learn sometimes just
by being someplace a few minutes before someone expected you.
    And by arriving at the San
Carmelita Marina fifteen minutes early, she learned something about Sergio
D’Alessandro and Devon Wright. As Granny Reid would put it, they were “carrying
on.”
    From her vantage point on a
second-story balcony of Café Carolina, she could see the front of the harbor condominiums
where Sergio lived—according to Tammy, who had done a quick computer check for
her. The restaurant where he had suggested they meet was only a stone’s throw
away. So she had a clear view when he left his condo, walked Devon to a black
Corvette convertible in the parking lot, and passionately kissed her good-bye.
The farewell had included a quick, not particularly discreet butt feel, which
sealed Savannah’s opinion that they were, indeed, “carrying on.”
    She mentally added that to
the list of things she was not supposed to tell Dirk, but undoubtedly would.
    As Devon drove off