Corpse Suzette

for us, picking a lock now and then, and besides,
an ill-timed cell phone ring can spell trouble. I’ll never forget, I was
sneaking up behind a suspect one time, my phone started playing Beethoven’s
Fifth and…”
    He grinned down at her with
that breathtaking smile of his, looking fantastic in his evening wear, a
smartly cut black suit and white shirt with French cuffs. She grinned up at him.
“Oh, don’t worry, darlin’,” she said. “When I’m expecting a call from either of
you, I always set my phone on vibrate.”
    They laughed, and John
said, “Savannah, my love, if we ever decide to take a wife, it will be you. No
other woman on earth would do.”
    “You’re darned right,” she
said. “That’s just understood.” Ryan glanced around. “So, where are you in this
break and enter escapade of yours?”
    “B and E? I prefer to think
of it as a clandestine search for truth. And I’m finished, thank you very
much.”
    John beamed. “Ah, then our
timing was perfect. Let us take you to a late dinner.”
    She glanced down at her
simple slacks, casual sweater, and loafers. “I’m not dressed for it.”
    Ryan quickly slipped off
his jacket and tie and rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms. “You are
now,” he said.
    John did the same and
offered her his arm as though she were royalty and he her courtier.
    “Well, if you put it that
way,” she said. “How’s a girl to resist?”
     
    A couple of hours later,
Savannah arrived home, sated with fine French cuisine, a glass of even finer
French wine, and the company of witty, intelligent, not to mention sexy, men.
    She parked the Mustang in
the driveway, too tired to mess with putting it in the garage. “The occasional
night out won’t hurt you,” she told the car as she walked away from it and up
the walkway to her front porch.
    It was late, and Savannah
had assumed that her houseguest would be in bed. Tammy would have gone home by
now and Abigail, still on New York time, would have retired.
    But as Savannah was about
to put her key in the front door, she noticed a flickering of light in the
window. The television was on in the living room. And she could hear music, a
strange, exotic, Middle Eastern sort of melody coming from inside.
    She paused. Then, rather
than going directly into the house, she stepped softly over to the window and
peeked inside.
    What she saw astonished
her.
    Abigail was watching
something on the television. Savannah couldn’t see what from where she was
standing. But Abby wasn’t just watching. She was standing in the middle of the
living room floor, dancing, swaying to the music, lifting and moving her arms
in the most graceful, feminine motions.
    Her long hair was loosed
from its braid and flowed in gentle waves down her back nearly to her knees. As
she moved, her body tilting to one side then the other, hips rolling, her hair
nearly sweeping the floor when she dipped, she was the picture of womanly grace
and sensuality.
    Savannah watched,
transfixed. There wasn’t a trace of the sullen, homely, graceless woman who had
sat, sulking, at her kitchen table that afternoon. This lady was beautiful,
exuding an elegant sexuality all her own.
    When Savannah recovered
from her shock, she left the window, walked back to the door, and stood there,
wondering what to do next. She sensed that this was a side of Abigail that the
lonely woman never showed to the world. And sadly, as lovely as she looked,
Savannah was sure Abby wouldn’t want to be seen in what appeared to be a
private moment of self-expression.
    So, Savannah took as long
as she could and made as much noise as possible messing with the front lock and
opening the door. Then she waited in the foyer, making a production of putting
down her purse, removing her gun, and locking it in the coat closet safe before
finally strolling into the living room.
    When she did, she found
Abby, hair pulled back and twisted behind her, a DVD in her hand and an
awkward, irritated look on her face. The television had been turned off.
    “Oh, hi, Abby,” Savannah
said brightly. “I’m surprised you’re still up.”
    “I was just going to bed,”
she snapped, shoving the disk into the pocket of her skirt.
    Without another word, she
headed for the stairs.
    “Good-night,” Savannah
called after her. But all she received in return was the sound of Abigail’s
booted feet, heavy on the stairs, and then the bedroom door shutting firmly
behind her.
    Savannah shook her head