Corpse Suzette

believe that for a moment.
    “I have two more things to
ask you, Clare,” she said. “And please don’t take offense. Investigators have
to ask these types of questions.”
    Clare looked wary, but she
said, “Okay. What is it?”
    “You’ve mentioned about
half a dozen reasons just now why you would hate Sergio D’Alessandro. And I
wouldn’t blame you one bit if you did... but did you kill the guy yourself?”
    “No. But I’d like to thank
the person who did when you find them.”
    “Okay. And the second thing
is, do you believe your sister might have staged her own disappearance and
murdered him herself?”
    Clare said nothing for a
long, long time as she stared down at the picture in her hand. Then she raised
her eyes to Savannah’s and said with calm conviction, “She may have. If she had
decided to take him back, to try to trust him one more time, and then she found
him with another woman, she might have killed him. Suzette’s a proud woman. She
doesn’t take betrayal lightly. Look at what she did to me, and she only
suspected that I had betrayed her. I’d like to think she’d be even harder on
him.”
    Later, after Savannah had
done what she had come for, she left the house hoping that Clare was right.
    She liked Clare and hoped
that her sister truly was somewhere, sunning herself after murdering a guy who,
as some Southerners might phrase it, “needed killin’.”
    Of course, she still
intended to find Suzette Du Bois, and if that was indeed the case, bring her to
justice. You couldn’t just go around murdering everybody who needed killin’
just because you had a mind to.
    But for Clare Du Bois’s
sake, she sincerely hoped her sister was still in the land of the living.
    And maybe she was.
    Savannah had searched high
and low, and there hadn’t been a trace of a black teddy bear named “Baby”
anywhere in that house, plaid vest or otherwise.

Chapter

18
     
     
     
    B y the time Savannah had
finished at Suzette Du Bois’s house and returned home, it was late in the
evening. She wasn’t expecting to see Tammy’s car in the driveway when she
pulled up. Tammy was an early to bed, early to rise sort of girl. She had to
be. Being Miss Perky took a lot of energy and recuperation time.
    But Savannah was a little
surprised to see Dirk’s Buick there. Surprised, but pleased.
    She had figured he would
sober up after a couple of hours and be on his way. But she was happy he
hadn’t. He could use all the TLC his stubborn, male pride would allow him to
absorb.
    Of course, that meant that
sleeping arrangements might be a bit strained. With him in her bed and Abigail
occupying the guest room, it had suddenly become a little crowded at Savannah’s
Bed-and-Breakfast Hostelry.
    When she walked through the
front door, she heard a stirring in the living room and found Abigail stretched
out on her sofa, a cat under each arm, a pillow under her head, a blanket
pulled up to her waist.
    “Hi,” Savannah said. “How
nice of you to wait up for me.”
    “No problem,” she said,
scratching under Diamante’s chin. “Tammy was tired and wanted to go home, but
she asked me to stay up and keep checking Dirk until you got back.”
    “Thanks a lot. How is he?”
    “Same as when you left. He
hasn’t moved an inch. Just lying there like a rock.”
    “Good. That’s what he
needs. How’s his fever?”
    “Tammy checked him before
she left, about forty-five minutes ago, and it was still down.”
    “That’s great. Boy, John’s
toddies must really be potent! I’ll have to ask him to make one of those for me
sometime, whether I’m sick or not.”
    “It did look and smell
really good, with the oranges and spices.” Savannah sank into her easy chair
and kicked off her loafers. “What are you doing there on the sofa? You should
be in bed, too, by now.”
    “I am. This is my bed for
tonight. I took the sheets off, washed them, and put them back on, so they’re
nice and fresh for you and—”
    “No. You’re my guest. You
go sleep in the guest room like you’re supposed to.”
    “And let you sleep on the
sofa? No way. Unless, of course, you’re sleeping with Dirk.”
    “Banish the thought.”
    Abby snickered. “That’s
what I figured. So, here I am, and you’re in the guest room and that’s the end
of that conversation.” Savannah nodded in acquiescence. “As you say,
Lady Abigail.” She noticed that instead of a man’s sweatshirt and
sweatpants—Abigail’s former sleep attire—she was