Corpse Suzette

Captain Dirty Shirt’s nose.
One was Suzette’s driver’s license photo, and the other the Marilyn look-alike
pose.
    “Have you seen this woman
lately?” she asked him. “Maybe given her a ride to or from the island? She may
have had a white poodle with her and—”
    “Named Sammy.”
    “What?” She nearly
swallowed her gum. “Yes! Named Sammy! You saw them when?”
    “I’ve taken her to the
island a few times lately. Yesterday morning, bright and early, in fact. Can’t
forget a gal like that. She looks like a movie star with that blond hair.”
    “Like Marilyn Monroe?”
    “Who?”
    Savannah sighed. “Never
mind.”
    “I don’t know who that is,
but she was sorta like Madonna, only older. She was wearing those big
sunglasses like gals used to wear.”
    “Okay. Can you tell me
anything else about her?”
    “She said she’s moving to
the island, had some boxes and stuff that we had to help her with. She gave my
guys a good tip.”
    “Hmm. She can afford to.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. This was
yesterday, you say, when you took her over?”
    “Yeah. Yesterday morning on
our first run.”
    “And when does the last
boat... er... catamaran leave the island to bring passengers back here?”
    “This time of year,
twenty-three hundred hours. That’s eleven o’clock at night,” he explained with
a condescending tone that made her want to slap him stupid.
    “So late?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Some people
complain that we don’t have even later ones. They like to stay, drink, gamble
until all hours. As long as they get back home in time to drag themselves to
work the next morning, they’re happy.”
    “Hey, whatever spins your
bottle.” She glanced over at Dirk and saw that he was watching her. She waved
him over. “And did this lady say anything else to you?”
    “Like what?”
    “Anything at all. Did she
talk about her new place, where it is...?”
    “Said it has a great view
of the water.”
    Savannah wasn’t terribly
impressed with that gem of knowledge. On a small, narrow island, who didn’t have a water view?
    “When you docked and your
guys helped her with the boxes,” she said, “how did she leave with them? Did
she load them into a taxi, or...?”
    “No, somebody was waiting
for her in a car.”
    “Can you describe the
person, the car?”
    “Another lady. I don’t
remember what she looked like. Nothing special. She was driving a big black
BMW. We loaded the boxes into the trunk for her.”
    “How many boxes were
there?”
    “Four or five.”
    “What size?”
    “Big, medium, little. All
shapes and sizes. Listen, I gotta get going. I’ve got a schedule to keep here.
Are you coming with us to the island or not? Because, if you are, you gotta buy
a ticket.” Savannah could see Dirk hurrying across the deck toward them, a big
grin on his face, still chipper from his long night of alcohol-induced coma.
“Oh, I’m with you, Captain, and that dude there is footin’ the bill.”
     
    “I can’t believe this has
been here all the time, and I never even knew about it,” Savannah said as she
stepped off the dock and looked around at the island paradise that surrounded
them. Lush greenery covered the hills that sloped gracefully to the sea, in
sharp contrast to the dry, brown hills they had left on the mainland. The air
had a sweet, clean smell with none of the eau de Los Angeles that gagged
San Carmelitans when the Santa Ana winds blew the city’s pollution their way.
    Instead of the standard
Spanish style of architecture that prevailed in her neighborhood, this place
had more of a Polynesian feel about it. The shops that lined the waterfront
were little more than rustic huts, primitive but charming structures with palm
frond-covered roofs and bamboo walls and supports that blended nicely with the
natural scenery.
    The waterfront to their
right was a luxury marina, filled with all sorts and sizes of pleasure craft.
To their left was a pristine beach with fewer sunbathers than Savannah was
accustomed to seeing, even in the cooler months, on the California shore.
    And far to their left, on
the southern end of the island, stood the lighthouse. Sparkling white in the
sunlight, lovely in its simplicity, it was the crowning touch to complete the
island’s exotic beauty.
    Yes, Santa Tesla Island was
an unspoiled, uncrowded haven, and it fed Savannah’s soul just to stand on its
soil. She vowed, then and there, that she would find an excuse to come back
here, again and