Corpse Suzette

afraid of getting her hopes too
high.
    “Or she might have sold her
some other house entirely—one that wasn’t even listed in the paper.”
    “True, true. So we should
prepare ourselves that this is probably just a dead end.”
    “A dead end. That’s all
it’s going to be,” Dirk replied as he paid the cabby and got out. He offered
Savannah his hand, and she slid out as well.
    But as they hurried up the
stone walkway, Savannah couldn’t help saying again, “But I’ve got a feeling.”
    “Me, too.”
    “You want me to go around
to the back of the house, in case she tries to run out that way?”
    Dirk thought about it for a
minute, then said, “Naw, let’s just knock on the door and see who answers. It’s
probably not her and even if it is, it’s an island. How far can she get?”
    “That’s what they said
about those guys who escaped from Alcatraz.”
    Dirk knocked on the door.
This time he used his nice, gentle, Avon-lady knock, not his usual heavy-duty
S.C.P.D. pounding.
    When no one answered, he
tried again.
    They heard a shuffling on
the other side of the door, and then the dead bolt turning.
    They both tensed.
    But it was a lovely young
Hispanic woman in a gray and white maid’s uniform who pulled it open. “Good
morning,” she said with a strong Spanish accent. “May I help you?”
    At her feet a small white
poodle scampered, barking, trying to stick his head out the door for a better
look at the visitors.
    He was wearing a
rhinestone-studded collar.
    Savannah gave Dirk a
sidewise smile and whispered, “Sammy.”
    He grinned back. Then to
the maid he said in his sweetest sugar-and-spice tone, “I have to talk to your
lady. Is she at home?”
    The woman nodded. “She is.
But she sick. Cannot have visitor.”
    “I’m sorry she’s sick,
“Savannah said. “But we must talk to her. Just for one minute. Please. It’s
very important. Por favor .”
    Dirk took his badge from
his pocket and showed it to her. The woman’s dark eyes widened. “What is your
lady’s name?” Dirk asked.
    “Her name? My lady’s name,
Norma.”
    “Norma?” Savannah looked at
Dirk. “As in Norma Jean Baker?”
    “St,” said the maid, “Norma
Baker.”
    “Okay, that does it,” Dirk
told Savannah. “We’re going in.” Then to the maid he said, “I’m sorry. We must
talk to your lady. Now. Okay?”
    She nodded, opened the
door, and stepped back to allow them to enter.
    The poodle scampered at
their feet, sniffing their shoes and pants legs.
    “ Gracias , Señora ,”
Savannah said, glancing down at the simple gold wedding band on the woman’s
finger.
    “No trouble, please,” the
maid said.
    Savannah smiled at her.
“No, Señora, no trouble. Not to worry.”
    Dirk pressed his finger to
his lips, then said softly. “Where is she? Your lady?”
    “Miss Baker lie down. She
very sick. She have operation.”
    “Operation?” Savannah gave
Dirk a quick sideways look.
    “Yes, operation. In
afternoon yesterday at clinic. I take care of her last night and today.”
    “I’m sure you’re doing a
very good job, too,” Savannah said. “Where is she? In the bedroom?”
    She nodded. “St. Sleeping.”
    “Not for long,” Dirk
muttered. “Can you show us where? Which room?”
    Reluctantly, she lead them
through the sun-drenched home, down marble-tiled hallways lit by skylights and
massive windows that made the most of the hilltop views. The dog followed
alongside, gleeful about having guests. Savannah stopped once to pat him on his
woolly head.
    “Nice, what four and a half
million dollars worth of stolen money can buy,” she whispered to Dirk, looking
around.
    “Oh yeah. It’s gonna be a
bit of a drop to a six-foot cell.”
    They found the master suite
at the end of one particularly long hallway. And inside, lying on a canopy bed,
her face swathed in bandages, was the lady of the house.
    The poodle jumped up onto
the bed beside her, nuzzling her hand, wanting to be petted.
    “I am very sorry, Miss
Baker,” the maid told her as they walked through the bedroom door. “But this
woman and this man, they say they must speak to you. I told them you are sick,
but the man... I think he is policía .”
    Even though the woman on
the bed had her head wrapped like a mummy’s in pressure bandages, there was no
mistaking the alarm in her eyes.
    “No,” she whispered through
the slit in the bandage that revealed her swollen, bruised lips. “No.”
    “Oh, yes,” Dirk said as he
walked over to the