Free Corpse Suzette by G. A. McKevett Page B

seemed to have no
energy at all. Maybe he was getting burned out. He couldn’t pull all-nighters
anymore without paying a price.
    And if he refused free food
and beverages, he might be worse off than she had thought.
    “You okay?” she asked, her
voice soft with affectionate concern.
    “Who me? Yeah. Sure. Why?”
    “You look tired.”
    He shrugged and grunted.
“Hell, Van. I’ve been tired since 1990. What else is new?”
    She tried to remember.
“What happened in 1990?”
    “I don’t know. Just made
that up. Lemme talk to that Abigail chick so that I can go get a nap before I
go back to the drive-by scene.”
    “She’s out in the backyard
with Tammy. I’ll get her.”
    He started to hoist himself
off the sofa. “I’ll go out there.”
    “No you don’t. You stay
here.”
    “I’m not that tired.
You’re sweet, but you worry too much.”
    She sniffed. “I wasn’t
offering for your sake. I want you to question her in here, where it’s
easier for me to eavesdrop. In fact, move in to the kitchen table. I’ll pretend
to make chocolate chip cookies while you squeeze her.”
    “Pretend? Just pretend?”
    He looked interested. She
started to relax; Dirk wasn’t ready to go toes-up on her any time soon.
     
    “Do I need a lawyer here?
Is this a real interrogation or what?” Abigail wanted to know as she faced off
with Dirk over Savannah’s kitchen table.
    “Naw,” Dirk replied, “if it
was a real interrogation I’d have you handcuffed to your chair and I’d be
smacking you with a telephone book. This here is just a friendly chat.”
    For once, Tammy had decided
that she would help Savannah bake, even if it meant touching the toxic white
substances— sugar and refined flour. She stood next to Savannah, stirring the
sugars and shortening together in a mixing bowl.
    Savannah leaned over her
shoulder and whispered, “How’s it going there, Betty Crocker?”
    “Sh-h-h. I want to hear
this.”
    Savannah chuckled and went
back to measuring the dry ingredients.
    “So, what do you want to
know?” Abigail asked, her arms crossed over her chest, an ugly frown on her
face. “Whatever it is, I don’t know anything about it.”
    “I want to know how your
day went yesterday.”
    “Minute by minute?”
    Dirk returned the sullen
look. “For right now, I’ll settle for hour by hour.”
    Abigail sighed and rolled
her eyes. “Savannah got me up about seven-thirty and gave me breakfast. Then
Tammy took me to Emerge.”
    “Did you go inside with
her?” Dirk asked Tammy.
    “Yes, for a few minutes,”
Tammy replied.
    Dirk turned back to
Abigail. “And what happened when you got to Emerge?”
    “We went in and that trashy
blonde receptionist, Miranda or Maria or whatever her name is...”
    “Myrna,” Tammy supplied.
“And she was really sweet, even though she... well, you know.”
    “Looks like a tramp.” Dirk
nodded. “And Myrna did what?”
    “She greeted me;
congratulated me for winning the makeover.” Abigail made a face that looked
like she had just sucked on a wedge of lemon. “Then she led us down the hall to
a waiting room.”
    “Yeah, it was really neat,”
Tammy said. “They had these really cushy couches with fancy pillows and a
fireplace going—a fake one, but it looked homey and cozy—and they had fresh
fruit in bowls for us to eat and a pitcher of water with ice and slices of
fruit and—”
    Savannah shot her a “button
your lip” look, and Tammy went back to stirring. “Anyway, it was neat.”
    Dirk sighed. “Now that
we’ve established how ‘neat’ the waiting room was, can you tell me what
happened next?” he said to Abigail.
    “We waited for at least a
half an hour. I was getting pretty sick of it. You can only eat so much fruit
and drink so much water. Then a gal named Devon came in and introduced herself.
Said she was public relations, or something like that, and apologized for the
delay. She said that Dr. Du Bois was late, but was expected to arrive soon.
Then she