Corpse Suzette

that bun?”
    Savannah paused mid-slurp
to watch her assistant over the rim of her Mickey Mouse mug.
    Something was up.
    Tammy Hart had been
Savannah’s so-called sidekick for years, a delightful addition to her Moonlight
Magnolia Detective Agency, not to mention a close personal friend. Tammy was
always energetic, eager to please, and beaming with exuberance— often more exuberance
than the less feisty Savannah could stand.
    But the tall, slender,
athletic, and health-conscious blonde despised junk food of any kind. She
considered the “three deadly whites,” Sugar, Flour, and Salt, to be the
greatest evils upon the face of the earth—far ahead of Lust, Gluttony, Sloth,
Greed, or Envy.
    So why would she appear on
Savannah’s doorstep first thing in the morning with a piping hot pan of
cinnamon rolls? And why was she scurrying around like a chamber maid in a
queen’s court? A grumpy queen, who was likely to scream, “Off with her head!”
    “Tell me more about this
cousin of yours,” Savannah said, keeping her voice even, her face
expressionless.
    Tammy shot her a quick look
as she poured a dollop more cream into her cup. “Uh... Abigail? Mmmm... yes.
Abby’s well, she’s.... What did you want to know about her?”
    “What she’s like. If you
two were close growing up. And why you feel so guilty about dumping her off on
me.”
    Bingo. Tammy’s golden tan
turned two shades paler. She spilled some of the cream onto the floor beside
Savannah’s chair.
    Instantly Savannah’s two
black cats, a couple of mini-panthers named Cleopatra and Diamante, scrambled
off the windowsill and began to lap it up.
    “Guilty?” Tammy choked on
her own spit—always a bad sign. “I just hope the two of you will get along.
That’s all.”
    “Why wouldn’t we? You said
she’s a big girl, like me. She probably likes to eat and cook. We’ll swap
recipes.”
    “Well, actually, Abigail’s
bigger than you. Quite a bit bigger, in fact.”
    Savannah shrugged. “Good.
Then she’ll probably have better recipes.”
    Tammy set the creamer on
the end table and sat down on the sofa. “Abby’s really big. Really heavy. The
family is all worried about her health. That’s why I entered her in the
contest.”
    “The makeover thing that new
spa is offering?”
    “Yeah. The place is called
‘Emerge,’ and the woman who runs it is this famous Beverly Hills surgeon, Dr.
Suzette Du Bois.” The guilt briefly left Tammy’s face and her eyes sparkled
with enthusiasm. “She’s been running a spa for movie stars in the Hollywood
Hills—”
    “The Mystic Twilight
Club... yeah, I’ve heard of the place. But you have to have a bazillion bucks
to even get through the gates.’
    “That’s there, but this new
place, Emerge, is for the average person.”
    “The average person with
money to burn, you mean.”
    “Well, yes, I’m sure it’s
expensive, too. I mean, plastic surgery and personal trainers and fashion
consultants, they don’t come cheap, but what they can do there is amazing! The
idea is, you go in as a disgusting old caterpillar and emerge as a
beautiful butterfly!”
    “And you’re going to send
your cousin, Abigail, through this... process?”
    “Yes! I won it for her! Dr.
Du Bois had a contest; people wrote in to enter the people they love and to
recommend them for a metamorphosis. I had to write this long letter all about
Abigail and how she deserved to enter the program and find the true, beautiful
self she has hidden under all that... you know... inside.”
    Savannah took a sip of
coffee, then said quietly, “Don’t you consider Abigail beautiful, as she is?”
    “Well, yes, but... she
could be so much more... or less... or... You know.”
    Savannah stifled the urge
to take offense. As a woman who carried some extra pounds above what the weight
charts considered “ideal,” she was a bit sensitive to disparaging remarks aimed
at less-than-svelte folks. But she knew that Tammy, for all of her own
weight-consciousness, wasn’t really prejudiced against any group of people.
    Tammy meant well. She had a
good heart. And that was the only reason Savannah hadn’t shoved the carrot and
celery sticks that she was always offering up her left nostril.
    You don’t do serious damage
to nitwits who mean well. It was a motto Savannah lived by, most of the time.
    “How does Abigail feel
about you entering her into this contest?” Savannah asked.
    Tammy shrugged. “I haven’t
told her yet. I thought I’d wait