A Cutthroat Business

by Bente Gallagher

  “Savannah.” He made something halfway between

  a cordial nod and a gentlemanly half bow. We stood in silence for a few seconds. Mother broke it.

  “You look very handsome, Todd.”

  She smiled. I suppressed an eye roll. This was really a little too obvious, even for my mother.

  Not that she wasn’t correct. Todd did look handsome. At almost thirty he was still lean and had all his hair, and his tall frame was set off to perfection in a gray suit with a blue-gray tie that matched his eyes perfectly. Plus, he’s been brought up to be a Southern gentleman, so he knows how to behave. He bowed over my mother’s hand and told her how beautiful she looked. Which she did. The spa had tinted her hair a lovely champagne color, and she was relaxed and radiant. I hope I look as good on my fifty-eighth birthday.

  “And you, Savannah . . .” Todd turned to me, “you don’t look a day older than you did in high school.”

  He leaned in and pecked me on the cheek. I simpered. “Thank you, Todd. That’s so sweet.” Untrue, but sweet.

  Mother beamed. “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted.” She patted Todd’s arm and shot me a look that said, as clearly as words, Don’t you screw up this time, Savannah! I grimaced.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Todd said when she was out of range. I turned to him.

  “You too. How long has it been? Three years?”

  “Four. Your wedding, remember.”

  “Oh. Yes.” How could I have forgotten? Bradley and I had gotten married in Sweetwater, in the same church where I had been christened twenty-three years earlier, and mother had invited everyone I had ever known, including my old boyfriend, to the ceremony. Todd had moved to Atlanta shortly thereafter, and he had gotten married himself just a few months later. I hadn’t been invited to his wedding, and had never even seen a picture of his wife.

  “I was sorry to hear about your divorce,” he added politely. He even sounded sorry, which was nice of him. “Thank you,” I said. “Likewise.”

  He shrugged. It didn’t seem as if he was too heartbroken. Maybe mother was right. Maybe he had married her because he couldn’t have me. “Since we’re both in Sweetwater again, how about having dinner with me one night? Tomorrow maybe?”

  No, if he was still agonizing over his failed marriage, it wasn’t apparent.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, “but I’m only in Sweetwater for the day. I have to go back to Nashville tomorrow.”

  “Couldn’t you stay one more night?” He looked deeply into my eyes. I hesitated for a moment—I admit it—but in the end duty won out.

  “I can’t. I have somewhere to be at two o’clock.”

  “A date?” He smiled, but his eyes stayed sharp. This was getting awfully serious awfully fast.

  “A funeral. A colleague of mine was murdered this weekend, and the memorial service is tomorrow.”

  That did it. He stopped making puppy-dog eyes at me as the professional DA kicked in. “I heard about that. Nasty business.” Indeed. “Her throat was cut?”

  I nodded. And I must have turned pale, because Todd looked at me more closely. “The news said one of her colleagues found her. That was you?”

  I nodded again. Yes, indeed. And the memory of it would probably stay with me until my dying day. Todd swore. “Why would you go and do something like that, Savannah?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I protested. “It wasn’t like I knew I would find a corpse when I drove out there!” And if I had known, believe me, I wouldn’t have gone.

  On the other side of the room, Sheriff Satterfield looked up from his conversation with mother and Audrey. I’m not sure if it was the mention of a corpse or our raised voices that had alerted him, but either way we had his attention now. Todd took a deep breath. “I apologize. It was just . . . I hate the idea of you having to face such unpleasantness.”

  “Thank you, Todd,” I said, touched. “That’s really sweet of you.”

  Todd took another breath, but before he could utter whatever it was he wanted to say, his father had turned up next to us. “What’re you two young’uns gettin’ so hetup about?” He looked from Todd to me and back again. Todd flushed and bit his lip. I smiled sweetly.

  “Hi, Sheriff Satterfield. I was just telling Todd that I have to get back to Nashville tomorrow, to go to a funeral.”

  “Heard about that,” Bob Satterfield nodded. He’s always been a man of few words. “Sounded bad.”

  I nodded. “I don’t know how you policemen do it, day in and day out. I haven’t slept through the night since Friday. Although I hear you had a nasty one yourself a few weeks back.”

  I crossed my fingers hopefully behind my back. If anyone knew the details of what had happened to Rafe’s mother, it was Sheriff Satterfield.

  He scratched his bushy, gray head. “LaDonna Collier, you mean? Over in the Bog?”

  I nodded. “Mother told me she died. Although she didn’t know much about it.”

  “Ain’t much to know,” Satterfield grunted. “Bog’s mostly empty these days. Bulldozers’re due any day. LaDonna was supposed to be gettin’ out, too. Guy from the construction company went over there to make sure the place was empty, noticed the stench, and called us. She’d been dead for a week or more. No way to tell what happened.”

  “No sign of foul play?” I asked, with a smile. Sheriff Satterfield shrugged.

  “The way she kept house, who could tell? Looked like a bomb hit the place. Cause of death was an overdose, but there’s no way to know if she did it herself, or if someone else was there with her. Nobody’s come forward.”

  “What about her son?”

  “Rafe? He don’t live here no more.”

  “But you spoke to him, right?”

  Bob Satterfield nodded. “He’s next of kin. Had to arrange the funeral. Had her buried up there on Oak Street, next her daddy. Arranged it all by phone from Memphis.”

  I wrinkled my forehead, then straightened it out quickly, before mother could turn around and disapprove. “Why Memphis?”

  “Seems to be where he spends his time these days.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “I assumed he lived around here. Or in Nashville.”

  “Why’d you assume somethin’ like that, darlin’?” The sheriff peered at me from under bushy brows. I grimaced, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. It was too late now, however.

  “Because I saw him in Nashville on Saturday. And down here today.”

  “Down here?” The two of them exchanged looks. I nodded.

  “He was out at the Bog this morning. Cleaning out his mother’s house, I assume. It looked like he was working at something, anyway. He was all dirty and sweaty.”

  Nobody said anything for a moment. “I don’t know what worries me more, darlin’,” Sheriff Satterfield remarked, “that you went to the Bog by yourself, or that you went to see Rafe Collier.” Todd nodded emphatically.

  “Oh,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t go to see Rafe. I thought he was in Nashville. He scared the bejeezus out of me when he turned up.”

  “So what were you doin’ there, then, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

  I blushed. “I wanted to find out about LaDonna. And I didn’t want to ask Dix or Jonathan, because I didn’t want my mother to find out. She’d probably ground me.”

  Bob Satterfield smiled. “Helluva woman, your mother.”

  I shrugged, pouting. Easy for him to say; he wasn’t the one who’d get the sharp end of her tongue if she thought I was sniffing around Rafe Collier.

  “Why did you want to find out about LaDonna?” Todd wanted to know. I hesitated. On the one hand, I had no real reason to think Rafe had done anything to his mother any more than I had reason to think he had done anything to Brenda Puckett. Not to mention that I suspected that he could make my life plenty difficult if I caused trouble for him. But, on the other hand, it was quite a coincidence that he should be involved, however peripherally, with two possible homicides in the span of a co
uple of weeks.

  In the end I said blandly, “Rafe was with me when I found Brenda Puckett on Saturday morning. If we hadn’t turned up, it could have been a week before anyone found her, too.”

  The Satterfields exchanged a look. “That’s right interesting,” mused Bob, “innit?”

  “Is it?”

  “How corpses keep followin’ that boy around.”

  Rafe was hardly a boy anymore, but I refrained from saying so. Something must have shown on my face, though, because Todd glanced at me, then back at his dad.

  “Maybe you’d better call for some backup if you’re going out there to talk to him. Or better yet, I can come with you.”

  “Don’t mind if you do,” Bob said. Todd turned to me. He didn’t exactly click his heels together and bow over my hand, but the implication was there.

  “Sorry to have to leave so soon, Savannah. It was nice seeing you again.”

  “Likewise,” I answered politely. “Any time you’re in Nashville, give me a call, and we’ll have that dinner.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” He nodded and followed his father toward the door. Bob paused beside my mother just long enough to say goodbye, then moved on. Todd smiled apologetically and did the same. Mother turned and sent me a look that could have pinned my ears to the wall. I delivered him right into your hands, the look said. What did you do to make him leave? I tried to telegraph that I hadn’t done anything at all, but I couldn’t even make myself believe it.

  The party wound down around midnight, since the next day was a workday. Mother hires outside help to handle things like clean-up and housework, so we all just left the mess and went to bed. The next morning, after a leisurely bath and breakfast, and a dress-down by mother (the details of which I will spare you), I got in the Volvo and headed back to Nashville.

  Brenda’s memorial service was scheduled for two o’clock, so all I had time to do was drive home, put my fancy party dress away in the closet, throw the rest of my clothes into the hamper, and change into mourning attire. Walker had made it very clear that he expected us to be on time, dressed appropriately, and I wasn’t about to let him down.

  Plus, I love black. It makes me look ten pounds thinner and goes great with my pale skin and blonde hair. And it’s so easy to accessorize. Everything goes well with black. All I had to do was pull my favorite little black dress over my head, hook a pair of pearl earrings through my lobes, step into black sling-backs, and I was ready to go. Not even mother would have found fault with my appearance.

  The viewing was going to take place at the PhillipsRobinson Funeral Home in Inglewood, which is only a few minutes from my apartment, and I got there with time to spare. I parked the car in the adjacent lot and headed for the entrance to the big white building, ignoring the humming of the TV cameras a discreet distance away. I should have realized that Brenda’s funeral would be attended by the media. Someone tried to get me to talk— maybe they suspected I was the same blonde who had discovered the body—but I kept my head down and kept walking. Timothy Briggs, arriving behind me, was not so restrained. He showed all his teeth in a blinding smile and agreed to speak on camera without batting an eye. “Sure. Always happy to help.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, “yourself.” And the worst thing

  was, Tim would probably get lots of business because of it. After his boyish face and sappy sentimentality had hit the airwaves, people all over Nashville would remember him when it came time to sell their houses. If I hadn’t been so well brought-up, I might have reconsidered and said a few words myself.

  “. . . a great loss to the profession,” Tim was saying, with a straight face, “and my very special friend. I’ll miss her.” He smiledbravely and wiped away an imaginary tear. The cameras zoomed in. I grimaced.

  Misters Phillips and Robinson had opened every room in the place for Brenda’s viewing, and every nook and cranny was filled with mourners. Or people who had come to make sure she was really dead, more likely. Nobody seemed too broken up, not even Brenda’s own family. Steven was somberly dressed in a brown suit that did nothing for his rather horsey face. Their daughter Alexandra, who was sixteen, wore a slinky black dress that would have been better suited for a cocktail party and someone at least ten years older, while Austin, the son, hadn’t even been made to put on a tie, but wore a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, hanging over his baggy, black pants all the way to mid-thigh. He kept his hands in his pockets, gazing furtively at the world through shaggy bangs, like a shy woodland creature peering through the brush, while Alexandra’s long hair was swept up in a complicated do that also would have looked more at home after dark and on someone considerably more sophisticated. Neither of them looked particularly griefstricken. Alexandra looked bored, Austin looked fidgety, and Steven looked around. While I stood there in the door and watched, he caught the eye of a plump and pretty fortyish blonde in a blue dress, who walked over and put her hand on his arm. He looked down at her and smiled, and if he was grieving for Brenda, it wasn’t evident at that moment.

  “For shame,” Timothy Briggs’s saccharine voice murmured in my ear, maliciously. “Poor Brenda’s hardly even cold yet, and just look at her husband.”

  I did. There was an intimacy in the way Steven and the blonde were looking at each other that hadn’t sprung up in the past four days. Alexandra and Austin seemed awfully comfortable with her, too. “Who is she?” I asked.

  I was hoping he’d say that the woman was Brenda’s sister or something, but, of course, he didn’t. “Neighborlady. Lost her husband last year. Set her cap for Steven shortly afterwards.”

  “How long have they . . . um . . .” I flapped my hand. Tim grinned. “Oh, months!”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know? Is it true?

  And if it is, did Brenda know?”

  He giggled. “Sure she did. How do you think I know? She’s been going on about it forever. You know what she was like. Hated to lose, hated to share. She threatened to take the kids and sue him for everything he had if he didn’t break it off.”

  “But obviously he didn’t,” I said, looking across the

  room at Steven and his ladylove. Tim lifted his slim shoulders in an elegant shrug.

  “Who knows? He could have, then. But now it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  He winked at me and sauntered into the room. A moment later he was swallowed by the well-dressed crowd. I stayed where I was, pondering what he had just revealed.

  Brenda had been—not to put too fine a point on it—a shrew. She had busted her butt for years to get to where she was, and although she had succeeded beyond most people’s wildest dreams, it didn’t surprise me that her family had paid the price. Nor was it surprising that Steven had sought solace elsewhere. Brenda had been approximately as cuddly as a barracuda, and if I’d been married to her, I’d have had an affair, too. However, if she truly had kicked up a huge fuss—which I could totally see her do—Steven had had an excellent reason for wanting to get rid of her. She had probably headed to Potsdam Street straight from home on Saturday morning. What was to have kept him from solicitously offering to drive her there and then, when they arrived, slitting her throat?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” a voice next to me said. I turned and looked into the angular face of Detective Tamara Grimaldi. She was dressed for the occasion in a severe black business suit whose jacket probably covered the butt of the gun she probably carried.

  “I thought it was only on TV that murderers attended their victims’ funerals,” I answered, obliquely. Her mouth quirked.

  “It’s not unheard of. Most murders are committed by people close to the victim. But more to the point, I always attend my victims’ funerals. You never know who you might see.” She looked around the room and added, “Big crowd.”

  I nodded. “Anyone who’s anyone in real estate is here. That black guy over there is the head of the Real Estate Commission. The two women he’s talking with are board members. The guy with the beard is the president of
the local Real Estate Association. The extremely goodlooking man in the gray suit is my boss, Walker Lamont. Brenda’s boss, too. And that’s Clarice Webb he’s talking to. They look upset, don’t they? I hope nothing’s wrong. Nothing more, I mean.”

  “I see her husband’s found a friend.” Detective

  Grimaldi’s voice was carefully neutral.

  “A neighbor,” I said, “from what I understand.” “Looks friendly.”

  It did. They were smiling and chatting as if nothing was wrong and his wife wasn’t laid out a few feet away.

  I had avoided looking at Brenda so far, not being a fan of corpses in general and this one in particular. And Steven had, God knows why, arranged for an open casket. Although I admit it could have been worse. Brenda was dressed in her favorite black, with her plump hands folded across her plump stomach, and a diamond the size of a lima bean on her finger. The undertaker had had the good sense to insist on a high-necked blouse, and nothing below the second chin was visible. I breathed a sigh of relief, although I hadn’t really expected anything else. A gaping throat wound isn’t something a loving—or even cheating—husband would want to expose to the world. “Isn’t that Mr. Collier?” Detective Grimaldi asked. I came out of my reverie at the sound of her voice. “Where?”

  “Far wall, half-hidden behind the woman in the burgundy dress.”

  I stretched my neck as far as itwould go. “That’s Heidi Hoppenfeldt, Brenda’s assistant. I guess her mother never told her she shouldn’t wear red to a funeral. And yes, I believe that’s Rafe Collier she’s rubbing herself against.”

  Heidi is my age and unattached, and what we, in our younger days, used to call boy-crazy.

  “I think I’ll go have a chat with him. Unless you’d like to rescue him yourself?” Detective Grimaldi arched her brows questioningly.

  I shook my head. “I doubt he needs rescuing. But if you want to try, be my guest.”

  “In that case I’ll see you later.” Detective Grimaldi gave me a cordial nod and wandered off. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she deftly detached Rafe from Heidi’s breathless attentions and walked off with him. Heidi pouted.