Authors: G. A. McKevett

Buried In Buttercream (5 page)

BOOK: Buried In Buttercream

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John rolled his eyes and gouged Dirk in the ribs with his elbow. “Anyway, if you could just speak to her, Savannah. She's willing to meet with you and discuss it, and you can make up your mind then.”

She thought it over.

She hated the idea, but when she looked into her friends' faces, so hopeful, so eager to please, so determined to helpâwhether she wanted them to or notâwhat could she do?

“All right,” she said. “I'll talk to her. That's all. No promises.”

Ryan and John were all smiles. Even Dirk had a big grin.

“And
you
,” she told him, “you stay away from Patty, or I swear, I'll slap you neked and hide your clothes ... especially those damned jeans that she ... and I ... are so fond of!”

Chapter 4

I
hate her.

The simple sentence kept running through Savannah's brain as she sat in the stuffy little tearoom of Madeline Aberson's choosing and nibbled a dry, tasteless, pastry thingamajig that Madeline called a Belgian roulade.

At only fifteen dollars each, they were a real steal, and it was Madeline's sincere opinion that Savannah should serve them at her reception.

Oh, yes,
Savannah thought.
Macon can put away at least a dozen of these. Twelve times fifteen. For a mere one hundred and eighty dollars, we can fill one Reid sweet tooth. Woo-hoo! What a bargain!

“And what will you be wearing?” Madeline was asking her. “A tasteful silk suit, perhaps, orâ”

“Some sort of white wedding gown,” Savannah said. “Not as nice as the one that burned, obviously, but as close as I can come.”

From what Savannah could tell, considering that Madeline was wearing extremely oversized designer sunglasses, the wedding planner looked appalled. “Really? White?” She glanced quickly up and down Savannah's figure, which was without a doubt considerably more ... ample ... than her own teeny-tiny bod. “White isn't exactly ... slenderizing. And a lot of women who are ... you know ... closer to our age, opt for something simpler, more chic, and leave the traditional gowns to the young girls.”

Savannah flashed back to a day, two months ago, when she had mentioned to Dirk that she was considering buying a sapphire silk dress for the wedding. His face had fallen, but he had quickly covered his disappointment with a fake smile and said, “Oh ... okay. Wear whatever you want, sweetheart. It's your day.”

“Did you want me to wear a wedding gown?” she'd asked him.

“Well, I guess I thought you would. I sorta pictured you in one, walking toward me, but ... you know, whatever you want is fine with me.”

She had decided then and there to give herself permission to wear the gown that every little girl dreams of. For herself and for her groom. After all, didn't that poor child she had been in McGill, Georgia, who'd practiced walking down the aisle wearing her grandmother's pillowcase on her head, deserve to be a princess for a day?

“No. I choose to wear a wedding gown,” Savannah told Madeline Aberson with a smile that didn't light her blue eyes.

“But, as I saidâ”

“No. I said, no. And that ends that particular topic of conversation. What's next?”

Madeline sat, stone still, for an uncomfortably long time as Savannah watched and tried to determine if she was even breathing. It seemed she'd suffered a shock to her system. Apparently, the word no wasn't uttered frequently in her presence.

At last, she patted her perfect ash-blond pageboy, adjusted her boucle tweed jacket, pursed her perfectly glossed lips, and said, “Oookay. Let's discuss flowers. Beautiful flowers, plenty of them, are the heart and soul of any great occasion. My personal favorites are lilies and cherry blossoms. Although orchids are always elegant.”

“I can't afford orchids. My flower budget is gone. I'll be raiding my garden. I have roses and hydrangeas and the lilacs are in bloom. I've always loved lilacs. They're my grandmother's favorite.”

“Okay.”

Madeline reached into her quilted leather, designer handbag and pulled out a small notebook. She made quite a show of opening it and scanning a list. “Hmmm ... let's see now. Attireâcan't be swayed on that. Flowersâfresh from the backyard garden.”

Her lips puckered even tighter, as though she were sucking on an under-ripe persimmon. “Candles ... I can get you some delicious soy blend candles that are to die for.”

“My sister, Alma, has that covered. She made some cute votives with tea lights in them. Tied a bow around them and hot glued a silk flower on each one. They burned in the fire, but we can afford to do them again. They didn't cost much.”

“No, I don't suppose they did. Got them at the dollar store, did we?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.”

Madeline glanced down at her list, drew a deep breath, and said, “Photographer?”

“We're passing out those disposable cameras. Get lots of candid shots that way.”

“Oh, yes. Amateur photography. That's always the best way to go. How about food?”

“I'm going to bake a big carrot cake with lots of cream cheese frosting and, as luck would have it, I've got a plastic bride and groom to stick on top.”

“That's it?”

“Granny'll make up some of her famous punch, and I can probably get my sisters to put together some mint and nut cups. Maybe we'll crank up some homemade ice cream.”

“How quaint.”

“Well, we're just quaint sorta folks.”

Madeline snapped her notebook closed. “Frankly, Ms. Reid, I'm not sure why you hired me. It appears to me that you've already made up your mind about every aspect of your ... um ... affair, so ...”

“Actually, Ms. Aberson, I didn't hire you. Two people whom I happen to adore hired you, as a loving gift to me and my groom-to-be. And that's why we're sitting here in this”âshe glanced around, taking in the tearoom's gaudy, cherubim murals, bright pink chandeliers, clusters of fake grapes hanging from the ceiling, and overstuffed, diamond-tucked, brocade boothsâ“lovely establishment, eating this expensive rolled marmalade.”

“Roulade.”

“Whatever.” Savannah reached for her purse. “And for my friends' sakes, I'm going to tell them that this meeting went beautifully, that you and I love each other, and that your services are going to make all the difference in the world to me. Because, loving me as they do, that's what they'll want to hear.”

To Savannah's surprise, Madeline ripped off her sunglasses and tossed them onto the table. This gave Savannah her first real look at the woman's face, and she could instantly see the reason for the oversized shades.

Madeline had, apparently, had some “work done.” And it hadn't gone well. One eye seemed unnaturally wide open while the lid of the other drooped badly. And no amount of concealer could cover the prominent scars or diminish the heavy bags under the right eye or the sunken, dark area below the left.

Savannah felt a wave of sympathy for the woman, who had tried to improve her appearance, only to have to hide behind sunglasses for the rest of her years.

Madeline couldn't be more than forty-five years old. How bad could her natural aging have been that she would feel the need for surgery?

“Savannah,” she said, suddenly dropping the whole hoity-toity persona and looking far more like a simple woman in need of a job. “I'm sorry we're getting off on the wrong foot here. I really do want to help you.”

Savannah thought it over for a moment, then said, “Okay. Let's try again.”

“I have connections,” Madeline said, toying with her sunglasses. “I know people. I can get things done quickly when my client needs it. And Ryan and John said that you need a location right away. Let me arrange that for you.”

“I have to be able to afford it.”

“Of course.” She opened her notebook again and flipped through the pages. “How many guests are you expecting?”

“We had about fifty coming ... to the other one, that is. I reckon most of them could make it to the next one.”

“Okay. Maybe I could get you a nice room at the country club. You could have the ceremony there by the lake, the reception inside, and you two could spend the night in the bridal suite. It's lovely since the redecoration.”

“Nice, but too expensive.”

“How about the Stardust Pavilion down in McGivney Canyon? They have a large reception room andâ”

“I tried to book it this morning, and the gal in charge said they had a fierce mudslide after last night's rain. Most of it's got a foot of mud in it.”

“Hmm. Natural catastrophes just seem to be following you everywhere.”

“Story of my life. I hear tell I was born on a dark and stormy night. Then my high school prom was canceled when a twister took out the gym. And I made sergeant on the police force the day of the Northridge quake.”

“Yeah, well, my birthday is April fifteenth. Income tax day. The day the Titanic sank. The day Lincoln died.”

“It's a wonder we're still alive and kickin'!”

Savannah laughed, noticing that when Madeline smiled, only one side of her face went up. Apparently, that surgery hadn't gone well either.

And that was a crying shame, becauseâwhen she wasn't being a bossy, snooty, pushy, pain in the hind endâshe didn't seem like such a bad sort. Savannah almost liked her.

“Thank you for your help, Madeline,” she said, taking a sip of her lukewarm tea. “Let's grab something chocolate off that tray over there and get down to the nitty-gritty with this wedding malarkey. Good Lord, girl ... how do you do this stuff for a living?”

When Savannah came to and went from the police station, she always used the back door, rather than the front. Although the rear entrance was more convenient to the parking lot, the chief of police was known for using the front door for one simple reason: photo opportunities.

He never missed a chance to see his own mug on the evening news.

And since Savannah harbored a deep and enduring dislike for the guy, she avoided running into him when at all possible. Her “divorce” from the San Carmelita Police Department had been anything but amicable. The details had been gory, and both she and the department brass had excellent memories. So, they avoided each other whenever possible.

The other occupants of the building were another story.

From the moment she entered the station house, she was warmly greeted by the rank and file.

“Hey, Savannah! Lookin' good, gal!” Jake Murphy said as he passed her in the hallway.

“So sorry about what happened with the community center,” Belinda from CSI told her as she bumped into her outside the ladies' room. “Mike and I had our party clothes on and were ready to leave the house when we heard.”

“Yeah, it was a bite in the ass,” Savannah said. “But don't put those fancy duds away. We'll be rescheduling soon. Very soon.”

“Good,” Belinda said. “It's about time you made an honest man outta that guy.”

Savannah nodded toward the detectives'-room door. “He in there?”

“Yeah. And in a pretty good mood, considering he's doing paperwork.”

Savannah hefted a bag from Dirk's favorite deli. “He'll be even happier in two minutes. That's about how long it takes a pastrami and rye to hit his bloodstream.”

She said good-bye to Belinda and found Dirk at his desk, pecking with two fingers on the computer keyboard and squinting at the screen. He must have lost his glasses again.

Otherwise, the room was emptyânot an unusual state, considering the budget cuts. The force was half what it had been when she'd joined years ago. And, thanks to the encroachment of Los Angeles and its gang and drug problems, crime had at least doubled.

Not a healthy equation.

His face lit up when he saw her in a way that warmed her heart every time she saw it.

She and Dirk had been close friends from almost the moment they had met, years ago. The cantankerous side of him, the side that put off a lot of people, hadn't bothered her. Dirk's bad moods weren't any worse than anyone else's; he was just more honest and outspoken about them.

She respected that.

And even if he wasn't the most polished guy around, he meant wellâmost of the timeâand that was more important than knowing which fork to use and lifting one's pinky when sipping tea.

And he loved her. He loved her with all his heart and showed it in a hundred practical ways.

Like standing up and moving the chair he'd been sitting inâthe comfortable one with the good back supportâto the side for her and pulling up a hard, cold, metal chair for himself.

She sat in the one he provided and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Glancing at the screen, she saw he was working on an arrest report.

“Our twitch with the matches?” she asked.

He nodded.

No wonder he was so cheerful.

She offered him the sack with the sandwich inside.

The moment he saw the logo, he snatched it out of her hand. “Oh, whoa! Really? Babe, you rule!”

“I do. It's true.”

He dove into the bag, then looked puzzled. “What? Just one? Where's yours?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Since when?”

BOOK: Buried In Buttercream

13.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub