Read Buried In Buttercream Online
Authors: G. A. McKevett
Buried In Buttercream (6 page)
“Since I filled up on Rolaid pastries and a big piece of chocolate cake there at the tearoom with Madeline.”
“Oh, yeah, Ryan's and John's fancy-dandy wedding planner. How'd that go?”
“I had to set her straight about the generous budget I ain't got and that went over like a pregnant pole-vaulter.”
He nodded and chewed thoughtfully. “That's what I figured. I think some of those wedding planners charge according to the size of the budget.”
Reaching over and wiping a smear of mustard off the side of his mouth, she said, “Then I hope she's given some serious thought as to how to invest the five dollars and twenty-seven cents she's going to earn from this gig.”
“She didn't help at all?”
“To give her credit, she tried. She suggested the pavilion. Hadn't heard about the mudslide yet. And the country club, but that's out of the question.”
“The one there by the lake?”
“Yeah. She thought we could have the ceremony by the water, then go inside for the party and stay there that night in their bridal suite.”
“How much does something like that cost?”
“I don't know, but it's a really nice place. Must be a king's ransom.”
He licked the last remaining crumb from his finger, wiped his hands on the paper napkin, then wadded the sack and wrapper into a ball and tossed it into a nearby waste can.
Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Taking a debit card from inside, he said, “What the heck, Van. We're only going to do this once. Let's do it right.”
He handed it to her.
She stared down at it. “Really?”
“Yes. You deserve it.”
“But ... but ... I ... you ...”
He laughed. “You figure a dude who lives to score a free cup of coffee off somebody ain't the type to plunk down a king's ransom for a wedding?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, that's how a guy like me operates. We save a nickel everywhere we can and only spend it on the important stuff.”
Savannah felt tears welling up in her eyes for the umpteenth time in the past forty-eight hours. “Thank you, darlin',” she said.
“No problem.” He turned his attention back to the computer screen. “By the way ... the password for that card is Cleo.”
“C-L-E-O? As in, my cat?”
“Soon to be
our
cat.”
our
cat.”
“How long has your password been Cleo?”
He thought for a moment. “How old is she?”
“She and Diamante are ten. I got them when they were six months old.”
“Then my password's been C-L-E-O for nine and a half years.” He gave her a quick sideways glance and saw that she was staring at him, love in her eyes.
He blushed and glanced around the empty room, as though wary of eavesdroppers. “When I first saw her, I thought she was really cute. Don't make a big deal outta it. Okay?”
She laughed. “Okay. Tough guy. I won't let it get around.”
“Good. I got a reputation to maintain, you know. I'll catch a load of crap if it gets out that I like cats.”
“It'll just be our little secret ... that, and the fact that you watched William's and Kate's wedding with me. Twice.”
“Shhh!”
Â
Savannah was talking to Madeline on her cell phone as she walked into her house. Jack and Jillian nearly mowed her down as she passed them in the foyerâJack chasing his sister through the entry and up the stairs.
“That's right,” she was telling the wedding planner. “The groom says go ahead with the country club plans. But still, try to watch the outlay, okay? We don't need to go for broke here.”
Madeline seemed vastly relieved, though eager to go, as she had another call coming through. She agreed to call once she had spoken to the club and gotten the earliest date possible.
They said good-bye. And as Savannah clicked off her phone and listened to the youngest set of Vidalia's twins wailing in the living room, she thought,
Whatever that date is, it won't be soon enough!
Whatever that date is, it won't be soon enough!
She entered the room just in time to see Peter hurl his bottle across the room and take out one of her African violets that had been sitting on a windowsill, minding its own business. Dirt flew everywhere, but as luck would have it, most of it landed on the seat of her favorite chair.
“Dadgummit, Peter!” Vidalia shouted from her position on the sofa, where she was stretched out, a tabloid magazine in one hand, a giant glass of sweet tea in the other. “If you keep throwing that bottle around like that, I'm gonna take it away from you!”
Marietta tore her eyes away from the R-rated movie on TV long enough to weigh in on the matter. “I always said, âWhen they're old enough to run around with the nipple clenched between their teeth, the bottle swingin' back and forth, they're too big for it.'”
Savannah walked over to her chair to survey the damage. The violet was a goner. No doubt about that.
Fortunately, she'd been too busy to water it for several days, so the dirt on the chair wasn't too soggy.
For a moment she considered telling her sister to get up off her lazy hind end and clean up her kid's mess. But then she considered how little talent Vidalia had for housework. Vi's idea of cleaning would be wetting a handful of paper towels and grinding the dirt so deeply into the fabric that it would never come out.
As she walked into the kitchen to get a whisk broom and dustpan, Vidalia said, “Sorry about your plant, but it's sorta your own fault that Peter's upset.”
Savannah stopped and turned back toward her sister, who had her nose back in her paper. “Oh? Do tell.”
“He's bummed out 'cause he didn't get to see Mickey Mouse today.”
“Mickey ... what?”
“We'd promised the kids we'd take them to Disneyland today, once your wedding was over and done with. That's what he's bawlin' about.”
As though to prove his mother's point, Peter toddled over to Savannah and gave her shin a hearty kick with his miniature sneaker. Not being that surefooted yet, he wobbled, then fell over, and started to cry again when he hit the carpet.
Savannah reached down and picked him up. When he tried to kick at her again, babbling something like, “Mick ... ouse ... wanna go,” she gave him a kiss on the forehead.
“I'm sorry, puddin' cat, but you'll still get to see Mickey Mouse. Aunt Savannah promises. She also promises that if you kick her again, she'll swat your bee-hind for you. You don't get to kick people every time you want to.
“Obviously,” she muttered under her breath as she set him on the floor, “or your momma'd have my footprint on her backside right now.”
Savannah left the still-squalling, mouse-deprived youngster and walked into the kitchen, where she found her brother Waycross sitting at her table. He was staring, goo-goo eyed, at the pretty blonde across the table from him.
“Tammy!” she said as she crossed the room to greet her friend. “I'm so glad to see you, sugar.”
The young woman rose from the table and met her halfway. They hugged each other tightly for a long time. When they finally broke the embrace, Tammy kissed Savannah's cheek.
“I'm glad to see you, too, Savannah,” she told her with downcast eyes and a look of sadness tinged with guilt on her lovely face.
Savannah's heart ached to see this same expression, day after day, week after week ... for three months now. When was it going to end? When would they be like they were before? Ever?
Surely their friendship wouldn't turn out to be something else that bastard had taken from her ... along with peaceful, nightmare-free nights.
“Can I get you something?” Tammy asked, far too eager to please. “Do you want me to make you a sandwich or get you a drink orâ”
“No, honey, I just came in here to get a broom. We had a little accident in the living room. My African violet.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yep, he's toes up, I'm afraid. In my comfy chair.”
Tammy ran to the pantry and snagged the whisk broom and dustpan before Savannah. “Let me do it. I've got it covered. You just sit down and rest.”
With that, she hurried from the room.
Savannah sighed as she walked to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of lemonade.
It seemed that since the shooting, everybody scurried around, doing things to please or help her. People were always rushing here and there to do things they thought she could no longer do for herself. And while it was endearing that they cared so much for her, it made her most uncomfortable.
She firmly believed that scrambling to do everything as quickly as possible was a waste of energy most of the time. And it was a downright sin when it was done to pacify impatient, controlling people.
She didn't want anyone to ever lump her into the category of someone who needed others to scurry around on their behalf. And certainly not someone as precious to her as her longtime friend and assistant, Tammy Hart.
Taking her lemonade to the table, she sat across from Waycross. He had a bowl of pretzels in front of him and was sipping from an ice-frosted bottle of beer.
“Don't let Granny catch you with that,” she said. “You'll wind up wearing it instead of drinking it.”
He chuckled. “Believe you me, I checked to make sure she was taking her nap before I popped the top. I wouldn't put it past her to take a switch to me.”
“Demon rum.”
“The only thing worse than rolling dice, playing cardsâ”
“Or chewin' tobaccy.”
“Yep. Gran's death in drinking, gambling, and tobacco products. And fornication. Don't forget that one.”
“Like I could forget it? She's been putting the evil eye on me every time I step out the door to go see Dirk now. She's just sure that he and I are already dancing the Grizzly Bear Hump.”
Waycross's pale blue eyes probed hers with Reid intensity. “Well,” he said, “are you?”
“How very ungentlemanly of you to ask.”
“Sorry.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“Not that it's any of your business. But, no, we aren't. We haven't. Figured if we've waited this long, might as well hold out and make the honeymoon night special.”
He snickered into his beer. “I'd be afraid to roll the dice like that. Aren't you worried that maybe you'll wait and find out you don't like him? You know ... what he does ... and stuff.”
Unbidden, Savannah's mind replayed some of Dirk's kisses, a few stolen caresses. No, she wasn't worried at all.
“What I'm worried about is having this conversation with my little brother. Change the subject and get that beer drunk before Granny comes downstairs.”
Tammy reentered, carrying the broom and the dustpan filled with dirt. “Change what subject?” she asked. “Whatever you don't want Gran to hear ... that's what I want to hear.”
“We're talking about Savannah's and Dirk's sex life,” Waycross said.
“Savannah and Dirko have a sex life? E wwww !”
“We do not!” Savannah reached across the table and slapped his arm so hard that he nearly dropped his beer. “And you better stop spreading those nasty rumors, boy, or I'll be the one taking a switch to you.”
Tammy emptied the dustpan in the garbage can, then put it and the broom away.
She hurried to the sink and began searching in the cupboard beneath it.
“What are you looking for?” Savannah asked her.
“That fabric stain removal spray you have. I got most of the dirt off your chair, but there's one little spot that I couldn't ...”
She'd found the can and was already rushing back into the living room.
Savannah watched her sadly, then realized that Waycross was watching her watch Tammy.
“She feels guilty,” he said softly. “She's trying to make it up to you. And she never will.”
“She has nothing to feel guilty about,” Savannah said, trying to control the sadness that felt like a squeezing tightness in her chest and her throat. “She didn't do anything wrong.”
“But you'll never convince her of that.”
“I know. Believe me, I know. And it breaks my heart.”
Waycross finished his beer and set it on the table. His fingers were tight around the bottle. “Sometimes I wish I could kill that guy all over again.”
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