Authors: G. A. McKevett

Buried In Buttercream (7 page)

BOOK: Buried In Buttercream

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Savannah closed her eyes, trying to blot out the image of her attacker's face. “Yes,” she said. “I hear you. It's a good thing for all of us that we can't.”

Chapter 5

M
ost brides don't hang out in their garages on their wedding days. Savannah was pretty sure of that. But then, most brides didn't have a house bursting with Georgia relatives to contend with either on that glorious, most important day of their lives.

“No, really,” Dirk was saying as she cradled the cell phone between her ear and shoulder and applied mascara at the same time, “where are you?”

“I told you,” she replied, “I'm sitting in my Mustang, putting on my makeup.”

She squinted into the mirror clamped to her sun visor as she tried to de-clump her lashes.

The bright red, '65 Mustang was her baby, her home away from home, considering the many hours she had spent inside it while on stakeouts. And today, it was her refuge.

“You want me to come over there and throw them all out of the bathroom, so that you can get ready like a proper bride?”

“Naw. One of the first things you learn as a youngun with eight siblings is, âDon't hog the toilet.'”

“How's about I come get you and bring you over here to my place? You can have the bathroom and bedroom all to yourself.”

“Believe me, that's tempting. But there's the âbad luck to see the bride on the wedding day' business. I figure, with the luck we've had, we'd better not tempt fate.”

“True. So true.”

She tried to screw the mascara wand back onto the tube with one hand and dropped it into her lap.

Looking down at the Midnight Black smear on the front of her tan linen skirt, she fought back the urge to cry. “Don't bawl, gal,” she whispered to herself. “You'll have to redo your eyeliner, and you don't have time for that.”

“What?” he asked. “Why are you about to cry? Are you having second thoughts about marrying an old coot like me?”

She laughed. “You aren't old.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then he said, “Well ... I'm waiting for you to tell me I'm not a coot either.”

“I prefer to think of you as a curmudgeon.”

“Is that better?”

“In my mind, coots and curmudgeons are both cantankerous, but curmudgeons are better-looking.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

She pulled out her blush and began to add some “peaches” to her peaches and cream complexion. Lately, she hadn't gotten enough sleep to manage natural peaches on her own.

“How does your tux fit?” she asked.

“I'm sure it'll be fine.”

She stopped in mid-blush. “Does that mean you haven't tried it on yet?”

Silence on the other end.

“Did you even open the bag to make sure they didn't give you the wrong one? For all you know, you could have a red and green checkered jacket with purple pants in there. And I have to tell you, I have my standards. I'm not marrying a guy in a plaid coat.”

She could hear him frantically rushing around, then a rustling of plastic and zipper noise.

Then a sigh of relief.

“It's the one you told me to get. Black with a white shirt.”

She smiled, gave the phone a smack. “You're so good.”

“Just wait till tonight.”

Savannah nearly ran headfirst into Madeline in the Hill Haven Country Club's lobby as she barreled through, her arms filled with a mountain of wedding gown that blocked her vision.

“I see you ignored my advice,” Madeline said, eyeing the mass of satin and lace that was only half covered by the undersized plastic garment bag provided by the discount wedding apparel store.

“Don't you even start with me, gal,” Savannah told her, shifting the weight of the gown to her other arm and nearly dropping it.

“Give me that.” Deftly, Madeline took the massive garment out of her hands and held it expertly, the hanger in one hand, supporting the train with the other. “I'm going to go hang this in your bridal suite,” she said with an authoritative tone that wasn't to be denied. “Now, where are your other things?”

Savannah turned and looked over her shoulder at the mob that was just entering the lobby. It was a riotous mass of humanity, laughing, shouting, stumbling all over themselves and each other, struggling to be first through the door.

Her family. Ah ... you had to love 'em.

The women were all in blue dresses. Different styles, different shadesâthe discount store hadn't stocked that many plus sizes of any one dressâbut all blue.

Waycross and Macon wore simple, but elegant, black tuxes, as did little Jack. Even the tiny toddler, Peter, was outfitted in one.

The only calm spot in the ocean of chaos was Granny. Dressed in a simple lavender suit, her best white Sunday-go-to-meetin' hat on her silver hair, she looked the picture of serenity and joy.

Alma was walking beside her, gently holding her arm while carrying an enormous white trash bag in the other.

“These are all yours?” Madeline asked, nodding toward the crowd with a strange combination of sarcasm and awe.

“All. Every last one of them.”

Savannah hurried over to Alma and relieved her of the trash bag. She looked inside and did a mental check. Shoe box, makeup kit, stockings, lingerie bag, and a change of clothes for tomorrow.

She was set.

“Thank you, sugar,” she said. “I wouldn't have trusted anybody in this crew but you with this bag.”

Alma beamed, looking sweet and beautiful in her dress that was the same sapphire blue as her eyes. Unlike the other sisters, she was wearing her hair in her normal, simple to-the-shoulders bob. Everyone else had worked hard all morning, applying a cloud of spray to defy gravity and create the ultimate big-hair do.

“Granny, you're pretty as a patch of pansies and twice as cheerful,” Savannah told her, kissing her cheek that, for once, displayed a faint smudge of rouge.

Gran smiled. “Why shouldn't I be? My Savannah girl's getting married today. Finally!”

“Finally is right.”

“Excuse me,” Madeline Aberson said, interjecting herself into the conversation, “but the guests are going to start arriving pretty soon, and the bride has to come with me now ... unless you want her walking down the aisle in a skirt with a big, black smear on the front of it.”

Savannah glanced down at the forgotten mascara smudge. Then at Madeline, who was wearing a smug look that made Savannah want to laugh and smack her at the same time.

She kissed Gran and Alma quickly. Waved to the rest of the invading hoard. And followed the wedding planner down a hallway. . . toward the rest of her life.

Half an hour later, Savannah was standing in a reception room at the back of the club, before a pair of French doors that led to a lush, sweeping lawn. And on that stretch of verdure were rows of white chairs filled with the people she loved most.

Tammy sat in the front row with Granny. Behind them was Dr. Jennifer Liu, the county coroner, along with other members of the police department. Sprinklings of neighbors and other friends filled out the rest of the guest list.

Up front, Savannah's baby sister, Atlanta, was playing her guitar and singing. Savannah could hear her clear, strong voice even from so far away, and the sound touched her, filling her with pride and happiness.

But the one Savannah was watching, the only one in her heart and her mind at that moment, was the man who was standing in front of the minister, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, fidgeting in typical Dirk fashion.

Even on his wedding day, good ol' Dirk was still Dirk. And she wouldn't have wanted him any other way.

Next to him stood his best man, Ryan. Lined up beside Ryan were the rest of the groomsmenâJohn, Waycross, and Macon.

How strange, she thought. That this man would be her best friend for so many years and then, just a subtle shift in their relationship would change everything forever.

“Oh, the power of five little bullets,” she whispered.

“What?”

Savannah turned around to see Madeline Aberson standing behind her. “Just talking to myself,” she said. “Thinking about the events that led to this day.”

“Yes, Ryan and John told me a little about your ... incident. I'm sorry.”

Savannah cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I'm just fine now.”

“Of course you are.”

The constant pain below her breast where the bullet had torn through her body reminded Savannah that she was a liar. But she couldn't help thinking that if she kept telling the world how fine she was, eventually she would be.

“This is your day,” Madeline said. “Don't let that son of a bitch take this from you, too. Don't invite him to your wedding. Don't let him hitch a ride, even in your own head.”

Savannah allowed the woman's words to flow through her, all the way to her heart. Even to the painful spot in her chest. She smiled and said, “You're right. And thank you, for everything you've done.”

Madeline shrugged. “Nothing special.”

“Hey, I owe you ... especially for pinning Marietta's gown in the back so that her pink paisley bra straps wouldn't show.”

“Eh, no biggie. I always have spare safety pins. I've never been to a wedding yet where they didn't come in handy.”

“And giving Macon the right socks.”

“I always carry a pair of black dress socks in my bag, too. You'd be surprised how many guys show up in a tux, wearing white crew socks.”

“I just want you to know that I appreciate it.”

Madeline smiled, and it occurred to Savannah that she looked very tired. In fact, she looked far more exhausted than even Savannah, herself, felt.

“Just a few more minutes now,” Madeline told her. “Are you ready to do this?”

“Very ready. My sister has a couple more songs to sing. She's been practicing for weeks. If I don't let her do the whole set, I'll never hear the end of it.”

“She's quite good.”

“Yes. She is. We're very proud of her.”

The cell phone Madeline was holding in her hand rang with a cheerful little tune that sounded familiar to Savannah, but she couldn't place it at the moment.

When Madeline glanced down at the caller ID, a look crossed her face that Savannah could only describe as worried ... maybe even frightened.

Quickly she switched the phone off, then shoved it into her purse. She glanced out at the congregation on the lawn. “As soon as your sister finishes, you can go. I think we've got your bridesmaids all corralled.”

Savannah surveyed the long line of women standing behind her in their assorted blue dresses. The Reid girls. All of them, except Atlanta, the performer.

Marietta, Vidalia, Jesup, Cordele, and Alma. Each so similar to Savannah, yet unique in their own special way.

For the past few days, they had nearly driven her crazy, but she wouldn't have taken a million dollars for any of them.

“You have a nice family,” Madeline said, as though reading her mind. “I don't have any sisters. You're lucky.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I don't think you need me anymore. I'm going to run back to the bridal suite and just tidy it up a bit. I don't want you and your groom going to a messy room afterward.”

“I did leave my clothes thrown around and my rollers out,” Savannah said.

Madeline gave her a sad, wan smile. “Don't worry. I'll take care of it and get back here in time to see you two kiss. Good luck.”

As Savannah watched her walk away, she wondered why she had disliked the woman so much at first. But it didn't matter now. Some people just took some getting used to, and Savannah had decided that Madeline Aberson was one of them. Sorta like grits and liver without bacon and onions.

Two songs later, Savannah turned to her entourage. “Okay,” she said, “it's about time. Are we all ready?”

There was a lot of nodding of big hair, some nervous grins.

Savannah did a quick check. “Bouquet, Granny's white Bible, Grandpa Reid's wedding band ...” She turned to Marietta. “You have the ring, right?”

The blank look on Marietta's face struck terror in her heart.

“Oh, Lord, Mari! You
do
have the ring, don't you? You're the maid of honor, for heaven's sake!”

“I put it in the bag.”

“What bag?”

“That big trash bag that had all your junk in it.”

BOOK: Buried In Buttercream

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