Buried In Buttercream

by G. A. McKevett

  “You go setting fires to get your rocks off,” she told him. “You don’t give a tinker’s damn what it costs others.”

  He gasped, his eyes wide. “How ... how do you know? Who are you?”

  “I’m somebody who knows what a crazy twitch you are,” she replied. “You set these awful fires that destroy property, kill wildlife—and even people sometimes—and all because you’ve got crazy urges inside you that you can’t, or won’t, control.”

  He moved toward her. She braced herself... and wished she’d strapped on her weapon before leaving the house earlier.

  “What’s it to you?” he shouted in her face. “Mind your own damned business.”

  He tried to move past her.

  She blocked him.

  “Oh, it’s my business,” she replied, her voice soft and deceptively calm. “It’s very much my business.”

  “Get out of my way!” He reached out and shoved her, hard.

  A moment later, he was lying on the ground at her feet, curled into a ball, holding his head and moaning ... a small trickle of blood running down his forehead.

  She heard Dirk pounding up the hill toward her. She turned and saw him, panting, face red and sweating, his Smith and Wesson in his hand.

  “You can put that away,” she told him, nodding toward the drawn weapon. “He’s down.”

  “Yeah,” Dirk replied, gasping for breath. “I see that.”

  “She hit me!” the arsonist told Dirk as he knelt beside him and examined the damage to his forehead. “She’s crazy! She hit me for no reason ... really hard ... with her purse!”

  Savannah glanced down at her hand and realized for the first time that she was, indeed, holding her pocketbook. And apparently, without thinking, she had smacked him with it.

  “For no reason, huh?” Dirk said, reaching down and turning the pentacle medallion first one way, then the other.

  “Yeah. No reason at all. And her purse was really hard!” complained her victim. “And heavy! I think there’s a brick in it!”

  Dirk shook his head. “Naw. I know what she carries in her purse. Usually just some nail polish and a few candy bars.”

  Savannah hefted her handbag a couple of times, testing the weight.

  Yes, as a matter of fact, it did seem heavier than usual. It seemed a lot heavier.

  She opened it and saw the gleam of her 9mm Beretta.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I forgot I put that in there.” She pulled out the weapon.

  The guy on the ground gagged when he saw it and held up his hands in front of his face. “Don’t!” he yelled. “Don’t let her shoot me!” he said to Dirk. “I’m telling you, she’s crazy!”

  “Naw, she ain’t crazy,” Dirk said as he pulled a pair of handcuffs from behind his back and rolled his prisoner onto his face in the dirt. “She’s just been stressed out lately. She’s a bride-to-be. And you know how they get. It’s a wonder she didn’t shoot you.”

  “I’d forgotten I was packin’ or I would’ve,” Savannah told him, replacing her gun in her purse. “Believe you me.”

  Dirk snapped the cuffs on him, then yanked him to his feet. “Dude, if it weren’t for you,” he told him, “right now I’d be gettin’ a piece o’—” He glanced at Savannah. “I mean ... enjoying the bliss of my nuptial union.”

  “What?” The guy looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”

  “Something you ain’t never gonna know nothin’ about.” Dirk started down the hill, his detainee in tow.

  “Unless you establish a close, meaningful relationship with your prison cellmate ... which is a strong possibility,” Savannah added, following close behind.

  In the ever-deepening darkness, they had to choose their footing more carefully as they descended the path.

  “Be careful, Savannah,” Dirk said over his shoulder. “Watch your step through here.”

  For a moment, her temper flared. She made a mental note to have a serious sit-down with her groom-to-be. He was going to have to pull back on this overprotective crap, or they’d never make it through their honeymoon. She could already hear the chickie-pooh on the evening news: “Bride bludgeons groom senseless with bouquet! Film at eleven!”

  She surveyed the scene below them—the exhausted firefighters, still battling in vain to save the community center, the spectators, some of whom were wondering if it would spread into their neighborhood and consume their homes. No doubt, countless animals were running for their lives, their own habitats destroyed.

  She told herself that this guy’s crimes had far more devastating consequences than just her postponed ceremony.

  But when she thought of her beautiful wedding gown, now nothing but a pile of black ash inside that burning building, she had more than a passing fancy to plant her foot on that skinny little nerd’s butt and send him tumbling down the cactus-strewn hill.

  “Ruin my wedding day, would ya,” she muttered. And instead, gave him a smack on the back of the head.

  “Hey! What was that for?” he whined, trying to turn around to look at her while Dirk dragged him along with even less tender loving kindness than was usually offered by members of the San Carmelita Police Department.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, “you dim-witted, devil-worshippin’, fire-startin’ pestilence. And keep movin’.”

  Chapter 2

  Having checked their prisoner into the San Carmelita Hotel and Resort, furnished with one steel-framed cot, decorated in neutral shades of gray—bars on windows and doors, no extra charge—Savannah and Dirk were homeward bound.

  He drove the battered old Buick through the middle-class streets of her neighborhood, which seemed so serene in comparison to the other side of town, where they had just been.

  But Savannah knew the peace and quiet were temporary. Chaos awaited her. Pure, unadulterated bedlam reigned within the walls of her humble home.

  Oh, goody. She could hardly wait.

  “You dreading going home, sugar?” Dirk said, obviously reading her mind.

  “You have no idea,” she said with a sigh. “It’s been hard enough with the whole motley crew there for the past few days. But now ... with what’s happened today ... they’re gonna be busting at the seams with the sheer drama of it all.”

  He reached over, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “It was your wedding that got flushed down the toilet. Not your sisters’ and brothers’.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t understand. Coming all the way out here to Southern California ... this is the social high point of their lives.”

  “Well, what I don’t understand—and sure don’t approve of—is all eight of them and their kids piling in on you, all in that little house of yours. Don’t they have motels in McGill, Georgia? I was only there that once, and I don’t recall seeing one.”

  “A motel? Are you kidding? McGill doesn’t even have a Wal-mart. Don’t you remember? Folks there still travel by covered wagon and shop at the general store.”

  He shot her a quick, questioning look.

  She chuckled. “Just kidding. McGill has a hanky-panky motel, like every other town in the country. But seriously, my family members can’t afford to pay for a motel. They had to sell Waycross’s extra pickup, cash in all the pop bottles they could lay hands on, and pawn Marietta’s toy poodle just to come up with the bus fare.”

  “I still think they oughta rent rooms somewhere and get out of your hair. They know you’re still recuperating and—”

  “I’m okay now.”

  “You’re a lot better, but you’ve got a long ways to go before you could say that you’re really—”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m just sayin’—”

  “Well, don’t.”

  His face darkened. It was the expression she hated most. Righteous indignation. He frequently donned it when he knew darned well he was wrong.

  “So, you’re telling me,” he said, “that you just want me to keep my concerns about your welfare to myself?”

  “That�
�s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  It’s bad enough, she thought, to have to listen to the voices in my own head telling me how worried they are about me. I don’t need yours added to the chorus.

  “Listen,” he said, adding that sitting-on-my-high-horse tone of voice that she hated to his I-know-better-than-you scowl, “I’m going to be your husband and that gives me the right to tell you whenever I think you’re—”

  “Whoa, good buddy! You better get it inside your noggin right now that things aren’t going to change that much once you’ve slipped a wedding band on my finger. I’m still gonna do what I darned well want, dang-near all the time. When it comes to my personal business, you’re welcome to state your case about it once, and then I’m gonna expect you to drop it.”

  He rounded the corner and headed down her street, his frown deepening. “And are you going to abide by the same rules?” he asked. “Like if I decide to get my Harley running again, you’re gonna tell me once that you disapprove and then not nag me about it?”

  “Get real,” she said. “Of course I’m gonna nag you about it, night and day. That’s what wives are for. It’s part of our job description.”

  He pulled the Buick over to the curb, several houses away from hers, and turned in his seat to face her. He reached over and ran his fingers through her glossy, dark brown curls, his fingertips lingering at the nape of her neck.

  Delicious shivers trickled through her body, reminding her of what they were missing tonight.

  Damn that flea-bitten, mangy firebug anyway. She couldn’t help hoping he was making lots of friends in that jail cell.

  “So, after we get married,” Dirk said, his voice low and deep in the darkness of the car, “you say not much is gonna change, huh?”

  She grinned and turned her cheek into the palm of his big, warm hand. “Well, you’ll have to change the oil on my Mustang and mow my lawn.”

  “Yes. And ... ?”

  “And I’ll cook a lot of good food for you. But then I was doing that already.”

  “Yes. And ... ?”

  “And of course, we’ll be having hot, sweaty, swingin’-from-the-trees, jungle sex three times a day.”

  Big grin. Big, big grin. Much better than the grumpy scowl any day.

  “Now, that’s more like it.” Gently, he pulled her toward him.

  Very gently.

  Too gently.

  With a sharp pang of sadness, she wondered if he would ever get over that feeling that she was infinitely fragile. Would that terrible fear inside him ever subside?

  He kissed her, and the sadness and fear slipped away for several moments.

  Not far away. But enough for her to enjoy the warmth of desire and deep affection for this man who had saved her life. A simple man who truly wanted nothing more than to be a good husband to her.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too,” she replied.

  And she did. She knew it even in places that still ached, parts of her that would never be the same.

  Five gunshot wounds, he had told them when he’d brought her, bleeding and dying, to the hospital. Five.

  It was a wonder she was alive, and right then, she was so, so grateful that she was.

  “Do you wanna just come on home with me?” he said, his lips close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “Just because the wedding went up in smoke doesn’t mean we can’t still have a honeymoon night.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll come home with you.”

  “Really?” He looked shocked. Pleased, but shocked.

  “You betcha. Right after you go into my house and tell my granny that I’m going to be shackin’ up with you tonight, wal-lerin’ in the squalor of fornication and—”

  “All right, all right. Never mind.” He pulled back and put the car in gear. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  She laughed, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ve waited this long. What’s another week or so?”

  “Agony.”

  He drove on down the street and pulled into the driveway of her quaint, Spanish-style cottage. Every light in the house appeared to be on, and even with the windows rolled up, she could hear the Reid clan’s ruckus.

  “You don’t have to walk me in,” she said. “Just come by and get me as soon as you’re out and about tomorrow morning.”

  “What do you wanna do?”

  “Be somewhere else.”

  “Gotcha.”

  They kissed once more. Quickly. Granny Reid was probably looking out the window.

  “Van,” he said, as she started to open the car door. “That hot, sweaty jungle sex ... are you really expecting that three times a day? Because I’m not sure if I can—”

  “Oh, please. Get real. We’re both over forty, for heaven’s sake.”

  He looked enormously relieved. “Thank goodness. I don’t want you to be disappointed if ...”

  She climbed out of the car, then leaned back in and gave him a smile and a wink. “Don’t you worry about a thing, sugar dumplin’. Twice a day’ll be plenty.”

  “Oh, good. You had me worried there.”

  She closed the car’s door and watched as he backed out of the driveway and drove away. Feeling a little heart string tug when he disappeared, she wondered why. Thousands of times had she watched him drive away from her house over the years, and it had been just part of the old routine.

  But a few months ago, the routine had been shattered.

  They had rebuilt. Now, everything was different. And for the most part, it was pretty darned good, she decided, standing there next to her driveway, still feeling the warmth of his kiss on her lips.

  When she started to walk up the path toward her front door, she felt the pain in her thigh, and another twinge in her abdomen, and that half-numb, half-tingling sensation just below her left breast. That was the shot that had nearly killed her.

  And there were the nightmares.

  So, everything that was new wasn’t good. But, all in all, she felt terribly lucky to be alive.

  And even though she had planned to be on her honeymoon tonight, it was still delicious to arrive home to this tiny, Spanish-style house with its gleaming white stucco walls, red clay tile roof, and elegant draping of thick, crimson bougainvillea.

  Her mood lifted even more when she saw two beloved silhouettes outlined in her living room window. A pair of enormous black cats, Cleopatra and Diamante ... watching and waiting patiently for Mom to come home. Ah, so sweet.

  Then another pair of silhouettes ... two curly-headed children.

  The cats scrambled off their window perches and disappeared from view. One of the children, a boy, caught sight of Savannah. He pressed his face against the glass and stuck out his tongue.

  “Jack! Jillian! You get away from that window this minute!” she heard her sister, Vidalia, scream from somewhere inside the house. “And you’d better keep your mitts off those cats! If your Aunt Savannah catches you pesterin’ them, she’ll have your hides stretched across the barn by mornin’!”

  Savannah sighed. What Vidalia lacked in melodious tone, she more than made up for it in sheer ear-splitting volume. Especially when she was yelling at her twins. Either set of them.

  As Savannah opened her front door and stepped into her foyer, the seven-year-old, curly-locked duo ran to her, arms outstretched.

  “Aunt Savannah!” Jillian cried as she threw her arms around Savannah’s waist. “I’m sooo sad that I didn’t get to be your flower girl today! I practiced all day in your backyard with your roses. I got good at throwing them.”

  Okay, so much for entering those Mr. Lincolns in the fair this year, Savannah thought, imagining the devastation of her rose garden.

  “I’m so sorry, snookums,” Savannah told her. “You’re just gonna have to be my flower girl on another day.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. I promise.”

  Jack grinned up at Savannah, a dab of what looked like grape jelly a
nd peanut butter on the tip of his freckled nose. “Are you really gonna stretch my hide on your barn tomorrow morning?” he said.

  “I don’t have a barn, but I reckon the garage will do just fine if you keep tormentin’ my cats, young man.” She ruffled his hair and marveled at its sweet, baby softness.

  “I wasn’t really hurting them,” he said. “Just messin’ around with them.”

  “Good. ’Cause in this family, we’re very, very nice to animals.”

  “And people, too,” Jillian added with a solemn nod.

  “Eh, depends on who,” Savannah muttered under her breath as she walked to the hall closet, removed her weapon from her purse, and secured it in a locked strongbox on the top shelf.

  With this many people in the house, some of them children, you couldn’t be too careful, she reminded herself.

  And the moment she walked across the foyer and into the living room, she was instantly reminded of how many people she had in her dinky house.

  As the oldest of nine children, Savannah had never known a moment of privacy during her upbringing. The tiny house in McGill, Georgia, had actually been smaller than this one, and only had one bath, instead of the one and a half that Savannah boasted.

  But during those years, it had mostly just been the nine of them and Granny Reid, who filled the home with a nurturing mix of love and discipline. And now, the extended family included six extra children and one spouse, bringing the grand total to fifteen.

  Most of whom were now under her roof.

  Fortunately, no one was picky. If they had a horizontal surface, they could sleep. And as long as a stream of food and sweet iced tea continued to flow, the gang was a happy lot.

  Usually.

  “Boy! What a lousy day this was!”

  “Honestly, Savannah! Nobody but you would have something like that go wrong on their wedding day! I reckon you’re cursed or somethin’.”

  “Did the whole place burn to a crisp? Did they get our bridesmaids’ dresses out? I worked overtime at the drugstore to pay for that dress, you know!”

  “What are we gonna do now? We come all the way out here for a wedding and this happens! What a bite in the ass!”

  Savannah drew a deep breath and addressed the complaints one by one. “Macon, there are children present, so please watch your language. A bite in the heinie will suffice. Cordele, I’m sorry about your bridesmaid’s dress. I lost my wedding gown, too. We can probably find matching gunny sacks for you girls to wear, and I’ll cut some holes in a white garbage bag for me. We’ll make do somehow. Marietta, please turn off that dirty television show. What would Granny say if she walked in and caught you gawkin’ at all that bare skin? And, Jesup, I may be low on luck in the wedding department, but Dirk and I caught the mangy dog who’s been setting all the fires, so the day wasn’t a complete train wreck.”