Buried In Buttercream

by G. A. McKevett

  “That’s what it feels like,” Savannah admitted. “It feels like the hurt is going deeper and deeper. I find that, instead of getting past it, I hate him more every day.”

  “I can sure understand that. I ain’t none too fond of him myself. I’ve had more than a few daydreams of how I’d do away with him ... if he wasn’t already done away with, that is.”

  Granny cleared her throat and took her time choosing her next words. “But one of these days, when you’re ready, you’re gonna have to start giving some thought to forgiving that lowdown skunk.”

  The very thought made Savannah feel nauseous. “How? Granny, how on earth does a body forgive someone for something like that? How am I supposed to love someone who tried to kill me? To understand what he did and say it was all right? I can’t do that.”

  “You don’t have to do that, darlin’. That ain’t what forgiveness is all about. I mean, sometimes it is, when somebody who loves you accidentally hurts you. Then you can say to yourself and to them, ‘I know you didn’t mean to do it, and all’s forgiven.’ But this is different.”

  “You’re darned tootin’ it’s different! He knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to kill me, and I could see in his eyes when he was doing it that some part of him was enjoying it. I can’t pretend to believe that he didn’t understand what he was doing.”

  Granny got up from the chair and walked over to the sofa. She sat on the edge of it and began to stroke Savannah’s hair, as she had so many times when Savannah was a child. “Darlin’,” she said. “You don’t have to lie and say that he didn’t mean to do what he did. It was a deliberate, evil act. There’s no getting around that. You should never lie to yourself about that.”

  “Then how can I forgive him? How can I love him and feel all warm and fuzzy when I think about him?”

  “That’s not what forgiveness is, child. It’s not some warm, fuzzy emotion. You can get a good feeling like that just eating a nice piece of chocolate or a perfect biscuit with peach preserves. Emotions come and go with the tides. They ain’t worth spit.”

  Savannah reached for her grandmother’s hand. “Then what is forgiveness?”

  “Well ... different people have different takes on it. And I don’t claim to know what it is for sure. But I know a few things it ain’t. It ain’t pretending nothing happened to you when it did. It ain’t saying that what happened wasn’t no big deal and didn’t matter. It ain’t saying the person didn’t know what they were up to, if they did. And it ain’t deciding that the rattlesnake that bit you is now gonna be your best friend forever. That’s just foolishness that’ll get you bit again.”

  “Good. ’Cause if it was any of those things, I’d be up the creek without a paddle.”

  “I think forgiveness is a sacred thing, and it’s so hard to get the job done proper.”

  She continued to stroke Savannah’s hair, and the comfort of the simple gesture went deep into those areas of Savannah’s soul that she was afraid would never find peace again.

  “I think,” Granny continued, “that it’s more like just letting it all go. Letting go of the anger and the pain. Letting go of the daydreaming about how you’d like to get even with ’em, or at least make them understand what damage they’ve done to you. Letting go of the wish that you could change what happened, ’cause you can’t.”

  “I do feel all those things. I wish I could go back and do things differently so that it wouldn’t happen. I wish he was here so I could tell him how much he hurt me, what he took from me.”

  “Of course you want to. But you can’t. And the anger and the pain are just going to hurt you. In the long run, maybe even more than he hurt you. You can’t get even or change the past. And chances are, even if you could make him understand what he put you through, he wouldn’t give a hoot. If he was the kind of person who felt compassion for others and remorse for his bad deeds, he never could’ve done such a wicked thing to you in the first place.”

  Savannah thought it over, long and hard.

  Finally, she reached for her grandmother’s hand and kissed it, thinking that for all its wrinkles, it was the dearest hand on earth.

  “Just put it away?”

  “Let ’er go.”

  “Easy to say, and hard to do.”

  “You’re probably going to have to do it over and over again, a thousand times or ten thousand, till it’s a habit.”

  Savannah smiled. “Like brushing your teeth and making your bed and feeding the hound dog.”

  “Yep. Only a whole heap harder.”

  Chapter 12

  Savannah and Dirk got an early start the next morning, even foregoing the usual full Reid breakfast by opting for coffee and donuts.

  But even though they were on the road by eight o’clock, it was after noon before they finally laid eyes on Francie Di Napoli.

  And when they did, they got an eyeful.

  When Francie was on the job, she was quite something to behold—a stripper better known professionally as “Candie Kisses” in a dive just outside San Carmelita’s city limits.

  Willy’s Rendezvous was open twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week, catering to all sorts of guys—from run-of-the-mill blue-collar workers to motorcycle gang members to oil-field laborers to doctors and lawyers who decided to go slumming on their lunch hours away from their posh, seaside offices.

  “You don’t have to go in here,” Dirk had told her when they arrived at Willy’s with its flashing neon sign that said, “Girls, Girls, Girls!!!”

  “I’ll go in with you,” Savannah told him. “But I’m not going to sit on any bar stool or touch the doorknob if I can help it. I swear, the last time we had to take a perp out of here, I caught something creepy and had to use a prescription cream to get rid of it.”

  “Oookay,” Dirk replied. “More than I wanted to know.”

  Once inside the establishment, Savannah’s fears were not allayed. Willy’s was just as clean and luxurious as she remembered, with spit- and beer-saturated sawdust on the floor, torn leatherette booths that had once been red but were now a suspicious shade of dirty maroon, and a bar that looked like it was cleaned every ten years whether it needed it or not.

  Even the strippers’ pole on a small stage in the center of the room looked grimy and sticky.

  Savannah didn’t dare give that too much consideration.

  Francie Di Napoli was clinging to that pole in all of her sequined-string-bikini splendor. Her long hair was in serious need of a washing, she had a bit of a paunch in the belly area, and her makeup looked like she had applied it in the dark without a mirror. But she was a blonde, and she was taking her top off. And apparently that was enough for Willy and his faithful customers, who were hooting and hollering like a bunch of coyotes high on mescaline.

  “I told you that you didn’t have to come in,” Dirk told Savannah when Francie whipped off her bottom as well.

  “Eh, whatever,” Savannah said, giving the dancer a quick once-over. “She ain’t got nothin’ I ain’t got ... and more of it.”

  Having completed her display, Francie pranced off the makeshift stage and donned a negligee that did little to cover what she had already exposed. Then she sidled up to the bar and downed a drink that Willy had waiting for her. Willy flashed her a big, flirty smile that was missing two front teeth. Francie returned the grin, gazing up at him as though he were the sexiest, most devastatingly handsome male walking the planet.

  Savannah wasn’t sure which appealed to her more, Sir William’s hit-and-miss smile or his black leather vest that showed off his fat, pasty chest and gut. Both were covered with tattoos of more “Girls, Girls, Girls!!!”

  The dirty, thin, gray ponytail trailing down his back and tied with a bunch of greasy-looking feathers and leather strips was a nice touch, too.

  Yeah, Willy’s a hottie, she thought to herself, trying not to gag.

  “Reckon that’s our girl?” Savannah said, nodding in the woman’s direction.

  Dirk gave her a q
uick head-to-toe appraisal. “The neighbor said she was short with long, frizzy blond hair, too much makeup, and an overdone boob job. Looks like she fits the description.”

  “Plus she’s the only floozy in the place,” Savannah said, looking around. Only males as far as the eye could see.

  And that wasn’t far, because the patrons at Willy’s Rendezvous weren’t observing the smoke-free work environment laws of the State of California.

  “Miss Francie there could get cancer or emphysema from all the smoke in this place,” Dirk said. “I should bust ’em all right here and now.”

  Savannah smiled, amused by what an antismoking crusader he had become ... of course, only after he had quit. Former smokers were always the most zealous when it came to enforcing the antismoking rules.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Savannah said, leading the way across the room to the dancer at the bar. “She’s more likely to come down with pneumonia, wearing a get-up like that one.”

  “Are you Francie Di Napoli?” Dirk asked when they reached the dancer.

  She put her empty shot glass down on the bar and turned to him, a look that was, undoubtedly, intended to be lusty on her face.

  The look might have worked better if she had cleaned last night’s mascara off first.

  A hair brushing might have helped, too, Savannah thought.

  “Actually,” she said, “I’m Candie Kisses when I’m working.” She leaned closer to Dirk, her nose only a few inches from his. “I’m very sweet ... and yummy.”

  Dirk leaned back. “Yeah, well ... I’m on a low-carb diet.” He pulled his badge out of his pocket and stuck it between their noses. “You and us gotta talk.”

  “Oh, she’s with you?” Francie tossed her blond hair in Savannah’s direction.

  “He’s so with me that it ain’t even funny,” Savannah told her.

  “That explains a lot.” Francie shot Dirk an ah-okay-gotcha look.

  “No, it doesn’t,” he told her. He reached across the bar and grabbed a dirty bartender’s apron. “There,” he said, tossing it to her. “Put that on.”

  “Why?” She struck a chest-expanding pose. “Are you uncomfortable around exotic dancers?”

  “Nope. I was fascinated by strippers until I turned twenty-one and could go see them any time I wanted to. After that, it took me about two weeks to get over my adolescent obsession.”

  “Good thing all guys aren’t like you,” Francie muttered as she tied the beer-stained apron around her assets. “Come on, we can go talk in Willy’s office.

  Willy’s office was wallpapered with centerfolds, littered with empty booze bottles, and smelled like stale cigarette smoke, beer, and dog.

  Yes, Savannah thought, this is the heart of Willy’s world, the hub of his empire, the soul of his enterprise.

  Ah, the glamour of being a self-made entrepreneur.

  The canine scent was explained when they saw an enormous pit bull, who was curled up on a folded blanket in the corner of the room. He was snoring loudly, and only opened one eye when they entered. He peered up at them with only mild curiosity, then closed it again.

  “What’s this all about?” Francie asked as she plopped herself down on the worn sofa in the corner next to the dog. She leaned over and patted him on the head.

  When she saw Savannah staring at the animal, she said, “Oh, don’t worry about Hercules here. He’s a big pussy cat. Willy just keeps him around to protect the cash. One look at him and nobody even thinks of robbing us.”

  “And I’ll bet that works quite well,” Savannah said. She harbored a healthy respect for pit bulls. Maybe even a prejudice, if she were honest.

  A pit bull had chased her over a fence one night when she had been running through someone’s backyard, trying to apprehend a burglar. Since then she hadn’t liked the breed.

  But she did have to admit that Hercules was a pretty handsome, easygoing guy. He gazed up at Francie with big, brown doe eyes, gave her hand a grateful lick, then went back to snoring.

  “You wanna pet him?” Francie asked.

  “I’m sure he’s very nice, but, no, thank you,” Savannah replied.

  “You wanna sit down?”

  Savannah opted to stand, and so did Dirk.

  “So, like I asked you before, what’s all this about?” Francie asked.

  “You don’t know?” Dirk asked her.

  “Nope.” She glanced up at the large, school room–style clock on the wall and said, “But whatever it is, you’d better get at it because I’m on again in five minutes.”

  “You’ll be on again in five minutes if you’ve answered all my questions,” Dirk told her, clearly annoyed.

  Francie looked a little flustered, as though she wasn’t accustomed to males getting annoyed with her ... or at least, showing it.

  “Okay,” she said. “What do you want to ask me?”

  “Where were you the day before yesterday, in the afternoon?” Savannah asked.

  “Why?”

  “Please answer the question,” Dirk said, sounding far less polite than his words.

  “I was here all day.”

  “Doing what?” Savannah asked.

  “Dancing.” She hesitated a moment, thinking. Then added, “And taking a nap.”

  “You took a nap?” Dirk asked.

  “Yeah. I take a nap most days. Is that against the law?”

  “Where exactly did you take this snooze of yours?”

  “Right here. I came in here and conked out on this sofa. Willy doesn’t care.” A sweet, sappy grin crossed her face. “Willy’s nice to me.”

  Yeah, I’ll bet he is, Savannah thought. And in return, you’re probably very nice to Willy’s willy.

  But she didn’t say it. Long ago, she’d learned that the key to being a good private detective was not mentioning out loud 99.9 percent of what crossed your mind.

  That worked in one’s nonprofessional life, as well. Though she had a little more trouble implementing the rule there.

  “How long was your nap?” Dirk was asking her.

  “I don’t know. It was two days ago. An hour or two, I guess. I get really tired. I work late every night. And it’s hard work ... harder than you might think.”

  “I’m sure you work your fingers to the bone,” Savannah said. “Even when you aren’t dancing.”

  Dirk snickered. Then quickly donned his poker face again. “Did anybody come in here while you were taking your nap?”

  “No. Willy told everybody to leave me alone and let me rest. He takes good care of me.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Dirk gave Savannah a quick look. “And where’s the back door to this place?”

  “Right out that door and to the left.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Dirk took a step closer to her. “Ms. Di Napoli, I want you to tell me about Madeline Aberson.”

  In less than two seconds, Francie’s face turned a shockingly bright shade of red. “That rotten, lousy bitch. I hate her! What did she tell you this time?”

  “What do you think she told me?” Dirk asked evenly.

  “Did she complain that I was threatening her life again?”

  When Dirk didn’t reply, she said, “That’s what I thought. I make a couple of stinking phone calls, and she runs to the police about it.”

  “When did you make these calls?” Dirk asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess a couple of days ago.”

  Savannah flashed back on Madeline’s cell phone playing “La Cucaracha,” and she smiled. How much do you wanna bet, she thought, when Dirk gets the phone records, it’ll have been her?

  “What a pathetic loser that Madeline is,” Francie kept spewing. “And while she was being a busybody tattletale, did she happen to mention why I threatened her?”

  “We’d like to hear your side of the story,” Savannah said. “We’d like for you to tell us why.”

  “Because she won’t leave Arlo alone! He told her it was over, that he never wanted to see her ugly old face aga
in.” She turned to Savannah. “Did you get a load of that eye job. Oh my gawd, did that doctor butcher her or what?”

  Savannah resisted the urge to meow and claw the air. Even Diamante and Cleo weren’t catty enough to mention a botched plastic surgery.

  Although, maybe it wasn’t a fair comparison, since Madeline Aberson hadn’t slept with either of their husbands.

  “Why do you care if she calls Arlo?” Dirk asked. “Aren’t you and him broke up now?”

  “Well, yes. But we would be anyway, no matter what happened between her and him.”

  “Why’s that?” Savannah asked.

  “ ’Cause he’s in jail for hitting me again. And that’s a real bummer.”

  “I’ll bet it is.”

  “Yeah, when he’s in jail, he can’t work and there’s no money. That’s why I have to dance in a place like this. But we might get back together when he gets out ... if she’ll just stay away from him. That’s why I called her and threatened to hurt her, to get her to leave him alone. I didn’t mean what I said about shooting her in the back in a dark alley. I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  She shrugged. “Hell, I don’t even own a gun.”

  Savannah and Dirk exchanged glances.

  “Shoot her in the back in a dark alley. Hmm,” Savannah said. “How do you feel about well-lit bridal suite terraces?”

  “What?” Francie looked genuinely confused, but Savannah wasn’t sure.

  “And how about ice picks?” Dirk asked. “Where do you stand on those?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yeah, I have an ice pick. But I hardly ever use it. Once in a while I do, when I have girlfriends over for margaritas. I have to break up the ice that comes in those plastic bags that you get at the liquor store. Why?”

  Dirk stood there, looking at her, studying her face closely for a long time. Then he said, “Do you know why we’re here, Ms. Di Napoli?”

  “I figure it’s because she called you and complained about me calling her, telling her I’d hurt her if she didn’t leave my man alone.” She reached back and nervously twisted her long hair into the facsimile of a ponytail. “You’re here to tell me not to have any contact with her, or I’ll get in trouble. Right?”