Jesup, who was sitting in Savannah’s comfy chair, painting her toenails black, glanced up—as did the rest of them—slightly surprised looks on their faces.
“Well, boy ... you got a nasty tone there, Sis,” Marietta said. “You best mind how you address us.”
“Shhh, Mari,” Cordele said. “Can’t you see that Savannah’s experiencing some sort of anxiety attack? It’s no doubt related to the post-traumatic stress she’s suffered from the shooting. We all need to be patient with her as she works through her issues. She’s quite fragile at this time and—”
“Oh, can it, Cordele,” Savannah snapped. “The last thing I need right now is hearing your psycho-babble. I’m not fragile; I’m fed up. And if I’m stressed out, it ain’t just from getting shot or having three attempted weddings go down the drain. It’s also from putting up with the likes of you!”
Their mouths dropped open.
“Well, I never heard such abuse,” Vidalia said, sitting up and slapping her magazine down onto the coffee table.
It occurred to Savannah that she looked downright unnatural without it, and what sad commentary on her daily life that was.
“Well, you’re gonna hear what I’ve got to say,” Savannah told them. “So listen up, all of you.”
She drew a deep breath. “Vidalia, I love those children of yours to pieces, but I swear, if you don’t keep them from tearing up my house, I’m gonna send you a bill that’ll knock your eyeballs out. And I’m gonna expect you to pay it. So far you owe me for two African violets, three rose bushes, the plumber’s bill from Jilly flushing that toy teacup down the toilet, the dry cleaning to get the peanut butter and jelly off my good bedspread—who the hell sends a kid off for a nap with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his hand? Oh ... and a toothbrush.”
“A toothbrush?”
“Yes. Your son decided to pee on mine. God knows why.”
“He didn’t!”
“He did! I caught him in the act.”
Savannah turned to Marietta. “And I’m not going to tell you again that when you’re in my house, you’ll watch family-oriented programming on that television or not watch it at all. With children and our saintly grandmother in the house, you’ll show some restraint and respect, or I swear I’ll unplug the thing and hide the cord.”
“Well! I—”
“And while I’m talkin’ to you ... from now on you make your own damned bologna sandwiches! You’re over forty years old, for Pete’s sake! Learn to feed yourself!”
She glanced toward the foyer and saw Dirk standing just around the corner, a big grin across his mug.
On a roll, she turned to Macon. “Haul your butt up off that floor,” she told him, “and make yourself useful for once! Pick up all this food trash you’ve been throwin’ down for the past week and drag the garbage to the curb. Tomorrow’s collection day. And when you get back in here, go put on some clean clothes and throw those in the washing machine. You haven’t changed since you been here, and frankly, you smell like the south end of a north-bound polecat.”
It was Jesup’s turn. “If you want to spend your life painting spiders and bats and blood drops and other weird things on your body, that’s your business. But do it outside, ’cause you’ve already got that glittery makeup crap all over my couch, and if you get it on my comfy chair, you’re gonna pay to have it reupholstered.”
“Well! I never had anybody speak so disrespectful to me in all my livin’ life!” Vidalia said, jumping up off the sofa with far more energy than Savannah had seen her display in years. “And frankly, Savannah, I’m disappointed in you that you’d speak so harshly to anyone, let alone your loved ones. I thought better of you.”
“Oh, come down off that high horse before you get a nose bleed,” Savannah told her. “You kept us all awake half the night, yelling at Butch because he said he likes your big butt! You’ve got a big heinie, Vidalia! Of course you do; you’re a Reid! And lucky for you, you’ve also got a sweetheart of a husband who loves every inch of it. Get over it and move on! Geezzzz!”
“Well! If that don’t just cap it all!” Vidalia said, as she stomped across the living room, passed Dirk in the foyer, and huffed and puffed her way up the staircase.
“Quiet down, or you’ll wake up those younguns of yours,” Savannah called after her. “And then poor Butch’ll have to watch ’em, ’cause Lord knows, you’ll be too busy reading about what nit-wit movie star’s screwin’ what other ’un.”
Vidalia continued to huff and puff, but she did lighten her step as she disappeared up the staircase.
With a bit of effort, Macon raised his bulk from the floor and did a pseudo brush off of his sweat pants. “Well, I guess I’ll go change clothes, since I’ve been told that I stink!”
“Eh,” Jesup said, “ain’t like it’s the first time somebody told you that.” She gathered up her makeup and tossed it into a skull and crossbones kit. “And I’ll take my grooming supplies out to the backyard. That is, if Savannah isn’t afraid I’ll get nail polish on her lawn furniture.”
“Actually, I am. Sit on the grass.”
Jesup disappeared, too.
“Well,” Marietta said, making a great show of changing the channels on the television to one with cartoons, then tossing the remote control onto the coffee table. “If this ain’t a fine how-do-you-do. We come all the way out here to watch you celebrate your nut-chew-alls and—”
“Nuptials, Marietta. For God’s sake, it’s pronounced ‘nuptials! ’” Savannah walked over to her chair and plopped down in it. “When will you ever learn how to talk?”
“Well, excuuuse me! I’m sorry I don’t pernounce things exactly the way that you—”
“Pronounce. It’s pronounced ‘pro-nounce.’ Not per-nounce.”
“Well!” Marietta stood and flounced out of the room by way of the kitchen door, saying, “That does it! You’ve always been bossy, bad-tempered, and high-strung, Savannah ... but this takes the cake!”
Only Cordele remained—a patient, condescending look on her face. “I understand, Savannah,” she said. “I was expecting this. I knew it was coming, this overreaction you’re having to simple, everyday family issues. You totally fit the diagnostic criteria for PTSD, that’s post-traumatic stress disorder, or at least ASR, that’s acute stress response. So—”
“Stop it!” Savannah said, gritting her teeth.
“So,” Cordele continued, undaunted, “unlike the rest, I’m not going to take your verbal abuse personally. I’m going to take into account the stress you’re experiencing with your wedding plans falling through ... not to mention your near-death experience and—”
“Cordele, I’m warning you, girl. If I have to get up out of this chair and come over there and smack you, I’ll do it twice. Do not pretend that you know me better than I know myself. It’s annoying as hell. So are your stupid labels and diagnoses. Just keep ’em to yourself!”
Her chin lifted several notches, and nose high in the air, Cordele headed for the kitchen door, too, her normally ramrod-straight posture even stiffer than usual. “That’s what I get, trying to help someone who won’t admit they need help. Clearly the denial stage of grieving ... grieving for the loss of a sense of security. . . loss of ...”
Her voice trailed away as she left the room and not a moment too soon for Savannah.
She sat there in her living room, in her favorite chair, her feet on her cushy ottoman. Even Diamante and Cleopatra climbed down from their sunny window perch and jumped up onto her lap, purring and rubbing their glossy black heads against her hands to get her to pet them.
Dirk stepped out of the foyer and into the living room. His ear-to-ear smile looked like it was going to reach all the way around his head.
“So,” he said, “was it good for you?”
“I’m just basking in the afterglow,” she replied, scratching behind Cleo’s left ear. “And I’m going to enjoy the feeling for as long as I can. Because knowing me like I do, I’m sure I’ll be second-guessing myself and fee
ling all guilt-ridden in five minutes.”
Dirk started to reply, but his cell phone rang. He answered it, “Coulter here.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Yeah, well, who’re you and what do you want with me?”
She smiled. Dirk had such a great telephone persona. It was even more gracious and eloquent than his non-telephone persona.
“Yeah, all right. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
He hung up.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Bambi Delight.”
“Who?”
“Another stripper at Willy’s.”
“What did she want with you?”
“She wants me to meet her at Willy’s. Says she can tell me who killed Madeline Aberson. Wanna come with me?”
Savannah sighed. “I should stay here, make amends with my siblings, spend some quality time with them, and re-cement our badly strained familial bonds.”
“Yeah, you probably should. Are you gonna?”
She stood and grabbed her purse. “Hell no. Let’s get going.”
Chapter 18
“Ah, Willy’s. How I’ve missed this place,” Savannah said through moderately gritted teeth as they pulled up in front of the strip joint once again.
“You know you’ve got the hots for Will,” Dirk teased her. “I saw you ogling him from across the room the other day.”
“Oh, right. That leather vest really does it for me. I’m gonna get you one of those to wear for me on our honeymoon night.”
“We’re going to have a honeymoon night?” he asked, a bit wistfully.
“Theoretically,” she replied, sounding just as sad.
Once inside Willy’s Rendezvous, it didn’t take them long to identify Miss Bambi Delight.
Even through the copious clouds of second-hand smoke, she wasn’t hard to spot.
“She’s gotta be the one over there with the plastic Rudolph antlers on her head and the deer tail hanging off her bikini bottom,” Savannah said, pointing.
“What powers of observation you have, my dear,” Dirk said, nudging her. “Ever thought about being a detective when you grow up?”
“Yeah. For a minute. Till I heard I’d have to hang out in dives like this one. Then I decided to be the Tooth Fairy, instead.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“It didn’t. Went broke ... you know, negative cash flow and all.”
They didn’t even have to approach Bambi. She spotted them almost instantly and hightailed her fake tail across the room to them.
She was a young, petite brunette with a nice figure that didn’t appear to have been heavily augmented, like Francie’s.
As Savannah gave her a quick once-over, she decided that Bambi—or whatever her real name was—would have been pretty, if she hadn’t looked so darned hard and mad at the world.
“Hi,” she said to them. “I heard you were here the other day, talking to Francie. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Savannah glanced around. Big Willy, his vest, and ponytail were behind the bar, drawing mugs of beer. Francie was nowhere to be seen. And the rest of the Rendezvous crowd’s attention was riveted on a particularly buxom redhead on the pole.
“So you said on the phone,” Dirk replied. “You on a break now?”
“Better than that. I’m off!”
He nodded toward the front door. “Then come out to my car, and let’s talk.”
“Lemme get dressed. I don’t want to be seen in ... you know ... this.” She waved a hand at the almost-clothes she was almost wearing.
“Yeah, okay,” Dirk replied. “Meet you out there. It’s the blue Buick.”
As Bambi scurried away to “get decent,” Savannah and Dirk left the bar and returned to the parking lot.
“People are funny,” Dirk observed. “Inside those walls, she strips off down to buck naked. But heaven forbid somebody might catch a glimpse of her out here in her bikini.”
Savannah chuckled. “Hey, a gal’s gotta uphold her standards, whatever they may be.”
They had only been in the car a couple of minutes when Bambi came strutting out, wearing a pair of super-short shorts, an ultra-skimpy halter top, and flip-flops. She was carrying a ragged duffle bag with a pair of plastic antlers sticking out the top.
“Oh,” Dirk said. “I’m so glad she got dressed up for us. That outfit’s so much better than the other one.”
Savannah reached around to unlock the back door for her. “Hey, I never said a gal’s particular standards had to make sense to anyone but her.”
The door opened, and Bambi crawled into Dirk’s backseat, shoving fast-food wrappers aside to make room for herself and her bag.
“Can we go somewhere else to talk?” she said with a quick glance back at the front door of the club. “I’d feel more comfortable if ...”
“Sure,” Dirk said. “Anyplace special?”
“ ’Bout a half a mile down the road there’s a church with a big parking lot. Sometimes I go there to talk to ... I mean we ... I mean, sometimes us girls ... talk to guys there.”
The skin on the back of Savannah’s neck crawled, and she was glad that Granny Reid hadn’t heard that. For sure, she’d call down hellfire and damnation on anybody who dared to ... talk ... to customers right there on God’s own property.
“Oookay,” Dirk said. “Let’s go wherever you’re comfortable.”
He gave Savannah a sideways glance.
She shrugged and said, “Standards. I’m telling you ... standards.”
Savannah could see why Willy’s ladies had chosen this spot for their off-campus rendezvous. It was a large parking lot, and the far end of it was at the edge of a dense woods. A long way from the actual church and with a great view of the open space.
Most importantly, a body who was up to no good could see the law coming a mile off and get their britches hiked back up in time.
Ah, the subtleties of the world’s oldest profession, she thought.
“Okay,” Dirk said as he cut the key on the Buick and turned to face his backseat passenger. “Let ’er rip. Whatcha got?”
“You two are investigating a murder, right?” Bambi said. “That gal that Francie’s old man was doing ... ?”
“Yes,” Dirk replied. “How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “Hey, Willy’s is a small place. We know everything about everybody there.”
“Everything?” Savannah said, hopeful.
“Everything worth knowing.” Bambi took a deep breath that threatened to cause her to pop out of her teeny halter top, and said, “For instance, I know that Francie killed that Madeline gal.”
“You do?” Savannah said, working very hard not to get excited or to let it show in her voice. She’d been led down way too many dead-end paths to get too excited too early.
“How do you know that?” Dirk asked.
Bambi looked very pleased with herself. She was enjoying this a lot, and that alone made Savannah doubtful.
Most genuine informers didn’t enjoy the act of informing. They did it for any one of a dozen reasons, and none of those motives were anything to put a smile on anyone’s face—unless, of course, they were getting paid for it.
“Well ...” Bambi said. “I know that she told you that she was taking a nap in Willy’s office when that gal got killed. And she wasn’t.”
“No? How can you be so sure?” Savannah asked.
“Because I saw her sneaking out the back door. The rear entrance is right there by Willy’s office door, you know.”
“Yes,” Savannah said. “We noticed that.”
“You saw her sneaking out.” Dirk reached for his bag of cinnamon sticks on the dash and took one out. “How do you know she was ‘sneaking’ and not just ‘going’ out the door?”
“She was creeping along, like on her tippy-toes, and looking around like she was hoping nobody was watching her.”
He popped the cinnamon into his mouth. “But you were watching her.”
“Yeah.�
�
“From where?”
“Just inside the door to the ladies’ can. It’s down the hall, out of sight. She didn’t know I was there.”
“That’s it?” Savannah said. “You saw her tippy-toe out the door, and that’s your proof that she killed Madeline Aberson?”
“Also, I heard her say something suspicious to Willy.”
“What’s that?” Dirk asked.
“When she came back a few hours later, she went up to him at the bar and whispered something to him. I heard it. She said, ‘I took care of her, like I told you I was gonna. So, that’s one problem that ain’t a problem no more.’”
Savannah’s neck bristled again, but this time it was a good sign. This wasn’t a definitive, solid piece of evidence, but then, it might turn out to be something worthwhile.
In the past, she had solved cases with less.
“That’s pretty incriminating, don’t you think?” Bambi said. “It could mean something, huh?”
Dirk had his poker face in place as he gave her the briefest nod. “Might. Might not. But thanks for telling us. Anything else?”
Bambi seemed to get miffed in an instant. “What do you mean, ‘anything else?’ You expect me to solve your whole case for you? That’s pure gold, what I just gave you.”
“We don’t know yet what you just gave us,” Savannah told her. “We’ll have to check it out.”
“Well, there’s money offered for information in a case like this, isn’t there?” Bambi said, looking anything but innocent and doe-eyed as her stage name might suggest.
In fact, Savannah thought as she looked into the dancer’s face, she looks pretty darned predatory herself right now.
Back in Georgia, she’d seen chicken hawks looking friendlier at a hen they were about to tear apart.
“I don’t know what sort of reward, if any, is being offered in this case,” Dirk told her. “But I do thank you for being such a good citizen and coming forward like this. I’m sure there’s a special place in eternity for informers like you.”
Savannah nodded thoughtfully. “And especially those who do their good deeds right here on church property.”
Bambi looked from one to the other, a frown deepening on her face. “I think I’m ready for you to take me back to Willy’s to get my car,” she said.
Buried In Buttercream Page 18
