Buried In Buttercream

by G. A. McKevett

  “Yeah, this is really cool!” Waycross agreed. “I’ve never seen the desert before. It’s awesome.”

  Savannah looked ahead at the straight, straight road stretching into infinity before them. And on either side, brown sand decorated with brown brush. Only the occasional Joshua tree broke the monotony.

  “Eh, maybe for rattlesnakes, jackrabbits, lizards, and rats,” she muttered, but not loud enough for them to hear her. No point in popping anybody’s bubble.

  “I like it because it reminds me of Bonanza,” Dirk said wistfully, as he, too, rolled down his window and took a deep breath. “I can just see Hoss and Pa and Adam and Little Joe riding their horses across this very spot, rounding up cattle, shooting at bad guys.”

  “Dirk, you’re just too old to be that obsessed with a television show,” Savannah said.

  “I like it, so shoot me. What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s kinda ... well ... nerdy, the way you go walking around a grocery store humming that theme.”

  “It’s catchy. When I watch a Bonanza marathon, and hear it forty-eight times in twenty-four hours, it sorta sticks in your head, you know?”

  “That’s kinda my point. Also, you still have your Little Joe lunchbox.”

  “So? It’s a collectors’ item by now.”

  She sighed. How could you argue with a zealot?

  “Besides,” she said, giving it one more try. “The Ponderosa was in Nevada. We’re still in California.”

  “We’ll be in Nevada in an hour or so.”

  “I give up.”

  Chapter 20

  “Okay, so Las Vegas is ... um ... big,” Waycross said, as they stood in front of the Victoriana Hotel and looked up and down the street. “Not as spiffy as I thought it might be, but okay, I guess.”

  “Leave it to you, little brother,” Savannah said as they walked to the front door of the hotel, suitcases in hand, “to be impressed with a desert full of nothing and let down by the adult vacation capital of the US.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just expecting really big, cool hotels and casinos, and these buildings aren’t that big and most of them need a painting. I’d say, Sin City is sorta shabby looking.”

  “That’s because you haven’t seen the good parts yet,” Dirk told him. “Wait’ll you get a load of the Strip. And Fremont Street at night. That’ll knock your socks off.”

  “I’m not sure,” Tammy said, “because I’ve never been here before, but I don’t think we even got into Las Vegas proper. This is sort of out in the toolies.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Savannah looked up at the hotel façade and thought it looked more like an old haunted mansion than a hotel. And a rundown one at that. “And this place gives me the willies.”

  “Maybe that was the appeal,” Dirk said. “Undertakers’ convention. . . ?”

  “Sure, that must be it.” Waycross held the door open for the rest to enter. “Makes sense if you think about it. There’s more atmosphere in a creepy place like this than one of them fancy, newfangled places.”

  “No offense,” Tammy said before they crossed the lobby, “but I want to check in alone. I don’t want anyone to know I’m with you guys. It’ll blow my cover with the concierge.”

  With that, she prissed off, leaving them to watch her sashay and chuckle among themselves.

  “Boy howdy,” Waycross said, “she’s got a ‘cover’! She sure does take this detecting stuff serious!”

  Savannah rolled her eyes. “You’ve no idea.”

  “It’s what she lives for,” Dirk told him. “And if you make fun of her for it, she’ll call you all sorts of obscene things, like she does me.”

  Waycross’s eyes widened. “I can’t imagine a nice lady like Tammy cussin’.”

  “Like a blue streak,” Dirk replied.

  “Oh, stop it.” Savannah smacked Dirk on the arm. “She calls him Dirko. And if she’s really mad, Pee-Pee Head or Booger Brain.”

  “E www, that’s pretty bad.”

  Dirk nodded. “See. I told you so. Let’s go check in.”

  Savannah turned to Dirk. “This is going to be expensive ... four rooms. You’re coughing up the big bucks, right?”

  “Four!” Dirk was horrified. “How am I gonna explain four rooms to the captain? He’ll never okay something like that! I was thinking two.”

  “Okay,” Savannah said, walking in front of him. “Girls in one room and boys in the other.”

  “That wasn’t exactly the arrangement we boys were hoping for,” he replied. “And what about Tammy’s cover?”

  “She’ll have to come up with a new one.”

  As Savannah joined Tammy at the counter, Dirk turned to Waycross and shrugged. “Oh, well ... can’t say I didn’t try for you, good buddy.”

  “It’s just as well. Sooner or later, I’ve gotta go back and look my grandma in the eye. And she can always tell when I’ve been up to no good.”

  Half an hour later, Savannah and Tammy were settled in their “girls’ room.” Savannah was lying on the bed, resting her eyes that were weary from the desert glare. Tammy was arranging the fresh fruit she had bought on a hand towel on the desk.

  “This isn’t so bad,” Savannah said, enjoying the respite from having her hands on the wheel and her foot on the gas. “It doesn’t smell too much like the bottom of an ashtray.”

  “Third-hand smoke is so dangerous,” Tammy replied. “Waycross doesn’t smoke, does he?”

  “He did once. Then Granny bought him a big, cheap cigar and made him puff on it till he puked. That was Gran’s technique for keeping all of us away from Demon Tobaccy.”

  “I’ll bet it worked.”

  “Like a charm. Well, that and the threat of a trip behind the woodshed.”

  “Granny was strict with you guys.”

  “It didn’t hurt us none. She dished out way more love than she ever did whuppins.”

  A “Shave and a Haircut” knock sounded on their door ... with one extra little tap at the end.

  “Dirko,” Tammy said. “He thinks that ‘secret knock’ of his is so original.”

  “He’s a man,” Savannah said. “So, he suffers from delusions of grandeur. It’s part of the charm of the gender. Let him in before he goes to his authoritarian police knock and disturbs the whole building.”

  Savannah groaned as she sat up, stretched, opened her eyes, and looked around.

  No, the room wasn’t that bad. It was actually sort of charming, in a haunted-house, bordello sort of way.

  The dark mahogany furniture was antique, but in good condition, and the plum velvet bedspreads added a typical, overdone Vegas touch. The antique lamp with its fringed shade gave a golden glow to the room. And on the walls, the Victorian-era prints in their gilded frames added a certain ambiance.

  When they had first entered the room, Savannah had decided that this was, indeed, the perfect place for a funeral directors’ convention.

  And with any luck, it might turn out to be the perfect place to catch a cold-blooded killer.

  Tammy opened the door and Dirk entered, followed by Waycross.

  Dirk took one look around the room and said, “Hey, you gals got big beds. We got twins. What’s with that?”

  “We made eyes at the guy who checked us in. Did you?” Savannah asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then don’t complain. You want the perks, you gotta put out. Besides, you don’t really want to sleep in a queen bed, do you?”

  “No, but a couple of kings would’ve been nice.”

  “Stop your complaining,” Tammy said, offering him a freshly washed and polished, organic apple. “And sit down over there. We’ve got to come up with a plan. A plan to catch this sucker so that we can go back home and you two can get married. A brilliant plan. A super plan. A sneaky plan.”

  “This was the plan?” Dirk asked Savannah the next morning as they stood across the lobby of the Victoriana and watched Tammy and Waycross as the two of them watched Ethan Aberson.

 
They had hung around the lobby in pairs, pretending to chitchat until Aberson had walked through. They’d recognized him instantly from his DMV photo. And Savannah had to admit that he was even more attractive in person.

  Tall and muscular, with thick prematurely silver hair, and a deep tan, he didn’t look like the stereotype of the pale, thin, black-haired undertaker.

  Again, a somewhat annoyed Dirk said, “Is this the sneaky, brilliant plan?”

  “I guess so,” Savannah replied. “Why?”

  “It seems sorta stupid. Why don’t I just go up and talk to him, grill him ... you know, the usual? Isn’t that what we came here for?”

  Unaware that he was being watched by a couple who were themselves being watched, Ethan strolled over to a stand that held brochures, advertising some of the many, many attractions the city had to offer.

  Tammy and Waycross meandered over to the window and pretended to look outside. But it was obvious to Savannah that Tammy was observing Ethan’s every action in a mirror on the wall.

  “You and I might have come here just to talk to him,” Savannah said. “But Tammy’s all hot to trot to do some hardcore detecting first. And she might be right. Why don’t we observe him for a while and see what he’s up to?”

  Dirk just grunted.

  “Don’t you have a feeling that this trip is more than just a convention for him? After all, he’s staying even though the seminar’s over. Why’s that?”

  Dirk shrugged. “It’s Vegas, for heaven’s sake. Maybe he just wants to do some gambling, go to some strip clubs, see some shows.”

  “Then why’s he still staying here, out in the boonies, away from all the action?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, maybe if we follow him around a bit, we’ll find out.”

  “You mean, follow the bimbo and your brother while they follow him.”

  “We can’t all four follow him at the same time in one big ol’ lump. That’d be a bit obvious, don’t you think? Duh.”

  “Oh, wow! Do you see that? He’s picking up one of those brochures over there! Be still, my heart.”

  “Be still your mouth, before you get in trouble.”

  “I’m so afraid.”

  “Live in fear, my dear. Live in fear.”

  “Pooh.”

  Ten minutes later, Savannah and Dirk were walking down the street, tailing Tammy and Waycross, who were still tailing Ethan Aberson.

  Their strange, clandestine parade continued for a few blocks before Dirk lost his patience, took out his cell phone, and called Tammy.

  “What the hell are we doing?” he barked into the phone.

  Savannah saw Tammy shoot an annoyed look over her shoulder before she answered him.

  Dirk put it on speaker phone so that Savannah could hear.

  “What do you mean, what are we are doing?” Tammy said. “We’re surveilling our suspect.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, there’s no such word as ‘surveilling’?”

  “There is, too, I looked it up in the dictionary.”

  Savannah nodded. “Me, too. It’s a word.”

  “Okay, why exactly are we ‘surveilling’ our suspect instead of me just interviewing him?”

  “Because he’s going someplace suspicious, and we want to observe what he’s going to do there.”

  “He could be going anywhere. How do you know it’s someplace suspicious?”

  “Because we know. We saw which brochure he took out of that display there in the lobby. And we’re just pretty sure that’s where he’s headed.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Tammy snapped her phone closed as she shot Dirk a cocky look over her shoulder.

  He growled. “One of these days, one of these days ... to the moon.”

  “Yeah, yeah. She lives in fear, too.”

  Two blocks ahead, Ethan turned the corner, which resulted in a new view for all of them.

  This was a quiet, sparsely traveled, street where the buildings were in far more need of a sprucing up than the Victoriana. The desert sun had done its damage on the walls of businesses and houses alike, causing their paint to peel and fade to pastel, no matter what their original shade had been.

  Decorative bits of wrought iron were rusted, flowerbeds were empty, and lawns were parched. The signs on the various storefronts advertised off-beat and colorful services and products, like: Lady Velma’s Tarot Readings, Stinkin’ Inkin’ Tattoos and Body Piercings, and Lame Vanilla Washington’s Voodoo Parlor.

  And in the center of this eclectic block, was the strangest of them all. A large, two-story, brick structure with blackened windows and a large, white skull painted above the front door.

  Ethan Aberson hurried inside.

  They could hear the bells on the door tinkling as he opened and closed it.

  This time it was Savannah who called Tammy. “What the heck is that place? And don’t tell me it’s ‘someplace suspicious,’ unless you wanna get beaned the next time I’ve got you within reach.”

  “It’s the Museum of Death,” Tammy said proudly. “Cool, huh? And suspicious, no?”

  Savannah looked at Dirk. “Do you consider a museum about death out of the ordinary?”

  “Not for an undertaker. You’ve gotta figure that anybody who’s a funeral director has to be wired just a little bit different from the rest of us.”

  “Well, I think it’s suspicious,” Tammy said. “We’re here investigating him for murder, and he’s all obsessed with death? What are the chances?”

  “Surely they have quite a few visitors to this place, and they can’t all be murderers,” Savannah said, knowing that her words were falling on ears that had already made up their minds.

  She’d seen Tammy like this many times before. Savannah called it her Super Sleuth mode. There was no dampening the gal’s passions at a time like this.

  “Listen,” Tammy said, “we’re going in now, so I have to hang up. Can’t risk him overhearing what I’m saying to you.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Are you two coming in, too?”

  Savannah turned to Dirk. “Do you want to check out the place and tail the tails?”

  “No. We’re outta here. They can follow him around, while we go check out that cat house she says he went to. But while we’re gone, tell her not to approach him for any reason whatsoever. He’s to be considered armed and dangerous at all times.”

  Savannah returned to the phone. “Dirk says—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard him.”

  “He means it, Tams. And I mean it, too. No contact! And if you need anything at all, call me. Okay?”

  But Tammy had already hung up.

  Savannah looked at Dirk and shook her head. “I almost feel sorry for ol’ Ethan. With a bloodhound like her after him, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Chapter 21

  “More driving. More desert. Oh, goody gum drops,” Savannah complained as they headed out of Vegas and once again, into the wild, open countryside.

  “You’ve gotta leave town,” Dirk said, “if you’re going to find a whorehouse. Contrary to popular opinion, there aren’t any in the city. Not officially anyway.”

  “I don’t think most sex workers would approve of your terminology.”

  “Oh, sorry. How about den of iniquity? House of ill repute?”

  “I think the appropriate term is brothel.”

  “Huh. I didn’t think you were the type who worried a whole lot about hookers getting offended.”

  Savannah fixed her eyes on the road straight ahead and looked a bit grim as she said, “You and I, we’ve had a lot of contact with that world. How many gals, and guys, too, did we bust in our careers?”

  “Way too many.”

  “That’s for sure. I had a front-row view to how much misery it causes in this world. To the prostitutes themselves, their johns, and the johns’ families. I’ve seen the horrible results of the diseases that are spread, and th
e dangerous situations these girls put themselves in to make a buck. The abusive pimps. The drug-addiction angle. There’s a heap of better ways to make a living that don’t get a body beaten or killed.”

  “So, you wouldn’t legalize it?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Me either.”

  Savannah thought for a few moments, remembering. Wishing she could forget.

  “My father was into prostitutes,” she said.

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she caught her breath, shocked by her own candor. She had never shared that with anyone before.

  “He was?”

  She ventured a glance at Dirk. He seemed a little surprised, but mostly sad.

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Van. Very sorry. I had no idea.”

  She took a deep breath. “As you know, he was a trucker. Those truck stop cuties would wave it in his face, and he’d go for it every time. Unless you believe my mother’s version of the story, and then they didn’t even have to wave it. He’d go after it. In fact, she said that’s why he became a trucker in the first place. So he could be away from home for days on end and do whatever he wanted with anybody he wanted.”

  Dirk reached over and laid a hand on her shoulder. “That must have been awful for you.”

  “It was. And I remember lying in bed, crying, when I was little, after hearing them screaming and fighting about it. And I wanted to just get up out of that bed and go to those truck stops and tell those girls to leave my daddy alone. That he belonged to us kids and my mommy. That we needed him more than they did.”

  He ran his fingers gently through the back of her hair and massaged the nape of her neck. “I’m so sorry, Van.”

  “So, I’d have to say, no, I don’t like prostitution very much.”

  “I don’t suppose you do. And I can’t blame you.”

  “But we’re on our way to interview some, so I’m going to put my prejudices in my back pocket, and you’re going to watch your terminology. Because no matter what they do for a living, we’re going to treat them with respect.”

  “Understood.”