Buried In Buttercream

police was known for using the front door for one simple reason: photo opportunities.
    He never missed a chance to see his own mug on the evening news.
    And since Savannah harbored a deep and enduring dislike for the guy, she avoided running into him when at all possible. Her “divorce” from the San Carmelita Police Department had been anything but amicable. The details had been gory, and both she and the department brass had excellent memories. So, they avoided each other whenever possible.
    The other occupants of the building were another story.
    From the moment she entered the station house, she was warmly greeted by the rank and file.
    “Hey, Savannah! Lookin’ good, gal!” Jake Murphy said as he passed her in the hallway.
    “So sorry about what happened with the community center,” Belinda from CSI told her as she bumped into her outside the ladies’ room. “Mike and I had our party clothes on and were ready to leave the house when we heard.”
    “Yeah, it was a bite in the ass,” Savannah said. “But don’t put those fancy duds away. We’ll be rescheduling soon. Very soon.”
    “Good,” Belinda said. “It’s about time you made an honest man outta that guy.”
    Savannah nodded toward the detectives’-room door. “He in there?”
    “Yeah. And in a pretty good mood, considering he’s doing paperwork.”
    Savannah hefted a bag from Dirk’s favorite deli. “He’ll be even happier in two minutes. That’s about how long it takes a pastrami and rye to hit his bloodstream.”
    She said good-bye to Belinda and found Dirk at his desk, pecking with two fingers on the computer keyboard and squinting at the screen. He must have lost his glasses again.
    Otherwise, the room was empty—not an unusual state, considering the budget cuts. The force was half what it had been when she’d joined years ago. And, thanks to the encroachment of Los Angeles and its gang and drug problems, crime had at least doubled.
    Not a healthy equation.
    His face lit up when he saw her in a way that warmed her heart every time she saw it.
    She and Dirk had been close friends from almost the moment they had met, years ago. The cantankerous side of him, the side that put off a lot of people, hadn’t bothered her. Dirk’s bad moods weren’t any worse than anyone else’s; he was just more honest and outspoken about them.
    She respected that.
    And even if he wasn’t the most polished guy around, he meant well—most of the time—and that was more important than knowing which fork to use and lifting one’s pinky when sipping tea.
    And he loved her. He loved her with all his heart and showed it in a hundred practical ways.
    Like standing up and moving the chair he’d been sitting in—the comfortable one with the good back support—to the side for her and pulling up a hard, cold, metal chair for himself.
    She sat in the one he provided and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Glancing at the screen, she saw he was working on an arrest report.
    “Our twitch with the matches?” she asked.
    He nodded.
    No wonder he was so cheerful.
    She offered him the sack with the sandwich inside.
    The moment he saw the logo, he snatched it out of her hand. “Oh, whoa! Really? Babe, you rule!”
    “I do. It’s true.”
    He dove into the bag, then looked puzzled. “What? Just one? Where’s yours?”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “Since when?”
    “Since I filled up on Rolaid pastries and a big piece of chocolate cake there at the tearoom with Madeline.”
    “Oh, yeah, Ryan’s and John’s fancy-dandy wedding planner. How’d that go?”
    “I had to set her straight about the generous budget I ain’t got and that went over like a pregnant pole-vaulter.”
    He nodded and chewed thoughtfully. “That’s what I figured. I think some of those wedding planners charge according to the size of the budget.”
    Reaching over and wiping a smear of mustard off the side of his mouth, she said, “Then I hope she’s given some serious thought as to how to invest the five dollars and twenty-seven cents she’s going to earn from this gig.”
    “She didn’t help at all?”
    “To give her credit, she tried. She suggested the pavilion. Hadn’t heard about the mudslide yet. And the country club, but that’s out of the question.”
    “The one there by the lake?”
    “Yeah. She thought we could have the ceremony by the water, then go inside for the party and stay there that night in their bridal suite.”
    “How much does something like that