Buried In Buttercream

Madeline had dressed so expensively and driven a large, luxury car. Somehow, Savannah had thought her in-laws would be more well-to-do than this.
    The property was well tended, with a charming cottage garden in the front, surrounded by a white picket fence. There was even a cedar arbor over the front gate, bearing a cascade of pink, climbing roses.
    A small, purple bicycle leaned against a tree that had a swing hanging from one of its largest limbs.
    Savannah’s heart ached at the thought of making this notification. All notifications were tough, but when there were children involved, it was pure hell.
    “This bites,” Dirk said as they walked up the sidewalk and under the arbor.
    “Yeah. Really.” Savannah could feel her jaw tightening, her spine stiffening. “We’ve gotta close this case ... for so many reasons.”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    They knocked on the door and heard a small dog yipping ferociously inside.
    “Watch out,” Dirk said. “A barking rat.”
    “Yeah. Might rip out your Achilles tendon, if you’re not careful.”
    Eventually, the door opened and a grandmother straight out of central casting appeared. Every wave of her silver hair was in place. She wore a simple house dress with pastel pink and lavender flowers. And Savannah was surprised to see that at least one woman in the world, other than Granny Reid, still wore a snowy white apron when cooking.
    She even had a small smudge of flour on her chin.
    At her feet, a small, fluffy white dog of questionable heritage scampered, still barking with impressive volume and endless enthusiasm. Savannah couldn’t help thinking that she could quickly get tired of such an animal. It made her glad she had non-barking cats.
    “Yes?” the woman said with a smile, wiping her hands on her apron. “May I help you?”
    A little girl with big brown eyes and glittery butterfly barrettes holding back her long, chestnut hair peeked around her grandmother’s skirt. She was holding a large chocolate chip cookie in her hand. Some of the chocolate was smeared around her mouth.
    The scent of the cookies wafted through the door, smelling like heaven itself.
    “Are you Mrs. Geraldine Aberson?” Savannah asked.
    “Yes, I’m Gerri Aberson,” she replied as she scooped the dog up and tucked it under her left arm. “Shhh, Snowflake. That’s enough.” It stopped barking immediately and began to lick her cheek.
    Dirk pulled his badge from his pocket and showed it to the woman. “I’m Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter. This is Savannah Reid. We need to talk to you.” He glanced down at the child. “Is there anyone else here, other than the two of you?”
    The woman looked confused, concerned. “Yes, my husband is here.”
    “Anyone else?”
    “No, just the two of us and our granddaughter here, Elizabeth. Why?”
    Dirk glanced down at his shoes, then at the girl. “Are you friendly with either of your neighbors?” he asked.
    “Uh, yes. All of them. Why?” the grandmother wanted to know.
    “Are any of them home now?”
    She nodded and pointed to the house on the right. “Leslie’s always at home this time of day.”
    “Could you send Elizabeth over there for a little while?”
    “Yes, I suppose so.” She bent down, eye level with the girl. “Lizzie, could you go to Mrs. Connell’s house and knock on her door and ask her if you can stay with her for a few minutes?”
    “Can I have more cookies when I get back?” the girl asked.
    “Sure you can. And a glass of milk, too. Scoot along now.”
    Dirk and Savannah waited until the child had left the yard before Savannah said, “Could we please come inside? We really need to talk to you about something very important.”
    “Of course. Please come in.” Geraldine took a few steps back into the house and beckoned to them.
    They followed her inside to find that the home was as quaint and grandmotherly as the lady who lived there. With its Victorian-style furniture, assorted antique accessories, classic art in gilded frames, and stained glass windows, Savannah imagined that this would be the way Granny Reid would furnish her home ... if only she could afford to.
    “You should call your husband in here, too,” Dirk told her.
    “Oh. Okay. Just a moment, please.” She set the dog on a hand-hooked rug and walked halfway down a hall. “Reuben!” she called out. “Reuben, come here! We’ve got company!”
    “Who is it?” replied a male voice from the depths of the house.
    “Leave that birdhouse alone and