Buried In Buttercream

she was exhausted.
    “What’s next?” she asked, glancing at her watch. It was six o’clock, and she’d been going since six in the morning. It had been a long twelve hours. “Are we going to talk to Odelle, the business partner, or check on the hubby to see if he was in Vegas, like he told his parents he was?”
    Dirk hesitated before answering, his eyes on the road ahead as they wound their way down the hill toward Main Street. “Odelle can wait until tomorrow,” he said. “Once Dr. Liu’s done with the autopsy, we’ll know just what we’ve got.”
    “True. But you don’t really expect that with three stab wounds in her back, the doctor’s going to rule it an accident, a suicide, or natural causes.”
    “Of course not, but I like knowing as much as I can about the crime before I go accusing people of committing it.”
    Savannah nodded and said nothing as she watched the scenery from her passenger’s window. The sun was low on the ocean, spreading red and coral splendor on the waves. The peace of it soothed her spirit and gave her a moment to assess her own internal state.
    She was angry. And, although sometimes a bit of fury served an investigator well, adding fuel to their determination, this time it was interfering with her thought processes.
    Like Dirk, she knew that you needed to find out as much as you could about the crime before interviewing suspects. You never got a second chance to collect those precious first impressions, and you needed to know exactly the right questions to ask.
    She was embarrassed that it was so obvious, to them both, that he was behaving more professionally than she was.
    “So,” she said in her most officious tone, “we can call the Victoriana in Vegas and see if he’s checked in there. Find out what convention he’s attending, with what company. See if he’s made all the meetings, etcetera.”
    “Yes,” Dirk said softly. “That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll go to the station, make the calls. See if his alibi holds.”
    “ You’ll go to the station? Just you ?”
    “I think that’s best.” He reached over and placed his hand on her knee. “I’ll take you home, and you can get something to eat and rest. We’ll start fresh tomorrow.”
    “Since when don’t we work a case together?”
    “It’s just some phone calls, babe.”
    “Don’t ‘babe’ me when we’re having a fight.”
    “Are we having a fight?”
    “Yeah ... kinda.”
    “Well, you might be having a fight, but I’m not having a fight. In fact, I’m working hard at not having a fight.”
    Savannah bit her lower lip as tears rushed to her eyes. She could hear the kindness in his voice, but instead of making her feel better, it only made things worse. Now she could add “being mean to your fiancé” to her list of failings, along with “overly jumpy,” “unprofessional,” and “crying at the tip of a hat.”
    “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she admitted. “I’m just not myself lately.”
    He gave her knee a squeeze. “You’ve been through a lot. It hasn’t been all that long since ... you know ... It takes a while to spring back from something like that. And with all that’s happened with our weddings. That would put anybody on edge.”
    The tears trickled down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away. “But usually, I take things in stride, you know. Seems like I should be feeling better. A little bit better anyway. But it seems to be getting worse.”
    Dirk thought for a long time as they drove along in silence. Finally, he said, “Would you consider maybe ... talking to somebody about it?”
    She knew what he meant. And she couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t occurred to her, once or twice, to seek professional help with this problem. But she couldn’t imagine herself sitting in a room with a total stranger, sharing the details of the darkest moment of her life.
    “I am talking to somebody,” she said. “I’m talking to my best friend about it.”
    He gave her a smile. “You’re doing better than you think you are,” he told her. “You’re a strong woman. You’re gonna get through this, babe.”
    She returned his smile. “Thank you.”
    “I can call you ‘babe’ now, right? I mean, the fight’s over?”
    She laughed and patted his hand that was on her knee. “Yes, my darlin’ meadow muffin. The fight’s over.”
    “Hey, aren’t meadow muffins piles of cow sh—”
    “Shhh.”

Chapter 9
    S avannah knew something was up the