Buried In Buttercream

walked over to Alma and handed her the tomato, which she slipped inside the sandwich.
    “Set yourself down over there,” Alma said, nodding toward the table. “Take a load off. We’ll have this ready in a jiffy.”
    Savannah didn’t have to be told twice. Now that she was home, the day was hitting her ... like a Mack truck with a bed filled with gravel.
    While Alma placed the sandwich on a plate and cut it in half, Waycross filled a glass with ice and tea.
    “You doin’ all right, hon?” he asked Savannah as he slid the drink in front of her, then brought her the bowl with the cucumbers and onions. “You’re lookin’ a mite peaked.”
    “I’m fine. Frickin’ ducky, in fact,” she barked. “Why does everybody keep asking me how I am?”
    “Maybe,” he replied, “because you’re pale around the gills, got big circles under your eyes, and because you keep snapping people’s heads off if they even look cross-eyed at you.” He gave her a good-natured grin. “I don’t know for sure now, but call it a hunch.”
    When Savannah closed her hand around the frosty glass, she noticed her fingers were shaking. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to bite anybody’s head off, and especially yours. You two are the jewels in this here family crown, I swear. And I love you both to pieces and back.”
    Alma set the plate, loaded down with the sandwich and an unhealthy helping of chips, in front of her. She kissed Savannah on the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it. Everybody’s entitled to get outta sorts every now and again. You’re always sweet to the younguns, and the rest of us are old enough to take it in stride.”
    Waycross pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. “It ain’t like you haven’t put up with our nonsense for years now. Turnabout’s fair play.”
    Savannah waded into the sandwich. It had been a while since she’d eaten bologna. A lot more bologna eating was done south of the Mason-Dixon Line than in California. And she had adapted, somewhat, to her surroundings.
    But it tasted just as good as she remembered. And maybe even a bit more, considering that the major condiment on this particular sandwich was unconditional family love.
    “Did you find out anything about that awful killing?” Alma said as she took a chair beside Savannah, her own glass of tea in hand. “If you don’t mind talking about it, that is.”
    “No, I don’t mind,” Savannah said as she fished some of the cucumbers and onions out of their brine bath. “But we didn’t really find out anything important.”
    “Any idea who might’ve done it?” Waycross asked.
    Savannah shrugged. “When a woman turns up dead under suspicious circumstances, we most always look at the husband or boyfriend.”
    “Why?” Alma wanted to know.
    “ ’Cause more times than not, it’s him.” She took a sip of the tea. “But this time, it looks like he might have a good alibi.”
    “He could have hired it done,” Waycross offered.
    “Oh, believe me, that’s already crossed our minds. Especially since he’s out of town. That’s the perfect time to have somebody hit ... when you’re away and can’t be blamed for it.”
    “Have you heard if the two of them gets along okay?” Alma asked.
    “Quite the contrary. They’re going through a bitter divorce right now. Custody issues and all that ugly business.”
    Alma shook her head. “That’s a bad time for a couple. Seems like that’s when women get hurt the most often, when they’re leaving some guy who doesn’t wanna get left.”
    Waycross nodded. “You see it time and again, even in a little town like McGill. Never could understand it myself. If some gal don’t want me around, I start lookin’ elsewhere. There’s always another guppy in the fishbowl, and probably a prettier one, too.”
    “Well, that’s because you’re a good guy with a strong sense of himself and a lot on the ball,” Savannah told him. “You’ve got better things to do with your time than try to run some gal’s life.”
    “And speaking of pretty women ...” Waycross grinned self-consciously.
    Savannah raised one eyebrow. “We were?”
    Alma chuckled. “He didn’t work that in there none too gracefully. He’s itchin’ to turn the conversation to your friend, Tammy. She’s all he’s been talking about since she dropped by earlier.”
    “Oh, really?” Savannah turned to Waycross. “Do tell... .”
    Waycross’s cheeks blushed nearly as red as his