Buried In Buttercream

to say, “Yes, Jilly. What is it, sweetie?”
    “I need to go potty.”
    Savannah took a deep breath, steadied herself, and wiped her eyes with the washcloth. “Auntie Savannah’s taking a bath, sweet pea. Can you maybe go use the bathroom downstairs?”
    “No, I can’t. Uncle Macon went in there, and he stayed for a long, long time. Now it smells really, really bad, and I can’t stand it. Can I come in there? Pleeeezz?”
    “Honey, I—”
    “Pretty please with sugar on it?”
    With a sigh, Savannah climbed out of her princess tub, blew her nose on some toilet paper, tossed it into the commode, and then wrapped a large, fluffy towel around her dripping body.
    Oh, well, she thought, as she walked to the door and greeted her niece, who was standing there, doing a lively pee-pee dance. Reckon I’ll have to pencil in some cryin’ time on my calendar for tomorrow or the next day. There’s a time and a place for everything. Even a nervous breakdown. And, apparently, this ain’t it.

Chapter 10
    O n the way to the county morgue the next morning, Savannah was unusually quiet. As Dirk drove along, he kept shooting her anxious sideways glances, which she chose to ignore.
    She knew it was just a matter of time until he asked her what was wrong. He always knew when something was “off” with her, big or small. And it was going to be a hassle, because he wasn’t one to take “Eh ... nothing” for an answer.
    She just wasn’t in the mood to go into a long explanation—or even a short one—about bathtub breakdowns, disfiguring scars, or nieces who were persnickety about where they used the toilet. Some unpleasantries were best left alone and not even thought about, let alone discussed, if at all possible.
    This wasn’t a concept that Dirk was familiar with. He was not a guy who ever, under any circumstances, suffered in silence. If he was unhappy, uncomfortable, inconvenienced, or had his nose dislocated in any way, he wanted the entire world to know about it ... and do something about it as quickly as possible.
    So, he didn’t understand the “just let it go” mentality, and couldn’t rest until he had ferreted out any and all causes of what he perceived as her moodiness.
    Of course, she could lie to him. She wasn’t above it, if the circumstance called for a bit of creative truth-telling. But he was good at sniffing out bull-pucky, too, and fibbing usually caused more problems than it solved.
    “What’s the matter with you?”
    There it was. Right on schedule.
    She sighed and turned her face away from him to stare at the passing scenery out the window. “Nothing much. Just had sorta a rough night. That’s all. No big deal.”
    “Hmmm.” He reached for the plastic zip bag that he kept on his dash and took out a cinnamon stick. He popped it into his mouth.
    It was a strange habit, but it had gotten him through the worst of his Quit Smoking campaign. And she’d found the aroma of cinnamon an improvement over cigarette smoke.
    She’d decided it was rather pleasant, kissing a guy who smelled and tasted like apple pie.
    “I talked to Granny this morning when I came to pick you up,” he said, “and she told me they tried to give you a nice, peaceful evening.”
    “They did. She laid the law down to the whole clan, and, as usual, they obeyed ... albeit grudgingly. They kept the racket down and gave me some space. As much space as one can get in a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath house with fifteen people in it.”
    “So, what was the ‘rough’ part?”
    She winced. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. He had to sniff and dig. She debated whether to try to throw him off the scent entirely, or just redirect him.
    “Thinking about the case,” she said.
    “Oh, yeah?”
    She could tell by the suspicious look he shot her way that he didn’t buy it. Maybe he would pretend to. One could always hope.
    “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Me, too.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yeah. What did you come up with?”
    “Not much.”
    “Me either.”
    They had arrived at the morgue. And as he drove the Buick into the parking lot and pulled into his usual spot, he said, “Maybe Dr. Liu’ll have something good for us.”
    “That’d be nice.”
    He cut the key, reached over, and put his hand under her chin, gently turning her to face him. He gave her a sweet, sad smile. “You know, honey, I’m looking forward to the day when we can put all this ... this mess ... behind us. When we can concentrate on what