Buried In Buttercream

on her shoulder and shook her like a bulldog would maul its favorite toy.
    “We haven’t seen enough of your mug around here,” he told her. “And we’ve got a case to work now, too.”
    “Yeah,” Savannah said. “Are you trying to avoid work or what?”
    Tammy looked up, her eyes gleaming with rabid interest.
    And seeing that light brought sunshine to Savannah’s heart, too. Tammy was the most devout detective Savannah had ever known. She absolutely lived to “sleuth,” as she called it.
    “No!” Tammy said, jumping to her feet. “I mean ... I’m not trying to avoid work. Is there something I can do to help you? I’ve got the bills paid and there’s nothing else going on so—”
    Savannah took her arm and pulled her toward the kitchen. “You can start by helping me scare us up some bologna sandwiches and potato chips. Then you can go out back and have a late lunch with us while we fill you in on the gory details.”
    Tammy hesitated. “Um ... I’ve already eaten, and ... uh ... bologna, I couldn’t... .”
    “Oh, I know. We’ll make you a refreshing drink. Organic water with a sprig of hydroponically grown celery.”
    “Hydroponic celery? Really?” Her eyes were so wide and filled with innocence.
    It made Savannah want to lift the top of that pretty head and pour in a healthy dose of cynicism mixed with pessimism and a portion of old-fashioned meanness. It was a cocktail that every woman needed to avoid predators and to enhance self-preservation in general.
    But those were gifts that Life itself bestowed on her daughters, and even though Tammy had recently experienced a pretty hard knock, it seemed she had more to learn.
    “You’re kidding me about the celery, right?” she said.
    “Well, yeah. Duh.”
    Okay, maybe there’s hope for her after all, Savannah thought.
    Trusting one’s natural instincts had to start somewhere.

    Half an hour later, Savannah and Dirk were sitting on Savannah’s chaise lounges with their extra-thick cushions, stuffing their faces with peanut butter and peach preserve sandwiches.
    The bologna had been previously devoured by her houseguests, along with the grape jelly and strawberry jam.
    The hoped-for potato chips were history, as well. The only thing left in the way of munchies was some nacho cheese chip dust.
    It didn’t go particularly well with peanut butter and peach preserves.
    “Next time we eat at my place,” Dirk said, licking his finger and trying to mop up the last bit of crumbs from the bottom of the bag. “At least until all your company goes home. You haven’t had anything good around here to eat since they arrived.”
    “Eat at your house? Really?” Savannah was surprised. It was so unlike Dirk to offer to cook. “You’re gonna cook for me? Maybe breakfast for dinner ... some of those amazing mandarin orange pancakes, you made for me that time?”
    “Get real. I was gonna order a pizza. Wednesday nights you get two for the price of one, if you don’t order any toppings.”
    Savannah stared at him. “Oh, of course not. I mean ... who’d want those pesky toppings?”
    “Exactly.” He licked the orange chip powder off the end of his finger. “I just get a couple of regular cheese pies and throw some sliced lunch meat on it. Whatever I’ve got in the fridge ... ham ... turkey ... liverwurst.”
    “Liverwurst?” Tammy nearly gagged on her organic water.
    “Yeah.” He gave her a blank look. Then he turned to Savannah, who was also staring at him in horror. He shrugged. “What?”
    Tammy turned to Savannah. “I’ve got to ask: Are you seriously going to marry this guy?”
    “That’s the plan ... eventually,” Savannah said with a sigh. “It’s been a little hard to fit it in, between the mournful notifications and the trips to flea-infested strip clubs.”
    “Fleas?” Tammy asked.
    Savannah reached down and scratched her ankle. “For my own peace of mind, that’s what I’ve decided it was. It’s better than the alternatives.”
    “Yuck.”
    “Yes. Very.”
    “Hey,” Dirk said, nodding toward the back door. “Get a load of them.”
    Savannah turned and saw Waycross coming out the back door, Jack and Jillian in tow. He was wearing a new, bright red Space Mountain tee-shirt. Jack was dressed in a pirate hat with an eye patch and a plastic hook over his hand. Jillian was in a long, pink Sleeping Beauty dress.
    Waycross was carrying Savannah’s mop bucket, a couple of washcloths, a bottle of car wash detergent, and