Buried In Buttercream

a couple of her oldest towels.
    “We’re going to wash your ’Stang for you, Auntie!” Jack called across the yard as they headed for Savannah’s Mustang, which was sitting in her driveway next to the garage.
    “Yeah,” Jillian piped up. “Uncle Waycross is going to pay us five dollars each if we help him.”
    “Well, that’s mighty generous of Uncle Waycross, now, ain’t it?” Savannah said, smiling at this obvious ploy.
    Not that Waycross wasn’t a sweetie who would have gladly washed her car for her anyway. He was a hardworking guy, and he loved the Mustang obsessively. But Savannah felt this strategic move had more to do with his attraction to a pretty blonde than a red, vintage Mustang.
    “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a princess or a pirate wash a car before,” Tammy said, keeping an eye on Waycross as he unwound the garden hose from its hook on the side of the house and pulled it toward the car.
    “First you gotta get it all nice and wet,” he was telling the children. “Who wants to squirt it first?”
    “I do! I do!” Both kids screamed, dancing in place, their hands in the air.
    “Ladies first,” he said, handing the nozzle to Princess Jillian.
    She gave the trigger a test squeeze, and a moment later, the front of Waycross’s shirt was soaking wet.
    “Whoa, Bessie!” Waycross yelled. “You ain’t nearly as accurate with a pistol as your Aunt Savannah. Hand that weapon to your brother before you put out an eye with it.”
    Jack wasn’t much better, especially considering the challenge of a hooked hand. But at least he aimed the jet of water in the general vicinity of the car.
    “Not too bad,” Dirk commented, “for a one-handed guy wearing an eye patch.”
    Savannah couldn’t help noticing that Waycross kept cutting glances their way—more specifically, Tammy’s way—as he instructed the children on the proper way to scrub the rear chrome bumper.
    And to Savannah’s surprise and delight, she noticed that Tammy was sending just as many looks his way.
    “He’s really good with those kids,” Tammy said, watching him squat by one wheel and show Jack how to scrub the whitewall.
    “Waycross is a treasure,” Savannah replied. “Always has been one of the best in the batch.”
    “He’s tall, too,” Tammy observed.
    “Six-three, last time we measured.” Savannah caught Dirk’s eye and gave him a wink. But he had already tuned in to the situation and was wearing a little grin of his own.
    “He has a nice physique,” Tammy continued. “Does he work out?”
    “He doesn’t do a lot of deliberate exercise, the way you do. But he works hard there in Butch’s garage and that keeps him pretty fit,” Savannah told her. “Besides their usual mechanic stuff, they also restore cars and trucks. Waycross is a real artist when it comes to interiors. He did a beautiful job with the pleating on my bucket seats.”
    Tammy seemed sufficiently impressed by Savannah’s sales pitch. “Really? I didn’t know that you restored your Mustang yourself.”
    “With a lot of help from Butch and Waycross. They felt sorry for me after I wrecked my other car. Waycross found the ’Stang in bad need of a lot of work, and it helped me get over wrecking the Camaro.”
    “I think it’s wonderful, restoring things. It’s so ... you know ... green.”
    Yes, Savannah decided that Tammy’s eyes were definitely sparkling as she watched Waycross wash a fender. Though it might have had something to do with the fact that her little brother filled out the back side of a pair of jeans quite nicely.
    “Hey, kiddo,” Dirk said, nudging Tammy’s foot with his own. “Are you going to help us with this case or not?”
    “What?” She seemed to take a few seconds to reorient herself. “Oh, the case. Sure! What do you want me to do? Just name it.”
    “The husband, Ethan Aberson, has an alibi ... been in Vegas for days now on some sort of business trip,” Dirk told her. “He’s been staying at the Victoriana. I called the hotel and confirmed that he’s checked in there. But, as you know, it’s only an hour flight from LA to Vegas. And you can drive from San Carmelita to Vegas in five and a half hours.”
    Tammy was already on it. “So, you want me to do some more digging and make sure that he didn’t slip back home on the day his wife was murdered?”
    “That’s right,” Savannah said. “Find out what conference he’s at and see if you can verify that he attended all the meetings, was