Buried In Buttercream

that she had attended in McGill, Georgia, with its dirt play yard, one broken teeter-totter, and a single swing with frazzled ropes.
    She smiled as she watched the kids slipping down their safe, bright red slide—splinter free, no doubt.
    These kids were blessed. They wouldn’t have to work as hard as she had to climb upward in life. They had a head start. She hoped that at least some of them would grow to realize that and make full use of it.
    “See her anywhere?” Dirk asked as they got out of the car and walked past a neat queue of children all lined up and waiting to march back into the building to their classrooms.
    Savannah thought of her last visit to a local public school, where the teachers did well to keep the kids from harassing, pummeling, and mugging each other. And she mentally applauded the difference.
    “No,” she said, as she scanned the crowd, looking for adults. “I don’t. Are we sure she’s working today?”
    “Her sister said she is.”
    One elderly lady with a whistle around her neck and a firm, no-nonsense look on her face was straightening the line, cautioning those who were overly energetic to calm down.
    At the end of the line was a pretty redhead who looked to be in her late teens.
    But they were looking for a thirty-four-year-old brunette ... possibly with a sunburn. According to Tammy, Celia Barnhart and her groom had recently returned from their honeymoon in Cabo San Lucas.
    “Maybe she’s inside,” Dirk said.
    Then Savannah spotted her leaving the main building by way of a side door and walking toward a large structure that might be a gymnasium or auditorium.
    “There she is,” she said, recognizing the woman instantly from the pictures Tammy had shown them. She was dressed in a baggy, dark dress instead of a well-designed, formal wedding gown, but she was wearing the same grumpy look on her face.
    Savannah had a feeling this wasn’t going to be particularly pleasant. “I’m not in the mood for drama,” she told Dirk. “I’m to the point where, if anybody spouts off to me about how bad life’s been treating them lately, I’m gonna give ’em an earful about my own problems.”
    “Nobody knows ... de trouble I see... .” Dirk sang, his voice deep and deliciously bass, though a bit flat here and there.
    She laughed and felt a little better, though still resolved to keep the amount of bellyaching she would hear to a minimum.
    Life was just too short to listen to everybody else’s whining, cursing, and raging. If for no other reason than because it seriously cut into one’s own time for whining, cursing, and raging.
    They caught up with Celia Barnhart just as she opened one of the large double doors. Savannah caught a glimpse of the gloriously shined wooden floors of a gym.
    That was something else the little school in Georgia hadn’t had either. They had played basketball on the asphalt parking lot ... which had been a bit rough on the knees when a player took the inevitable spill.
    “Celia Barnhart?” Dirk asked, showing her his badge.
    “Used to be. I’m Celia Wynn now.”
    “Yes. Congratulations,” Dirk said. “This is Savannah Reid. We’d like to talk to you.”
    Celia placed her hands on her hips and the anger in her eyes flared to a new, hotter level.
    Oh, goody, Savannah thought. And here goes my ocean pier Zen, swirling right down the john.
    “What about?” Celia snapped. “That stupid restraining order?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Savannah replied. “That’s a real good guess.”
    “It wasn’t all that hard to figure out. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, and I’m sick to death of hearing about it. After all that woman did to me , I’m the one who gets an order of protection filed against her? Get real!”
    Dirk pointed to a wrought iron bench that was strategically situated to take in the view of a statue of a woman in a long dress, holding hands with a child ... no doubt the founder of the school. “Would you like to sit down and—”
    “No, I would most certainly not like to sit down. I’m on a break, the only break I get from these screaming brats all morning long, and I’m not going to spend it talking to you about some perceived threat I made toward that stupid bitch.”
    “Actually,” Savannah said, “I’m more interested in hearing what she did to you .”
    Yeah, right, she thought. Toxic dumping ground, that’s me. Lay it on me.
    “Oh, well ... in that case ...” Celia took a deep breath, and Savannah