Buried In Buttercream

sake, it’s pronounced ‘nuptials! ’” Savannah walked over to her chair and plopped down in it. “When will you ever learn how to talk?”
    “Well, excuuuse me! I’m sorry I don’t pernounce things exactly the way that you—”
    “Pronounce. It’s pronounced ‘ pro- nounce.’ Not per- nounce.”
    “Well!” Marietta stood and flounced out of the room by way of the kitchen door, saying, “That does it! You’ve always been bossy, bad-tempered, and high-strung, Savannah ... but this takes the cake!”
    Only Cordele remained—a patient, condescending look on her face. “I understand, Savannah,” she said. “I was expecting this. I knew it was coming, this overreaction you’re having to simple, everyday family issues. You totally fit the diagnostic criteria for PTSD, that’s post-traumatic stress disorder, or at least ASR, that’s acute stress response. So—”
    “Stop it!” Savannah said, gritting her teeth.
    “So,” Cordele continued, undaunted, “unlike the rest, I’m not going to take your verbal abuse personally. I’m going to take into account the stress you’re experiencing with your wedding plans falling through ... not to mention your near-death experience and—”
    “Cordele, I’m warning you, girl. If I have to get up out of this chair and come over there and smack you, I’ll do it twice. Do not pretend that you know me better than I know myself. It’s annoying as hell. So are your stupid labels and diagnoses. Just keep ’em to yourself!”
    Her chin lifted several notches, and nose high in the air, Cordele headed for the kitchen door, too, her normally ramrod-straight posture even stiffer than usual. “That’s what I get, trying to help someone who won’t admit they need help. Clearly the denial stage of grieving ... grieving for the loss of a sense of security. . . loss of ...”
    Her voice trailed away as she left the room and not a moment too soon for Savannah.
    She sat there in her living room, in her favorite chair, her feet on her cushy ottoman. Even Diamante and Cleopatra climbed down from their sunny window perch and jumped up onto her lap, purring and rubbing their glossy black heads against her hands to get her to pet them.
    Dirk stepped out of the foyer and into the living room. His ear-to-ear smile looked like it was going to reach all the way around his head.
    “So,” he said, “was it good for you?”
    “I’m just basking in the afterglow,” she replied, scratching behind Cleo’s left ear. “And I’m going to enjoy the feeling for as long as I can. Because knowing me like I do, I’m sure I’ll be second-guessing myself and feeling all guilt-ridden in five minutes.”
    Dirk started to reply, but his cell phone rang. He answered it, “Coulter here.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Yeah, well, who’re you and what do you want with me?”
    She smiled. Dirk had such a great telephone persona. It was even more gracious and eloquent than his non-telephone persona.
    “Yeah, all right. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    He hung up.
    “Who was that?” she asked.
    “Bambi Delight.”
    “Who?”
    “Another stripper at Willy’s.”
    “What did she want with you?”
    “She wants me to meet her at Willy’s. Says she can tell me who killed Madeline Aberson. Wanna come with me?”
    Savannah sighed. “I should stay here, make amends with my siblings, spend some quality time with them, and re-cement our badly strained familial bonds.”
    “Yeah, you probably should. Are you gonna?”
    She stood and grabbed her purse. “Hell no. Let’s get going.”

Chapter 18
    “ A h, Willy’s. How I’ve missed this place,” Savannah said through moderately gritted teeth as they pulled up in front of the strip joint once again.
    “You know you’ve got the hots for Will,” Dirk teased her. “I saw you ogling him from across the room the other day.”
    “Oh, right. That leather vest really does it for me. I’m gonna get you one of those to wear for me on our honeymoon night.”
    “We’re going to have a honeymoon night?” he asked, a bit wistfully.
    “Theoretically,” she replied, sounding just as sad.
    Once inside Willy’s Rendezvous, it didn’t take them long to identify Miss Bambi Delight.
    Even through the copious clouds of second-hand smoke, she wasn’t hard to spot.
    “She’s gotta be the one over there with the plastic Rudolph antlers on her head and the deer tail hanging off her bikini bottom,” Savannah said,