Buried In Buttercream

was always the guy who was pointing at some other dude, saying, ‘He done it! He done it! Let’s hang him right now!’ and every time it turned out to be the one pointing the finger.”
    “Well, yeah.” He gave her a sarcastic grin. “But I’m not sure that the same crime-solving techniques that worked on the Ponderosa and in Dodge City would apply here in San Carmelita.”
    “Bite me.”
    “I’m looking forward to the day when I can.”
    “Oh, yuck.”
    Bambi drove away, and they got out of the car.
    It was time to have a talk with the man, old Willy Rendezvous himself, about his girls.

    Savannah looked down at the pit bull who was standing next to her, nuzzling her hand with his big, square face, gazing up at her with a wistful look that she recognized all too well. It was the same expression that Cleo and Di used when they either wanted to be petted or fed.
    She glanced over at the full bowl of doggy kibbles in the corner of the office.
    “Okay, big boy,” she said, dropping to one knee. “I didn’t exactly come in here to scratch a dog’s ears, but since you asked so nicely.”
    She gave the big, burly animal a nice face massage as she listened to Dirk squeeze Willy for information about his dancers. It was the same, basic routine she used on the cats, but Hercules didn’t seem to mind.
    “So, you’re gonna sit there and look me straight in the eye and lie to me?” Dirk was asking Willy. “If you piss in my ear and tell me it’s raining, we’re gonna have a very rocky relationship, my friend.”
    Willy looked like he wasn’t particularly happy being yelled at in his own office. And he didn’t look like he was accustomed to it either. Apparently, most of the people in Willy’s life were too intimidated by him to raise their voices in typical Dirk-fashion.
    But it took a lot more than a leather vest, a chest and tummy covered with naked-women tattoos, and a long, greasy ponytail to impress Dirk.
    “Don’t go giving anybody an alibi who doesn’t have one,” Dirk was telling him as he leaned over the front of Willy’s desk, his hands planted among the papers scattered on its scarred surface. “Because that’ll get you at least five to ten for interfering in the course of a homicide investigation.”
    “Okay, okay,” Willy said, holding up one hand. “Maybe Francie wasn’t here the whole time she told you she was. Maybe she went out for a while to run a little errand for me.”
    “What kind of errand?”
    “She took care of some business for me.”
    Savannah left Hercules wanting more and walked over to the desk. “Take some advice from me,” she told Willy. “My buddy here will work with you as long as you tell him the truth. But most of the guys who’ve lied to him in the past are now missing vital body parts. So, you’d better pony up quick.”
    “What did she do for you?” Dirk demanded to know.
    “She took some money to one of my girls to take care of a ... a medical procedure she needed done.”
    “What kind of medical procedure?”
    “An abortion, okay? She was knocked up, and she needed to get it taken care of. We don’t exactly have a medical plan for the girls here, so I take care of them. I’m sorta like a daddy that way.”
    “Oh, yes, heartwarmingly paternal, that’s you,” Savannah said.
    Dirk shook his head and backed away from the desk. “When she came back from supposedly delivering this money to your damsel in distress. Where and how did she tell you it was done?”
    Willy thought for a while. “I think I was behind the bar. She came up and said something like, ‘I took care of her. No more problem.’ Something like that.”
    Savannah’s heart sank. Not that she’d invested a large chunk of her life on this dead-end street, but still, she had hoped that maybe...
    Oh, well. Life was full of disappointments. She’d file this one away as “not earth shattering.”
    Hercules had left his place in the corner and followed her to Willy’s desk. He was nudging her hand again, trying to get a few more pets out of the visit.
    “Tell me something, Willy,” she said, fingering the velvety soft ear and thinking that maybe she’d have to reevaluate her stance on pit bulls. “How does Bambi feel about her?”
    “The Aberson gal? I don’t think Bambi knew her.”
    “Not Madeline. How does Bambi feel about Francie?”
    “Oh, she hates Francie. Francie makes way bigger tips than her. You know ... she’s a blonde and ... well, she’s got way