Buried In Buttercream

Is that all you want to ask me, ’cause if it is, I’ve got stuff I’ve gotta be doing,” she said, shooting a quick look at the plant hanging in the corner.
    “Yes, I guess so ... for now,” Dirk replied. He turned and walked to the door.
    But Savannah hesitated, looking at the young woman on the bed with the lost look in her big eyes. “How old are you, hon?” she asked.
    Again, Charlene looked up at the corner. “Nineteen,” she said.
    “You don’t look nineteen. You look like a kid who needs to go home.”
    Tears sprang to Charlene’s eyes. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, her fingers clutching handfuls of the soft, plaid shirt.
    “You know he loves you,” Savannah said softly.
    “Who?”
    “The guy whose shirt that is. Is it your dad, your grandpa?”
    The tears flowed more freely. “My big brother.”
    “Well, he misses you and wants you back.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Give him a call and get out of this hellhole. You can still have a life and you deserve one.”
    Charlene looked down, covered her face with her hands, and began to sob.
    Unable to resist, Savannah turned and glared up at the camera in the corner, then gave it her seldom-used, but skillfully delivered middle-finger salute.

    As she and Dirk exited the trailer and made their way across the parched, cracked earth toward the Mustang, she said, “I hate places like that. I hate what they do to kids’ families, like mine. And I hate what they do to kids like that one in there.”
    He reached over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I know, babe. Me, too.”
    “And the whole legal-schmegal bullshit doesn’t change a thing. You can dress a pig up in a Sunday suit and take him to church, but he’s still a hog.”
    “I agree.”
    She looked up at him and saw that he was watching her with a mixture of humor, respect, and affection.
    “I’ve done a bit of self-searching-type investigating and discovered that I feel strongly about this topic.”
    He kissed her on her forehead. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Chapter 22
    N o sooner had Savannah and Dirk climbed back into the Mustang, than Savannah’s phone rang. It was Tammy’s sunshine song.
    “Hello, Tamitha,” she said, thinking how different Tammy was from the girl inside that trailer. Given a bit of sunshine and light, Charlene might have been a woman like Tammy instead of a heartbroken child. “What’s shakin’, sugar?”
    “Oh, lots of things,” came the weary but excited reply. “We watched him in the museum. He bought a creepy thing there in the gift shop where they sell all sorts of gross stuff, including antiques.”
    “What did he buy?”
    “An old traveling undertaker’s at-home embalming kit.”
    “Oh, goody. I want one.”
    “Really?”
    “No. What else?”
    “That’s all he bought, but we kept following him around. He went to a bar called Bloody Mary’s and had a—”
    “Bloody Mary?”
    “Yeah, how’d you guess?”
    “I’m not a private detective for nothin’. What else?”
    “He had a filet mignon at a local steak house and—”
    “Extra rare?”
    “Of course. And then he went back to his hotel room. We’re down the hall, watching the door.”
    Savannah smiled, imagining her brother and Tammy hiding behind some giant palm or whatever. In her fantasy, they were both wearing Groucho noses, glasses, and mustaches.
    “Above and beyond the call of duty,” she told her. “Why don’t the two of you go get some dinner, too? We’re getting ready to leave the brothel now. We’ll hook up with you later.”
    “Are you sure? We’d be glad to wait for you to get back for us all to eat together.”
    “Two’s company, Tammy. Four’s definitely a crowd. Go eat ... if you can find an organic vegetable in Sin City.”
    “Oh, yeah ... that might be a challenge.”
    “Talk to you later, puddin’. Thanks for all the good work.”
    “Happy to do it. Oh! Wait! I forgot to tell you. After we were all back at the hotel, I hooked up with that concierge ... the one I got along with so well over the phone.”
    “Yes? And tell me you didn’t really use that pregnant sister cover. It wouldn’t work in person since you aren’t—”
    “Of course not. I told him that Waycross and I are cops.”
    “Tammy! You didn’t! Impersonating a police officer is illegal!”
    “Only if you get caught. Don’t worry. He was really nice. Even let us look at some of the hotel security footage from the day of the