Buried In Buttercream

circus horse.
    Savannah shot Dirk a knowing look, and he nodded.
    A moment later, Reuben walked in, wiping his hands on a rag. He had smudges of what looked like furniture stain on his light blue tee-shirt. His face was red and sweaty.
    “Yes?” he said with a neutral tone that was neither aggressive nor hospitable. “What can I do for you?”
    Dirk walked over to him and stood in front of the man, squaring off with him. “Where is the trocar?” he asked.
    In the same neutral tone, he said, “What’s a trocar?”
    “It’s an undertaker’s tool, long and sharp,” Savannah said. “Kind of like the ice pick from hell, only hollow inside. It’s used for draining blood. But then, you already know that, I’m sure.”
    Reuben wiped the sweat off his forehead with the rag and said, “I’m not an undertaker. My son is. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Okay,” Dirk replied. “And I suppose you don’t know anything about buying one at The White Rose, that gory little shop down by the beach that sells junk like that?”
    Reuben glanced over at his wife, whose face had turned a terrible shade of gray. He didn’t reply.
    “We have the credit card receipt,” Dirk told him. “The credit card with your name on it.”
    “And when we called the medical examiner and asked her if such an instrument could cause the sort of wound that Madeline had on her back, she said, ‘Absolutely.’”
    “In fact,” Dirk added, “she double-checked the wounds and found that they did, indeed, have a strange, distinctive shape to them. It wasn’t a round spike that she was stabbed with. Under a microscope you can see that the weapon had three long sides to it. And we only know of one thing that has a shape like that. It’s an undertaker’s tool called a trocar. You bought one from The White Rose two days before Madeline was murdered.”
    “What do you suppose the odds of that are?” Savannah asked. “And more importantly, what do you think a jury will make of it?”
    When he still didn’t respond, Geraldine reached for her husband and placed her hand on his arm. “Reuben?” she said. “Are you okay?”
    She turned to Savannah, tears in her eyes. “He had a heart attack last year. Please don’t upset him.”
    “Don’t say anything, Gerri,” Reuben said to her, his jaw clenched. “Just be quiet, honey. I’m all right.”
    Savannah felt for the woman and wished she could shield her from what was about to happen. She looked at Dirk, who was getting out a pair of handcuffs, and said, “You got this?”
    “Yes,” he said, turning Reuben Aberson around and cuffing him.
    Savannah said to the woman, “Mrs. Aberson, let’s you and I go out into the front yard and wait for the men to have their say. I’d be glad to answer any questions you might have out there.”
    Reluctantly, Geraldine followed Savannah to the door, with Reuben calling out to her, “Say nothing, Gerri. Call Frank and ask him the name of that attorney he used last year. Then give him a call.”
    “Okay,” she said as she and Savannah stepped outside.
    The woman looked like she was going to faint, so Savannah led her over to a lawn chair that was in the shade of a tree and sat her down.
    Savannah squatted beside Geraldine’s chair, held her hand, and patted it. “This has to be awful for you, ma’am,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Why do you think he did it?” Geraldine asked, her eyes filled with pain and distress.
    “We checked and saw that your son’s birthday is in a few days. That trocar was probably a gift for Ethan, wasn’t it?”
    She nodded and continued to cry softly. “But ... but ... you can’t arrest Reuben for murder just because of that thing, can you? It’s not enough to charge him with killing someone.”
    “That’s not all, Mrs. Aberson. When we were talking to the medical examiner today about the unusual shape of the wound, we were told something else. There was a wad of hair found on the carpet there in the hotel suite where Madeline was murdered.”
    “Hair?”
    “Yes. Dog hair. White, fluffy, fuzzy dog hair. It’s consistent with a poodle–cocker spaniel mix. Is your pet a cockapoo?”
    She didn’t have to answer. Savannah could tell by the increased sobbing that the truth was dawning on Geraldine Aberson, and her world was collapsing around her.
    The cell phone in Savannah’s waistband began to play Tammy’s song. She stood and turned toward the Mustang, where she saw Tammy