Authors: G. A. McKevett

Buried In Buttercream (27 page)

BOOK: Buried In Buttercream

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“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, âAbsolutely.'”

“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 poodleâcocker 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 waving her over to the car.

Again, it wasn't like Tammy to interrupt something like this. It had to be important.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Aberson. I'm sorry, but I have to go over there just for a moment. I'll be right back. You just sit here and try to collect yourself. Everything's going to be okay.”

Yeah, right,
she said to herself as she walked away
. And why don't you just go ahead and tell the poor woman that the world is at peace and we've solved the problem of global hunger, too.

She got to the car, where Tammy had rolled down the window.

“What's up, kiddo?” Savannah asked.

Tammy thrust her electronic tablet at her. “You've got to see this,” she said. “I just found it and thought you should know. I think it changes everything.”

A few moments later, Savannah walked back across the lawn from the Mustang to Geraldine Aberson, who was even more distraught than when she had left her.

Savannah knelt beside her and looked into the woman's tormented face.

“Is there something you have to tell me, Geraldine?” she asked softly.

The older woman sat silently, crying, biting her lower lip and wringing her hands. Finally, she nodded. “I can't let my Reuben take the blame for this, no matter what he says.”

“No, of course you can't.”

Savannah took her hand and held it between hers. “Tell me what happened. Help me understand why you did it, and then maybe I can help you.”

Chapter 25

S
avannah had decided that it was time to have an enormous backyard barbecue to celebrate the solving of the Aberson case. She hoped to foster familial togetherness with lip-smacking ribs, potato salad, baked beans, and the simple act of turning the crank on some homemade ice cream.

Plus, there were less things for the kids to break outside, and the backyard was considerably larger than her living room, so it served to dilute the strong brew of family togetherness.

Marietta was lying on a beach towel in the smallest bikini that Gran would allow, soaking in rays.

Cordele sat in a chair, reading the latest pop-psychology bestseller.

Atlanta was perched on the back porch, playing her guitar, a pencil in her mouth and a pad of paper on her thigh as she wrote down the chords to the mournful country song she was composing. It was about some girl who had jumped into a river and drowned herself after being betrayed by a lover. A unique and original subject for a country song, to be sure.

Dutiful Alma was carting dishes of food from the kitchen to the picnic table in the yard without complaint. She even hummed a happy little tune as she worked ... except for when she walked by Atlanta. She had been told, “Cut it out! Your caterwaulin's interferin' with my composin' here, girl!”

Macon was snoring in the hammock, while Jillian and Jack stuck dandelions in his hair and between his toes.

Jesup sat under the magnolia tree, reading some vampire magazine with a gruesome cover. She looked contented as she reveled in death-obsessed fiction that, according to her, affirmed the joys of life.

For once, Vidalia and Butch weren't fighting. She was parked in a folding lawn chair with him sitting on the ground, giving her a foot rub. The two toddlers were racing in circles around them, laughing when they inevitably fell on their chubby, cherub faces in the grass.

The detectives of the group were gathered around the barbecue grill, where Savannah and Waycross manned the tongs, flipped the burgers, adjusted the hot dogs, and basted the ribs.

Granny had decided to hang out with them, because the conversation was far more lively and the subject matter more interesting.

“I can't get over a woman like that Geraldine killing her own daughter-in-law that'a way,” she said as she adjusted her lawn chair to recline a couple of notches. “I saw her picture on the morning news, and she looked like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.”

“You might have, too, Gran, if you'd had the kind of provocation that the Abersons had,” Savannah told her. “She bawled like a baby when she told me why she did it. Their little granddaughter told her that Madeline had been trying to get the child to say that her daddy had molested her. She even bribed the child with some sort of princess outfit if she'd tell the school counselor that he'd touched her inappropriately.”

Granny's eyes narrowed and her face that was usually sweet and saintly turned hard and scary. “Oh ... that woman needed a serious beatin' doing such a thing to her husband, let alone to an innocent child!”

“Yes,” Savannah said. “And when she and Reuben called Ethan, who was in Vegas, and told him what little Elizabeth had said, he was livid ... as you can well imagine.”

Dirk took a swig of his root beer, which he was drinking instead of his regular beer, out of respect for teetotalist Granny. “I have to tell you,” he said. “I'd want to kill somebody over a thing like that, too. I probably wouldn't have, but I would've wanted to.”

Tammy looked at the grill to see how her lone veggie burger was faring on the fire. “Can you imagine the damage that would have done to that child if she'd taken her mother's bribe and made that terrible accusation ... before she was even old enough to understand the gravity of it?”

“But the father of the child, that Ethan fella, he didn't kill her,” Gran said. “How come it wound up being the grandmother?”

“Apparently, Ethan told his father that he had set up a false alibi to cover his tracks and was going to fly home, murder her, and fly back to Vegas on the same day, and Reuben talked him out of it. Reuben told Ethan that, as the husband, the cops would automatically suspect him. So he'd do it for him.”

“But Reuben didn't do it,” Waycross said as he adjusted the burgers.

“He was going to,” Savannah said. “He had planned to lure her someplace and kill her. But the morning of the murder, Geraldine overheard Reuben telling Ethan his planâthat he was going to do it that night. She was afraid for Reuben. He has a bad heart, and she was sure that if he went through with it, the act of actually murdering someone would cause him to have another heart attack.”

“And that's when she decided to do it herself?” Gran asked.

Savannah moved to avoid the smoke that was getting into her eyes. “She said she was wrestling with it that morning. She knew Madeline was stuck at the country club with us, because Madeline had called her and asked her to pick up Elizabeth from her girlfriend's house. Geraldine was wondering how to do it, what sort of weapon she'd use ... and that's when the package arrived.”

“That's right,” Tammy piped up. “You see, she was the one who'd gone into that weird store and bought that trocar thing for her son's birthday, to add to his collection. She'd used her husband's credit card, which threw us off and made us think it was him. And since she was driving a bunch of Elizabeth's friends to a birthday party right afterward, she asked them to send it to her house.”

“Yes, I guess that'd be hard to explain to the kiddos, if they found something like that in the car,” Dirk said.

Savannah nodded. “Exactly. And there she was at the house that day, thinking about how to kill her daughter-in-law from hell. And the delivery man drops off that thing.”

Waycross looked at Tammy, beaming with pride. “And Tammy here was looking over the copy of the receipt that we got from the guy there at The White Rose. She saw that there was a shipping charge on it. So, she got to checking, and she was able to get the tracking information for the package, and she saw that a woman had signed for it, not a man.”

“And that,” Dirk told Granny, “is what Savannah told the woman that made her confess.”

“Naw,” Savannah said. “She was going to anyway. She wasn't going to let her husband go to jail for a murder he didn't commit.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Granny waved away some smoke that was drifting toward her. “The son was going to do it. But the father said he'd do it for him. But before he got a chance to, the wife did it for them both.”

“That's right,” Savannah said.

“Well, I admire their devotion to their family,” Granny said. “Can't say it's ever right to take a life like that though.”

“And,” Tammy added, “now little Elizabeth doesn't have a mother or a grandmother.”

“Her father's a decent guy,” Savannah said. “Even if he is a little obsessed with the macabre.”

Dirk sniffed. “I hope her father's strange hobby doesn't influence her too much. She could end up like Jesup.”

They all turned and looked at the gal under the tree, glued to her magazine, oblivious to the world around her. She was running her fingers through her heavily gelled hair. As they watched, she absentmindedly began to tug on first one tuft and then the other, until it was sticking out all over like spikes.

Granny shook her head. “Heaven forbid.”

Later that evening, when Savannah was saying good-bye to Dirk in her foyer, he glanced over her shoulder and, not seeing anyone, gave her a long, tender kiss.

“Marry me,” he said, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close.

She chuckled. “Okay.”

“When?”

“It'll take time to put another wedding together.”

He sighed. “How long?”

At that moment, Jack and Jillian came roaring through, and ran right into Savannah. They would have knocked her off her feet, if Dirk hadn't been holding her.

They tore up the stairs, screaming at the top of their lungs.

From the living room, Vidalia yelled, “Butch! Butch Allan! Go do something with your younguns! They're driving me plum crazy!”

“Oh, hush your screechin', Vidalia!” Marietta screamed back. “I can't hear my television show!”

Dirk sighed, pulled Savannah closer, and leaned his forehead against hers. “Can we just leave all of them and go back to Vegas? We can get hitched in some little chapel there by an Elvis impersonator.”

It sounded so good that Savannah actually considered it.

For half a second.

“I can't, darling,'” she said. “I couldn't do it to Granny ... or Alma ... or Waycross.”

“We'll bring them with us.”

“The rest will wanna come, too.”

“We'll sneak 'em out in the dead of night.”

“Granny wouldn't get caught dead in Las Vegas.”

“We'll put a bag over her head and throw her into the trunk till we get there.”

She gave him a look.

“We'll throw her really easy,” he said. “Put lots of fluffy pillows and soft, comfy blankets in the trunk first.”

“Dirk, be serious.”

“I'm serious, baby. So, so serious. I can't wait anymore. Whatcha say?”

She didn't reply, but grinned up at him.

He kissed her on the nose. “That's my girl. As you Southerners say, âLet's get 'er done.'”

The next afternoon, a silver vintage Bentley pulled over to the side of the Pacific Coast Highway. The handsome driver with glistening white hair, dressed in a tuxedo, got out and walked around to the rear passenger's side door and opened it.

“Why, thank you, John,” Savannah said, offering him her hand and stepping out onto the sand that led to a wide, pristine beach.

The fellow who had been sitting beside her in the back got out as well.

She lifted the skirt of her third wedding gownânot as fancy or expensive as the first two, but lovely in its classic simplicityâand walked daintily through the dunes with John Gibson supporting her on one side and Ryan Stone on the other.

“Savannah, my love,” John said, “I've never seen you looking happier or more beautiful.”

“He's right,” Ryan said. “You're a glowing bride if ever there was one.”

“It's this darned, tight corset thing. It's squeezing all the blood up to my face,” she said.

“Ah, come on, this is your wedding day.” Ryan steadied her as they climbed a dune. “You must be happy.”

Was she happy? she wondered. Between all the hustle and bustle of the morning, she hadn't had a lot of time to consult her own feelings.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “I haven't really thought about it.”

“It's really going to happen this time, sweetheart,” John told her. “Don't worry. Let yourself feel it.”

They had reached the top of the dune and there, standing in a line that seemed to stretch from San Francisco to San Diego, were her loved ones. All fifty thousand of them.

Okay,
she told herself,
not fifty thousand
.

Only ... Granny, Marietta, Vidalia, Waycross, Cordele, Macon, Jesup, Alma, Atlanta, Butch, Tammy, Jack and Jillian, Peter and Wendy, and howling at the end of rhinestone-studded, white leashes, Diamante and Cleopatra.

The crowd caught sight of her and instantly erupted into cheers, waving their arms, hooting and hollering ... making total spectacles of themselves.

Everyone except the cats.

And the minister in his long black robe.

And Dirk.

He stood at the end of the line, looking amazing in his tuxedo, his hands folded calmly in front of him, smiling at her with a face so filled with love that she nearly burst into tears.

She allowed it to wash over her, the sunshine, the ocean breeze, the beauty of the glistening water, the smell of the roses in her bouquet. She allowed it all to go straight into her heartâthe shouts of happiness from her loved ones, the feel of her two dear friends' strong hands supporting her from either side, walking her toward this most important moment of her life.

And best of all ... the pure joy on her man's face as he watched her coming toward him.

“Oh, yes,” she told them. “I'm happy.” She took a deep breath, filling her heart with it all, to the brim, and then overflowing. “I am just so, so happy.”

“That's wonderful, love,” John said, patting her arm.

“In fact,” she said, “I'm so darned happy that I'm about to burst right out of this dadgum corset.”

BOOK: Buried In Buttercream

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