Read Buried In Buttercream Online
Authors: G. A. McKevett
Buried In Buttercream (17 page)
“Yes,” she said. “Odelle says Ethan kicked Madeline out of the house the day he caught her and filed for a legal separation immediately.”
“And good ol' Arlo here says that he kept trying to get her back and that he's the one who wound up with his suitcases on the porch.”
“Funny how many different historical accounts there are for every major battle that's been fought since the beginning of time.”
“They say the final story's written by the winner.”
She thought of Madeline lying on the slab. Ethan and his parents who now had to raise a little girl without the child's mother. Odelle having to sell her beloved home. Francie clinging to Willy's pole for support. Arlo in an orange jumpsuit, looking at the world through cold, metal bars.
It was hard to spot a winner among them.
Chapter 15
“
A
h, I needed this,” Savannah said as she and Dirk walked, hand in hand, along the San Carmelita pier, enjoying one of the prettiest sights on earthâa southern California sunset.
A
h, I needed this,” Savannah said as she and Dirk walked, hand in hand, along the San Carmelita pier, enjoying one of the prettiest sights on earthâa southern California sunset.
The salt sea air had never smelled sweeter. In fact, she was so grateful to be on the “outside” again that she didn't even mind the squawking seagulls circling overhead, begging for treats.
“If one of those shit hawks craps on my head,” Dirk growled, “I'm going to take my weapon out and shoot him.”
“Oh, you would not,” she said, squeezing his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder.
“I'm not as big of an animal lover as you are,” he said.
“Yes, you are. You're worse,” she said. “I hear you talking all mushy to Cleo and Di when you think I'm not listening. Besides, you wouldn't kill a wild animal like that bird,” she said, pointing toward a particularly beautiful gull circling directly over them. “You aren't that good a shot.”
He growled, but grinned down at her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “How're you feeling?” he said.
“Fine, and don't ask again.”
She didn't feel fine. Just walking the length of the pier had caused the pain under her breast to flare. And her legs were a little shaky as they neared the far end.
At nearly two thousand feet in length, San Carmelita's wooden pier was one of the longest in the state. But it shouldn't have been an exhausting walk. She'd strolled it many times without giving it a thought.
But that was before ...
“Let's sit down over here,” Dirk said, guiding her in the direction of the bench at the very end. “I wanna look at the waves for a while.”
“You do not,” she snapped.
Her curt, angry tone surprised her. She hardly recognized the voice as her own.
But it didn't seem to faze Dirk. “Yeah, I really do,” he said. “I want to sit with my girl and look at the ocean and get in touch with my inner, peaceful self.”
“You've got one of those?”
“Usually it takes a few beers and listening to Elvis or Johnny Cash to bring him, out, but ... yeah. I got one.”
She moved toward the bench. “Well, then by all means, let's sit down. I gotta meet this peaceful Dirk dude.”
Once they were settled, she realized how chilly the wind was out here at the end of the pier at sunset. She chided herself for forgetting her jacket.
A moment later, Dirk had taken off his old, leather bomber jacket and was wrapping it around her shoulders.
“How very gallant of you,” she said, savoring the warmth of the jacket that still held the heat of his body and the scent that was his alone ... leather, Old Spice, cinnamon ... and him.
“Hey, I gotta take care of my girl, especially now that she's my fiancée.”
Savannah's mind reluctantly returned to another time, three months ago, when she had been lying on the floor, her life's blood flowing out of her body, her strength fading fast. And he had taken off this very jacket and wrapped it around her, just like today.
He had literally saved her life. And since that day, she had realized how precious life was.
“You've always taken care of me, fiancée or not,” she said, her voice breaking a bit.
“Yeah, well, let's just say, we take care of each other.”
Savannah's cell phone jingled, playing the happy little tune, “You Are My Sunshine.”
“Hi, Tams,” she said, answering it. “You're here?”
They both turned around and looked back the length of the pier. Even from there they could see the golden-haired beauty standing in the parking lot, near the restaurant on the opposite end. She was hopping up and down, waving her arms.
Savannah smiled. “We see you. We'll be right there.” She started to stand, but her left leg buckled under her.
Dirk caught her, lowered her back down onto the bench, then took the cell phone from her hand. “We're gonna sit here and enjoy the view just a few more minutes,” he told Tammy. “Why don't you go on inside and get us a table? Order Savannah her iced tea and me a fake beer, and whatever you want.”
“You got it,” Tammy replied.
They watched as she bounced into the restaurant.
Savannah wondered if she would ever bounce anywhere again.
Dirk handed her the phone. “Nice view, huh?” he said, waving an arm to indicate the distant horizon, where purple islands peeked above a fluffy layer of white fog. A lighthouse blinked its beam at them across the way. A flock of brown pelicans flew by, looking like prehistoric pterodactyls. And below a bevy of surfers in black bodysuits rode waves that glistened coral and turquoise in the light of the setting sun..
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Whatever.”
As Savannah and Dirk devoured their fish and chips dinner and Tammy nibbled at her salad, they compared notes on the case.
Of the three, it seemed that Tammy was the most informed. And that didn't surprise Savannah at all.
Some little girls wanted to grow up and be princesses and fairies. A few who were more practical wanted to be doctors or movie stars. But Tammy had decided early in childhood that she was going to be Nancy Drew.
And, for all practical purposes, she was.
Often, Savannah had thought that if she were a fugitive on the run, the last person she'd want after her would be Tammy Hart. The girl had endless energy, dogged determination, and resolute resourcefulness.
Tammy had trained all of her considerable powers on Ethan Aberson for the past twenty-four hours. Unaware that he was in her crosshairs, good ol' Ethan had no idea how effectively his privacy had been breached.
“His mother says he's a highly successful businessman,” Savannah said, dragging a crispy French fry through a puddle of ketchup. “But then, all mothers think that.”
“She's right,” Tammy told her. “He's an established, well-respected funeral director. Owns a mortuary in Twin Oaks.”
“Which one?” Dirk asked.
“Perpetual Peace.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I've been there. So have you,” he told Savannah. “Kevin Flynn was laid out there after that undercover bust went wrong.”
“Oh, right. Sad case. Nice place though,” Savannah observed.
“He does a lot of business,” Tammy said. “If he's a good financial manager, he should be well set.”
Dirk scowled. “Wait a minute. His parents said he's at a convention in Vegas. Undertakers don't go to conventions.”
“The heck they don't.” Tammy grinned, looking obnoxiously pleased with herself. “I'm telling you, that's where he's been. Yesterday, he attended a lecture on the risks of formaldehyde exposure. The day before, it was a class on how to reduce your paperwork and still stay within federal guidelines, and another on protecting yourself from blood-borne pathogens.”
“Woo-hoo. I wanna be an undertaker and go to cool classes like those,” Savannah said, stirring an envelope of sugar into her drink.
“Hey, don't poke fun,” Dirk told her. “They do a really important job ... a job most other people wouldn't want. I still remember how good they made Kevin Flynn look after he was shot to hell. That meant a lot to his widow and his kids.”
Savannah nodded thoughtfully. “You're absolutely right. I'm sorry. But you've got to admit, that sounds like a boring convention.”
“Don't feel too sorry for him,” Tammy said. “He's been ducking out of the seminars.”
“Oh?” Savannah was all ears. “And how do we know that?”
“Because ... we ... have become best friends forever with the concierge there at the Victoriana, and he told me a lot of interesting stuff.”
“Spill it.”
Tammy reached into her purse, took out her electronic tablet, and turned it on. “Well, he's the one who told me about the convention and the various classes. He even checked the lists to see who attended what.”
“He did all that for you over the phone?” Dirk asked, astonished and maybe a tad jealous.
“He certainly did.”
“How?” Dirk wanted to know.
Tammy batted her eyelashes. “If you're a girl and use a southern accent, you can get a guy to do anything for you. Huh, Savannah?”
Savannah glanced at Dirk, shrugged, and cleared her throat. “What else did this concierge tell you?”
“He told me that when a hotel guest enters their room, using their key card, the time registers on the hotel's security computer. And he told me exactly when Ethan Aberson entered and exited his room every day since he's been there.”
“Okay,” Dirk said. “Anything interesting?”
Tammy glanced down at her tablet's screen. “The day that Madeline was killed, he left his hotel room at nine fourteen in the morning. And he didn't return until a little after three in the afternoon.”
“Maybe he was at a seminar on hair-dressing trends or a symposium on complementary shades of pancake makeup,” Savannah said. She glanced at the scowling Dirk and added, “Or not.... Sorry.”
“There were classes, but he didn't attend any of them,” Tammy told her.
“He was gone from the hotel the whole time?” Dirk said, perking up considerably.
Tammy nodded.
“But he was in Las Vegas at nine fourteen and back at three,” Dirk said, coming down a bit. “That's six hours. And it would take him at least five or six hours to make the drive to San Carmelita, one way. Even if he flew from Vegas to LA and then drove to San Carm ... it'd still take too long.”
“Not if he flew from Vegas to Santa Barbara and drove down here from there,” Savannah said. “It would be snug, but he could have done it.”
“If he didn't dally when he was doing the murder.”
“Doesn't take that long to plunge a long, sharp object into your soon-to-be-ex-wife's back.”
Tammy held up one hand. “Before you two get all excited, I'll tell you, I already thought of all that and checked it out. He wasn't here.” She lifted her chin and grinned, looking quite pleased with herself. “I know where he was.”
“The concierge spilled that, too?”
“As a matter of fact, he did. The day before the murder, the concierge arranged a car rental for Ethan and printed out directions for him to a brothel called Monique's Ranch. It's about an hour drive from Vegas. The next dayâthe day Madeline was killedâwhen the concierge asked Ethan how he liked the brothel, he said he'd had such a good time, he was on his way back, right then, for a second date.”
“Wonder if he mentioned that to Mom and Pop when he called home to check on his daughter?” Savannah said.
Dirk chuckled. “Guys don't tell Momma everything.”
“Gals either,” Tammy returned.
“An hour to drive to the brothel. Two hours round trip,” Savannah mused. “Say he stayed there an hour. That's three hours. Leaves him with several hours to spare.”
“He could've gambled,” Dirk suggested.
“He was at a matinee of a magic show,” Tammy told them. “He had the concierge get a ticket for him.”
Dirk raised one eyebrow. “I'm surprised that concierge has time to get tickets for anybody, if he spends all his time talking to women with fake, flirty southern accents.”
“I was most assuredly his first,” she said, pouring on the Georgia drawl. “And I dare say that young man was plum enamored by my down-in-Dixie charm.”
“Hush up, girl,” Savannah told her. “It's just too weird, hearing you talk like me.”
“Okay, I'll drop the accent. But you don't want me to hush. Believe me ... you're going to want to hear what else I came up with.”
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