Buried In Buttercream by G. A. McKevett Page A

safekeeping, but it just felt ... well ... wrong ... to stick our grandpa’s ring in my bra with my boob. Yuck!”
    â€œMarietta, I should brain you, you nitwit!”
    Alma left her place near the back of the line and ran up to Savannah. “I’ll go get it. Where is it?”
    But Savannah was already on her way, running out of the room and racing down the hall toward the bridal suite.
    She realized she was making quite a spectacle of herself, skirts hiked high, feet flying as she sped down the hall. People stared, open-mouthed, as she pushed past them, shouting, “Excuse me. Pardon me. Oops, sorry about that,” as she stepped on a few toes.
    Before she was even halfway there, the pain in her chest and her thigh warned her that running around like a maniac was not on the list of activities the doctors had recommended to aid in her recovery.
    She forced herself to slow down as she neared the room. So what if she took a few seconds longer? She was the bride. Nobody was going to start the wedding without her.
    With a shaking hand, she shoved the security card into the lock and opened the door to the suite.
    She half expected to run into Madeline, but the rooms were silent and still as she passed through them, frantically looking for the plastic garbage bag.
    â€œOh, Lord, please help me find it,” she muttered as she searched the sitting room, then the bedroom. “Please ... they couldn’t have thrown it out ... please ... please ... please.”
    She was just about to burst into tears of full-blown hysteria when she saw the corner of the white bag sticking out of a small garbage can beneath the bathroom sink.
    Yanking it out, she pulled it open and searched inside. At first she thought it was empty. But then she saw a small wad of tissue paper in the very bottom.
    She pulled it out, unwrapped it, and found the precious band of gold that had adorned her grandfather’s ring finger for so many years.
    For just a moment, she clasped it gratefully to her heart, then turned to race back to the reception hall.
    Then she heard it: the cheerful little song that Madeline Aberson’s phone had played before. And in an instant she recognized it as “La Cucaracha.” “The Cockroach,” an old Mexican folksong.
    The music sounded nearby ... in the direction of the bedroom.
    Savannah called out, “Madeline?”
    But there was no response as the music got louder and louder.
    She glanced toward the door. She really had to get back to the ceremony, and yet ...
    â€œMadeline?”
    She hurried toward the bedroom and noticed, for the first time, that the French doors leading out onto a small, enclosed patio, were open. The music was coming from that direction.
    â€œMadeline, are you there?” she said as she approached the doors. Just beyond them she could see the tiny, private pool ... just big enough for the bridal couple to do a bit of skinny dipping, if they so desired.
    The music stopped just as Savannah reached the doors.
    From there, she could see the pool, adorned with floating white lilies and ivory candles. No doubt, thanks to Madeline. Savannah realized this was part of the “tidying up” she had been doing.
    So romantic. Such a perfect setting for newlyweds.
    At least, it should have been.
    But for the body, floating facedown in the middle of it and the red blood staining the crystalline waters.

Chapter 6
    S avannah tried to call Dirk, but, as any well-behaved bridegroom would do, he had turned his cell phone off.
    Her hand was shaking so badly that she could hardly punch the buttons on her own phone, which she had stashed in her purse in the bridal suite closet.
    She tried Tammy, Ryan, and John. But no one answered.
    Get a hold on your nerves, gal, she told herself, as she drew some deep breaths. You’re not going to be any good to anybody if you don’t get it together .
    She considered just running back the way she’d come to get help, but