Buried In Buttercream by G. A. McKevett Page B

her knees felt like warm Jell-O, the pain in her chest made her wonder if she might be having a heart attack, and she wasn’t sure she’d even make it.
    Quickly, she ran down a mental list of her guests and wedding party. Who was the most likely to have their cell phone on ... wedding or no wedding?
    She punched in another number, and sure enough, there was an answer on the second ring.
    â€œHello?” drawled a syrupy sweet Southern voice.
    â€œMarietta, it’s me, Savannah.”
    â€œSavannah! Hightail it back here, girl! We’re all waiting for you! Did you find Grandpa’s ring?”
    â€œMari, listen to me. Go get Dirk. Right now.”
    â€œBut ... ? What are you talking about? Are you gonna ... ?”
    â€œHush up. Don’t argue with me, girl. Just do what I’m tellin’ you. Walk out the door and down there where everybody’s at and hand your phone to Dirk. Do it now!”
    â€œAre you chickenin’ out? Is that what this is all about? ’Cause if you dragged all of us all the way here from Georgia just so that you could—”
    â€œMARIETTA! Damn your hide, girl! Make tracks! Now!”
    â€œOkay! Sheez, Louise ... you don’t have to scream at me! I’m going! I’m going!”
    Suddenly, every bit of strength in Savannah’s legs disappeared, and she sank abruptly to the floor, there in the door frame, between the bedroom and the patio.
    From where she sat, she could see, all too graphically, the face of the victim, whom she had pulled from the water.
    She’d thought there might be a chance, even a slim one, that the body wasn’t as dead as it looked.
    But it was.
    Madeline Aberson had definitely passed from life to death ... and there would be no coming back.
    Savannah wasn’t sure what had happened to her. She didn’t know if the woman had drowned, or worse. It wasn’t clear where all that blood had come from.
    The blood that was now all over the front of Savannah’s white wedding gown.
    For a moment, Savannah had a horrible sense of déjà vu. It was so similar to her recent nightmare.
    Through the phone she could hear Marietta say to Dirk, “Yeah, it’s her. She wants to talk to you. I don’t know, but she’s in a fettle about something. You’d better talk to her.”
    She heard a loud clatter and Marietta curse, “Damnation. I dropped it. Here.”
    â€œSavannah? Honey ... what the hell?” Dirk sounded deeply concerned, and she couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t exactly standard wedding protocol for the bride to call her waiting groom on the phone. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine. But you have to leave there and come to the bridal suite.”
    â€œWhat? Why? Aren’t we supposed to be—”
    â€œYes, I’m sorry, sugar, but it ain’t happening right now. We’ve got us a ten-fifty-five right here in our room.”
    â€œNo way! You’ve got to be kidding.”
    â€œI wish I was. It’s Madeline Aberson.”
    â€œAw, man ... this bites.” He turned away from the phone and she heard him say, “No, Gran, she’s all right. But there’s a problem. A bad problem, back in our suite. I’m gonna have to go see about it. Atlanta, could you sing another song or two?”
    She heard Atlanta begin a nice rendition of Paul Stookey’s “Wedding Song.”
    Then Dirk said into the phone, “Is there any way in hell it’s an accident or natural causes and not a ten-fifty-five?”
    Savannah got up onto her knees and scooted closer to the body. The front showed no signs of trauma, so with considerable effort, she rolled Madeline onto her side and peered at the back.
    She saw what appeared to be three small puncture wounds between the shoulder blades.
    â€œNo,” she said. “It wasn’t an accident, unless she fell on something and stabbed herself in the back three