Free Buried In Buttercream by G. A. McKevett

in the Hill Haven Country Club’s lobby as she barreled through, her arms filled with a mountain of wedding gown that blocked her vision.
    “I see you ignored my advice,” Madeline said, eyeing the mass of satin and lace that was only half covered by the undersized plastic garment bag provided by the discount wedding apparel store.
    “Don’t you even start with me, gal,” Savannah told her, shifting the weight of the gown to her other arm and nearly dropping it.
    “Give me that.” Deftly, Madeline took the massive garment out of her hands and held it expertly, the hanger in one hand, supporting the train with the other. “I’m going to go hang this in your bridal suite,” she said with an authoritative tone that wasn’t to be denied. “Now, where are your other things?”
    Savannah turned and looked over her shoulder at the mob that was just entering the lobby. It was a riotous mass of humanity, laughing, shouting, stumbling all over themselves and each other, struggling to be first through the door.
    Her family. Ah ... you had to love ’em.
    The women were all in blue dresses. Different styles, different shades—the discount store hadn’t stocked that many plus sizes of any one dress—but all blue.
    Waycross and Macon wore simple, but elegant, black tuxes, as did little Jack. Even the tiny toddler, Peter, was outfitted in one.
    The only calm spot in the ocean of chaos was Granny. Dressed in a simple lavender suit, her best white Sunday-go-to-meetin’ hat on her silver hair, she looked the picture of serenity and joy.
    Alma was walking beside her, gently holding her arm while carrying an enormous white trash bag in the other.
    “These are all yours?” Madeline asked, nodding toward the crowd with a strange combination of sarcasm and awe.
    “All. Every last one of them.”
    Savannah hurried over to Alma and relieved her of the trash bag. She looked inside and did a mental check. Shoe box, makeup kit, stockings, lingerie bag, and a change of clothes for tomorrow.
    She was set.
    “Thank you, sugar,” she said. “I wouldn’t have trusted anybody in this crew but you with this bag.”
    Alma beamed, looking sweet and beautiful in her dress that was the same sapphire blue as her eyes. Unlike the other sisters, she was wearing her hair in her normal, simple to-the-shoulders bob. Everyone else had worked hard all morning, applying a cloud of spray to defy gravity and create the ultimate big-hair do.
    “Granny, you’re pretty as a patch of pansies and twice as cheerful,” Savannah told her, kissing her cheek that, for once, displayed a faint smudge of rouge.
    Gran smiled. “Why shouldn’t I be? My Savannah girl’s getting married today. Finally!”
    “Finally is right.”
    “Excuse me,” Madeline Aberson said, interjecting herself into the conversation, “but the guests are going to start arriving pretty soon, and the bride has to come with me now ... unless you want her walking down the aisle in a skirt with a big, black smear on the front of it.”
    Savannah glanced down at the forgotten mascara smudge. Then at Madeline, who was wearing a smug look that made Savannah want to laugh and smack her at the same time.
    She kissed Gran and Alma quickly. Waved to the rest of the invading hoard. And followed the wedding planner down a hallway. . . toward the rest of her life.

    Half an hour later, Savannah was standing in a reception room at the back of the club, before a pair of French doors that led to a lush, sweeping lawn. And on that stretch of verdure were rows of white chairs filled with the people she loved most.
    Tammy sat in the front row with Granny. Behind them was Dr. Jennifer Liu, the county coroner, along with other members of the police department. Sprinklings of neighbors and other friends filled out the rest of the guest list.
    Up front, Savannah’s baby sister, Atlanta, was playing her guitar and singing. Savannah could hear her clear, strong voice even from so far away, and the sound