Free Buried In Buttercream by G. A. McKevett Page B

clothes thrown around and my rollers out,” Savannah said.
    Madeline gave her a sad, wan smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it and get back here in time to see you two kiss. Good luck.”
    As Savannah watched her walk away, she wondered why she had disliked the woman so much at first. But it didn’t matter now. Some people just took some getting used to, and Savannah had decided that Madeline Aberson was one of them. Sorta like grits and liver without bacon and onions.

    Two songs later, Savannah turned to her entourage. “Okay,” she said, “it’s about time. Are we all ready?”
    There was a lot of nodding of big hair, some nervous grins.
    Savannah did a quick check. “Bouquet, Granny’s white Bible, Grandpa Reid’s wedding band ...” She turned to Marietta. “You have the ring, right?”
    The blank look on Marietta’s face struck terror in her heart.
    “Oh, Lord, Mari! You do have the ring, don’t you? You’re the maid of honor, for heaven’s sake!”
    “I put it in the bag.”
    “What bag?”
    “That big trash bag that had all your junk in it.”
    “You just tossed Grandpa’s ring in there? Are you crazy? I’m supposed to be putting it on Dirk’s finger in a couple of minutes!”
    “I didn’t know what to do with it! I was gonna put it in my bra for safekeeping, but it just felt ... well ... wrong ... to stick our grandpa’s ring in my bra with my boob. Yuck!”
    “Marietta, 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.
    “Oh, 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 ...
    “Madeline?”
    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