Saturday Night Cleaver (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #4)

by Cantwell, Karen

  Wits and lungs won that battle and the kid halted his gallop, allowing me to catch up. “Mrs. Marr?” he asked as I slowly closed the gap between us, gasping for air.

  “Yeah. Callie’s mom,” I panted. “You go to school with her, right?”

  He nodded. “Kyle.”

  That was it. Kyle. They’d been science fair partners her Freshman year and she’d been mortified because all he ever talked about was cars, cars, cars. I was beginning to see where this trail would lead, but I followed it anyway.

  “Kyle. Right. How are you?”

  His answer was hesitant and I can’t say I blamed him. A crazy woman had just chased him down, for crying out loud. “Fine...” he said.

  Howard finally reached us and I introduced the two. “Kyle, Callie’s dad. Callie’s dad, Kyle.”

  Still appearing alarmed by the chase, Kyle ventured out on a limb. “Is this because I was looking at the GTO?”

  “Kind of,” I said. “We’re concerned about our friend who owns it. We haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

  He perked up a bit. “Old guy, blond hair?”

  “Depends on what you mean by old,” I said.

  “You know, your age, probably,” answered Kyle, stone-faced serious. I heard Howard suppress a laugh.

  “You saw him?”

  Kyle nodded. “Yesterday after school. Must have been about two-thirty? Something like that.”

  “Did you see where he went?” Howard pressed.

  “Not exactly. I’m taking care of some pets down at the end of the street.” He pointed past the Fetty’s house. “I saw him get out of the car and said, ‘Nice wheels, man’ and he said, ‘Thanks, man,’ and then he came this way and I kept going that way.” His arms flailed around indicating who was moving where.

  “You never saw him go into any of these houses around here?”

  “Nah. Didn’t see. But man, this car is the best, isn’t it? You don’t see classic GTOs like this every day. I can’t help but stop and look every time I pass it, ya know? I wasn’t going to steal it or anything. Was that lady saying I was trying to steal it?” He tipped his head toward Christina Fetty, who still stood on the sidewalk in front of her house watching us from afar.

  “No.” I tried not to laugh. “She just thought you might have some information for us.”

  “Cool. Well, can I go now, then? I think I forgot to lock the back door after I let the dog out earlier. My mom will kill me if I don’t do this job right.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Marr.” He strode off back in the direction he’d originally started.

  “We make a pretty good team,” Howard said with a smile as Kyle ambled away. “You know everyone, and I don’t.”

  I was about to reply with an equally quippy and fun retort when a red car sped by on the cross street. The license plate was easy to read as it passed since it was personalized: FEEVRR.

  But that wasn’t the most interesting part of this newest development.

  “Howard, was that a...”

  He gave a nod and finished my sentence. “Red Mercedes E550.”

  Chapter Eight

  The car disappeared around a bend in the road. We got to my van as quickly as we could, giving a quick “thanks” and “goodbye” to Christina, then sped off in the same direction the Mercedes had traveled. But several minutes of searching up and down the road and side streets were wasted. The car was gone.

  The fact that we’d seen the same make and color of Mercedes as the one in Colt’s pictures indicated to Howard that Colt might have continued his investigative work and parked far enough away from his blond, sweatpants-wearing target so as not to be detected. Of course, this was still just a theory on the table. We had no hard evidence to go on.

  Howard dialed Officer Lamon to see if he’d run the first license plate belonging to the crazy Asian lady, and to see if he could add another to his list of favors. This time he was able to get Erik on the phone and the news was good. He had a name and address for Crazy Asian Lady: Shin Lee at 233 Dusty Pines Place, Rustic Woods.

  I recognized the address right away, and so did Howard. It was written on the back of the Saturday Night Fever business card. So Colt was supposed to meet her at 9:30 tonight, possibly, at her home? Certainly made sense. Had she stopped by earlier in the day to cancel or change their appointment? Who knew, but at least we were beginning to connect some dots on our hunt for Colt.

  Erik told Howard he would run the FEEVRR plate and file a missing persons report on Colt. He would also gladly assist us personally when his shift ended at ten. When Howard got off the phone with Erik, he tried Colt’s cell again just in case. Unfortunately, the result was no different.

  The clock on my dashboard read four-thirty in the afternoon, but it felt much later, probably because it was already starting to get dark and because we’d been running around all day like those proverbial un-dead chickens. It was time for rest, a good meal and some time with the kids.

  My phone rang as I motored toward home. Howard checked the display. “It’s Peggy, should I answer?”

  “No. Hit ignore.”

  “You’re still mad at her?”

  “I’m a woman. Holding a silent grudge is not only what I do best, it’s my right and my responsibility.”

  “Do you even know why you’re holding a grudge?”

  “For standing me up.”

  “Maybe there’s a good reason. Did you ask her?”

  “I told you, I know what happened. She stood me up for Dandi Booker. I just need time to cool off, that’s all. Once that happens, I’ll talk to her and only punish her by making snide jibes disguised as jokes and veiled snarky comments on her Facebook posts. See, you think I’m not aware that my dark side lives, but I’m very aware, Master Yoda, very aware.”

  “You’re lucky you have any friends at all,” he muttered under his breath.

  Truth be told, although I joked about my ‘dark side’, I was quickly realizing that it was probably not a matter for joking and that Howard was righter than wronger about me living up to my word on valuing friendships.

  A minute later my phone chirped, indicating a new voicemail.

  “She left a message,” he said.

  I pulled into our driveway. “I’ll listen to it later. I’m tired and hungry right now.”

  Howard limped slowly to the house, leaning heavily on his cane again. I was mad at myself for not insisting he let me do more of the work. He shouldn’t have been doing all of that walking and certainly no running. When I tried to help him, he brushed me off.

  “I’m fine,” he grumbled.

  But I could tell he was in pain.

  Remembering that my purse was still in the van, I turned to retrieve it. From the corner of my eye, I saw Melody Penobscott tip-toeing through the leaf-covered grass between her house and mine. She waved and called out. “Yoo hoo! Barb! Yoo hoo!”

  I sucked back an annoyed sigh. Despite my affinity for the way she pronounced her vowels, the thought of talking to anyone at that moment was less than appealing. I smiled anyway, because that’s what nice neighbors do.

  “Hi Melody. What’s up?”

  Her pony tail swished like a windshield wiper. “You look tired. Are you tired?”

  “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind me catchin’ you for just a sec. See, I wanted to tell ya that I told a little lie earlier.” She winced and pinched two fingers together when she said, ‘little’ to illustrate.

  “Um, okay...”

  “And I feel just awful about it, so I just had to come clean, ‘cuz that’s how I like to be ya know—clean.”

  Get to it lady, I’m tired. I stared at her, hoping she’d just come clean anyway.

 
“We’re cutting down a tree. Little pieces at a time. There, I said it.” She was waving her hand around and that pony tail flipped this way and that. “That was the sound you heard last night. Please don’t report us. I just didn’t want us to start out our lives as neighbors with that lie between us.”

  I laughed so hard I thought I’d pee my pants. “Melody, we take trees down all of the time. You don’t need to do it in the dead of night, for crying out loud.”

  “But the Association...”

  “They’ll only find out if someone reports you and no one will because everyone on this street does it. In the daylight.” I patted her little panic-stricken hand. “Your secret is safe with me. Did you check with your landlords, the Walkers?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Then I wouldn’t worry. Listen, I’ve had a long day, I’m going to head in.”

  “Sure, Barb, sure. Good talkin’ to ya. And thanks for understandin’.”

  I pondered the similarity between homeowners associations and dictatorships as I made my way to the house. And for a fleeting moment, I wondered why she was so worried if she’d talked to Roz and Peter about it. Certainly they would have said the same as me. I shrugged off the thought since there were much larger problems on my mind. And a grumble in my tummy.

  The amazing aroma of Mama Marr’s goulash tickled my nose the minute I stepped into through the front door, and all I could think was, thank you Mama, thank you. I don’t have to cook and my taste buds will sing while I gorge myself.

  That Mama Marr arrived from the hospital revved and ready to whip up a huge meal for seven people was testament to her strong constitution. Why, the woman was actually a three-time skillet-throwing champion in her small town outside Philly. Not only could she throw a mean skillet, but she could whip up a mean meal in a skillet to boot. She was an Energizer Bunny, and no amount of sciatica or black-bean-induced gastric chest pain was going to keep her down. Especially when it came to feeding her family. I wanted to show my gratitude by bringing Pavrotti back from my mother’s house in his shiny gold cage and say, “Here you go Mama, Pavrotti can stay. We’ll post motion sensor activated BB guns around the perimeter of his little birdie home to keep those mean ol’ puddy tats away.” But let’s face it, we’d all seen Sylvester and Tweety in action, and while Sylvester never actually swallowed Tweety, my Indiana Jones had something Sylvester did not: a dedicated partner in crime named Mildred Pierce. The feathered tenor didn’t have a chance in our feline-infested home. So I bit back my offer and just said, “Yum! Goulash! When do we eat?”

  She slapped my hand as I tried to sneak a taste with the wooden spoon. “Not ready yet, Barbara. Must simmer. An hour maybe.” She craned her neck to look around me. “Where’s my Howard?”

  “Living room, on the couch. He’s a little tired.”

  Her face crunched up in disapproval. “Too much running around on the legs. He needs rest! Why you make him do this work running around all day?”

  “I didn’t make him do anything, Mama,” I said, my feelings a little hurt. Okay, a lot hurt. I lowered my voice. “I actually think he’s a lot happier today than I’ve seen him in months. It’s like he has a purpose again.”

  Amber popped her pretty little head into the conversation between us. “Is his purpose finding Colt? Callie said Colt is disappeared and you and Daddy are trying to find him before he dies!” Her eyes were wide.

  “Callie said that?” I asked.

  “Amber made up the ‘before he dies’ part,” interjected Bethany from behind a book while she sat at the kitchen table next to my mother, who was immersed in her iPad. “Callie just said that you were looking for Colt.” She looked up from the book. “Did you find him?”

  Amber continued to look deeply concerned so I did what mothers don’t really like to do, but we do all the time and just call it “fibbing”—I lied. “We sure did!” I smiled widely down at Amber who turned her own frown upside down and hugged me tight.

  “That’s because you and Daddy make a great team,” she said.

  Hmm, that was the second time I’d heard that remark in the same day.

  My mother lifted her stare from the iPad. “Where did you find him?” she asked.

  The minute my answer escaped my lips, I knew I was in trouble. “Around.” Yup, that’s what I said. “Around.” I was tired and hungry. The combination of these two deprived states of being limits one’s ability to lie believably on-the-spot. It’s a fact. I’m sure they’ve done studies.

  “Around?” she asked. “Where around?”

  I laughed. “His condo around. Where else?”

  Don’t ask me why, but this seemed to satisfy my mother.

  I snuck a glance at Bethany, whose eyes were narrowed in skepticism. I could never put anything past Bethany. As a toddler she’d questioned the whole Santa story, emphasizing the discrepancy in size between the girth of the red-suited man and the width of the chimney flue. Of course, she didn’t use those precise words—she was only two—but I distinctly recall the words ‘girth’ and ‘flue’. She was Mensa-bound, that one. And, as my mother never failed to point out, I wasn’t nearly as intelligent at the same age.

  I poured two tall glasses of water and joined Howard on the couch, where we talked in hushed tones.

  “I hope we hear from Erik soon,” I said. “I hate this waiting game.”

  Howard sipped while he silently pondered. “I’ve been thinking,” he finally said. “That I should go over and have a talk with that Shin Lee woman tonight.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I shook my head in vigorous disagreement. “You’re not going anywhere tonight on that leg. I’ll go.”

  “I’m not going to let you go alone. Are you kidding me?”

  “Mo-om! Bethany called from the other room. “Your phone is ringing!”

  I must have left my purse on the table. I was too tired to get up. “See who it is!” I shouted, then said to Howard, “Maybe it’s Guy or Clarence. I thought we might have heard from them by now.”

  “It’s Mrs. Rubenstein!” she called back.

  I blew out a sigh while I contemplated talking to Peggy. Nah. I was too tired. “Don’t answer it!” I yelled. “I’ll call her back in a little while.” I anticipated Howard’s disapproving scowl. “What? I don’t want to tie up the phone in case Guy or Clarence call. Or Erik. Or Colt.” I continued on our who-was-kidding-who conversation. “You can’t really think it’s a good idea to put any more strain on that leg today, can you?”

  “It just needed some rest. It’s better already.” He bent his knee a few times and then his ankle to prove his point. And there’s no way I’m letting you go alone.”

  “I’ll take my mace.”

  “You’ll take your husband. You know, the one trained to maim and even kill if necessary.”

  “What are you going to maim her with, your cane? I’m a woman, she’s a woman, we’ll have a calm, rational, womanly chat.”

  “Because it went just that way the last time you tried to talk to her.”

  I planned on fighting him further, but he stopped me short. “It’s decided. We’ll both go. And you can bring your mace.”

  “And you can bring your cane.”

  We clinked glasses to celebrate our compromise, but all the while, Colt’s texts nagged at me. If they were from him, and not from some prankster who’d stolen or stumbled upon his phone, then something was very, very wrong. I’d traveled down roads leading to Wrongville before and they were treacherous, to say the least.

  I chewed on that worry bone until dinner was served. Goulash called my name, and for at least a few minutes, I thought of nothing but how savory it was. By the way, I was pretty sure that none of those ingredients were on Dr. Sadistic’s “good” list of foods for Howard or me. That diet was just going to have to wait another day.
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  After dinner I asked my mom if she wouldn’t mind sticking around to keep an eye on things around the house while Howard and I went out. We’d like to have a date night, I said, and especially with Mama Marr’s little incident, better to have another adult around the house.

  “You didn’t find Colt, did you?”

  Darn! How did she do that?

  “Date night, Mom,” I lied again, although I don’t know why. I knew she had me, but I was resorting to old adolescent habits. When I was a teenager, I’m not sure I ever told my mother a complete truth. And again, I don’t know why, because she always knew better. She was a psychic and a Marine rolled all into one with the name “Mom” slapped across her chest. “We just want to have some time to ourselves.”

  She narrowed her beady eyes and peered at me over her wire-rimmed glasses. We faced off: interrogator and pathetic, menopausal woman with a secret. The tension in the room was palpable. Who would break first? I thought for sure it would be me when I felt the first bead of sweat begin to burst through the skin of my upper lip, but then, just when I was about to call “Uncle,” she sighed and looked away. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll stay. Do you have the Science Channel? There’s a fascinating documentary tonight about tree ants in the Amazon. Maybe Callie would like to watch with me.”

  Callie? Not unless Ryan Gosling was personally holding the tree ants in every shot. Shirtless.

  “Try Bethany,” I said, “that’s probably a little more up her alley.”

  She eventually conned Mama Marr into joining her.

  As Howard and I were jacketing up near the front door, my mother called from the living room. “Don’t worry! I’ll stay until you get home or I get a call from the hospital saying a stray bullet sideswiped you while you weren’t out searching for Colt.” Then she added, “Don’t forget your mace.”

  I made a face, but patted my jacket pocket just to double check. Yup, mace was still there.