Citizen Insane: A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery

by Karen Cantwell

  “Yeah, How ol’ boy,” Colt said, wincing as he moved a bit in his bed. “Do tell.”

  Howard looked at me warily. “Did she tell you anything?”

  I shook my head. “But with this relationship you two seem to have, not to mention the woman at Fiorenza’s . . . well, as Ricky Ricardo says, ‘You got some ‘splainin’ to do.’”

  “Do we have to do this here?”

  “I’m cramping your style,” Colt said. “Nurse!” he yelled. “Can someone move me out of here so these two lovebirds can do their thing in private?”

  Just then a very young and attractive female doctor threw back the curtain. “Who’s making all of the noise here and where is Howard Marr?”

  “I’m Howard - the one making all of the noise,” said Colt.

  Howard rolled his eyes. I could see Colt was getting to him.

  I slapped Colt’s hand. “Act your age or they’ll send in a pediatrician instead of an orthopedist. This handsome, mature man is my husband, Howard Marr.”

  The doctor smiled at Colt, but moved very professionally to Howard and started doing her whole doctor routine. She asked a few questions, checked his reflexes and looked in his eyes. She scribbled on her clipboard then said, “I’m admitting you for the night. I want you here for observation, Mr. Marr.”

  I sighed, sad that I wouldn’t have him home for the night. I was looking forward to taking care of him. “Do you want me to stay until they get you in your room?”

  He just shook his head and closed his eyes. I thought of pressing him to talk a little more, but wondered if he just didn’t feel well. So I kissed his forehead and went to leave.

  Colt, still playful, couldn’t let me leave without a tease. “Don’t I get a kiss too?” I laughed and was about to respond when Howard cut me off.

  “Don’t you two ever stop? Do you see that I’m here?”

  Uh oh. Amber’s words came flooding back. “I think Daddy only pretends to like Colt,” and “Maybe ‘cuz you hug Colt a lot.”

  “Howard—”

  “Barb, would you just go please.”

  “But—”

  He closed his eyes and shut me out. Two attendants came and wheeled Colt to a different trauma room where the surgeon would look at his foot. I couldn’t even look at him when they did. I could only think that maybe it had been me the whole time. Me that had hurt my marriage. I cried in the cab all the way to my mother’s. Did I want to see my mother? No. But I really wanted to see the girls, so I had no alternative. It was late – 1:30 in the morning – but she had waited up and opened the door after my first light knock.

  “Mom,” I said before she could open her mouth. “It’s been a LONG day and a lot of awful, awful things have happened to me and to people I love. I’ll tell you another time but I DO NOT want to talk right now. I just want to see the girls. Promise me you won’t ask any questions?”

  She stared me down in that way that makes me feel like I’m a three year old caught dipping a finger into the freshly frosted cake. I was gearing up for a fight, but her face softened and she nodded her agreement.

  She had put Amber on her couch in the den and Bethany and Callie in the two single beds in her second bedroom. I visited each, kissed their foreheads and felt their warm breaths on my face. It was the medicine I needed. Knowing they were safe, feeling their energy near me. Those are the moments I treasure in all of life – the moments when the love for my children fills me completely. I can’t imagine there is any greater power in the entire world – or the entire universe even – than the power of that love.

  So when I found my mother in the kitchen putting Oreos on a plate next to a cold glass of milk, I realized that she knew it, too. She sat quietly with me while I dipped Oreos into the milk and cried in between yummy bites. When I was done, she suggested I stay rather than go home. It would be good for the girls to see me when they woke up.

  “Where will I sleep?”

  “In my bed – you did it all the time when you were a little girl.” Of course, that seemed so long ago, but it was true. When my dad went on business trips, she and I would climb into their big king sized bed and curl up together. She had a way of making me feel safe. Sometimes, when my mother’s antics irritated me, I forgot how much I loved her.

  “Okay,” I said, “but no spooning.”

  “Barbara – don’t be a silly goose.”

  Chapter twenty-two

  Somehow we all made it through the rest of the week. Roz and Peggy, it turned out, had been escorted home by FBI agents after a not-so-brief debriefing. Peggy was enjoying the limelight and had exciting tales to tell of their abduction by master of disguise Waldo Fuchs/Anita Abernathy, Shashi the crossing guard, aka Marilyn Schmutz the bank robber, and Krystle Jennings the yearbook killer, aka KiKi Urbanowski the cop shooter. Roz, on the other hand found no joy or excitement in any of it and vowed to move from Northern Virginia altogether. She’d had enough of Mafia and FBI’s Most Wanted living in her backyard. Peter wasn’t convinced, but Roz didn’t care. She told him to march right into his office and demand a transfer – out of the country if he had to. I was sad. Roz was my best friend, so I just hoped and prayed that she would settle down once Rustic Woods stopped buzzing over the whole affair.

  “It’s like one of those towns in those ridiculous mystery books – murders every week and the same person has to solve all of the crimes,” she ranted once after three glasses of wine. “We’ve become characters in a silly mystery book.”

  Peggy laughed. “I know, isn’t it great? I’ve taken detailed notes of everything that happened so I can use it for my writing class.”

  Roz frowned. I’m pretty sure that’s one book she wouldn’t be reading.

  Frankie was pleased that he had finally made amends in a big way, especially to Roz. And Karma rewarded him nicely. In the form of thirty-thousand dollars – the reward money that the FBI offered for the tip that led to the apprehension of the long-disappeared, but not forgotten Dynasty Dames bank robbers from Wembsley Women’s College. He didn’t feel right taking it though, and instead, gave the entire sum to the Alexander family to help defray doctor and hospital fees.

  As for Michelle, she came out of her coma and was eventually moved out of the ICU. It turned out Lance was never a suspect in her murder, at all. The story had been fabricated in hopes the real shooter would come out of the woodwork and make a mistake. The police had been assisting the FBI who figured Michelle must have been the anonymous caller a week earlier, tipping them to Krystle Jennings’ true identity. And of course, who had been working the case? Howard. If he’d only told me, I could have saved us all a lot of time and pain.

  When Howard was released the next day from the hospital, I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted him to come back home. It was time to fix our marriage. I needed him and the girls needed him.

  His answer was lukewarm at best. “I’ll think about it.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, as I drove him to his condo.

  “It means . . . I will think about the idea of moving back home.” He looked out the window. “KiKi Urbanowski and Marilyn Schmutz are both alive, did you hear?”

  “There’s a way to change the subject.” I actually had been curious though. “You know Marilyn helped us. Things could have ended badly if she hadn’t.”

  “Can’t make guarantees. No deal was made.”

  “She’s a good person, Howard.”

  “It’s out of my hands, Barb.”

  “I did this, didn’t I?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Our marriage. It’s my friendship with Colt, isn’t it? I’ll end it. I’ll tell him to cool things. Stay away. No more learning to shoot a gun. No more tutoring in private investigation. I promise.”

  He smiled. “You would do that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He tipped his head slightly. “Good. I like that.”

  “And I won’t ask you about that other woman anymore, but you have t
o promise to stop seeing her.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “I can do that.”

  His answer didn’t sit well with me. Not because he promised not to see her again, but because it was the first time he didn’t deny anything. So he had been seeing her. I took a deep breath and wondered how I would get around it in my mind.

  “Okay,” I said as I pulled into a parking space in front of his place. “Then you’ll move back in. I can help you get some things now.”

  He opened the door and slid out, closed it behind him, then poked his head back in through the open window. “Not right now, thank you.”

  “But we just—”

  “And don’t talk with Colt. He’s our friend. In a lot of ways, I think he needs us more than we need him. Plus, he pays me rent. I like that.”

  “Fine, but when are you moving back in?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll let you know.”

  Damn! For a man, he sure was a hard one to figure out. Suddenly, I felt the need for that Ultra Ultimate Sweet Tangerine Spice Pedicure at La Voila Day Spa. That, and a truckload of chocolate.

  Chapter twenty-three

  On Sunday morning, just one week and six days after missing our first appointments for pedicures, Roz, Peggy and I pulled up in front of La Voila Day Spa. This time, we had a fourth friend along for the fun – Bunny Bergen. Her foot was still in bandages, so she was only getting a half-pedicure, but she was happy just the same, and I was ecstatic to have her along.

  “I didn’t know La Voila was open on Sundays,” I said as Roz slipped her van into an empty space right in front of the small brick building. Truthfully, the place was practically a ghost town. The entire parking lot void of a single vehicle except ours.

  “Nope,” Peggy said. “They’re open on Sundays.”

  Peggy insisted we wear pretty dresses and have the whole works done – manicure, pedicure, and makeover. Her treat since she planned to make a ton of money on her unwritten book, Moms with Guns. I wasn’t going to argue with her plan to pay or the interesting choice of title.

  Once we were inside, Mitzi, the owner, closed the curtains, turned on a soothing sounds of nature CD, and told us the spa was ours for the next two hours. There was even champagne.

  “Peggy,” I asked, sipping from a flute. “Are you sure you can afford this?”

  She winked at Roz who winked back. “I’m sure.”

  It was Heaven on a Sunday. Our feet were soaked and rubbed and scrubbed and dipped in hot wax, then rubbed some more. I nearly fell asleep in the massage chair. Then our hands were given the same treatment. After the makeover, I couldn’t believe how beautiful we all looked. I pulled a camera out of my purse. “Mitzi, will you take a picture?” I asked.

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  Bunny chimed in, as Roz helped position her crutches. “Let’s do it outside. The sun is shining and the trees are blooming. It will be perfect out there.”

  Mitzi nodded. “That’s a good idea. Here, let me just pull back the curtains.”

  I was nearest the glass door when she slid the burgundy, room darkening drapes to the side, letting in the light and the view.

  “Wow.” I stepped closer to the glass door. “Someone set up a party while we were having our own,” I quipped. The entire parking lot had been transformed. Three white canopies stood side by side, and the middle was decorated elaborately with flowers, while the other two appeared to protect tables of food and drinks. Women wore spring dresses and men sported jackets and ties. “Maybe it’s an after church gathering,” I said. I was about to turn around and ask Bunny and Roz if they needed help getting out, when someone in the party crowd caught my eye. I gasped a sort of mini-gasp when I realized it was Fiorenza’s Floozy. But my face flamed red poker hot when I glimpsed Howard approaching her. He looked movie star-handsome in a pair of khaki slacks and that new green dress shirt I bought him for Christmas. He always turned heads when he wore green.

  While I was still processing the whole Fiorenza’s Floozy and Howard at a Sunday church party nightmare, Mitzi opened the door and Peggy literally pushed me out onto the sidewalk then off the curb into the parking lot, closer to the festivities. That was when I noticed that Roz’s van was gone from where we’d parked it.

  “What?” That was all I could utter. To say I was confused would misrepresent my awareness of the circumstances.

  Because I couldn’t take my eyes off of Howard or Fiorenza’s Floozy, I completely missed Amber running to me and grabbing my hips in a bear hug. “Isn’t it just perfection, Mommy?”

  I bent down to hug her back and ask her what in the world was happening, when the next thing I knew Floozy had descended upon me all smiles, with her Floozy cleavage practically in my face. Her hand was outstretched. “Barbara, I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said. “I’m Samantha Mills – your wedding planner.”

  Completely flabbergasted and speechless, I shook her hand. I wondered if I might be drooling, since surely my jaw had dropped a foot. She stepped back quickly and that’s when I saw Howard in front of me, down on one knee.

  “I’m not very good at things like this,” he said. “But here’s the thing – I love you. I’ve never loved anybody but you. And you make my life fun, if not . . . interesting. So I was just wondering if you’d be willing to marry me.” He smiled. “Again.”

  By then, we were completely surrounded by family and friends, none of whom I had noticed before. Colt was there next to Bethany and a particularly smiley Callie was with Brandon. My mother stood next to fire fighter Russell Crow, who had his arm around Bunny. I made a mental note to ask about that later. Peter had joined Roz and Simon had stepped next to Peggy. Even Frankie was there all gussied up in a dapper designer suit. The sun stood above us in a cloudless blue sky and the fragrance of lilac filled the air.

  Amber was right. It was perfection.

  Since I’d never seen Howard on one knee before in my life, and I figured I might never see it again, I decided to keep him there a few minutes longer and enjoy the show.

  “So,” I said, “Samantha Mills is a wedding planner, huh? All those late nights, dinners at Fiorenza’s – that was your ‘WORK’?”

  His smile turned into a shit-eating grin. “Honey,” he said. “Winning you back is the hardest work I’ve ever done.”

  “Get up here you goon,” I said, pulling him toward me. We locked lips and smooched for probably way longer than we should have given the audience, but did I care? Not a bit. When I came up for air, I answered him. “Let the cameras roll.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because this wedding was paid for either way.”

  *****

  The girls stood with us as we renewed our vows under the middle canopy, then everyone cheered and the party was underway. Howard and I walked the reception like twenty-year olds in love, holding hands and talking with guests. Bunny sat with Russell Crow. She had her foot up on a chair and the two of them made googly eyes at each other. Apparently, they met when he and an EMT pulled her from the WinslowBuilding.

  “I thought you were seeing someone?” I asked Russ with suspicion.

  He shook his head and smiled. “Just said that so you wouldn’t be so embarrassed by your mother’s attempt to set us up. And now,” he winked at Bunny, “it’s true.”

  Bunny practically swooned. In between breathy love glances directed at her studly savior, she explained, finally, what she couldn’t before – that after talking with Howard at the grocery store one day, he had asked her advice on how to woo me back. She introduced him to her friend, Samantha Mills, the wedding planner, to concoct a most deliciously romantic wedding to renew our vows. It would have happened earlier had it not been for the Dynasty Dames Debacle.

  Samantha had done her job well. With ideas provided by Bunny, she arranged a memorable wedding and reception, complete with a champagne fountain as well as a DJ that played my favorite music from my college days in the ‘80s. While Howard chatted with some friends from work, I meandered to a quiet corner
near the cake, where Colt stood with a cane in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

  “So, I guess I’m losing my roommate,” he said.

  “It appears that way. Now you’ll have all the privacy you need to be the real ladies man that you are.”

  “Lucky me.” His smile seemed forced at best.

  “Are you telling me that you’re all talk and no do?”

  He laughed. “Oh, I do plenty. I’m actually thinking of looking up Anita Abernathy in prison. She’s such a sexy piece of woman. I’m dying to taste her flan.”

  “How’s your foot?”

  “Good enough to hobble on this,” he held up his cane, “but not quite ready for the dance floor.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  He winked. “I know you are. Let’s face it, with two good feet, I’m a boogey machine.”

  Howard had wandered our way by then and slipped his arm around my waist. “I guess I’ll just have to show her my own moves then.”

  “Dude,” Colt grimaced. “I’m talking about gettin’ down and funky to some tunes. You need to get a room for what’s on your mind.”

  We all laughed, and for the first time in nearly two decades, the three of us were comfortable again as friends. It felt good. If there is a happiness scale, I was off the charts.

  Oh, and that night, Howard and I did get a room, and he did show me his moves. Over and over and over again. I’m not sure where he learned them, but I’m pretty sure they don’t teach that kind of thing at the FBIAcademy.

  THE END

  (or is it?)

  Do you want to know what happens in between Take the Monkeys and Run and Citizen Insane? Get your copy of The Chronicles of Marr-nia and read the mystery short, “Missing Impossible,” a between-the-novels short story.

  Karen Cantwell loves to hear from readers. To learn more about her other novels and short stories, and to find her email address, go to KarenCantwelll.com.