Saturday Night Cleaver (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #4) (23 page)

As it turned out, my visit to the hospital was longer than just a few hours. Just waiting for x-rays seemed to take half the day. A dose of acetaminophen and a fluid drip brought my fever right down. My ribcage would be bandaged for support to heal the one broken rib I’d incurred. Howard came over with the girls who were allowed to sit with me while he checked in on Colt and a very relieved Clarence. When he returned, he gave me Colt’s medical update: his right ankle was in bad shape and his left tibia had sustained a hairline fracture. His doctor was amazed that he even managed to put any weight on the left leg at all without crumbling in agony. The ankle was repairable with surgery and they would have to set the left leg. He’d have to remain off his feet for several weeks.

“What is it with the men in my life?” I asked him, grinning when Howard returned with the news.

“We get things done, too.” He shrugged. “We just break a few bones in the process. Colt’s worried about being out of work.”

“I know. If he doesn’t work, he doesn’t earn money.”

Howard nodded and although he didn’t say anything, I knew the wheels of his mind were turning.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

He rubbed a finger along my arm. “The best thing would be if someone could help him out. With the business. You know, while he’s recovering.”

“Who would this someone be? You? Playing private detective?”

“I have the time. He was there for me—us—when we needed him. Now I can return the favor.”

The wife part of me that loved to see my husband healthy and in one piece did not like the idea. Not one bit. The wife part of me that loved to see my husband happy and productive, doing what he did best, knew it was the way things had to be.

Howard’s phone jingled. He answered and the following conversation seemed largely one-sided. Howard said, “Uh huh” and, “You don’t say,” a few times, but that was about it. He finally ended with “Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Lamon. Let me know what else you learn,” and clicked his phone off. He pulled some dollar bills from his wallet and sent the girls to go get snacks from the vending machines in the waiting room.

When they had left, he let out a sigh of disbelief. “That was Erik.”

“I got that. What did he say?”

“Remember that noise we heard the other night?”

I cringed. “Chain saw?”

He gave a slight nod. “Chain saw.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Those items you and Puddles found in the woods on Friday belonged to the man she was...disposing of. That joke I made about her killing someone and feeding the body in bits and pieces to the foxes—that’s exactly what she was doing. Erik said she used a variety of tools to do her work.”

My stomach turned at the thought. “Let me guess: one of those tools was a cleaver?”

“Cleaver. They don’t know the identity of the victim, but evidence in their home is suggesting she’s had some connection to that swingers’ club in Ashburn Heights. The husband...I forget his name...”

“Neil.”

“Right. He had no idea. He met her less than a year ago. She’s wanted for two similar murders in North Dakota. One of them, her husband before this one.”

I took a few more deep breaths. “Colt could have been next.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Or you. You’re handsome. You’re sexy. You’re-”

He interrupted my panic attack with a soft, warm kiss that lingered. “You’re pretty sexy too.”

“Really? Now you get passionate? When I’m in a hospital about to be wrapped like a mummy? Your timing is way off, Mister.” Of course, I was teasing. Truthfully, I was excited to feel Howard’s heat again. Although, his timing
was
off a little. We’d have to wait for that rib to heal.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A
week later found big changes
brewing in the Marr household. We moved Mama Marr in with my mother, since they really did make “the good team.” The move also reunited her with Pavrotti, which caused her great happiness. Colt moved in with us temporarily while he recovered. We had to turn the living room into a makeshift bedroom, which didn’t give anyone a whole lot of privacy, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Everyone pitched in to wait on him when needed, but a recent frequent visitor, Shin Lee, had started helping out as well. Seemed she and Colt had some mutual attraction simmering between them, and if things continued, I imagined they’d progress to a roiling boil once he was mobile again. Truthfully, I wasn’t thrilled he was romancing a married woman, but she had filed for divorce, so who was I to offer an opinion? He was a grown man who’d been through enough, and she seemed to make him happy. I kept my mouth shut.

The bust that took down Shin’s criminal husband, Kyung ‘Hammer’ Kong, proved very fruitful for Fairfax County Police since they were able to glean long-sought information from the men kept as slaves. Each day, the news reported increasingly frequent arrests throughout the county. It seemed the men locked in the back of that moving truck were only the tip of a monstrously huge human trafficking iceberg within the Korean community. Howard said the problem was well known in the law enforcement world, but not among the general population. While the press will jump on the smallest drunken escapade of the latest teen celebrity heartthrob, news of men and women being confined like cattle and forced into cruel labor, prostitution, and involuntary organ donation doesn’t bring in the ratings, so falls to short blips of internet interest. I vowed to sit down with Guy Mertz once I felt better and see what we could do about that.

On the Orson Sparrow front, he dodged the dicey issue of kidnapping. Had the Korean syndicate raids not gone so well, he might have faced charges, but given the success of his enterprising plan, Orson was spared any arrest or legal action. Even better, he kept his gold along with an amazing discovery: an official will found buried underneath the treasure, written by George William Munson, giving Jacob Thaddeus Sparrow one half of his land upon his death. Obviously thrilled, Orson was working through the proper channels to see what, if anything, could be done about that. At the very least, he was in possession of a prized piece of historical interest. He had already been interviewed by Channel 10 and would soon be making an appearance on The Today Show.

Rick and Rita Ash got nothing, zip, zilch, nada. Well, I take that back. They got none of the gold since Orson had been so sly, but they both got jail time. Seems the authorities didn’t care a hoot that they’d assisted in the arrest of Kyung Kong, but they did care a whole lot about the dead guy stewing in Drano soup. Rita, though, blissfully believed that the publicity would still land her that Happy Housewives gig and a seven-figure book deal. According to Erik, that hadn’t happened yet.

And me? I was doing well. The impact with Rita Ash’s Mercedes did, in fact, crack a lower rib on my right side, but the damage was minimal and already I could take a deep breath without wanting to shriek in pain. And on Saturday, just a week after Howard and I started searching for Colt, I was sitting in an art studio with my mother and Mama Marr, trying hard as I might to produce something better than a gangly stick figure. I mean, the ladies saved my life, was I really going to bail after that? And, to be honest, I didn’t really mind. I’d developed a deeper appreciation for my own mother, who’d proved she would lay down her own life for her child just as I knew I would for mine. Possibly—okay, probably—as with my friends, I also often thought the worst of my mother rather than the best.

“Barbara,” my mother said, peering at my sorry rendition of the naked male figure standing before us. “Do you think you have his—”

“Don’t say it, Mom.” My muscles tensed while I actively reminded myself that she had risked her own life for mine.

“Say, ‘
prącia
’ Diane,” Mama Marr whispered. “She likes the word better.”

My mother grimaced and pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “I wasn’t talking about his ‘
prącia
,’ I wondered why she has his arm in such an odd location. See,” she pointed to the male model in the center of the room. “His arm,” she tilted her head. “Both of them actually, are up higher.”

An artist, I am not. See, that wasn’t his arm I was drawing. Mama Marr was correct.

I bit my lip and just kept drawing, because really, it wasn’t about improving my sketching skills so much as spending time with the women who would both rescue me from the deadly aim of a flipped-out fruitcake, and yet frustrate me greatly all at the same time. I guess that’s what family is all about. You take the good with the bad.

Oh, and I agreed to start volunteering at the hospital in the pediatric ICU ward once my rib had healed. I’d probably never be able to appropriately represent a
prącia
on paper, but I knew I could offer a “baby in need” some tender loving care. That didn’t require talent, just heart.

And speaking of love...

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
s the days grew colder
and Thanksgiving decorations were replaced with Christmas trees and pine scented candles, Colt and I both healed nicely while Howard took the reins of Colt Baron Private Investigations. In fact, he did so well and brought in so much money in that short amount of time that they decided to change the name: Baron and Marr, Investigations Unlimited. Howard had a continual smile on his face and a little jump in his step and no limp at all. The man was back on his game.

Howard and I both, like many dieters, decided to put the Dr. Sadistic food restriction plan on hold until after the New Year, but to assuage our guilt, we adhered to the daily supplement regimen with nearly religious fervor. And I will say, I think that bald spot was beginning to fill in again.

One Saturday night, Howard surprised me in the kitchen while I was trying to decide what to fix for dinner. “You know that blue dress I love so much?”

Did I know? That was my “lucky” dress, if you know what I mean. “Yes...” I answered playfully, closing the refrigerator door. “I think I remember the one.”

“Why don’t you go put it on.”

“I don’t like to cook in my dressy clothes, honey. They get all messy. Who likes messy dressy clothes?”

“Maybe I have plans that don’t include cooking.”

Colt and Shin had been in the living room watching TV and Colt couldn’t resist the urge to chime in. “Sounds like there’s some sort of cooking in the plans!” he yelled.

“Keep your nose in your own business, Mister,” I responded, while throwing Howard my super sex-me smile. “Or I’ll tell Shin to take you back to her place.”

I heard Shin commenting that my idea wasn’t such a bad one at that.

“So,” I continued, pulling Howard closer. “What are your plans?”

An hour later, with me in my blue dress and Howard in a dapper gray suit and tie, a fancily clad waiter was pushing in my chair for me and draping a cloth napkin in my lap. Howard, it seemed, was romancing me in a very posh and very charming Italian restaurant on the shore of Lake Muir. He was being positively chivalrous. And yes, I was eating it up. We sat in a dark corner, sipped a fine red wine, held hands across the table, and looked deeply into each other’s eyes. All those silly things young lovers do before they get married and have kids and have mothers move in with them and wind up in troubling circumstances involving guns and killers and all of those other real life happenings. Finally, after too long, I had my husband back and life was oh, so good. I didn’t want the night to end.

We had just finished sharing a melt-in-your mouth tiramisu when Howard drained his second glass of wine and pushed back his chair. “How do you feel about a little disco dancing?”

“I don’t know,” I said wiping the corners of my mouth with the fancy napkin. “I was thinking less disco, a little more bungle in the jungle.” Putting the napkin down, I crossed my arms on the table and bent closer. “I mean, that’s alright by me.”