Saturday Night Cleaver (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #4) (6 page)

I hesitated. “A chain saw...we thought.” Was Howard wrong? Was it a leaf blower? It was probably a leaf blower. I’m always right.

She shook her head, but not very convincingly. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. Not in our backyard. Nope. Musta been someone else.”

Hmm. I didn’t say I heard the saw in her yard.

“Maybe,” I agreed. “Could have been the Perkins.”

“Oh, ya know, it mightve been them now thatcha mention it.” She seemed relieved, but she was ending our conversation and skedaddling anyway. She snatched her mail from the box and pasted on the blinding smile. “Bye, Barb! Good seein’ ya!”

Howard was limping down the driveway as she dashed off. I stared after her, wondering what the heck was up.

“How is...” Howard was trying to be interested, but he had the worst time remembering our neighbor’s names. “What’s her name?”

I lifted the mailbox door back up and clamped it closed. “Melody. Penobscott.”

“Did you ask for any deck repairing tips?”

“I mentioned that we heard a saw and she said it wasn’t them. But she seemed a little weird about it.”

He took the mail from my hand and leafed through the contents. “They sure burn the candles at both ends, I’ll tell you. She was up before dawn loading something into the trunk of her car.”

Now I was the one to be surprised. “You were up before dawn?”

“Woke up around four. Couldn’t get back to sleep. When I went to get a glass of water, I looked out the window because I heard something in their driveway.”

Melody’s odd reaction to the saw inquiry took a backseat to my concern that Howard wasn’t sleeping well. Insomnia had been a problem right after he came home from the hospital, but I thought he’d been sleeping better in the last month.

“Maybe they killed that guy whose parts you found in the woods—they’re sawing him up slowly and spreading limbs throughout Rustic Woods for the foxes to eat.”

I slapped him playfully on the arm. “Stop that. That’s not funny!”

He stopped smiling and grew more serious. “No, and neither is this—Clarence left a message on our machine. Colt was supposed to meet him yesterday for lunch followed by an interview with a reporter at the TV station for a piece they’re doing on local PIs, but he never showed.”

Clarence Heatherington was Colt’s long lost son born out of wedlock. Sounds like a cliché plot trick, I know, but it’s all true. Clarence was also the new movie reviewer for Channel 3 serving the Washington, DC Metro area. Admittedly, Colt was way more than surprised—actually, horrified is a better word—that he had fathered a son he never knew, but he chilled pretty quickly. Despite the fact that they are as different as baby pandas and werewolves, Clarence grew on him, as did the idea of being a father. Fairly soon, Colt was taking a Bill Huxtable approach to fatherhood and it didn’t matter a hoot that his kid was twenty-eight years old. Clarence even lived with him for over a month while he hunted for an apartment closer to his job at Channel 3. And as for that interview, Colt also loved to talk about himself, so the fact that he’d miss lunch with Clarence and a chance to wax enthusiastic on all things Colt Baron, was a bigger red flag than his forgetting to make us tacos.

This news was seriously unsettling. “I wonder why Clarence didn’t try my cell phone? He has my number.” I pulled the cell from my purse and realized I had set it for silent mode while waiting in the doctor’s office. Sure enough, two missed calls from Clarence. I didn’t listen to those though, because I spotted something that relaxed my knitted brow: a text from Colt.

I opened the message.

Time to start worrying again.

The message read,
sos.

Chapter Five

“S
OS?” I blurted.

Howard peered over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a text from Colt!” I could hear the distress in my own voice as it cracked.

“What does it say?”

“SOS! Didn’t you hear me?” I stomped a foot and began mumbling all sorts of half-thoughts and incoherencies. “S-O-” I started. “What does that-”

I attempted a reply to the message, but must have touched the wrong button and I was sent back to my main screen. “Stupid phone! I can’t-” I clicked to view messages again, but my screen went dark. “SOS. Something’s...what is wrong with this phone?!” I shook the phone like it was a catatonic person that needed a jolt. Admittedly, I was out of control.

Howard relieved me of the wayward device and clicked calmly, stopping to read the message, then clicking again.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Texting him back.”

“SOS. What does that mean? He’s in trouble, right?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Howard perused through the menu and tapped another button, then placed the phone to his ear.

“Are you calling the police?”

He shook his head. “Trying his cell phone. If he texted, he must have it on now.” A moment later, he shook his head again, then talked into the phone. “It’s Howard. We got your text. Call Barb’s phone.” He hung up and handed it back to me. “Don’t panic. He could have lost his cell. Someone found it and now they’re having some fun.”

For a minute, Howard’s scenario proposal calmed me. Of course. Silly kids playing games. But then my mind shifted back to the scarier alternative. “He might not have lost it, though. And this could be real.”

He nodded, his face firm and serious, his eyes fixed on mine. “In which case, what we don’t do is lose our cool. I left a message for Lamon. As soon as he calls me, I’ll ask him to run that license plate.” He held up a key chain with a single key dangling. Colt’s spare condo key. “Meanwhile, let’s go back over and see if there’s anything lying around his place that could give us a clue.”

Thank goodness Howard had found us something to do. Sitting around and waiting for Erik to call didn’t exactly make me feel empowered.

Callie drove up just then in the Camry. I had forgotten that she was putting in some volunteer hours at the local library, which reminded me that I needed to get in the house and check on Bethany and Amber just to make sure they’d eaten and didn’t need anything. When Callie climbed out of the car, she walked with us up to the door. “So this is weird,” she began. “I dropped Isabella off at her house and Colt’s car was parked in the street out front.”

Howard and I eyed each other. “Are you sure it was his?” asked Howard.

“Dad,” she sighed in her teen-aged grown-ups-are-so-silly voice. “How many 1969 red GTOs are running around Rustic Woods with a ‘Here comes da Judge’ bumper sticker? When I asked her mom if they knew Colt, she said no, but the car has been parked there since yesterday afternoon.”

Howard stopped at the door. “Is it right in front of their house, or a neighbor’s house?”

“Their house,” she said.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“If the car was parked in front of a neighbor’s house, he might be visiting someone else. That still may be the case.”

Luckily, Callie had stepped into the house, so I didn’t have to whisper the next question. “You’re thinking he had a date and stayed the night?”

Howard shrugged. He was diving into his quiet, unresponsive thinking mode. I might not hear from him for a while. We went into the house just long enough for me to check on all three girls and leave instructions for Callie to be in charge. We were going out.

“To check out Colt’s car?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Probably not,” I answered as believably as I could.

She called out to me as I was walking toward the door. “Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get shot at again, okay?”

Ah. How sweet. She does care.

Callie and Isabella Fetty had been friends since the first grade so I knew exactly where she lived and it only took us a few minutes to get there. Just as Callie had said, Colt’s car was positioned at the curb right in front of the Fetty’s house on Sassafras Lane. Both doors were locked. Peeking inside the windows, we saw some papers strewn on the floor of the passenger’s side, what looked to be an empty soda cup on the passenger’s seat, and a camera and pen in the backseat.

“Do you know Isabella’s mom?” Howard asked.

I frowned a little. “Yes, and so do you. She’s been to our house so many times I can’t count.”

“What’s her name?”

“Christina.”

“Is she the tall one with short blond hair and glasses?”

“No, Sherlock. She’s short with long brown hair, no glasses.” I sighed. “How did they let you into the FBI anyway? On your good looks? Because it sure wasn’t for your observation skills.” I patted him on the back to let him know I still loved him even though he probably couldn’t pick The Queen of England out of a lineup. “Christina’s nice, but she bobs her head a lot when she talks.”

“Got it. Let’s go talk to her.”

I knocked on the door and immediately heard the deep bellowing of two large dogs. I’d forgotten about their Great Danes, Frank and Stein. Should have warned Howard.

The door opened and Christina smiled at us both.

Too late.

“Barb!” (head bob) “Howard!” (bob, bob) “What brings you by? Did Callie forget something?” She dropped her smile for a moment while she reprimanded one of the horse-dogs. “Sit, Frank, sit!” Frank didn’t sit, but her smile reappeared anyway when she turned her attention back to us. She stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in, come in.” (bob, bob, bob)

Howard motioned for me to go first. I wasn’t sure whether that was a show of gallant manners or a healthy respect for the beasts inside. I knew that Frank and Stein were both sweet dogs, so Howard didn’t need to fear an attack. On the other hand, they had very inquisitive noses.

Once we were standing in the foyer of their split-level home, I proceeded with our inquiry while the canines proceeded with a little investigation of their own.

“We’re not here for Callie,” I began. “She noticed that our friend’s car was parked out front, and we’ve actually been a little worried about him.”

Christina’s head bobbed throughout my explanation while Frank nosed Howard’s crotch. Howard tried to push the animal’s nose away with his free hand, but Frank’s radar was locked on target.

“Yup, yup,” said Christina bobbing. “Uh huh, uh huh. The car has been there since yesterday.” (bob, bob) “Uh, huh, yup. Yesterday.” She glanced down at Frank as if just realizing that he was probing Howard’s gonads. “Frank! No!” She yanked on his collar, but Christina was small and Frank was the polar opposite of small. Frank did not move. Meanwhile, Stein had been circling Howard like a vulture, seemingly to choose his sniff with more calculation. Christina tugged harder on Frank’s collar, yelling, “Sit!” This time he fell back on his haunches as ordered.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized to Howard. “They’re really sweet dogs, they’re just so darned big! So why are you worried about your friend?”

At that very moment, Stein determined that Howard’s rear end was where he should land his cavernous nostrils. And he did. I think Howard actually squealed. Frank, probably not wanting to miss out on the fun, left his sit-position and shot straight for Howard’s crotch again.

I’d been the turkey in a Frank and Stein sandwich before, so I did feel sorry for Howard, but I wanted to get my information on Colt. I pressed forward, leaving my husband to fend for himself. “He’s been missing for almost twenty-four hours now,” I explained, “and his son is concerned because he missed an important meeting today. It’s just not like him—his name is Colt. Did you happen to see him?”

Her head bobbed once, twice, three times. “Uh huh, uh huh. Yup, yup.”

“You did?” I asked with hope.

“Oh! No! No.” Now she was shaking her head vigorously. “No. I was just listening to your story. I never saw who parked the car there, I’m sorry.” Her eyes suddenly blazed in horror. “Oh, Howard! Lordy, I’m so sorry! Frank and Stein seem to really like you a whole lot, don’t they?”

Poor Howard was attempting, without much success, to put his buttocks out of sniffing range by shoving back against the corner between the wall and front door. He could have done some damage with his cane if he’d tried, but to his credit, he resisted temptation.

“Isabella!” shouted Christina up the stairs. “Would you come get your dogs off Mr. Marr?”

Isabella was down in a flash and with some struggle, pulled them to the back of the house and out the sliding glass door to the fenced back yard.

Thankful, Howard brushed himself off and asked a line of questions I never would have thought of. “Do you know most of your neighbors?”

“Yup. Uh, uh. Yup, yup. All of them, yup. Why?”

“Are any of them single women, not married?”

“Oh! Nope, nope. Not here. Families all around. Or married couples with grown kids. Uh huh, uh huh.”

“Thank you,” he said with a very officious tip of the head. I think he was quietly savoring the moment. “We appreciate your help. If you do see anyone getting in or leaving in the car, would you call us?”

“Sure, Uh huh, uh huh. Sure!”

We made a quick getaway from the Fetty house, but she waved as we headed back to our own car. “I hope your friend is okay!”

“Maybe Colt broke into their house and the dogs ate him,” Howard grumbled.

“They’re not vicious,” I laughed. “Just curious.”

We hadn’t learned much except that Colt was unlikely to have spent the night at one of the other houses on Sassafras Lane. In my mind, this was more reason to accept the fact that his text was a call for help. When I expressed this worry to Howard, he didn’t disagree. Next stop was Colt’s condo. We had decided to hold off calling Clarence until we had better information—so far we didn’t have much except the location of the car and the alarming text.