Silenced by the Yams (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #3) (5 page)

She shook her head so hard I thought the glasses on her nose would fly off. “No plane. They wouldn’t take Pavarotti.”

That was when I noticed the bird cage. Canary.

I took a few deep cleansing breaths. There was no time to ask Mama Marr why she brought her feathered companion, Pavarotti, or more importantly, why she didn’t tell us that she’d changed her travel plans. After a round of hugs, we moved the suitcases and Pavarotti up to the guest room, being sure to close the door behind us. I wondered how long it would take Indiana Jones and Mildred Pierce to smell him and start making dinner plans.

We loaded ourselves into my mini-van, Amber still holding the ice pack to her lip, and tore to Dr. Horner’s dental office.  Mama Marr gripped the armrest with white knuckles while she explained how she’d had her next door neighbor cancel her plane reservations and drive her to the bus station instead. I asked why she didn’t tell us that she’d changed her plans. She shrugged and said, “Barbara, I’m an old lady now. Who can remember all these little details?”

Along the way, I dialed Howard to let him know that he and Callie could turn around and meet us at Dr. Horner’s office—I had his mother safe and sound.

At the dentist’s office, Bethany and Mama Marr waited while Amber and I went back to see Dr. Judi Horner. She was her usual friendly self and made Amber very comfortable while she looked at the broken teeth. Luckily, they were her two bottom baby teeth that were already loose anyway. She applied some topical anesthetic and popped them out. Amber didn’t feel a thing and she was ecstatic that she had two teeth to give the tooth fairy that night.

Judi walked us to the front desk and handed Amber’s file to the receptionist. “Please take care of Mrs. Marr,” she said to the young woman.

“As soon as I finish with Mr. Stevens,” the assistant responded.

“Barb, it was good to see you again,” Judi said.

I nodded. “You too. Are you going to be at Roz Walker’s farewell party?”

She tidied the brochure and business card holders that sat on the desk. “Hopefully. It’s the same night as Emily’s brownie troop meeting and since I’m the leader, I just have to see if another mom can cover for me.”

Inwardly, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs: “How do you do it woman? Full-time job, two kids, Brownies, Academic Boosters, Band Boosters,
and
Drama Boosters?! Are you
human
?”

Outwardly, I smiled. “I hope it works out. I’d love to see you there. And thank you, again for seeing Amber so quickly today.”

She assured me that it was no problem at all and mentioned that we should get Amber and her daughter Emily together for a play date soon.

The tall, nicely-suited man standing next to me, who I assumed to be Mr. Stevens, spoke up. “Pardon my interruption, but are you Barbara Marr?”

“Um . . .”

“ChickAtTheFlix.com?” he pressed.

“Yes,” I admitted, hesitantly. “That’s my site.”

He grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you,” he said with a large smile growing across his face.

“For what?”

“My wife would never watch action movies with me until I introduced her to your website. Now, not only does she watch them, she loves them, and I have to admit, I’m finding that chick flicks are pretty fun as well.”

I smiled. “Wow. I’m so glad. I never thought my website would help save marriages, too.” Mostly I was relieved that he didn’t mention the morning’s news item since that was my first fear when he recognized me.

The receptionist handed him his invoice. “You’re all set, Mr. Stevens. We’ll see you in six months.”

He handed me the piece of paper and a pen. “Here,” he said, “would you mind autographing this for me? So she’ll believe me?”

Judi seemed surprised and pleased that I had a fan.

I’d never thought that my first autograph would be on the back of an invoice for a dental cleaning and fluoride treatment. It wasn’t very glamorous. “Sure.” I took the pen from him. “I guess. What should I write?”

By now, Mama Marr was standing behind me, curiously observing my moment of fame.

The man said, “Just say, ‘To Liza’ and sign your name.”

I did as he asked. He shook my hand again and left, leaving me stunned and a little embarrassed by the attention. The entire waiting room had witnessed our exchange.

“Wow, Judi,” I said. “I’m going to have to come to the dentist more often. You have patients with very good taste in websites.”

“He was nice,” Amber said sweetly as the door closed behind him.

“Yes, he was,” I agreed and patted her soft head of curls.

Her face was angelic as she gave a nod and added with great sincerity, “He’s well-hung, too.”

Uh oh.

Here’s the thing: scientists really need to get to work on inventing that beaming transportation device from
Star Trek
. Not so we can explore brave new worlds and boldly go where no man has gone before. No. We need it for mothers whose child has just unleashed the most embarrassing comment of the century before an entire room of people with perfect hearing. Every mother on the planet would carry a communicator, and when the unbearable moment occurred, we’d calmly flip it open. “Scotty,” we’d say. “Beam me up.”

“Where?” Scotty would ask.

“Anywhere but here,” we’d say.

But alas, science hasn’t progressed that far yet, so there I stood on planet earth—pale, wide-eyed, and speechless.

The sudden silence in Dr. Judi Horner’s dental office was deafening.

And I still had to pay my bill.

Mama Marr broke the awkward moment by piping up. “What does this mean, well-hung?” She said the last two words so loud that I’m sure the CIA picked it up on satellite.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, one of the women in the waiting room had to get judgmental and vocal at the same time. “Where on earth would such a young girl hear that kind of language?”

Amber pointed to Judi. “Dr. Horner’s house.”

Judi Horner gasped and Mama Marr asked it again. Louder, this time, if that was possible. “Tell me what this means, ‘well-hung’?”

By now, mothers were evacuating their children out of the office with the speed of Olympic runners racing to the finish line. Soon the only people left were Judi, her stunned receptionist, me, Amber and Bethany, and poor, uneducated Mama Marr.

“Judi, I’m so sorry,” I stammered.

Judi had the same look on her face as that mother in
The Exorcist
when she saw her daughter’s head turning 360 degrees. “I . . . I . . .” Sadly, she never finished that sentence.

The door swished open and Howard stepped in with Callie right behind him. “Mom,” he said, his arms outstretched for a welcome hug. His stride stopped suddenly when she planted a frown on her face and her hands on her hips. “Sonny. No beating around the rosy bush. Tell me what this means, ‘well-hung’.”

That definitely wasn’t the reception Howard was expecting. Behind him, Callie’s face blanched and I realized I had a culprit. Callie and Brenna Horner were best buds. It didn’t take a giggly teenage rocket scientist to figure out who had introduced Amber to nearly x-rated slang.

Amber tugged on my shirt. “Don’t worry, Mommy,” she said, “I’ll tell her.”

Judi yelped, “Oh, dear!”

Amber’s blue eyes were sincere. “Well-hung means that he wears really nice clothes, Mama.” She sniffed. “Geez. Everyone’s acting like it means something dirty.”

Chapter Five

Three hours and one sexual education lesson later, we all sat around the dinner table twirling spaghetti onto our forks. Howard had broken out a special bottle of Merlot to complement the faire.

Callie had received a stern talking-to, but we kept the punishment minimal since it was the first night of Mama Marr’s visit. She lost computer privileges for twenty-four hours.

“This sauce is very good, Barbara,” Mama Marr said as she twirled. “You should give me the recipe. Even an old lady like me can learn some new tricks, yes?”

I hesitated, unsure how to reply. Scanning the faces around the table, it was clear that at least three others knew the truth, so I decided it best not to attempt a lie. Not even a little red one. “Thank you, but it’s just sauce from a jar,” I admitted. Whew. That felt good.

Mama Marr sighed, touching her hand to her chest in relief. “Oh, thank the goodness, because it really is not that good. I was just being nice. I will teach you tomorrow my recipe.”

Suddenly, I wished I’d lied.

Callie’s cell phone beeped.

“Don’t text at the table, Callie.” Howard snapped. “Do we have to take away the cell phone too?” Again, a little unusual for Howard. He’s generally not the snapping type of dad. Something was definitely bothering him. Having his mother around didn’t usually put him on edge. I wondered if he’d seen the news article. It didn’t seem likely since he’d spent most of his day tracking down Mama Marr, but I didn’t have any better ideas.

I was about ready to stuff a wad of spaghetti into my mouth when the phone rang. Fearful it was someone that would tell Howard about my new infamy, I jumped to grab it first. Thankfully it was Colt. The timing of the call was nearly perfect since I had decided to hit him up for a favor. “Oh,” I fibbed, “it’s Peggy. She probably wants to talk about Roz’s farewell party. I’ll take this in the other room so I won’t bother you.”

My Academy Award winning performance was lost on everyone at the table, who continued to munch away on the meal despite Mama’s one-star rating.

Now there are those who might judge me, call my “fib” a lie, and say that I shouldn’t be deceiving my family in this manner, but really, the way I see it, I was saving them (and by “them” I mean Howard) the needless hours of apprehension, concerned that I might have been diving into the deep waters of another calamity. And why cause such worry, when I had things under complete control?

“Hello, Peggy,” I answered as I scooted from the dining room to the living room.

There was a momentary silence on the other end. Finally Colt decided to respond. “Hate to break it to you—”

“I know it’s you, Colt,” I whispered.

“You’re whispering and pretending that I’m your crazy friend Peggy. You must be keeping the big news from Howie.”

“So you saw the article?”

“What article? I’m talking about the newscast on Channel 10.”

“There’s a newscast?”

“There’s an article?”

“Colt, I need your help.”

“No kidding.”

I filled him in as quickly as I could about the previous evening’s events, what little I knew about Frankie’s arrest, and the subsequent call from Clarence the informed projectionist. When I had finished, he cleared his throat and responded.

“No,” he said.

“No, what?” I asked innocently.

“No, I’m not going with you to meet any crack-pot projectionist.”

“Please, Colt. Please, please, please.”

“Cute talking isn’t going to work. Besides, I have plans with Meegan tomorrow.”

Meegan. I wanted to strangle her skinny little throat. Time to play hardball. “Okay, I’ll just have to go alone.”

“I guess you will.”

Claude Van Damme! Meegan had a stronger effect on him than I thought. Usually Colt would have crumbled by now, unable to resist my charms. I didn’t like this Meegan. I didn’t like her one bit.

“It could get dangerous,” I urged.

“Knowing you, that’s very likely.”

“You should come protect me.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

Well, I wasn’t going to lower myself to begging more than I already had. He evidently played a much tougher game of hardball than I did. I gave up and let him fill me in on the Channel 10 newscast—Guy Mertz’s true crime report. According to Colt’s account, Guy didn’t report much more than the article I’d read.  There was, however, one interesting piece of new information: the poison had been found in a plate of candied yams presented to movie reviewer Randolph Rutter by Romano, but ingested by Kurt Baugh.

Hmm. How ‘bout them yams?

I wished Colt a fun and happy day with his new girlfriend and hung up. When I returned to put the phone in its cradle, the dining room was void of people. Mama Marr was in the kitchen rinsing plates and putting them into the dishwasher and Howard was leaning against the counter nearby, talking on his cell. I cringed. Some work buddy was probably filling him in that half the DC Metropolitan media force was linking me to Kurt Baugh’s murder.

With one eye on Howard, I tried to stop Mama Marr. “You don’t need to do those dishes, Mama. You’re a guest.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “I’m no guest!” she shouted, obviously insulted. “I’m family and family does dishes. Besides, you look like you could use some help in this kitchen, Barbara. I found many crumbs under the toaster.”

Mental head slap. I spent so much time on the oven that I forgot the all-important toaster test.

While I considered showing Mama Marr the oven, just to show her how hard I worked, Howard clicked off his cell phone and rolled his eyes.