Dial Marr for Murder Page 3

  “Who wondered this?” Olga’s voice boomed from the hallway behind Bunny. A moment later, her chair rolled out from her office. The woman loved rolling around in that chair. “I never wondered this, I knew this!” She hopped out of the chair sticking her landing like an Olympic gymnast. “Del and Pickle, they were having the hanky panky and now it went powy wowy and she offed him in big lover spat. This is how it happened.” Olga’s round glasses had slipped down the bridge of her nose during her proclamation. She pushed them up and wheeled the chair back into her office, leaving me a little dumbfounded.

  I leaned over the desk, whispering to Bunny. “She seems awfully ready to pin the murder on Del—maybe to shift suspicion from herself?”

  Bunny waved me off. “I told you, she’s harmless. As gentle as a lamb. She just says things loudly.”

  “If you say so.”

  Bunny winked. “Trust me.”

  I shrugged and wondered what had happened to my football partner. “Did you see where Colt went?”

  “I think he’s in Tate’s office.” Bunny pointed behind her.

  I followed the hallway past Olga’s office, past another empty office, and finally located a small room with a pale and sweaty man behind a desk. The pale and sweaty man was Tate, who, on most days, was a mighty fine-looking man. Today, he looked like the walking dead.

  Colt sat in a chair near the window. He waved me in. “Are you done? Do I need to post bail?”

  “Ha ha,” I sneered. “Looks like we might all be off the hook. Some lady just came in and confessed. And I’m not stepping foot in there with you guys. Tate, you look like you’re coming down with that flu.”

  He coughed. “Can’t be—I had a flu shot. This is just allergies.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that flu shot sob story more than once. Allergies my derriere. I’ve seen this bug in action. My friends Peggy and Roz are both in bed with it, and when it started, they look like you do now. Colt, I’m heading home. Howard has some papers he wants you to look at—I think it has to do with one of the jobs you’re working on.”

  “I’ll stop by to get them when I’m done here.”

  “I’ll have a flu bomb ready for you to drink. Just in case Tate has the flu.”

  Tate coughed. “What’s a flu bomb?”

  “That’s what Curly calls her concoction designed to ward off colds and flu,” said Colt.

  “I gave it a dangerous sounding name because I’m deadly serious about boosting the immune system.” I cringed at my poor timing. Deadly was not a good word to be throwing around during the middle of a murder investigation. “Explosively serious. I’m explosively serious about the immune system.”

  Bethany and Amber arrived home on different buses because Amber was in grade school and Bethany was now a big-time middle-schooler.

  The buses let off at the end of White Willow Circle. I really didn’t need to be there to greet them at the bus stop, but I always liked to show up for Amber. Today, I planned to walk both of Roz’s kids to their house and check on my sick friend.

  Amber bounced off the bus, her red curls falling over shoulder. “Raj Potluri barfed in class today!”

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “I guess that wasn’t very pretty.”

  “It was so gross and the substitute teacher almost barfed when she saw it!” Amber clutched her coat to her chest and looked up at me with big eyes.

  I fell into step beside her as we crossed the street, Roz’s boys trailing behind. “Substitute teacher?”

  “Mr. Parker has the flu,” she clarified.

  Roz’s boys chimed in that both of their teachers were out with the dreaded illness as well.

  “They must not know about your flu bomb, Mom,” Amber said.

  Sending Amber into our house for a snack and vitamin C, I let myself and the boys into their house and went straight up to Roz’s bedroom. The television was on, and she was semi-propped with pillows. Her eyes drooped as if weighted down by an anchor, and her blond hair was damp and matted from fever sweat. A trashcan beside her bed was at the ready.

  “You look like a victim of Chimera. Where’s Ethan Hunt when you need him?”

  She moaned. “I don’t know what that means, but I feel like horse doody.”

  I needed to stop with the Mission Impossible jokes. No one ever got them. “It means you look like horse doody. Sick horse doody.”

  “You were at the Nature Center today, weren’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  Roz gestured feebly at the television. “The news reported police activity. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I was helping Bunny Bergen with prep for the Halloween Walk and found a body that wasn’t exactly alive.”

  She moaned again.

  I moved the trash can closer and checked the glass on her bed stand. It was empty. “You have to stay hydrated. I’ll get you more water after I sit the boys down with a snack.”

  “You’re a good friend. Thank you.”

  “I am a good friend because a bad friend would scold you for not drinking her flu bomb when she instructed you to. I won’t do that. I should, but I won’t.”

  “Would it help me now?” Roz asked.

  “It certainly couldn’t hurt. Your immune system could use all the help it can get right now. Want me to bring you some?”

  “Yes, please.”

  After taking care of Roz and her boys, I checked in at home, found Bethany had arrived and both my girls were already busy doing homework.

  Peggy and I must have been operating on the same frequency because as I was preparing to check in on my other flu-infested best friend, my phone buzzed with an incoming text from her. I’ve cleaned for the queen’s visit, but the river waters are too high and the dealer is asking how many cards I want. Tell John Denver I love him.

  “Oh dear,” I said out loud.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Bethany, looking up from the paper she was writing on her laptop at the kitchen table.

  “I just got a strange text from Mrs. Rubinstein. I think she’s hallucinating.” I tucked my phone in my back pocket. “I’m going to go check on her. Hold down the fort. I’m expecting Colt so if he gets here before I’m back just text me and I’ll come right over.” I got a pan out to brew up a quick batch of flu bomb.

  “Are you cooking supper?” Amber lifted her pencil from her math homework to point it at me.

  I hadn’t even thought about supper, and I didn’t really feel like cooking. “Bethany, order something from Organic Heaven and ask dad to pick it up on his way home.” I poured almond milk into the pan, measured out some powdered turmeric, and turned on the burner.

  Amber made a face. She was okay with the flu bomb, but that was about as far as healthy eating went for her. She wasn’t a fan of the meals from Organic Heaven. “Can’t we just have pizza?”

  “Not with this flu going around we aren’t. All that bread and milk—it will kill our immune systems. In fact, Bethany, order four large Green Heaven Immuno-booster juices.” I grabbed a lemon from the fridge, cut it in half and squeezed it over the pan, using my fingers as a strainer to catch the seeds.

  “You know,” Bethany said, “Dad likes Organic Heaven even less than Amber does.” She squinted at her laptop. “I think you’re going to want him pizza-happy rather than wheat-grass-cranky?”

  The mixture in the pan had warmed nicely so I added raw honey. “What do you mean?”

  Bethany instructed me to come look at her laptop screen. A news reporter was interviewing Sharon Forrest, of all people, for the early afternoon news. The Nature Center could be seen in the background. A caption below read, BREAKING NEWS: RUSTIC WOODS MAN FOUND DEAD. I cringed. Bethany turned up the volume so we could hear Sharon’s statement. “I don’t know much, but I did see quite a few police cars and an ambulance. Eventually, I saw that Barbara Marr coming out of the Nature Center building, and the fact of the matter is nothing good ever happens when that Barbara Marr is around. I don’t know who the
dead man is, but I’ll bet you that Barbara Marr had something to do with it.”

  I gasped. “Sharon Forrest, I’m going to get you!”

  “Should I order the pizza?” Bethany asked, smiling in victory.

  My phone rang. It was Peggy. I needed to get over there. “Yeah, order the pizza. Better get him a milkshake too.” I answered the phone and was immediately jolted by the sound of screaming boys in my ear. “Hello? What’s going on?” I shouted. “Is everything okay?”

  “Mrs. Marr,” Simon Jr. cried. “Come quick, there’s blood everywhere! I don’t know what to do!”

  Chapter Four

  Thankfully, when I arrived at the Rubenstein house, no one was dead. Peggy, however, was a mess. In addition to a 103 temperature, she had given herself a bloody nose, while of all things, attempting to clean the downstairs bathroom. I washed the blood away, walked her back upstairs to her room, gave her a fever reducer, and instructions to stay in bed. “But I can’t, Barb, I can’t. Queenie is coming, and my house is dirty.”

  “Who is Queenie?” I pulled up Peggy’s comforter and tucked it under her chin.

  Peggy stretched her neck upward. “My friend, Queenie Pisano. I told you about her.”

  “No, I don’t think you did, but now your text actually makes a little more sense.”

  “What text?”

  “Never mind.” I cracked the cap on a fresh bottle of water on the bedside table. “So, who is Queenie?”

  “My friend, I just told you.”

  “Okay. Well, still, no more cleaning.” I gave her a stern glare, and moved a tissue box within her reach. “When is she coming? Maybe it can wait until you’re better.”

  “You’ll like Queenie. She’s our age. Never been married.” Peggy coughed.

  I handed her the bottle. “Here, drink some water.”

  “She dated a monk once, though.” Peggy sipped on the water, then handed it back. “He’s not a monk anymore.”

  I imagined there was a whole Thorn Birds sort of drama sizzling between those two statements, but I wasn’t likely to get a coherent explanation out of Peggy now. She was already drifting off to sleep.

  By the time I’d heated some leftover lasagna in the fridge for her boys, Peggy’s husband Simon, Sr. was home to take over.

  Back at Casa de Marr, my very handsome husband, Howard, was seated at the kitchen table eating pizza. Howard looks a little like George Clooney – everyone says so. Same dark eyes, a little less chin. He was aging gracefully like George as well, with just the right amount of sexy gray peppering his hair. Howard is a wonderful husband and father, and every day I thank my lucky stars that he was in my life. Not a lot of men could deal with the kind of trouble I would soon have to reveal.

  Colt sat beside Howard, slice of pizza in one hand, his cell phone in the other.

  I plopped in a chair, weary from the day’s events, knowing I still had to take that promised flu bomb over to Roz.

  “Curly!” Colt said, holding the phone up for me to see. “You’re trending!”

  I groaned. “Trending? You mean, like when Kanye West opens his mouth and says anything—that kind of trending?”

  Colt grinned, twisting his phone back around. “Hashtag That Barbara Marr. It’s right here.”

  “How? I don’t understand. I don’t even think Pickle’s body is cold yet. How am I a hashtag?” I stuck my hands into my hair.

  “You have your friend Guy Mertz to thank,” Colt said. “He tweeted. Apparently, he has quite a following. The retweeting has been crazy.”

  Guy Mertz—local crime reporter. He had rubbed me wrong the first time I met him at a movie screening a couple of years back, but then he helped me prove my friend’s innocence in the murder of a famous movie director, so I grew to like the guy. I even called him a friend. But now he was tweeting and hashtagging, and I wasn’t so sure I liked him anymore. “Oh, for crying out loud. I guess I need to have a little talk with Guy.”

  Howard wiped his mouth slowly and then with quiet deliberation, set the napkin on the table. “So, what’s this about a pickle?”

  Darn. The time had come to tell Howard. I never enjoyed these talks. Even though he handled my crazy life better than most men would, he still went a little Ricky Ricardo on me at first. I gave him my best innocent face. “Colt didn’t tell you about our day?”

  Colt shook his head. “I was saving it all for you. Didn’t want to ruin your fun.”

  “Gee, thanks for that. Hashtag Funny Man Colt.”

  “Explain the pickle, please.” Howard's voice registered a hint of distress.

  “I found what I thought was a Halloween effigy by the pond at the Nature Center, but it was Rick Pickleseimer with a knife in his chest. Loud mouth Sharon Forrest saw me leaving the Nature Center and blabbed about it on camera.” I realized I didn’t exactly answer Howard’s question in full. “Oh, and the dead guy’s nickname is Pickle.” I stopped and thought about my word choice. “Correction: was Pickle.”

  “I think his nickname still is Pickle,” Colt said. “I mean, yes, the man is dead, but his nickname is still alive.”

  Howard gave him a look bordering on disgust. “Thank you for the grammar lesson.” He swiveled a suspicious gaze back toward Colt. “And you were there?”

  Colt took offense. “Whoa there, Howdy Doody, why the incriminating tone?”

  “You let her leave out the front door of the Nature Center for everyone to notice while a crime scene was under investigation?” Howard demanded. “You know she’s prone to attracting this kind of trouble.”

  “She’s a grown woman. Do I have to hold her hand?” Colt dropped his pizza on his plate, storm clouds gathering across his face.

  “Um, can you not talk about me like I’m not here? And Colt is right, I’m not a child. I probably should have gone out the back way, but I didn't think of it.”

  Howard took my hand. “Sorry. You’re right.” His eyes softened. “I just worry about you. Seriously, how do these things keep happening when you’re around?”

  “I don’t know. Karma? Auras? Another Aunt Clara spell gone wrong? It’s a mystery. But thank you for being so sweet and worrying about me. You’re the best husband ever.” I planted a kiss on his lips. “Mmm, good pizza sauce.”

  “Who’s Aunt Clara?” Howard asked.

  “From Bewitched, silly. Don’t worry—I don’t have a crazy aunt in my closet.” Man, I just needed to drop the pop culture references altogether. They were always lost on my friends and family. How sad.

  My phone jingled. “Look! Callie is video-chatting me.” I answered and held my phone up for everyone to see. “Hi, sweetie!”

  Callie was a younger, prettier version of her father to be sure. She had brown hair the color of dark chocolate, thick and wavy. Perfect nose. Penetrating, almost-black eyes, and flawless skin.

  She waved. “Hi, Mom! Oh, and Dad and Colt!”

  “Let’s just note for the record,” I said, “that you called me, I didn’t call you.”

  “That’s right. And I’m calling with really good news. You’re not going to believe it.” Her smile on the little screen was huge.

  “The university has decided you are so smart, they’re giving you your diploma early,” Colt interjected.

  Callie laughed. “No. I don’t think that’s very likely. So this is exclusively good news for Mom—are you ready?”

  “Wow, now you’ve really got my curiosity piqued. Give it to me.” I sincerely hoped that she was going to tell me that she was coming home.

  “A movie crew just came into town and they’re going to start filming here on Tuesday.”

  She had me at movie crew. “Here? You mean on campus?”

  “Yes, and that’s not the best part. Guess who the star of the movie is?”

  Now, there were many movie stars on my A list—those I’d love to see in person and ask for an autograph, but Callie knew there was just one person who stood out above all of those. One, whom, if I had the chance to even spy from a dist
ance, I’d die a happy fan. “Dare I dream? Is it the goddess of the silver screen? The one and only?”

  “Meryl Streep!” she shouted. “Can you believe it? You should come down and watch the filming. My roommate has been hired as an extra. She says they’re going to be filming at the rotunda all day Tuesday.”

  “I’m already there in my mind.”

  “I have to go now—have a paper due for English. We can arrange to meet Tuesday, though. I’ll text you.”

  Tuesday, the day I would see the greatest actress who ever lived. Maybe my day hadn’t been so great, but things seemed to be turning around in my favor.

  We all gave Callie our love, and she signed off. Colt talked business with Howard for a few minutes and then he went home, but not before I gave him a baggie of vitamin C and a travel mug of my flu bomb. After touching base with Bethany and Amber, I poured the remaining flu bomb into a thermos to take to Roz. Once I’d screwed the lid on tight, I grabbed a jacket and a flash light and told Howard I’d be right back.

  Because both of our lots were heavily wooded, the best way to traverse the distance at night was down my driveway and back up hers. I was really glad I had remembered the flashlight because there was no moon at all.

  Taking small steps and holding the thermos close to my chest, I made noises into the night. To any ordinary person who doesn’t live in the middle of a forest, this would seem strange, but Rustic Woods teems with wildlife. I’d just found a dead body that morning. The last thing I wanted was a close encounter with a frightened skunk or hungry raccoon. “Boo! Scat! Human here! You stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.”

  My tactic seemed work. I heard something scamper off through the leaves. I’d reached the end of my driveway and was about to turn toward Roz’s house when a voice whispered from the darkness. “You’re going to solve Pickle’s murder.”

  Chapter Five

  While I admit to being startled by the unexpected presence of someone speaking to me in the black of night, my nerves calmed quickly. Moyle’s voice was easily recognizable. I let my ears guide me as I shone the flashlight around until I had him locked in the beam.