Dial Marr for Murder Page 7

  “That’s suspicious, isn’t it? But why are you calling me?”

  “I want to talk to that Moyle friend of yours, find out what he knows.”

  “That’s easier said than done. He always seeks me out, not the other way around. Did you try the homeless shelter?”

  “Yeah. No luck. Only one woman there remembers him, and she said he hasn’t been around in a while.”

  “Well, if he finds me again, I’ll be sure to call you right away. Sorry for the trouble you’re having.” I hung up feeling an echo of his frustration.

  Bunny set her tray on the coffee table. “What’s going on?”

  “It seems all of your sick volunteers are disappearing from the radar.”

  Chapter Ten

  Returning home, I was greeted with the enticing aroma of Mama Marr’s award-winning goulash. Actually, I didn’t think it had ever won any awards other than my own stamp of approval, but trust me, if she ever entered the dish in any contests, she’d win hands-down.

  The table was already set when I arrived. All I had to do was slip into a chair and dig in, which I did.

  “So,” my mother said, smoothing the napkin in her lap. “It’s been a very busy couple of days for you, Barbara.”

  I knew that edge in her voice. I chose to cut her off at the pass. “I want to set a rule for the dinner table tonight, folks. There will be no discussion of Nature Center murders, tweets, hashtags, emergency code systems, or rap songs of any kind.”

  “Can we talk about rap singers, because that Vinnie VanGo…”

  “No, Mom. None of it. Don’t ruin my goulash, please.”

  Amber lifted her tomato-sauce stained face to contribute. “Can we talk about my Halloween costume then?”

  Her question walloped me like a Mac truck slamming into a mountain. I’d forgotten all about Halloween. I did some quick mental math: it was Saturday night. That gave me all of Sunday to get Amber’s costume ready for Halloween on Monday. Phew. I blew on my goulash and pretended to be in complete control. “Sure honey. I just thought we’d make it tomorrow. We have all day.”

  “So, you didn’t forget?”

  “Of course not.” I turned my attention to Bethany. “I’ll drop you off at your party and then take Amber trick-or-treating with Lily. When does it start?”

  Bethany crossed her arms. “I’m not going.”

  “Wait. What? You were so excited about that party.”

  “Not anymore, I’m not. Everyone will be laughing at me. Apparently, freedom of speech isn’t recognized as a fundamental right in the Marr household, so I can’t talk about why everyone will be laughing at me, but trust me, there will be laughter, and that is why I’m not going to the party.” Bethany shoved her chair back and stomped up to her room.

  We all flinched when the door slammed.

  “Should I go talk to her?” Howard asked.

  I shook my head. “Bethany always needs her alone time to think things out first. I’ll give her thirty minutes or so then see what I can do.”

  Mama Marr shrugged. “I do not see what all the trouble is about. I think Barbara is plucky too. Why is this an awful thing?”

  The rest of us stared at her, not understanding.

  “What are you talking about, Mom?” Howard asked her.

  “The Van Vinnie song, Hashtag That Plucky Barbara Marr. Maybe this is not like music we dance to, but Barbara, she is a plucky kind of woman, right?”

  We’d suspected for some time that Mama Marr might be in need of a hearing aid.

  Amber furrowed her brows. She started to open her mouth. I squeezed her hand and spoke quickly. “Thank you, Mama,” I said. “That’s just what I’ve been saying. I’m plucky and proud of it. So, do we have dessert?”

  Sunday morning I awoke to Vito Corleone’s version of a cock-a-doodle-do.

  “Your duck is quacking out in our front yard,” Howard groaned.

  “He’s not my duck.”

  “You gave him a name. That means he’s your duck.”

  I pulled the blanket up to my chin and burrowed my head deep into my pillow. “At least Sharon Forrest isn’t around to complain about him.”

  He elbowed me. “I’m complaining.”

  “But I’m comfortable.”

  “So am I.”

  “Please, Howard. I’ll give you a foot rub tonight if you take him back to the lake.”

  “I don’t need a foot rub that badly.”

  “A foot rub, a back rub, and…well, you know.”

  “I love you, but I also love my sleep. And I do not love your duck. You’re on your own, honey.” Howard rolled over, and gave me his back.

  Vito’s quacks were getting louder. I threw back the covers in a huff. “He’s not my duck.” I pulled on my sweat pants. “No foot rub for you.”

  That old adage about protesting too much probably did apply in my case. The fact of the matter was, I had a soft spot in my heart for the old feathered hero. So, while I wasn’t thrilled to leave my warm, comfortable bed, I had to admit, I was happy to see him.

  Wearing my warm hoodie and moccasins to brace myself against the morning chill, I stepped outside and wooed Vito over with a handful of crackers. “Here, boy. Come on, Vito.” Vito has a way of waddling when he sees me that isn’t his normal waddle. I call it his happy waddle. I was sure if he had lips he’d be smiling too. He did his happy waddle while I closed the door behind me. He ate out of my outstretched hands. “Yeah,” I said. “They’re good, aren’t they? Shh, don’t tell Aunt Roz.”

  Roz yelled at me every time she caught me feeding him crackers, saying that was why he kept leaving the lake and returning to our house. And while I knew she was right, the crackers made him happy. Should I refuse the duck who saved my life?

  Vito finished picking at the crumbs in my hand, and I scooped him up. “Okay, fella, time to go back. I have a Halloween costume to make today. No time for dillydallying.”

  Ten minutes later I pulled up to the curb at Vikki Cleveland’s house. Colt was in the driveway wearing a robe and holding the morning paper.

  “Aren’t you cold out here in just a robe?” I asked as I hauled the cat carrier from the back of my van.

  “Vikki tells me I’m always hot.”

  “Okay, that’s more than I want to know.”

  He pointed his paper at the carrier. “We don’t need a cat by the way.”

  Vito quacked.

  “Oh,” he said. “It’s your duck.”

  I pulled the back door down hard so it would close under its own weight. “He’s not my duck, and I know I gave him a name so don’t throw that line at me.”

  “I wasn’t going to. But you do feed him crackers. That makes him your duck. I’ll bet there’s cracker dust on your hands right now.”

  “Aren’t you the sly detective?”

  “That is what I do for a living, Curly. You want to come in for cup of coffee?”

  “Will we bother Vikki?”

  “She hasn’t gone into her writing cave yet. But you can’t bring your duck.”

  Giving him the evil eye, I lumbered with the carrier toward the lake. “Watch it fella, I know a few things about you Vikki doesn’t. Be nice to me or I’ll spill some beans.”

  After watching Vito swim off, I took Colt up on the offer for a cup of coffee.

  Vikki sat at her kitchen island hunched over a steamy mug. Her puffy eyes and posture belied exhaustion, but she smiled when I walked in. “Hi, Barb. How’s Vito?”

  “He seemed happy to be back in the lake,” I said. “I don’t know why he keeps showing up at my house.”

  She yawned. “You feed him crackers.”

  “I don’t know. I think it’s more than that. I think he feels protective of me.” I sat on the stool beside her and gladly accepted the mug of java that Colt slid in front of me. “So, do you have to write today?”

  “I have to write every day until it’s done. Even though I’m wiped out, I actually think I might finish a day early. And yesterday during a
walking break, I was inspired with an idea for my next novel. My brain is kind of on overdrive right now.”

  Colt wasn’t going to be happy with me, but I just had to tell her about my Moyle encounter. “Guess who I talked to?” I didn’t wait for a response. “Moyle.”

  As I predicted, Colt shot me angry-dagger eyes.

  Vikki perked up. “Really? Did you tell him about the money?”

  “I did, but then he up and disappeared again.”

  “Maybe he’ll show up on his own then.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Colt said, his face hard as stone.

  Vikki smiled. “Isn’t he sweet?” She patted him on the hand. “Moyle is not dangerous, and you do not need to worry about me. I survived all of these years before I met you—I do know how to take care of myself. But thank you.” She leaned across the island and planted a kiss on Colt’s lips. “I love you.”

  Colt’s expression softened. “I love you too.”

  Watching over the rim of my coffee mug as the tender scene unfolded, I realized Colt had finally moved on. He wouldn’t pine for me any longer. Vikki Cleveland had stolen his heart and I was thrilled for them both.

  When I returned home, Amber charged down the stairs. “Is your duck more important than your own daughter?”

  I sighed. There was no point in arguing. Apparently, Vito Corleone was my duck and no amount of protest would change that fact. I gave Amber a kiss on the cheek before squeezing her in a big bear hug. “Let’s get that Halloween costume put together, shall we?”

  Since they were studying ancient Egypt in school, Amber had her heart set on trick-or-treating as Cleopatra. Fact of the matter is, I am no Martha Stewart. Consequently, my children’s Halloween costumes have always been whatever was still left on the shelves when we made it to the store. But this year, Amber was determined she needed to be Cleopatra. Because the only shelf-available Cleo was “Sexy Cleopatra,” I was forced to summon some deeply hidden creative talents. Thankfully, Amber had already researched images online. The project would be doable, and would have been even easier had we started earlier. We started by cinching an old white dress of Callie’s from middle school using one of my gold belts. Regretfully, I had to retire a blue bed sheet to fashion a cape. We sprayed some gold paint on cardboard to make a crown.

  “In the dark it will look a lot more realistic,” I assured her.

  Amber really wanted gold sandals, but we didn’t own anything even close. Given that it was the end of October, I didn’t think our chances were good, but we hit the shoe store anyway. It probably wasn't a Sunday miracle that right there on the sale rack was a pair of gold sandals. They were so horribly tacky no one else would have bought them, but they fit Amber as perfectly as the glass slipper fit Cinderella.

  “They’re beautiful,” Amber said, giving them the walk test proudly. “Can we get them, please?” She placed her hands in a praying position. “Please?”

  My attention had been drawn to a snazzy pair of ankle boots that were fifty-percent off. “Sure, sweetie.” I removed one boot from the rack and flipped it over. It was my size. This was my lucky day. “And I’m going to try these boots on. What a deal.”

  Amber sat beside me on the bench while I unzipped the right boot.

  “Why is Daddy so sad these days?” she asked me.

  I grunted, pressing my foot in. The question caused me to raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? He’s not sad.”

  She shrugged while I tugged the other boot on.

  “He doesn’t smile or laugh as much as he used to. I think he’s sad.”

  Zipping up both boots, I tried to put her mind at rest. “Daddy is fine. He might be tired of traveling to Maryland every day, but that job won’t last forever.” I stood and gave the boots a test walk, but Amber’s comment gnawed at me. She was right. He had been less enthusiastic as of late. Maybe he was coming down with the flu.

  “How do the boots feel?” she asked.

  “Snug,” I said. “But they’re leather so they’ll stretch quickly. What do you think? Are they cute?”

  She gave them a critical look and then smiled, giving me a thumbs-up.

  We made our purchases and stepped out into the mall where the strong smell of cigarette smoke irritated my nose. “Who in the world is smoking in the mall? Don’t they know it’s illegal?”

  “I think it was that old lady,” said Amber.

  “What old lady?”

  “She was standing here while you checked out.” Amber pointed. “She went that way.”

  Grabbing Amber by the hand, I hurried in the direction she’d indicated, but we had no luck finding the law breaker.

  “How old was she?” I asked Amber when we decided to head back home.

  “I don’t know. A hundred maybe.”

  Knowing Amber, the woman had gray hair. Anyone with gray hair looked a hundred to Amber.

  “Did she look younger or older than Grandma?”

  “Way older. And way shorter.”

  Okay, maybe the old smoker was a hundred. My cell phone rang, diverting my interest from the subject. It was Bunny. “Hey there lady,” I answered. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m desperate,” she croaked. “I need your…” Her plea was interrupted by a coughing fit that made my own chest hurt. Eventually she finished her sentence. “I need your help. Again.”

  Chapter Eleven

  No surprise to me, Bunny’s flu had come on full force. With no volunteers to help answer phones, she had called me hoping I could fill in. So, Monday morning, I had to send the girls off to school and get my keister to the Nature Center. Bethany left the house in a foul mood, certain she’d be the laughing stock of the class. I tried to assure her otherwise, but my encouragement didn’t seem to help. I kept my fingers crossed that this would be one of those days when the mother was always right.

  In days past, I would have had administrative work to do managing the private investigative business, but now Howard’s long-term job required little paperwork and Colt managed his own jobs. Consequently, I had some extra time to help out at Nature Center. Plus, I figured it would be a good chance to sniff around. Maybe I'd learn something that would help Eric out in his investigation of Pickle’s murder.

  Howard came into the kitchen just as I was pouring us two travel mugs full of flu bomb for the road. “Where are you headed today?” he asked, accepting his mug.

  “The Nature Center. Bunny and most of her staff are sick so I agreed to help out.” I screwed the top onto my own mug. “It might be a good chance for me to sniff around too. Maybe I can help Eric with the investigation.”

  “Try not to sniff too deeply please. Your track record isn’t the best.”

  “Don’t forget, tonight is Halloween. Can you be home in time to give out candy?”

  “If traffic allows.”

  “So how are doing these days?”

  “Feeling fine. I’m a true believer in your flu bomb.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Is anything bothering you? The job getting you down?”

  “No. Not at all. The commute is no picnic, I’ll give you that, but all is good.” He kissed me sweetly, before heading out the door.

  Nothing wrong with those lips, that was for sure. Something about his answer wasn’t above board though. I made a mental note to dig deeper when we had more alone time to talk.

  Grabbing the door handle to the Nature Center, I pulled, but the door was locked. Knocking loudly, I peered through the glass pane to see if there was any sign of life. Olga finally appeared, spotted me, and let me in.

  “Good morning. Come in. Bunny, she text me you come to help. She sick, Tate sick, other naturalists, they sick. The plague had fewer victims than this flu that goes around.” I followed her down the hallway toward the reception desk. “You can answer phones today?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Me, I can answer the phones, but this is not the job I like. Sometimes you get the whiny people with the whiny questions, you kn
ow? I want to smack the whiny ones.”

  Olga showed me the kitchen. I stowed my lunch in the refrigerator, but gave myself a mental head slap when I realized I’d forgotten to bring my flu bomb. I must have left the thermos on the counter at home. Well, I could always run home later to pick it up.

  The kitchen had a coffee pot and an electric tea kettle as well as a nice selection of herbal teas. The ginger cinnamon looked especially enticing, but I didn’t want to steal someone’s tea if it wasn’t meant for everyone.

  I poked my head into Olga’s office where she shuffled papers around on her desk. “Do you think it would be okay for me to use the tea bags that are in the kitchen? I left my flu bomb at home, but that ginger and cinnamon tea would be a nice immune system booster in the meantime.”

  She stared at me through her thick glasses, her eyes reduced to the size of small peas by the lenses. “What is this flu bomb? You sound like crazy lady talking.”

  “It’s a drink I make to boost the immune system—you know, so the body fights a flu virus naturally.”

  “Oh, yes. A natural flu shot. I do that too.” She pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a tall clear bottle. “There,” she said, slamming it on the desk top. “That is my flu shot.”

  “Vodka?”

  “The best medicine. I take a shot before breakfast, a shot at lunch, a shot before bed. This is why I’m healthy like ox. You want my flu shot?”

  “Er, no thanks.”

  “Then you can have the tea,” Olga said. “It’s not as good as vodka. All those teas were Pickle’s anyway. He won’t be drinking them now, am I right?”

  “Oh. Okay.” I figured now was as good a time as any to find out more about Pickle and Bernie. I leaned into the door frame. “Speaking of Pickle, I guess he spent a lot of time here if he kept tea around, huh?”

  “Sure he did. Many volunteers treat Nature Center like second home.”

  “Bernie Ford too?”

  “Yes, Bernie. She keeps cookies in cupboard—they go good with tea. You should try.” Olga motioned toward the kitchen.