Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,10
going?”
“After our first time out together, she announced she’d only drive with Howard. Says I ‘freak out’ too easily.” I made finger quotes in the air for emphasis.
“Did you?”
I bit my lip. “Maybe.”
In truth, I might have gone a little overboard. When she’d rolled through a stop sign instead of coming to a complete stop, I ordered her out of the driver’s seat, then drove her to the Rustic Woods Police station, marched her up to an officer at the front desk and asked him to give her a lesson on why traffic signs weren’t optional. She was, of course, mortified. I thought the keepers of the law would be impressed that a mother cared enough to teach her teen good driving habits. Instead, I’m pretty sure I heard a group of blue and whites snickering when we left.
“Okay, Signora,” Peggy sighed, “I need to get over to Roz’s. Sorry to be the bearer of that bad news.”
“Yeah,” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll read the article once I’ve put all these cleaning supplies away. I’m afraid Howard may regret renewing our wedding vows.”
She patted me on the back and headed out. I quickly finished the oven cleaning, stashed the supplies, and checked out the rest of the house. The girls had done a beautiful job. The carpets were free of cat hair, the toilets sparkled, and all fingerprint smudges had been removed from the kitchen cupboard doors.
I was just tucking fresh sheets under the guest bed mattress when the phone rang. I called downstairs for someone to pick up or at least see who was calling, but none of the girls answered. They were probably in their rooms stuffing their faces with Danny’s Donuts and avoiding another set of grueling chore assignments. Since our upstairs phone was on the fritz, I had to take the stairs three at a time, thinking it might be Howard with a delayed plane update. Caller ID said “unknown” was attempting to reach me. I hate to be caught off guard by telemarketers. I considered ignoring the call so I could finish tidying the guest room, but clicked the talk button just in case.
“Hello,” I answered warily, readying for some man or woman to roll out a mile-a-minute monologue touting the benefits of superior grade vinyl windows at never-before-heard-of, all-time-low rates.
Silence. I wondered if Mr. or Mrs. Unknown had hung up.
“Hello.” I waited a beat. “Anyone there?”
“Yes,” a male voice whispered.
Even though I suspected a phone prank, I inquired further. “Who is this?”
“Is this Barbara Marr?” the voice whispered again.
My safety circuits kicked in. “You’ve got three seconds to tell me who you are or I’m hanging up.”
“Clarence.”
“I don’t know a Clarence.”
“You don’t know me, but I saw you last night. At the screening. If you are Barbara Marr, that is.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
“In person.”
“Listen, I’m going to be honest—you’re creeping me out. I’m going to hang up—”
“No!” Clarence whisper-shouted. “Don’t hang up! I’m a projectionist at the ACL. Your friend Frankie didn’t kill Kurt Baugh. Somone else did.. Are you still there?”
“You have my attention.”
Silence again.
“Clarence?”
“Gotta go. Meet me tomorrow at noon—the reflecting pool by the Lincoln Memorial. I’ll be on a bench wearing a red baseball hat. Password is Casablanca.” CLICK.
The dial tone buzzed in my ear.
Flim Flam!
I slammed the phone into its cradle. Great balls of fire. Howard would kill me if I even considered meeting this Clarence person. He could be a serial killer. Or a lunatic.
But Frankie needed help, and this Clarence guy might be for real. Of course, I was about to have a guest in my home—was I just supposed to take off tomorrow and forget about Mama Marr? This would all take some serious thinking, and that required serious thinking food.
Donuts would have been the junk food of choice, but ravenous, overworked young women had consumed the full dozen. Instead, I grabbed three Oreos from the cupboard, pulled the newspaper article out of my pocket and sat at the table for a snack and a dose of masochism.
The article, flanked by a head shot of Kurt Baugh, was short: “Movie director, Kurt Baugh, died last night at the local reviewer screening of Hell Hath No Fury, a new action adventure directed by his brother, Andy Baugh. While police have not revealed details of his death, they have announced the arrest of the mafia boss, Frankie Romano. Sources say that Romano was hired by the American Cinema League (ACL) to cater the pre-screening dinner