Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,16

I was left holding a mystery sandwich. Sometimes I hated the FBI.

Mama Marr was tired and put herself to bed early, but it was summer, so the girls and I watched a movie. Afterwards, I scooted quietly to my bedroom to catch the 11:00 replay of Channel 10 news and Guy Mertz’s true crime segment. The dirty scumbag pulled every trick in his dramatic reporting book to make it seem like I was part of Frankie’s plot to snuff out Kurt Baugh, while making himself look like some grand hero of the evening. If I succeeded in freeing Frankie from incarceration and suspicion of murder, I was going to ask him to put a little fear into Guy by threatening a close encounter with some starving sharks.

I decided after meeting with this Clarence person, I would go visit Frankie at the DC jail. At the very least, he needed to see a friendly face and I had to do something to learn more before the police started paying attention to local media, and threw me in the slammer too.

Since my eyes were starting to feel heavy, I double checked all doors to ensure they were locked and was about to shut off the kitchen lights when the phone startled me. Hoping it was Howard saying he’d be home soon, I grabbed it quickly. “Hello?”

“Barb?” The voice was not Howard’s.

“Who is this?”

“Guy Mertz.”

“What? Benedict Arnold, you say?”

“You hate me.”

“Gee, you think?”

“We need to talk.”

This seemed to be a recurring theme in my life these days. “Talk about what? You want a one-on-one interview so you can rake my reputation over the coals some more?”

“It’s about Frankie Romano. I have proof that he’s innocent.”

Why, I wondered, were these crazies calling me instead of the police? Who did they think I was, Miss Marple?

Chapter Six

Guy’s explanation for not approaching the police was thin and convoluted. Something about “protection of the press” and not wanting to “cross a line.” It all sounded like ten tons of baloney to me, but he kept pressing, so just to shut him up, I agreed to a meeting.

Plagued with concern about Frankie and the two bizarre informant calls mixed with a longing desire to cuddle up against Howard’s warm body, I tossed and turned most of the night. I didn’t manage more than two hours of decent sleep and by morning, needed an IV infusion of caffeine to kick-start my body into action.

After promising Callie an extra dollar an hour for watching Bethany and Amber, I waved good-bye to Mama Marr as she drove away in my mother’s red Mini Cooper. Then I hit the road myself for a day of truth-seeking.

First on my to-do list was meeting Clarence at the reflecting pool near the Lincoln Memorial at noon. Next, I’d arranged to hear what Guy Mertz had to say—he said he would be at a hot dog stand on Constitution Avenue at one o’clock. This was good—I’d get an unhealthy lunch before heading to my final destination: the DC jail where they were holding Frankie. A quick check of the DC Government website had informed me that a person could only visit on certain days based on the inmate’s last name. Luckily, Tuesday was my day to visit Frankie. Otherwise, I would have to wait two days. Then, I had to wrap it all up in time to get back home and get dinner on the table before heading to my hand gun lesson with Colt at Straight Shooters Indoor Range. A few months earlier we’d been scheduled for a similar lesson, but that got interrupted by a trio of fugitive bank robbers with a different plan for my evening.

The day was typical for a DC summer—hot and swamp-muggy. The sun boiled the humid air to a thick haze. I’d pulled my hair into a pony tail, topped my head with a yellow visor, and covered my eyes with my favorite pair of Jackie O sunglasses. I was summer chic and reasonably guarded against the intense sun.

In the pocket of my shorts was a new friend: a can of mace. I’d been kidnapped two too many times and learned my lesson the hard way. These days I didn’t venture to the mailbox without my pepper spray.

By the time I reached the Memorial, my t-shirt was clinging to me like a wet rag and my throat was parched. I bought a bottle of water from a street vendor and sipped while I scanned the area near the reflecting