Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,25
thought that was what Christmas was for.
She patted my hand and smiled. “This will be good. I can help you keep your house clean.”
*****
During our drive home, I received a call from Guy. His assistant was safe and sound. Terribly shaken, but safe. The only wound he suffered was an abrasion on his cheek from when he dove to the pavement for protection. I breathed a sigh of relief. Guy said he gave the poor fella the rest of the week off.
It was nearly seven thirty by the time I pulled into our driveway. “The Judge” was parked in front of the house, so I knew Colt had invited himself over. More likely Howard had instructed him to keep an eye on me and make sure I didn’t get into any more trouble. Truthfully, I was glad because I needed his help to get Mama Marr into the house. (My mother had declined the request to follow us and assist. Something about a memoir writing class she didn’t want to miss.)
Once we got Mama settled into the comfy chair in our family room with a cup of tea, I ran upstairs to check on Pavrotti. Thankfully, he was sitting on his perch and appeared unscathed. I breathed a sigh of relief and made my way back down to the kitchen, happy that at least one the day’s disasters had ended well. I couldn’t say the same for Guy Mertz’s assistant or for Mama Marr. The muscle relaxants didn’t seem to be settling too well with her, so I decided to look for natural alternatives online. That’s when I realized something. Except for the unmistakable sound of canned laughter coming from Mama Marr’s television show, the house was eerily quiet.
“Where are the girls?” I asked Colt as he filled my dishwasher with dirty dishes.
“Callie is upstairs on her computer—she said it’s been twenty-four hours since ‘the incident’ and that it was okay. Bethany is at Skate Night with Holly Burke and Kyra . . .” he hesitated while trying to remember, then finally pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Wexler. Kyra Wexler. Kyra’s mom said you’d already agreed to a sleepover at her house afterwards, so I made sure Bethany had a sleeping bag, toothbrush and toothpaste.” He nodded, seemingly happy with himself. “And Amber is at Emily Horner’s house. She was invited to spend the night, so you need to call and confirm with Judi if that’s okay or not.” He slipped the paper back into his pocket, placed one last glass into the dishwasher and closed it up. “Oh, and I fixed them tacos. I put the leftovers in the fridge if you want some.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Judi? You’re on a first name basis with her?”
“Hey, I’m a friendly guy, what can I say? She’s a dentist, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Trust me. I’m surprised she’s allowing my daughter in her house after the fiasco at her office yesterday.”
He smiled a way-too-knowing smile. “She’s over that—thinks it was pretty funny in hindsight. Evidently, Emily can say some pretty wild things in public, too.”
I shook my head, confused by Colt’s budding friendship with Judi Horner, but glad that I didn’t have to find a new dentist.
“Colt, you need a woman to take care of.”
“You’re not a woman?”
“Seriously. You need to meet someone and settle down. This free-as-a-bird act isn’t working anymore. Under that cool exterior is a family man and that family will be so lucky to have you.”
He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat. “Frankly, you seem to be sending mixed messages. You haven’t been exactly welcoming to Meegan.”
“I said you needed a woman, not a Teen Beat cover girl.”
My tummy grumbled, so I decided to grab taco meat, tomatoes, and cheese from the refrigerator. And since it was on the same shelf, I grabbed the open bottle of Pinot Grigio as well.
“Want some?” I asked while opening a cupboard for a glass.
“Depends. Are we still going to the range tonight?”
At first, I had no idea what “range” he was talking about. The first thought that came to my frazzled mind was Home, Home on the Range, which brought to mind pictures of horses and cows and wide open land. The best I could muster was a blank look on my face while I tried to figure out what wine had to do with singing cowboys on horses.
I guess Colt had seen that face before, so he elaborated. “The shooting range.”