Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,31

both Roz and Peggy were acting like Laverne and Shirley after a slapstick mishap at the brewery. I suspected that the invitation was just an excuse.

“Why didn’t you knock?” I asked them both.

Roz sighed. “I admit it. I really just wanted to come over and see how you were doing. Then I chickened out and told Peggy just to leave the invitation on the door, but it kept falling off. We were about to make a run for it when you opened the door.”

“Why would you chicken out?”

She shuffled nervously again. “You know.”

“Because bad things happen to you when you’re around me.”

“Bad things happen around you period. You’re a disaster.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.”

She had a point. I was, after all, waiting for my private detective friend, Colt, to pass me information about an ex-Mafia goon who was in jail for poisoning a famous movie director. I doubted this was a typical occurrence in the Roz Walker household. And she wanted to keep it that way.

So I wouldn’t tell her about that.

“Come in,” I said, stepping aside to make way, “I was just sitting down to some cookies and milk.” The coffee would have to wait for later.

We sat around my kitchen table, dipping Oreos into milk, and chatted like the old days. Peggy rattled off the invitees to the Walker farewell party. The list was extensive—all of the families on our cul-de-sac; our new friend Bunny and her fire-fighter fiance, Russell Crow; most of the members of the Tulip Tree Elementary School PTA, as well as the Principal, Vice Principal, office staff and several teachers; friends from the senior center, and the other den leaders of the Cub Scout Pack.

I was in awe. “How are you going to fit all of those people in your house, Peggy?”

She bit her lip. “It’s going to be tight—most everyone who has RSVP’d is coming. Thank goodness we put the new deck on this Spring. People can mingle outside.”

I offered to bring extra chairs and Roz was pretty sure the PTA would loan her some chairs as well.

Roz discussed the trials of closing on their house sale and coordinating with movers and cleaners. She was busy up to her earlobes and I offered to help in any way I could. She said she’d probably need to ask Callie for a couple more days of babysitting while she tied up the final strings. She was looking forward to getting settled in California. She planned to volunteer for Senator Emilio Juarez’s campaign for presidential nomination if he threw his hat in the ring. She’d always wanted to be involved on the volunteer side of politics.

I raised my cup of coffee to toast. “Here’s to always being good friends, no matter how far apart we live.”

Peggy and Roz raised their mugs and we clinked to seal the pact.

Finally, Roz yawned. “Man, this pumpkin is out way too late,” she said standing to leave. “I’ll stop by or call tomorrow once I know when I’ll need Callie.”

I walked them to the door and suppressed a giggle as Peggy commented that she couldn’t believe how much energy she had so late at night. She thought she might go home and bake some bread.

After I locked the door behind them, I went to my purse to check my cell phone for a text from Colt.

It turned out that I had two texts waiting for me.

The first was from Colt at 12:01: Met with Frankie. Heading to car now.

The second was from Howard at 12:04: Dun 4 the day. B home soon.

I clicked the back button to view the current time, worried I’d have a Colt/Howard collision—it was 12:24. Howard was long over his jealousy of Colt, but he would not be happy that we were collaborating on Frankie’s case. My fretting was cut short by the buzz of another incoming text. This one was from Guy Mertz: We need 2 talk.

Boy, Roz was right. I was a disaster.

Chapter Thirteen

I wasted no time—Colt was number two on my speed dial and boy, did I need to get to him speedy quick.

He picked up on the second ring. “Keep your pants on, lady, I’m almost there.”

“Abort, abort!”

A momentary silence on the other end spoke volumes. “I’m losing my patience with you, Curly. What’s the problem?”

“Howard. He sent a text—he’ll be home any minute. Where are you?”

“Just getting off the toll road.”

“Go to your place, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Honey, if I go home, I’m going to bed.”

“No,