Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,42

you bored today?”

I assumed that she answered him, because he laughed. “Good. Stay tuned. We’re going to have some fun.”

He returned the receiver to its cradle and smiled. “I know just the place.”

My phone buzzed with the anticipated text from Guy Mertz. I read it out loud. “The eagle lands in 5.”

Showtime.

Chapter Eighteen

Colt and I followed Clarence into the banquet hall where Kurt Baugh had died just nights before. Jorge stood with one hand in his pocket and another holding a black leather binder. He had removed his suit jacket and loosened the red silk tie. Susan teetered on tall green pumps that matched a short skirt and low-cut tank. I suspected, from the buoyancy of her ladies, that the cleavage had been manufactured by her local Hollywood plastic surgeon. Sadly, I don’t believe in playing with Mother Nature, but oh boy, I’d really like to walk around with a set like hers, if only for one day. Just to see what all the fuss was about.

Clarence waved at them. “Hey guys, you wanted me?”

I had to suppress a smile. He was unlike Colt in many ways, but there were some definite similarities.

Jorge and Susan exchanged confused glances.

“Stacy said you wanted to see us,” Jorge answered. “Is, uh, everything okay?” He peeked around Clarence and eyed Colt and me. “You know, with your . . . situation?”

“Weird.” Clarence shook his blond locks. “Leslie intercommed me in the conference room. Said you wanted me in the banquet room right away.” He gave a nod to us. “We’re done. In the conference room I mean. Thanks for giving us that time alone. Oh, and for that meatball sub too, man.” He rubbed his stomach. “It really did the trick. I was able to get to know my dad without being all ‘Aaahhh!’” He mimicked a mini-crazed scream. “All is good, now. Colt and Barbara are on their way out, but first they wanted to thank you for being so understanding.”

Jorge seemed to sense that something was awry. Susan just had a blank look on her face.

“Here they are!” Guy’s voice boomed from outside the hall. He walked through the door wearing his signature fedora and carrying that silly umbrella. “Come on in, Randolph. Look, it’s practically a party. Maybe they’ll all want to go to lunch.”

Randolph followed uncomfortably, staring mostly at the floor except for a brief nod to Jorge and Susan.

The look on Jorge’s face was priceless. He looked like he was suppressing a sudden need to crap his pants. I have to give him credit; he recovered. Somewhat. The corners of his mouth pulled up enough to give the impression of a genuine smile. “What brings us the pleasure of this visit?”

The confusion and tension in the room had reached DEFCON 3. Time to begin “Operation Shake it Up.”

“Susan,” I interjected. “I was really sorry to hear about you and Randolph. This must be . . . you know . . . really awkward.

“Do I know you?”

Guy was making strange guttural noises. I ignored him and reached to Susan, offering my hand for a shake. “Barbara Marr. I have a local movie review website and I was at the screening the other night. You may remember seeing me on the floor. Under Kurt Baugh. Before he died.”

Recognition shown in her eyes, but only vaguely. “What about me and Randolph?”

“The breakup. I should probably just drop it, right?”

“Barb?” Guy whispered, inching his way toward me.

Susan looked offended. “The breakup? You think Randolph Rutter and I were dating?”

“You weren’t?”

She laughed. “He’s not exactly my type, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t know what she meant. That certainly wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. What did she mean by “not exactly my type?” She didn’t like pompous douche bags? Or she didn’t like vain men with receding hairlines?

By now, Guy Mertz was at my side, breathing in my ear. The man needed a Mento or a gallon of Listerine. I swatted at him, intent on moving forward with the loose script we’d planned, but he stopped me in my tracks with a new piece of information. “I got it wrong,” he whispered.

Across from us, Jorge was developing very large sweat spots under the arms of his designer gray shirt.

Guy kept whispering, while I tried to pretend to have things under control. “She didn’t break up with Randolph Rutter—she broke up with the actor, Ralph Tuttle. And she didn’t leave Ralph for Kurt Baugh, she left him for Andy Baugh. Sorry.”

In one swift