Saturday Night Cleaver (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

know, so I can have a remembrance of him here, since I miss him so much.”
    Oh boy.
    Pavrotti came with Mama Marr from Philadelphia, but quickly needed relocation after my two cats, Indiana Jones and Mildred Pierce, followed their feline instincts and tried to catch him for a mid-day snack. He currently resided peacefully with my mother in her condo across town, but Mama Marr never missed an opportunity to mourn his absence or his sweet, chirpy singing.
    My mother clapped her hands in glee and swooped down upon Mama Marr for a giant bear hug. See, my mother is a very large woman. Tall. Big-boned. Amazonian. When she hugs Mama Marr, a petite, roly-poly Polish lady, images of old vampire movies flash before my mind. You know the ones—where the tall, fanged man in the cape completely consumes the small defenseless damsel, because Mama Marr truly disappears behind my mother the way the damsel disappears behind the cape. I often worry we’ll never see poor Mama again after a Diane-embrace.
    Thankfully, this time, she did come up for air. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to realize I shouldn’t relax just yet, because I was most assuredly next on my mother’s hit list for art class registrants.
    I decided to stop her at the pass. “No, Mom-”
    “I already signed you up, dear.” She waved a dismissive hand. “You could use a hobby.”
    “I don’t need a hobby.” I spotted Howard trying to make a fast getaway, but I was faster. I pointed. “Take Howard. Howard needs a hobby. He’s retired.”
    From the dining room, he looked back at the cane he’d left behind in his mad, limping dash. “I have a job.”
    “No you don’t.”
    “Start tomorrow, I didn’t tell you?”
    “You lie like a rug you liar, you.”
    Mama Marr was practically giddy. “This will be fun, we three ladies drawing pictures with our pencils.”
    Mom was already on her way out the door and she wasn’t accepting Howard as an exchange student. “I’ll pick you both up tomorrow at eleven-thirty. We’ll go somewhere fun for lunch first.”
    What she didn’t know – and what I didn’t plan to tell her – was that Howard had a doctor’s appointment at 11:00. I’d show her.

    At 3:20, Howard and I meandered to the bus stop at the end of the street. This was the nice part about having him around—the quiet, family moments. Before the accident, he’d never had time to keep up on all of the girls’ news about school, ballet, nature club, and the like. He’d missed so many back-to-school nights and parent conferences that most teachers thought I was a single mother. And honestly, sometimes I felt like one. Now we held hands and chatted quietly while waiting for Amber and Bethany. Life was good.
    “What’s for dinner?” Howard asked.
    “Colt said he’d fix us tacos.”
    There was a time when that would have set Howard into a seething rage. For years he had despised my friendship with Colt. Understandably, since Colt obviously still carried a bit of a torch for me, but the man had been there for Howard day and night during what we now call “the horrible time.” The two of them had found peace as true, stalwart, boon-buds.
    “Colt Tacos.” Howard nodded approvingly. “Sounds good. Do we have any beer in the house? Gotta have beer with tacos.”
    “I don’t think so. I’m saving myself for the wine Peggy’s bringing afterwards.” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Colt’s number to pin him down on a time.
    Howard checked his watch. “I’ll go to the store in a little while and get some, anyway. For the dudes.”
    My call went straight to voicemail. I tried Colt’s home phone. Message machine. “Colt Barron, Private Investigator. Leave a message. Stay cool.”
    I left a message, then redialed his cell and left one there, too. He was probably still working and would get back to us soon enough. The girls would be excited to hear Colt was cooking since my culinary repertoire is small and somewhat lacking in the