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

flavor department. Mama Marr says she doesn’t care for “the Mexee-canish food,” so she’d probably fix herself a bowl of oatmeal and call it a night.
    The bus arrived and our girls jumped from the bottom step. First came Bethany, a spectacled twelve-year-old with shiny, raven hair pony-tailed. A bouncy, semi-toothless, orange-haired Amber followed on her heels, and they both ran to Howard for their daily hug. Bethany gave me a less tight, but still full-of-love hug, but Amber stopped in her tracks right in front of me. She placed an indignant hand on her hip.
    “Mommy,” she said with the seriousness of a president about to declare war, “Darla Hepple says her mommy says that you got in trouble again and the police had to attest you. Are you attested?”
    That Marla Hepple. I knew she’d start talking. She could never keep her big mouth shut. I’d pegged her as a spotlight-craver from the first time I met her and she introduced herself: “Hi! My name is Marla, and this is my daughter Darla.”
    I pulled Amber’s backpack from her shoulders. “Now, how would Darla hear such a thing when she was in school all day?”
    “Her mommy was volunteering in the cafeteria today.”
    Boy, the woman got around. Working on the Fall Festival then off to volunteer at the school and simultaneously smear my good name.
    “I’m not attested and I’m not arrested either,” I said. “And next time you see Darla Hepple you tell her that her mommy...”
    Howard cleared his throat. As parents, we’d agreed to set a good example and not talk disparagingly of others.
    Amber’s eyes remained wide and attentive, awaiting my next words.
    “Tell Darla that her mommy is such a kind person for being concerned about me! Wow!” I was probably playing it up too much, but Amber didn’t seem to notice. Bethany, on the other hand, was rolling her eyes, a habit she picked up from her father. “Mrs. Hepple—just the nicest.” I added, just for that cherry-on-the-top effect.
    Callie turned in, driving Howard’s car, just as we were entering the house. The Marr family was all in one place, happy and content.

    When we hadn’t heard back from Colt by five, I tried both of his phones again. His cell suspiciously went straight to voicemail rather than ringing first. He wasn’t usually this late responding. I wondered if he’d forgotten the taco deal. I supposed it was possible, but not really typical for Colt. When I expressed some concern, Howard brushed me off. “He probably just forgot.”
    By six-thirty everyone was grumpy and Colt was still nowhere to be found, so I ran out to Taco Loco for a twelve pack and two burritos. Taco Loco tacos were the best crappy fast food tacos around, but they didn’t measure up even the tiniest bit to a Colt mexi-masterpiece. Mama Marr had already consumed her bowl of oatmeal and was asleep in front of the TV in her room when I returned.
    By seven-thirty, even Howard remarked on the oddity of Colt’s truancy. “Maybe he met a woman,” he finally concluded with a shrug.
    And of course, seven-thirty marked the time Peggy was to arrive, wine in hand, ear to listen, but was she on my doorstep?
    No.
    I suspected that my blood pressure was rising dangerously high. At eight-fifty, I grabbed one of those beers from the fridge and gulped it a little too quickly, then called Peggy’s home. Simon told me she was at Dandi Booker’s house. I didn’t leave a message.
    I’d been stood up not once, but twice. Was I that easy to forget?
    Rather than stew about it, I put my energy into getting Amber and Bethany ready for bed. Bethany was actually pretty self-sufficient since she was a big-time fifth grader now, but Amber still loved her Mommy time and so did I. She bathed and I washed then dried her hair, and rubbed lotion on that incessant dry patch on her back. Afterwards, the three of us compacted ourselves into Amber’s bed where I read another chapter of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz . Big high-school student