Saturday Night Cleaver (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #4) by Karen Cantwell Read Free Book Online Page A

and handed it back to me. “Don’t panic. He could have lost his cell. Someone found it and now they’re having some fun.”
    For a minute, Howard’s scenario proposal calmed me. Of course. Silly kids playing games. But then my mind shifted back to the scarier alternative. “He might not have lost it, though. And this could be real.”
    He nodded, his face firm and serious, his eyes fixed on mine. “In which case, what we don’t do is lose our cool. I left a message for Lamon. As soon as he calls me, I’ll ask him to run that license plate.” He held up a key chain with a single key dangling. Colt’s spare condo key. “Meanwhile, let’s go back over and see if there’s anything lying around his place that could give us a clue.”
    Thank goodness Howard had found us something to do. Sitting around and waiting for Erik to call didn’t exactly make me feel empowered.
    Callie drove up just then in the Camry. I had forgotten that she was putting in some volunteer hours at the local library, which reminded me that I needed to get in the house and check on Bethany and Amber just to make sure they’d eaten and didn’t need anything. When Callie climbed out of the car, she walked with us up to the door. “So this is weird,” she began. “I dropped Isabella off at her house and Colt’s car was parked in the street out front.”
    Howard and I eyed each other. “Are you sure it was his?” asked Howard.
    “Dad,” she sighed in her teen-aged grown-ups-are-so-silly voice. “How many 1969 red GTOs are running around Rustic Woods with a ‘Here comes da Judge’ bumper sticker? When I asked her mom if they knew Colt, she said no, but the car has been parked there since yesterday afternoon.”
    Howard stopped at the door. “Is it right in front of their house, or a neighbor’s house?”
    “Their house,” she said.
    “What are you thinking?” I asked.
    “If the car was parked in front of a neighbor’s house, he might be visiting someone else. That still may be the case.”
    Luckily, Callie had stepped into the house, so I didn’t have to whisper the next question. “You’re thinking he had a date and stayed the night?”
    Howard shrugged. He was diving into his quiet, unresponsive thinking mode. I might not hear from him for a while. We went into the house just long enough for me to check on all three girls and leave instructions for Callie to be in charge. We were going out.
    “To check out Colt’s car?” she asked.
    “Maybe.”
    “Is something wrong?”
    “Probably not,” I answered as believably as I could.
    She called out to me as I was walking toward the door. “Mom?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Don’t get shot at again, okay?”
    Ah. How sweet. She does care.

    Callie and Isabella Fetty had been friends since the first grade so I knew exactly where she lived and it only took us a few minutes to get there. Just as Callie had said, Colt’s car was positioned at the curb right in front of the Fetty’s house on Sassafras Lane. Both doors were locked. Peeking inside the windows, we saw some papers strewn on the floor of the passenger’s side, what looked to be an empty soda cup on the passenger’s seat, and a camera and pen in the backseat.
    “Do you know Isabella’s mom?” Howard asked.
    I frowned a little. “Yes, and so do you. She’s been to our house so many times I can’t count.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Christina.”
    “Is she the tall one with short blond hair and glasses?”
    “No, Sherlock. She’s short with long brown hair, no glasses.” I sighed. “How did they let you into the FBI anyway? On your good looks? Because it sure wasn’t for your observation skills.” I patted him on the back to let him know I still loved him even though he probably couldn’t pick The Queen of England out of a lineup. “Christina’s nice, but she bobs her head a lot when she talks.”
    “Got it. Let’s go talk to her.”
    I knocked on the door and immediately heard the deep bellowing of two