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

the sidewalk.
    Howard had been managing just fine without his cane ever since the hospital, but I couldn’t picture him sprinting fast enough to bring this fugitive down. I dashed like I’d never dashed before, and all I can say is, it was a good thing I’d been walking more those last few days, because my legs weren’t generally used to such spontaneous workouts. Even so, he was still faster than me, so I had to rely on my wits and my lungs.
    My wits, because I suddenly realized that I recognized this kid. My lungs because, well…
    “Hey! Wait! Stop!” I bellowed. “Please! I think you know my daughter, Callie Marr! I just want to ask you...(I was panting heavily now)...a quick...question!”
    Wits and lungs won that battle and the kid halted his gallop, allowing me to catch up. “Mrs. Marr?” he asked as I slowly closed the gap between us, gasping for air.
    “Yeah. Callie’s mom,” I panted. “You go to school with her, right?”
    He nodded. “Kyle.”
    That was it. Kyle. They’d been science fair partners her Freshman year and she’d been mortified because all he ever talked about was cars, cars, cars. I was beginning to see where this trail would lead, but I followed it anyway.
    “Kyle. Right. How are you?”
    His answer was hesitant and I can’t say I blamed him. A crazy woman had just chased him down, for crying out loud. “Fine...” he said.
    Howard finally reached us and I introduced the two. “Kyle, Callie’s dad. Callie’s dad, Kyle.”
    Still appearing alarmed by the chase, Kyle ventured out on a limb. “Is this because I was looking at the GTO?”
    “Kind of,” I said. “We’re concerned about our friend who owns it. We haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
    He perked up a bit. “Old guy, blond hair?”
    “Depends on what you mean by old,” I said.
    “You know, your age, probably,” answered Kyle, stone-faced serious. I heard Howard suppress a laugh.
    “You saw him?”
    Kyle nodded. “Yesterday after school. Must have been about two-thirty? Something like that.”
    “Did you see where he went?” Howard pressed.
    “Not exactly. I’m taking care of some pets down at the end of the street.” He pointed past the Fetty’s house. “I saw him get out of the car and said, ‘Nice wheels, man’ and he said, ‘Thanks, man,’ and then he came this way and I kept going that way.” His arms flailed around indicating who was moving where.
    “You never saw him go into any of these houses around here?”
    “Nah. Didn’t see. But man, this car is the best, isn’t it? You don’t see classic GTOs like this every day. I can’t help but stop and look every time I pass it, ya know? I wasn’t going to steal it or anything. Was that lady saying I was trying to steal it?” He tipped his head toward Christina Fetty, who still stood on the sidewalk in front of her house watching us from afar.
    “No.” I tried not to laugh. “She just thought you might have some information for us.”
    “Cool. Well, can I go now, then? I think I forgot to lock the back door after I let the dog out earlier. My mom will kill me if I don’t do this job right.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”
    “Sure, Mrs. Marr.” He strode off back in the direction he’d originally started.
    “We make a pretty good team,” Howard said with a smile as Kyle ambled away. “You know everyone, and I don’t.”
    I was about to reply with an equally quippy and fun retort when a red car sped by on the cross street. The license plate was easy to read as it passed since it was personalized: FEEVRR.
    But that wasn’t the most interesting part of this newest development.
    “Howard, was that a...”
    He gave a nod and finished my sentence. “Red Mercedes E550.”

Chapter Eight

    T he car disappeared around a bend in the road. We got to my van as quickly as we could, giving a quick “thanks” and “goodbye” to Christina, then sped off in the same direction the Mercedes had traveled. But several minutes of