Silenced by the Yams

CHAPTER Twenty-Three

True to his promise, Howard stayed in bed until I awoke at two in the afternoon the next day. Even then, I could easily have rolled over and slept another day or two, but my mother’s guilt kicked in.

I stretched lazily and rubbed Howard’s arm. “What day is it?”

He kissed my forehead. “Thursday.”

Something about Thursday seemed important. I tried to imagine my calendar, wondering whether one of the girls had an appointment scheduled.

“Thursday, Thursday . . .” I was saying it out loud, hoping to ignite some memory. “Something’s happening today. I just know it.”

“Frankie’s indictment hearing?”

That was it! I snapped up like a catapult in action. “Do you know how it went?”

“Frankie Romano is officially a free man.”

Relieved and finally hungry, I decided to dig up some of that goulash and hopefully wash it down with a big glass of orange juice to celebrate Frankie’s freedom.

“Wanna join me?” I asked Howard.

He declined the invitation, saying it was time to head back in to work and wrap up his report. I kissed him and told him that I was planning the proper way to thank him for saving my life when he returned home that night.

“Does it have to be proper?” His smile was sly.

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Mr., I can be as proper or improper as you like.”

*****

At the kitchen table, I devoured the melt-in-your-mouth goulash and savored every last drop of the orange juice while Mama Marr scrubbed my kitchen counters with bleach water. I was too worn out to care each time she pulled another appliance away and gasped.

While I was rinsing the dishes, Peggy called. I figured she’d heard the news of my latest escapade and wanted either to gloat that she wasn’t involved this time or to get the nitty gritty details. I was wrong on both counts.

“Barb!” she screamed into the phone. “Major emergency! I don’t know what I’m going to do! Mama Mia! This just can’t be happening!”

“What emergency? Is someone hurt?”

“He flushed the toilet and I forgot to check.”

I wasn’t feeling any sympathy. “Is there more to this story?”

My doorbell rang and Mama Marr ran, rubber gloves and all, to answer it.

Poor Peggy was in a tizzy. Turns out, her cousin George Jr. (the one with the “weird” eye and short leg) had stayed at their house the night before. She hadn’t really wanted him as a house guest with the farewell party coming up, but how could she tell him that? And she really thought he ought to see a doctor because he spends so much time in the bathroom when he visits and always plugs the toilets, but she was so busy that she forgot to check the toilet after he left that morning and she went to the store and then to the post office and dropped off papers at the school and now her house is wet and smelly because the toilet flooded her house.

Mama Marr returned carrying a vase of flowers that was easily as large as she was. She set it down on the table and took a deep breath. “For you.” She handed me a card made out to Mrs. Barbara Marr.

“Peggy, I just got the most amazing bouquet of flowers. They’re stunning.”

“From Howard?”

Anxious to know myself, I pulled the card from the small envelope. Meanwhile, Peggy continued on her rant. “I should have followed my instincts and told George Jr. to go stay with my great Aunt Georgina. He is her namesake after all.” She blew out a sigh. “What am I going to do? I can’t have a farewell party here on Saturday!”

I read the card silently. “Our sincerest regrets for the anguish you have suffered. If there is ever anything we can do for you or your family, please let us know. The Board of Directors, American Cinema League.”

“Peggy, I think I may have a solution.”

*****

The American Cinema League’s board of directors was more than generous. They literally rolled out the red carpet for Roz and Peter Walker’s farewell bash and opened their banquet room to the many awed guests in attendance.

And if that wasn’t enough, Frankie and his crew catered the affair for free. His only condition—no candied yams.

Wine and beer flowed as freely as the enjoyable conversation.

The Walkers, The Rubensteins, and the Marrs sat together at a table along with Judi and Richard Horner. I kept them captivated with my recounting of the mayhem during the last few days: How Kurt Baugh had vomited on me, then died, and how Frankie was arrested the next morning.

Everyone wanted to know why Kurt Baugh ate Randolph’s yams, so I had to explain that Jorge Borrego had set up an elaborate system for killing Baugh and framing Frankie Romano. According to Randolph Rutter’s testimony, Jorge had met with Baugh earlier in the day to assure him that he was done dealing drugs and working with crooked politicians. When they kissed and made up, Jorge appealed to Baugh’s love of pulling pranks. It was well known among the long-time college friends that Randolph had a particular pet peeve: he hated it when people ate off his plate. So Baugh agreed he’d annoy Randolph at the screening. He’d been taking bites from his plate all night.

On the other side of the prank, Randolph would pretend he was displeased with the yams—a known favorite of Baugh’s—and ask for more, which Jorge knew would be tainted with syrup of ipecac and three poisons by his “cousin” in the kitchen.

In truth, the “cousin” worked for Juarez. He was also the waiter who told the police that he saw Frankie pouring something into the pan of yams. Because Kurt loved candied yams, Jorge figured that even if he didn’t follow through and grab at least a couple of the tainted yams on his own, Randolph could offer them to Baugh and see if he took the bait. After all, Randolph had nothing to lose; he just thought he was pulling a prank. Jorge on the other hand, was counting on his plan to succeed. Which it did.

“Boy,” Roz said finally, looking at Peggy. “This is as hard to follow as one of your stories.”

The syrup of ipecac was the true murder weapon, intended to cause Baugh to vomit, which would then burst the esophageal varices. Jorge was betting on DC’s notoriously slow emergency response to give enough time for him to bleed to death. The three poisons were too slow acting and ineffective in the low quantities necessary to be sure that Kurt didn’t taste them when he ate the yams. The poisons went into those yams for one purpose only: to frame Frankie for the murder—the infamy of his mob ties and the conspicuous nature of Baugh’s death would bring publicity to the ACL and Randolph Rutter, whose job had been hanging in the balance for some time.

“So Jorge only planned this murder after you recommended Frankie for the catering job?” Judi asked.

This was a difficult reality for me to bear. “Terrible, isn’t it? I feel so guilty.”

I sipped from my water glass. “Next,” I continued, the faces at the table completely engaged, “Jorge had to convince Andy Baugh to request a murder investigation. It wasn’t hard to do since he knew how sensitive Andy was about keeping Kurt’s drug and alcohol abuse quiet from his parents and the press. He would be more than glad when the police and press focused their attention on Frankie and not on Kurt’s questionable lifestyle choices.”

“And why did Jorge want Kurt dead?” Peggy asked, completely enthralled.

“Jorge didn’t want him dead,” I answered. “Juarez did. During the filming of his documentary, Kurt started to put two and two together regarding Jorge and Juarez’s partnership—they were utilizing Jorge’s drug cronies to build a network designed to bring unregistered voters to the polls by the thousands and vote for their man. The unregistered voters were paid handsomely, and Juarez looked the other way when drug abuse bills came up for vote. It didn’t hurt that Juarez was, oh by the way, also addicted to prescription pain killers.”

Roz still looked confused. “But I thought that Jorge told Kurt he’d give it all up—the drugs and working with Juarez.”

“That didn’t matter to Benito Juarez who had his sights set on the presidency. According to what Jorge told Randolph, Juarez didn’t trust Kurt not to talk later down the road.”

“Wow,” said Judi Horner.

“I know. It’s terrible,” I said. “In the end, poor Kurt Baugh was silenced by the yams.”

*****

As we were leaving that night, I met the new President of the DC Chapter of the ACL, Penny Drexel. She’d been there to make sure our event went smoothly. She stood with a tall man who appeared to be in his fifties. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion. “Barb, this is my husband, Bud Drexel. He’s the program director at Channel 3.”

We shook hands and I eyed him suspiciously, wondering what was up. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“No, Mrs. Marr, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m not going to beat around the bush here. I’d like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss the possibility of your filling our vacant movie reviewer position.”

Given what Guy Mertz had said at the screening dinner, I wasn’t completely surprised. “I’d love to meet with you, Mr. Drexel.”

“Excellent.” He handed me his card. “Call me Monday and we’ll make the arrangements.”

As Howard escorted me from the building to our car, he seemed a little concerned. “Are you seriously thinking about being a movie reviewer for a news channel?”

“Nope,” I said, thinking of my new friend Clarence, projectionist and movie trivia master. “But I’m going to take along someone who’d be perfect for the job.” I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. “Once he gets a haircut.”

Howard was looking especially sexy behind the wheel as we drove home. The black suit, steel gray tie, and scent of cologne tickled my erogenous zones.

“Howard, I’m feeling the need . . .”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, no.”

“That’s right,” I nodded, laughing. “I’m feeling the need—the need for a Top Gun quote.”

He smiled. “Let her fly.”

Powering the window down, I let the strong breeze blow through my hair. “Marr, you stud!” I shouted.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Take me to bed or lose me forever!”



The end. (for now)