by A W Hartoin
Dad grinned at me from the espresso machine and asked, “Latte?”
“Absolutely.”
Dad pressed a button and leaned on the counter, looking just as gangly and goofy as a man could get. I caught the agents giving him sidelong glances. They knew all about Tommy Watts. Who didn’t? He’d been a famous police detective before they were born and despite his recent much ballyhooed breakdown had come back into the FBI fold with a vengeance, thanks to me. I’d worked a deal that got my dad back in and it was like he never left, but I could tell they were having a hard time relating the reputation with the man grinning at them with his graying red hair sticking up and two day’s worth of scraggly beard on his chin. I did, too. My father’s appearance did not belie his mind or ability in any way.
“Here you go, baby girl.” Dad gave me a lovely latte. “I take it you know why you’re here.”
“I do,” I said.
“But you came.”
“I did.”
Dad took that as a sign of cooperation. It was not.
“This is Agent Kelly Ladd and Agent Katerina Owens.”
They showed me their badges. Whatever. Do not care and not impressed.
I sipped my latte and calmly eyed them over the rim of my cup.
“We’re here to interview you about your recent interactions with various criminal elements,” said Ladd as she tucked her dishwater blond hair behind her ears.
I said nothing and they seemed surprised.
Then Owens started in and she spoke slower than Ladd. Maybe I was as dumb as I looked. Maybe I just didn’t get it. “We are from Behavioral Science and we will be working up in-depth profiles of the criminals you’ve had contact with.”
“Good luck with that,” I said.
Ladd put her phone on the table and started recording. “To start, please, state your name and tell us why you think you have been so attractive to criminals.”
I’m attractive to criminals? What does that even mean and is it really about what I think?
I didn’t respond and Dad came over and clicked off the recording to Ladd’s surprise. “My daughter is attractive to most people and what she thinks about her attractiveness is not relevant to this discussion.”
Ladd and Owens regrouped and went into telling me what they were after. In short, everything about me that worked for criminals. How did I talk? Smile? They thought I worked it somehow and that meant it could be replicated. The whole thing was insulting. As far as I could tell, they thought I was a flirt and my success with solving crimes was really about sexuality. They should’ve been as insulted as I was. The FBI sent two very attractive agents to learn how to turn on psychos. That was their value.
“So you want to talk to Blankenship and he won’t see you. Is that it?”
Both agents froze and a smile flickered across my dad’s face. The whole pointless exercise was worth it just for that. “I told them you were sharp,” he said.
“And they didn’t believe you,” I said.
“Seeing is believing.”
“I’m not interested in being studied or used,” I said. “If you want in with that bag of crap, figure it out. See ya, Dad.”
Dad’s pleasant expression switched off and we were back to Dad, Demander in Chief. “Mercy, you need to do this.”
“Need is such an overused term. I don’t need this, Dad.”
Ladd leaned forward. “The bureau needs this.”
“And that’s supposed to move me? I don’t think so and I’m not going back in to see Blankenship. I’m simply not.”
“We didn’t—” started Owens.
“You didn’t have to. That’s always next. You couldn’t get in so you want me to do it. Sweet talk him. Intro you. Heads up. He can’t be sweet-talked. He doesn’t give a crap.”
“You can tell us how you survived—”
“When I clearly shouldn’t have,” I said. “I know. You don’t get it. I’ve had no formal training. I look like I look so I must be a drug-addled nitwit like they say on the news.” I stood up and put my cup down.
“Mercy, they’re not giving you an attitude,” said Dad.
“They are. You see it. You just don’t care.”
“I care. We just have to—”
“What? Go in with Blankenship one more time? No thanks. Been there. Done that to freaking death.”
“How about Shill?” Ladd asked.
“Will you go in with him?” Owens asked.
“You go in with that sleaze. I just got him washed off.”
The agents clenched their jaws and I threw up my hands. “Are you kidding me? He won’t talk to you, either?”
Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “He won’t talk to anyone, including his lawyer.”
“Don’t say it,” I said.
“He’s asking for you.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“He says he will only talk about the murder of Cassidy Huff with you,” said Ladd.
“Why?” Back to yelling. It was a wonder I wasn’t hoarse yet.
“We don’t know and we have to figure it out,” said Owens.
“And your plan is to toss me in there and see what happens?” I asked all screechy.
“We have to start somewhere.”
I glared at them. “Then you’re going nowhere.” I turned around and stalked out. It was worse than I thought. Studying me was bad enough. Studying me under glass with Blankenship and Brian Shill was another matter.
Dad chased me down the hall to the front door. “Mercy, God damn it! Stop!”
“Leave me alone,” I said, yanking on my coat.
“It’s for the greater good.”
“Not my greater good. That’s why Mom isn’t here. She’d beat you to death with a rock if she was.”
“She’d understand that we have to do these things to learn and get better.”
“You mean I have to do these things,” I spat at him.
“You’re the one they want,” he said. “If the FBI can learn something from you, then we have an obligation to cooperate.”
“We? Give me a break.”
Dad adopted a soothing tone and said, “You’ll be getting a nice consultant fee. Think of the publicity.”
“Do you know me at all? I hate publicity,” I said.
“You’d never know it.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Why not? You’ve got nothing else going on,” said Dad.
“So much for resting,” I said.
“Resting.” Dad snorted. “You don’t need to rest. You can do this.”
“What would you tell Mom?”
Dad crossed his skinny arms and the look I was so familiar with came over his face. The sneaky bastard. “Nothing. You’re resting like we said. She doesn’t watch you like a hawk and Christmastime is busy. You’re busy.”
“Busy resting?”
“Whatever. It’s fine.”
“And you think I should do Christmas by going to Hunt Hospital for the Criminally Insane and talk to someone who bit me on the face?”
“That won’t happen again,” he said with utmost confidence. He probably believed it. My dad had a very selective thought process.
“You said the same thing about my first stalker, not to mention everything else that’s happened,” I said.
“It’s for the family.”
“You always say that, too.”
“Well, it is. We’re rebuilding a brand here and helping society at the same time. It’s a good thing,” said Dad.
“I’m not doing it and you can’t make me.”
“You sound like a child.”
“Your child. Try to remember that for a change.”
The front door opened and Leo Frame walked in, carrying a laptop and a bunch of case files. “Hey. Oh, what’s happening here?”
“My father’s trying to pimp me out to the FBI,” I said.
“Jesus, Mercy,” said Dad.
“I’m not doing it.”
“Why not? Give
me one good reason.”
“I don’t want to.”
Dad straightened up and said, “That is not a valid reason. The agents and I will pick you up at eight sharp tomorrow morning for Hunt. End of discussion.”
Unbelievable. Did he hear anything I said?
“No.”
Dad spun around and headed back to the kitchen. “Don’t forget the dinner at Uncle George’s tonight. It’s not negotiable.”
Just like my whole life.
Leo put down his stuff and slipped off his jacket, his old weathered face warm with concern that my own father had rarely shown. “So that went well.”
“It did not,” I said. “He doesn’t listen.”
“Your father has a focus that’s hard to deny,” said Leo.
“I’m denying it.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad this time.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said.
Leo hugged me and said, “I know and I hope it’s true.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Better find an escape route then and fast,” he said.
I zipped up my jacket. “I already have one.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Germany, here I come.”
Chapter Four
I drove to Uncle George’s house that night with Chuck snoring on the passenger side. How and why he decided to come was a mystery. I would gladly have ditched it, but my mother called me twice to remind me. I didn’t have the heart to say I wanted to wring Dad’s neck and why, so I complied.
It was fine, really. I would be out of the country in the morning. I hoped anyway. Flights were booked, but I talked to the Bled travel office and Petra said she’d work her magic if she was allowed. I told her I had tons of frequent flyer miles and I’d take anything. The jump seat, if necessary.
Petra gave The Girls a call and got the green light to use the corporate pull. I told them what Dad was up to and Millicent said they’d stay mum until after I left. Now all I needed was a seat. Just one. I was going it alone for the first time. It was kind of a thrill. I never went anywhere alone and not for lack of trying. I’d literally never been on an airplane alone. Not very adult, but that was all about to change.
I parked in front of what my mom privately called the beige bungalow. It was humongous and done in what Aunt Christine called shades of sand. It was beige. All beige. Inside and out, furniture included. I sat there, looking up at the house that our house could fit neatly inside and tried to figure out how I was going to avoid Dad for the next two hours. He wanted to talk. He’d called me four times since I’d left the house and that was the tipping point. Two was okay. Maybe three. But four? No, he’d had an idea. A normal father would see if I was okay. Was I upset or something? Tommy Watts had moved on. He left messages about my schedule for every day up until Christmas, including Christmas Eve. The man had a plan and I didn’t call him back.
“Chuck.”
“Five more.” Chuck snuggled into the passenger door and blew out a deep breath.
“We’re here.”
“Where?”
“Uncle George’s,” I said.
“Oh, my God, why?”
“Dinner. You didn’t have to come.”
He straightened up and yawned. “Yeah, I did. We’re a thing.”
“Like me and Stevie,” I said with a laugh.
That woke him up. “What?”
“Stevie says we have a thing.”
“He’s cracked.”
“Less cracked than you’d think. Average IQ,” I said.
“Must be the low end of average. I once caught him trying to ride a push lawnmower. He couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t moving.”
“He’s been tested. It’s ADD, severe apparently.”
“Where is he? Tell me he’s not in the apartment,” said Chuck.
“One more night.”
He groaned.
“We’re giving him his first med in the morning and Tiny agreed to take him home,” I said.
“Tiny?”
Uh-oh.
I got out quickly and said, “Come on. Time’s a-wasting.”
Chuck jumped out of the car and chased me up the walk. “Why aren’t you taking him?”
“Tiny offered.”
“No, he didn’t. Tiny is a department head now and the man is busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.”
“Have you been spending time with Grandad again?” I asked.
“Don’t change the subject, Mercy.”
“I’m not taking him. I don’t want to take him.” I rang the doorbell and prayed Aunt Christine would answer. She was the easiest person in my family to deal with. She didn’t pry and she liked that I was a nurse. She’d been an RN when she met Uncle George but gave it up to build their medical supply company.
Please. Please.
The door flew open and there stood my cousins, the Troublesome Trio, Weepy, Snot, and Spoiled Rotten. They were gorgeous, tall and slender with the Watts red hair and blue eyes, the better side of the family tree. The side that got things right and never had nutcases obsessed with them. The side that never had to diet because they didn’t really like to eat and working at their father’s company, which they had all done and Jilly still did, entailed accounting, not criminals.
They stood there looking at me, posed in coordinated winter white outfits and looking like they were being shot for Vogue. Why did I wear a puffer coat and a baggy sweater, leggings, and snow boots? What was I thinking?
Sorcha dapped her eyes. “Oh, Mercy. Where have you been? You look terrible. Are you sick? We thought you got lost. Oliver couldn’t come. I miss him so much.” Weepy spun around and started dialing. “I have to call him. It’s Christmas.”
Bridget, aka Snot, turned up her nose at me. “What are you wearing?”
“Did you bring a hostess gift?” asked Jilly.
“She doesn’t need a hostess gift,” said Sorcha over her shoulder. “We’re family.”
“I think she should bring a gift.”
“You just want a gift.”
“It’s Christmas.”
“Talk to Oliver.”
“He didn’t answer.”
“You’re driving him crazy.”
“It’s appropriate to bring a gift.”
“This was supposed to be a nice dinner. You couldn’t wear a skirt?”
I turned around and headed back to the car. Chuck chased me down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Anywhere.”
“Mercy!” Aunt Christine called out.
Then there was a spirited discussion about what was wrong with me, the late, gift less, underdressed cousin.
Chuck turned me around. “If I can do it, you can do it.”
“They love you.”
He grinned at me. “Naturally.”
“Here they come.”
The Troublesome Trio came out and took Chuck over and I had a serious moment of envy and not just for the skinny thighs and dislike of brie. As much as my cousins fought and complained, they did it together. I was left on the walk, the only egg in Tommy Watts’ basket and he was watching me from the living room window, ready to pounce. If I had siblings, it would be better. We could share Dad and gang up on him the way the trio was on Chuck. I followed him into the house and watched them strip off his jacket and scarf, get him a drink that they thought he should have, and start feeding him things they wanted him to eat. It was like a circus act and so well done, Chuck didn’t know what hit him. He didn’t even like sushi, but he was eating it.
“Mercy.” Aunt Christine took my coat off. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. Did you hear about Sorcha?” She took me into the living room and got me a Manhattan. I don’t know why. I’d never had one before.
“What’s up with Sorcha?”
“We think Oliver is going to propose.”
No. Don’t say it.
“Interesting. I
need the bathroom. Gotta poop.”
Aunt Christine ignored that and said, “And you did such a good job as Bridget’s Maid of Honor,” she raised her glass to Bridget’s newly minted husband on the sofa, “that we think you should do it again with Sorcha.”
Ah, yes, the wedding weekend from hell. Let’s do that again.
“We’ll see.”
Aunt Christine gave me a big hug. “So glad you’re on board. The way you handled that caterer when he threw up on the amuse bouche and flower thing and Bridget’s dress. I didn’t know you could sew.”
Neither did I.
“I need to…something,” I said, looking around for an escape route. Why couldn’t there have been a flight tonight before dinner?
“Are you alright, dear?” she asked. “You look a little clammy.”
If I throw up, I can leave. Think spoiled crab. Think spoiled crab.
“If I could just go to the bathroom—”
“Hello, sweetheart.” Dad came over and wrapped a bony arm around my shoulder. “I just need to steal my daughter for a minute.”
“Of course. Dinner in just a few,” said Aunt Christine, beaming at me.
“You don’t need to steal me.” I ducked under Dad’s arm and ran right into Sorcha.
“Did Mom tell you?” she asked. “I think it’s going to happen on Christmas or Christmas Eve. What do you think about bridesmaid dresses with stripes? It’s very in and full skirts. No columns. We should take another girls’ trip.”
Jilly grabbed me. “I think Las Vegas. It’s so cliché it’s cool.”
“I think we want something totally different this time,” said Bridget. “A beach. Break out the bikinis.”
I’d rather let Blankenship bite me again.
“We can talk about it later.” I tried to slip away, but there was Dad, waiting like some kinda skinny vulture, so I turned around and dashed into the front room, but there was Grandad with my uncles. He had his broken ankle propped up on a stool and a stack of case files. He wasn’t supposed to have those, but there they were. Grandad was my dad thirty years on.
“Mercy!” Grandad called out. “Your dad wants me to talk to you.”
“Busy. Talk later.” I turned around and bumped into Mom.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Come in and talk to Aunt Celeste and Uncle Joe.”