Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

  “And his sister hired you,” said Delia. “That’s extraordinary.”

  “She’s extraordinary,” I said.

  “And you’re both doing okay?”

  “As well as can be expected. If I can find out who blackmailed Anton, it will go a long way to helping his sister get over it.”

  Delia nodded. “I imagine it will help you both. Maybe you don’t want to hear this, considering, but Mr. Thooft was great. I liked him instantly. Whatever they had on him must’ve been absolutely devastating because he was not evil. Nothing can convince me of that.”

  “I think you’re right, but they found his currency and used it.”

  Ethan walked back in, still on the phone. “I get it. Uh-huh. Later.”

  “Is Alexis here?” Delia asked. “She can come over if you want.”

  “She’s at the airport, waiting for her luggage. Her plane got delayed in Chicago and she missed her flight in Atlanta, so she’s frigging exhausted. I told her I’d call her back if you needed something else.”

  I itched to get on the phone with Alexis, but you can’t have it all and as it turned out Ethan got enough. Alexis confirmed that Madison said her boyfriend was not the guy from the club, but Alexis thought she was lying because she wouldn’t give the names of either of the men.

  “Did she give a reason for that?” I asked.

  “Alexis said she acted like he was famous.”

  “Which one was famous?”

  “Both, I guess. It’s total bullshit.”

  “Ethan!”

  “Jeez, Mom, I know, but it is. Like Madison Purcell met two famous dudes at the same time and they both liked her? Give me a break.”

  Delia sighed. “What is going on with that girl? Why not tell the truth? You all have known each other forever.”

  Very good question.

  “Did Alexis say anything else?” I asked.

  Ethan flopped back down in his chair. “Oh, yeah. Get this. Madison stopped talking to Alexis because she said Alexis was jealous and just trying to ruin what she had.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Madison,” said Delia.

  “I know, but that’s what she said,” said Ethan. “Alexis thinks that Madison totally made him up. She’s not that hot. I mean come on. Alexis is probably right. He doesn’t exist.”

  “He exists,” I said.

  “Are you sure? Because if you’re going with what Madison’s saying forget it.”

  “I’ve got independent information. Tell me about Madison. What was she like before all this happened?”

  Ethan and Delia described a sweet girl, eager to please, and very close to her mother and brother. Ethan did think she was lying about the boyfriend as least in some way, but he didn’t think she was a liar before that guy came on the scene. It appeared that those two weekends in May changed Madison Purcell’s life and to some extent her personality but why remained a mystery.

  “Was she gullible?” Moe asked after he polished off a glass of eggnog.

  “She’s not stupid,” said Ethan, just a bit offended.

  “Not stupid,” I said. “Innocent. Trusting.”

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely. Madison was super sweet about stuff. You could tell her anything and she’d totally believe you. She’s not stupid though. She just likes people and believes them. It wasn’t even fun to prank her because you know she’d fall for anything.”

  “You weren’t pranking Madison, were you?” Delia asked. “That’s not nice.

  “God, Mom, I just said we didn’t because she’d fall for it. Everyone knew that.”

  Everyone knew.

  “How did everyone know that about Madison?” I asked.

  Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. You just can tell. She was super sweet.”

  “How well do you know her brother?”

  That took him back and the confusion set in. “Her little brother?”

  “Yes. Jake,” I said.

  “I met him, I guess,” said Ethan. “But he’s way younger. We never talked or anything. Madison said he was really shy.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Like what?” Delia asked.

  “Any information can help,” I said.

  “Sorry. I never met him. We took pictures of Ethan and Madison for the prom and at graduation, but I don’t remember seeing her brother.”

  “He was there,” said Ethan. “But he just kinda stayed in the background. I think he was really smart and not friendly like Madison. Well, like she used to be anyway.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else so I gave Delia my card and took a bunch of pictures after extracting a promise not to post for twenty-four hours because it might get back to Madison and cause a problem for the investigation.

  “Alexis knows you were asking about Madison,” said Ethan. “She’s probably going to tell people.”

  “Is she going to tell Madison?”

  “No way. They aren’t friends anymore. None of us are friends with her anymore.”

  Ethan agreed to call Alexis and ask her to keep my interview quiet, but it was going to get out at some point. With Novak and Spidermonkey keeping tabs on Madison, I’d know the minute she knew. Still, later was better.

  I thanked them both and wished them a Merry Christmas before going out in the cold again. Moe opened my door and I got in feeling so tense my shoulders were up around my ears.

  Moe got in and radiated something that’s hard to define. Not anger but it was in the neighborhood. “You will not tell your grandmother about the Indian food. Understand?”

  Because I like to live dangerously, I asked, “Or else what?”

  The old sniper turned in his seat and gave me a look that sent an icy lightning bolt down my spine.

  “Never mind.”

  “Smart girl,” he said.

  “I feel a little nauseated now. Thanks.”

  “That’s the feeling of knowing where you’re at.”

  “Scared shitless of my own bodyguard?”

  He started the car and said, “You know who I am. That’s good. Let’s hope our quarry does, too.”

  “Doubtful, but okay,” I said.

  “Bad news for them. Now you could call the friend from Pizza Hut and see what she knows.”

  “No,” I said, swallowing some bile. “They’re too close. MacKenzie will tell Madison immediately.”

  “You’ve got to do something. We don’t have much time left and we’ve got to get that cat to a vet.”

  I put my head back and closed my eyes. Anton’s cat. I totally forgot.

  “I just have to chill for a minute,” I said.

  “I’ll put on some music. AFN isn’t bad.”

  I got out my phone as we left Schönaich and said, “I’ve got the best band for just smoothing things out.” I connected my phone and chose a song. It went for a couple of minutes.

  “Not bad,” said Moe. “Who is it?”

  “Rainbow Kitten Surprise.”

  “Was there booze in your eggnog?”

  “That’s the name of the band.”

  “It is not,” he said.

  “It is.”

  “Damn millennials.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Everything has to be ironic.”

  “It’s not ironic,” I said.

  “That name has man buns and grandpa sweaters written all over it.”

  You’re not wrong, but I will never admit it.

  “Whatever.”

  We drove through Böblingen and merged onto the highway. “Tell me you played this for Fats. I bet you said that name and she punched somebody.”

  “She drives and picks the music,” I said.

  “So that head-banging rap?”

  “The baby likes country.”

  “The baby is a grub with no ears,” he said. “Answer your phone.”

  “Do I have to?” I asked. “I just want to listen and forget.”

  “You can, but you’ll regret it,” said Moe.

  Damned if
he wasn’t right.

  Chapter Twenty

  Moe smacked my leg and I reluctantly opened my eyes to see the dashboard. Rainbow Kitten Surprise totally knocked me out.

  “Look alive,” he said. “We’ve got a possible issue.”

  “With?”

  He made a sharp turn without braking and I scrambled for the door handle to keep from flinging into him. “Hey!”

  “Look.”

  I sat up as we sped into our hotel’s parking lot.

  “Oh, no!”

  The parking lot was filled with Polizei and an ambulance. I grabbed the door release, but it was automatically locked. “Let me out. Let me out.”

  “Calm down. I’ll park.”

  “Don’t park. Stop.” I looked at my phone. Grandma. It was Grandma that called. “Stop now.”

  “You don’t know it’s her,” said Moe through gritted teeth.

  “She called.”

  He slammed on the brakes and threw the car into park. “Don’t—”

  I was already out and running into the lobby. There were two Polizei behind the front desk and I startled the hell out of them by yelling in French, “Qu’est qui s’est passé?”

  Why is it always French?

  “Fraulein—”

  I ran, bypassing the elevator and going straight for the stairs. Moe was behind me yelling, but I couldn’t stop. It was her. I knew it was her.

  Up three flights and I burst through the stairwell door to find the hall filled with more Polizei and EMTs in their orange outfits bending over a person lying on the hall floor.

  “Qu’est qui s’est passé?”

  Dammit.

  A Polizei moved to stop me, but I pushed past him to see Novak on the floor. I’m ashamed to say I felt a split second of relief to see my hacker there instead of my grandmother. Then I saw the blood and the relief vanished. The Polizei were talking to me, but it was just irritating noise. The EMT lifted Novak’s head off a bloody towel and placed a large pad underneath. Novak took the EMT’s hand and his eyes fluttered. I went for our room’s door, but the Polizei grabbed me. I struggled with him and a lot of radios erupted into frantic chatter. I was a problem.

  “Mercy.” Grandma stood in the doorway with wet eyes and clasped hands. She opened her arms to me and I dashed around Novak’s feet to get to her. People were trying to stop me, but it made no difference. I got to her. I was always going to get to her.

  “What are you doing?” Grandma asked as I ran my hands over her, looking for a wound, like I had in the alley with my mother. This time I found nothing, except for a shaking body and red eyes.

  “You’re okay.” I threw my arms around her and we shook together.

  “Hello,” said Novak. “Someone is wounded and it’s me.”

  I looked down, wiping my eyes. “What happened?”

  One of the Polizei got between us and gently asked Grandma who I was or at least that’s what it sounded like. I wasn’t paying much attention, too busy trying to see around him at Novak. His eyes were open and he responded to commands. He had on a cervical collar, wasn’t happy about it, and kept trying to take it off. I darted around the Polizei and said, “Stop that. Let them do their work.”

  The EMT blew out a breath. “Yes, please. I must keep you still for transport to the hospital.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital.” Novak’s voice was funny. He had a tremor in his hands and his eyes were darting around until they settled on me. “She’s a nurse. She’ll watch me.”

  “You have to be assessed,” I said.

  “No.”

  The EMT looked at me and said in perfect, accentless English, “He has a head injury and he must go to the hospital for a scan.”

  “No,” said Novak.

  I squatted by his side and took his hand. “How’s he looking? Any slurring? How are the pupils?”

  “He must go in,” said the EMT.

  “No,” said Novak.

  “How bad is it?” I asked.

  The EMT was reluctant to tell me because he was right. Novak had taken a bad blow to the back of the head. He’d been knocked unconscious for at least a couple of minutes and had bled a tremendous amount. That was normal for a head wound, but he needed stitches. Something between eight and ten. Novak was staunchly saying no. He wasn’t going to the hospital and it was starting to sound a bit like a phobia.

  “You can do it,” he said.

  “I’d like to know where you think I’ve been keeping my CAT scan,” I said.

  “You can do the stitches.”

  “I’m not a suture tech. It would be ugly.” I should’ve known he wouldn’t care about that. The man was wearing a ski suit in orange and lime green with pink high-heeled cowboy boots. I was starting to think he was color blind. There were fashion choices, but that couldn’t be called fashion. I don’t care who you are.

  “Fine. Do it,” he said. “I will not go to the hospital.”

  Grandma bent over and said, “Yes, you will.”

  “Janine, no.”

  “I called your mother.”

  He passed out. I’m not kidding. Out cold.

  The EMT checked his vitals and said, “He must hate his mother.”

  “Quick,” said Grandma. “Get him on a gurney.”

  The Polizei and the EMTs sprang into action and got the groggy Novak on a gurney before he came to, strapped down and everything.

  “What? What happened?” he asked.

  “You passed out again,” I said. “You’re going to the hospital.”

  He struggled against the straps. “No. No.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  Moe stepped up and said, “No, you won’t. You and Janine will stay here. Neither of you are getting out of my sight again.”

  “I can’t,” Novak cried out. “I can’t.”

  He started to hyperventilate and I heard the EMTs start mentioning sedatives.

  “No,” I said. “We can’t do this. This is worse than the head injury.”

  “It is not.”

  “He can choose, can’t he?” I asked.

  The Polizei looked iffy on that, but there was a hotel manager standing by, wringing his hands. “Do you have a house doctor?”

  He stepped up and said, “Yes, but he comes for the illnesses.”

  “Call him, please.” I squeezed Novak’s hand. “A doctor’s alright?”

  He shuddered and then nodded. The Polizei and the EMTs discussed and decided Novak would have to wave their responsibility for his medical situation and the in-house doctor was called.

  The doctor, who was so old that he might just have served in WWII, showed up and as old doctors often do, he poo-pood the whole going to the hospital thing. I half expected him to say we could just rub some dirt on it as Grandad would’ve said.

  He took off the collar, proclaimed Novak’s neck good enough, and then walked back into the room to inject some lidocaine and stitched his head. The Polizei left Grandma with him and insisted I leave for an interview.

  “I don’t know what I can tell you,” I said. “I wasn’t here.”

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  “In Schönaich having eggnog with an American family.”

  He eyeballed me pretty hard, but I wasn’t impressed. “Why were you there?”

  “What has that got to do with Novak falling in the bathroom?”

  “He didn’t fall,” said Moe. “Am I right?”

  Novak didn’t fall. He was in our room, hanging out with Grandma and working. They were going to do pedicures. I thought that might sound weird to the Polizei, but he took that in stride. Novak had gone to the bathroom and was coming out when someone was at the door. There were a couple of tries at getting in and Novak thought it was me. Then the door flew open and he was face to face with a man in dark clothing and a brimmed hat pulled low. Novak yelled and the man shoved him. He flew backward and hit his head on the sink. Grandma had seen the whole thing and screamed so loud that hal
f the floor heard her. The man turned tail and ran. Nobody knew where he went and the interviews didn’t have a better description than Grandma.

  The doctor finished and came out with a prescription for some kind of liquid painkiller and was gone before I could ask any questions. The EMTs left right after, but the Polizei weren’t going anywhere. They just kept asking me questions. It was clear they knew I’d been interviewed in Sindelfingen, but they never referred to it. They just kept asking why I was in Schönaich, like I was up to something nefarious and I wished they’d just get to the point. I was about to say just that when Grandma appeared in the doorway behind my main interrogator and made a stretching motion with her hands. Then she closed the door and he looked back.

  “What is going on in there?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “Pedicures maybe.”

  “I saw all that equipment.”

  One of Dad’s more useful lessons was don’t offer information if you don’t absolutely have to. No filling in blanks. Zippo. Say nothing. Sometimes I forgot, but I didn’t that time. I just looked at him.

  “I could take the equipment,” he said finally.

  “On what grounds?” Moe knew the lessons, having learned on the other side.

  “He may be doing something illegal.” The Polizei eyeballed me again and I waited patiently and silently.

  “We know you are investigating the Thooft situation,” he said.

  Finally. Took you long enough.

  “I am.”

  “What do you have to say about that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why not?”

  “Client confidentiality,” I said.

  “Who is your client?”

  I didn’t think that could hurt, so I said, “Thooft’s sister. She’s anxious to know what caused her brother to act so out of character.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t out of character,” he said.

  “Perhaps.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched and I have to admit I enjoyed irritating him. He was irritating me.

  “Do you have information for me?” I asked.

  He drew back and puffed up in indignation. “We do not give information to Americans who have no business getting in the way of our investigation.”

  “So you are investigating.”

  He sputtered and Moe smiled. The Polizei tried to get invited back into our room, but it was a no-go. I don’t know what they were doing in there, but he wasn’t going to see it.