Down and Dirty (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 9)

by A W Hartoin

  Mr. Cervantes said softly, “You might want to put a stop to that.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about and I didn’t much care until Ameche and Parker came around me with their hands up.

  “That’s enough of that,” said Parker. “Put away that phone.”

  There were several people taking pictures of me and my truck. One of them was Jimmy Elbert, standing there videoing away with a tight smile on his lips.

  “Him,” I pointed at Elbert. “He’s been following me.”

  Elbert looked up from his phone, surprised.

  “You there,” said Parker.

  Jimmy turned tail and booked it down the alley with Parker and the other two cops in lukewarm pursuit. The other gawkers kept taking pictures and we were getting attention from everyone else in the apartments. Windows opened. Questions asked. I couldn’t stop crying. Ameche patted my shoulder and I snotted into a bunch of tissues he gave me. Mr. Cervantes had his warm arms around me, asking who he should call. Did I have a garage? A vintage specialist? Should he call my dad? Who?

  “Don’t call my parents. Dad loves this truck more than me,” I managed to get out.

  “That’s not true.”

  I looked up at him with bleary swimming eyes.

  “It only feels true,” he said.

  “Oh, thank God,” said Ameche. “There’s Chuck.”

  I know Ameche thought Chuck was a good thing and he would’ve been if things were normal, but they weren’t. My handsome boyfriend was striding down the alley in rumpled clothes that were obviously from the day before and Julia was by his side, her wide mouth in a firm line probably trying to suppress a smile of triumph or glee at finally catching up to me.

  “Mercy, holy shit, what happened?” asked Chuck as he stopped to look at my truck.

  I didn’t answer. Like I knew. How dare he show up there, looking like that, with her.

  He squatted down and started taking pictures of the shoe marks on my bumper and Julia headed over.

  “Time for your interview,” she said.

  “Pass.”

  “You can’t pass.”

  “I just did.”

  Chuck looked up and said, “Mercy, God dammit, stop being such a pain in the ass. This is probably related to the shooting. You have to make a statement.”

  Julia got out her pad. “When did you first meet Catherine Cabot?”

  There are no words for how much I hate you right now.

  “Ask her,” I said.

  “Her father’s refusing access,” said Julia, her voice heavy with venom. “I assume that was your idea.”

  “You assume wrong.”

  Julia tilted her head and her mouth went into an unhappy horseshoe. “What is your involvement with the Cabot family?”

  Mr. Cervantes squeezed my shoulders. “Mercy needs to put on a robe. She’s freezing.”

  “I need to ask her questions.”

  “She needs to go inside. She’s not wearing shoes,” said Ameche, his face now hard and wary. Did anyone like Julia, other than my boyfriend, that is?

  “Fine.” Julia marched to the door and yanked it open. “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t move. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Clearly, you do.”

  “Drop dead and rot.”

  “Mercy!” said Chuck, standing. “Julia is trying to solve the Calabasas shooting. You owe it to her to give up your information.”

  “I don’t owe her crap,” I said.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  So many things. You for one.

  “I’m going to get dressed,” I said. “Feel free to hit the bricks.”

  “I’m not leaving,” said Chuck, confusion all over him.

  “That’s your prerogative.” I walked inside, spun around, and held up my hand in Julia’s face. “No.”

  “I’m accompanying you to your apartment.”

  I kept my hand up. “Do you have a search warrant?”

  “I don’t need one. I’m not searching.”

  I smiled and a tear rolled into my mouth. “You’re not coming in.”

  “I am. You’re not giving me the slip this time.”

  We’ll see about that.

  “You can’t come in. This is private property,” I said.

  “It’s the hallway.”

  I pointed to the security system. “This is not a public place. It’s a small apartment building. The hallway isn’t a thoroughfare and since it’s secured it could be termed as curtilage as protected under the Fourth Amendment.”

  Julia’s eyebrows came close to joining over her nose. “I’m not searching you or your apartment.”

  I wanted to tap her on the forehead. “You don’t have right of access.”

  “I do.”

  Ameche took a breath and stepped in front of Julia. “You don’t. Mercy’s right. You can knock on the door, but you can’t go in.”

  Parker and the other cops returned without Jimmy Elbert—shocking—and the portly one said, “We came in.”

  “Mr. Cervantes invited you,” said Ameche. “That doesn’t extend to Detective Jones.”

  “Think about what you’re doing, Ameche,” said Julia, her voice going to a hiss.

  “I am.” He wedged himself between her and the door. “You don’t have right of access.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “I’m not inviting you, Julia. If you want to come in, you can get a warrant.”

  “What is your problem?” she asked. “I’m trying to solve a crime here.”

  “By harassing the witnesses, the victims, and arresting nurses who are just doing their job?”

  “He was released.”

  “You can’t come in,” I said, reaching to close the door.

  Julia pointed at Mr. Cervantes. “Can I come in?”

  He gave her the stink eye. Aunt Miriam must’ve given him lessons because it had some serious stank on it. “No.”

  “For God’s sakes, what is wrong with you people?” she asked.

  “I’m looking at it,” I said.

  Julia turned around. “Chuck, can you handle your so-called girlfriend?”

  So-called? I will hurt you, woman. I will hurt you good.

  She made the cardinal mistake people make when dealing with me or any Watts for that matter, she turned her back. I gave her a little push and closed the door.

  Chuck ran over. “Mercy, open up.”

  I gave him a finger wave. He was lucky it wasn’t the finger.

  “You won’t get away.” He ordered the uniforms to cover the front door and I shrugged before heading upstairs with Mr. Cervantes, who looked almost as distressed as I felt.

  “What is wrong with Chuck?” he asked when we were halfway up.

  “That’s yet to be determined,” I said.

  “Your truck was…”

  “Destroyed?”

  “And you were crying.”

  “Yep.” We got to our floor and I went to my apartment. “I’m not crying now though.”

  He hesitated with his hand on his doorknob. “I can see that. What are you going to do?”

  “It’s really better if you don’t know.”

  “I believe that. Good luck.”

  “Thanks and don’t let that Julia get to you,” I said. “She has as little power in this situation as she does charm.”

  “Is she and…”

  “Chuck? I don’t know.”

  “He must be a fool.”

  I thought about Joe Hove, Catherine, Gary, and the whole sorry situation. “He wouldn’t be the first. I’ll see you later. Thanks for everything.”

  I went in, fed the cat and bird, and threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve tee suitable for climbing. In the back of my closet, I found the jacket Chuck got me because he thought I might someday possibly enjoy hiking. It’s like he never met me. I put that on with tennis shoes before exiting the apartment before one of my do-gooder neighbors let Julia in.

  Five minutes later, I w
as on the roof with the ladder our building super kept up there for getting bird’s nests out of the flues. It was a handy extendable and more than long enough to make a bridge to our neighboring building. They built those old buildings tight together and it was probably only ten feet. My ladder was fifteen. I’m not going to lie and say I was thrilled about crawling across a ladder five stories up, but anger has a way of quelling fear. Not so much that I didn’t crawl over it instead of walk, but I did get over, pulled my ladder over, and had it hidden away in under ten minutes.

  It pays to know your neighbors. I happened to know that Cecil and Lisa Howard, apartment 3C, liked to sunbathe naked up there and kept the door propped open for convenience. So I was able to get right into the stairwell, truck down the stairs, and go out the side service entrance completely unseen by anyone. I did catch a glimpse of the uniforms staring diligently at my building’s front door and felt a pang of guilt. They would catch hell, but what can I say? It was me against Julia. I wasn’t prepared to lose on principle.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I DUCKED THROUGH backyards and managed to avoid being seen while I called Fats. I told her what happened and she said she’d pick me up at Ode de Caffeine in ten minutes. I knew what I had to do next, but I would’ve paid good money not to do it. I called my mother.

  “Have you heard from Morty?” Mom asked in a rush.

  “Sorry. No,” I said.

  “Then why are you calling at this ungodly hour. Did something happen?”

  “Is Dad there with you?”

  “He’s asleep next to me,” she said, starting to whisper. “Why?”

  I ducked behind a building when a car passed and said, “Can you go in another room?”

  The old wooden floor creaked, announcing her every step. “I’m out,” she said. “What happened?”

  “You’re going to be getting a visit from the cops and they are not happy.”

  “For goodness sake, what did you do?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Well, I did, but it’s not illegal.”

  “That makes me think it wasn’t quite right either.”

  “You could make a case for that, but it doesn’t matter,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter to who?” Mom asked.

  “Me.”

  Mom laughed softly. “Alright then. Why are they coming?”

  I gave her a quick rundown on what happened and she didn’t interrupt once. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “Your father will have a stroke himself when he hears about that truck. Who did it?’

  “I have no idea.”

  “It must have something to do with Catherine Cabot.”

  “One would think so, but I don’t know why they’re targeting my truck.”

  Mom flipped on her espresso machine and rattled the cups. “That’s a lot of rage. Who have you pissed off lately?”

  “Julia for one and Chuck for another.”

  “Give me a real candidate.”

  “I don’t know. Want to start with this week or are we going for the whole list?”

  Mom sighed. “At least most of them are behind bars.”

  Most.

  “Anything on Morty at all?”

  “Nothing. We’ve asked everyone we can think of. No one in Nikki’s family is answering,” said Mom. “The ironic thing is Morty could tell us exactly what’s going on.”

  I peeked out from between two buildings at Ode de Caffeine to see if there were any cops there. It was unlikely, but you never know.

  I darted across the street and told Mom, “It’s time we go outside for help.”

  “You mean Spidermonkey?”

  “I do. We can say we got his name from Chuck. Dad doesn’t have to know anything else that I’m up to with Spidermonkey. He would never tell Dad.”

  Mom pushed the cappuccino button and I heard the milk frother go to town and then the coffee got expressed. “Your father won’t like it.”

  “What won’t I like?” asked Dad.

  Mom yipped and I heard a smack. “Don’t do that.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I walked in,” he said. “Tell Mercy I said hello.”

  “I heard him,” I said. “He sounds good.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Mom went on to tell Dad about our idea to use Chuck’s hacker and as predicted Dad wasn’t thrilled, but Mom coaxed him into it. I was to call Spidermonkey and give him everything Morty had on Catherine Cabot. But our priority was finding Morty.

  “So there’s nothing for us to do,” said Mom.

  I walked around the back of Ode de Caffeine to wait in the shadows. “You can go to Kronos and see if Aaron or Rodney know where he is.”

  “I tried calling last night, but no one answered. Dinner rush.”

  “They’ll be in now,” I said. “Breakfast is slower and it’s early.”

  “I think we will go,” said Mom.

  “No way, Carolina,” said Dad. “You’re going back to bed. You have to rest before therapy at nine.”

  “I’ll nap after. I’ll have to I get so tired. Right now I want to go to Kronos for breakfast.”

  I held my breath. Mom hadn’t been to Kronos since it happened. Aaron’s place was chock full of people who knew her.

  “Okay,” said Dad. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

  “Did you hear that? We’re out to breakfast,” said Mom. “I’m kind of excited. I hope I don’t drool.”

  “You won’t. It’s a lot better,” I said. “I’m not sure what’s next, other than calling Spidermonkey.”

  “You know what to do. Just think for a minute.”

  “I know that there will be cops at Kronos that are totally going to tell Dad about my truck.”

  “He’ll just have to deal with it. These things happen.”

  “I wish they didn’t.”

  “As long as you’re safe, I don’t care. Stick with Fats,” said Mom. “What did Molly say about the account?”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “She never called me. I haven’t heard from Cabot either.”

  “To the hospital then.”

  “I guess so.”

  “What do you think I should order?” asked Mom. “My swallow is pretty good now, but I still choke if I’m not careful.”

  “I think Aaron will feed you what he thinks you should have.”

  Fats pulled up and I said goodbye as I got in.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “Hospital. Where’s Moe?”

  Fats grimaced. “The vet. She started vomiting last night and I had to take her in.”

  “Did you feed her all of those bacon treats?” I asked.

  “I might’ve.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She couldn’t handle all that fat. I told you.”

  “I’ll tell you something. There’s a comb in the glove compartment. It’s your friend.”

  I dared to look into the mirror and was properly horrified. My ugly cry was bound to make the news and my hair the meme hall of fame. I looked like Kramer from Seinfeld crossed with a lion fish. “So my day just got worse.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that was possible until I saw you.” Fats looked immaculate in her usual fab workout gear—hot pink and shiny—with a messy bun on top of her head and perfect makeup including sparkly lip gloss.

  “Thanks,” I said. “How’s Tiny?”

  “He pulled some stitches getting out of bed on his own and he doesn’t want new ones.”

  “He still has stitches?”

  “Keeps pulling them.” She glanced over at me. “I’ve got some cucumber eye cream in my backpack for emergencies.”

  “And this is an emergency?” I asked.

  “If you want to interview somebody with your eyes practically swollen shut, that’s up to you.”

  “Maybe they’ll get better on their own.”

  Fats snorted and I got stubborn. It could happen. Eyes did unswell. To prove a point, I called Spidermonkey and asked him to locate Uncle Morty and failing that, Nikki. After the initial su
rprise, the typing was fast and furious. He asked, while continuing to type, what I wanted to do if he didn’t find either one of them. I hadn’t really considered that, but I asked for him to start the alibi confirmations that Morty was supposed to do for Joe and Patty Hove and Martin Doyle. I felt confident about Clem’s husband, John, but I gave Spidermonkey the restaurant name, A Whole Lotta Pho, to see if he could reconfirm with a credit card to be on the safe side.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. If Morty turns up ready to work, I’ll back off.”

  “Okay. Do you know Tracy Payne?”

  He chuckled and paused his typing. “Everyone knows Contempo Casual. She’s a legend. Surely, Catherine Cabot isn’t mixed up with her. Tracy’s a train wreck.”

  “No kidding, but she gave me a great lead.” I told him about the deep fakes site and how visible Catherine was. I wanted to know who was looking at those pictures and videos and if he could see anything out of the ordinary.

  “The people who use those sites are all out of the ordinary, but I’ll look for patterns,” said Spidermonkey.

  “I’m guessing these aren’t regular porn people. It’s about Catherine’s account and getting her off it. They’ll only be interested in her.”

  “Got it. How fast do you need this stuff on Catherine?” he asked.

  “Morty’s the priority. Just do what you can. I’m going to see if I can get the account details from the horse’s mouth, Mr. Calabasas.”

  Spidermonkey wished me luck and Fats tapped the vanity mirror on my visor.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “You look like a meth after image,” she said.

  “Well, you look like a Dr. Seuss character,” I said.

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know, but you’ve got a Truffula tree on your head.”

  She grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You can do worse than Dr. Seuss.”

  I could and I did. One look in the mirror convinced me and I put on the cucumber glop, but it didn’t have a chance to do much before we got to the hospital. I did look marginally less tragic, but people were doing double takes and not in a good way. My nose was so swollen I considered putting cucumber gunk on it. My scratches from the incident with Beth Babcock had started to peel and the bruises were now yellow. I’ve looked worse and I’ve felt worse. But at that moment, I couldn’t remember when.