Scot on the Rocks

by Catriona McPherson

  I stepped on the lowest stair to the porch and knew I had visitors – more than one, more than two, or one big one maybe; only, I didn’t know anyone heavy enough for this. Letting myself into the living room, I could hear gentle snores from halfway back, and, as I drew level with the open door to the guest bedroom, I saw Todd, Noleen, Kathi, Devin and Della all standing, watching Blaike sleep. One of his arms was flung over a wide-awake Diego, who was looking up at his mother with anguish in his eyes.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I whispered.

  ‘There’s absolutely no need to whisper,’ Todd said. Boomed, actually.

  ‘Is he OK?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s fine,’ said Della. ‘He’s just the best teenage sleeper I’ve ever seen in my life.’

  ‘And that’s a deep bench,’ Devin added. ‘Man, I thought I could sleep but I never pulled an all-nighter, then two naps, four hours each, the next day.’

  ‘Diego came to wake him up after school,’ said Noleen, ‘but it went the other way. That was two hours ago.’

  ‘Wriggle out, baby,’ I said to the little boy.

  He squirmed like a beetle on its back and managed to escape the dead weight of Blaike’s arm. Blaike stopped snoring, smacked his lips and turned over. Then, after a long sigh, the snoring started up again.

  ‘Poor kid,’ I said. ‘Let’s leave him. We’ve got a lot to do.’

  ‘And I need to get back to work,’ Noleen said. She stamped off towards the front of the boat, causing it to roll and Blaike to smack his head against the box-work of the bed surround. His breathing didn’t even hitch.

  ‘A lot to do, like what?’ said Todd, as the rest of us withdrew to the living room.

  Diego had a skeleton crew of fantasy action figures stored under my coffee table and he settled down to renegotiate one of the treaties he’d hammered out last time, while we grown-ups shared the spoils of the day.

  ‘Have you got the file?’ I asked Kathi. ‘With all the stuff Bran gave us?’

  ‘Got it right here,’ she said, slapping what I thought had been a pile of launderette invoices she’d been hugging close to her chest. ‘I put them in baggies and scanned them through my printer. They’re clean now. What do you want to know?’

  ‘If I riffle through them, will they be dirty again?’

  ‘You could wash your hands,’ she said.

  ‘If I tell you I washed them half an hour ago and haven’t touched my face, and if I promise not to lick my finger while I turn the sheets, could you cope with that?’

  ‘Or, Lexy,’ Todd said, ‘could you park the counsellor and let us speak to our co-worker in the investigations wing of Trinity? Is she there right now?’

  ‘I’ll look for whatever it is,’ Kathi said. ‘Todd’s right: I’d rather have my therapy when it’s scheduled. And in private.’

  ‘Private!’ said Devin. ‘Is that for me?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said. ‘OK. Kathi: can you get into Brandeee’s personal credit-card statements for before the turn of the year and see if you can find a payment to someone that looks like a spa or a retreat or something? It’s going to be for a few thou.’

  ‘Okey-dokey,’ Kathi said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s the only chip in the perfection of Brandeee Lancer that I’ve been able to find all day. It’s all I heard from everyone I spoke to: she was an angel, the perfect woman, a role model, a miracle, a machine, an inspiration, a gift from God. Except that she didn’t give her staff a Christmas present this year and she gave them a weird Valentine’s prezzie too. Now, Bran thinks she bought five-hundred-dollar gift vouchers’ – I paused for someone to whistle, which both Devin and Kathi did – ‘for some … I don’t know … Paltrow-esque bunch of weirdos who run a … I don’t know … centre for overpriced crap, somewhere out of town, and I’m thinking … I don’t know.’

  ‘Masterful,’ said Todd. ‘Have you ever thought of hiring yourself out as an expert witness? Grisham couldn’t write stuff like that.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of shutting up and stuffing—?’ I said.

  ‘I get it,’ said Della. ‘Whether she—’

  ‘Wait,’ said Devin. ‘Is Della on a consultation tariff for sharing intel?’

  ‘Intel?’ I said. ‘No. Insights? Yes. On a two-hundred-dollar flat rate, OK?’

  ‘Devin,’ Della said, then let out a stream of Spanish too fast for me to follow. Its general drift wasn’t a mystery.

  ‘Can’t eat stubbornness,’ Devin said, ‘with or without pride sauce. If I’m not allowed to donate anymore—’

  Kathi looked up and gave the statutory ‘Ew.’ She had just finished wiping down my laptop with an antiseptic towelette and now she was ready, double-gloved in latex, to start keying in details.

  ‘—then we need all the casual work going,’ Devin finished.

  ‘Awwwww,’ said Todd. ‘You guys are a “we”? Totes adorbs!’

  ‘“Totes adorbs” is on the list, Todd,’ I said. ‘That’s going to cost you.’

  ‘When did we add “totes adorbs”?’ he said, genuinely puzzled.

  ‘After “YOLO” and before “you do you”,’ I said.

  ‘Police state,’ said Todd.

  Diego broke off the talks between rival kingdoms and sat back on his heels. ‘You’re silly,’ he said. ‘You say a lot and it’s all silly.’ Then he bent and took up the mantle of statesmanship again.

  ‘I think I’ve found it,’ Kathi said, raising her head from behind my laptop. ‘In October, she paid out three thousand, six hundred and thirty dollars to something called PPPerfection.’

  ‘Three thousand?’ said Della. ‘How many nurses do they have?’

  ‘Three receptionists and three hygienists, I’m guessing,’ I said. ‘One hundred and five dollars tax and handling per five-hundred-dollar gift voucher. Sounds right. Huh.’

  ‘Disappointed?’ said Todd.

  ‘Yeah, I thought if she was lying about it to Bran and really she had squirrelled the money away somewhere it would be evidence that she left of her own accord.’

  ‘What about the acrylic?’ said Kathi.

  ‘She could have accidentally ripped it off and sent it as a decoy, after she heard about Mama Cuento.’

  ‘But it was hand delivered. She’d have had to come back and walk down her own street. Kinda risky,’ Devin said.

  ‘Or she could have paid someone to place it,’ said Todd. ‘Speaking of short gigs for cash, Della, what were you going to say?’

  ‘Whether she pretended to buy something because she was saving up, or she bought something that didn’t arrive, it could be significant. Maybe she complained and made them angry. Maybe she went to face them and made them really angry.’

  ‘After bedtime one night?’ I said.

  ‘And why did she not buy replacement gifts?’ said Della.

  ‘Moment passed?’ Kathi suggested. ‘Nah, you’re right. That is weird. It’s out of character for her to promise something, have people expect it and then not deliver.’

  Her words caught at me. ‘Is it?’ I said. ‘Is it though?’ But, as I opened my mouth to say more, suddenly there was a barrage of sound as multiple pairs of feet came pounding up the steps to the porch and a cop-knock battered my front door.

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘There’s a minor child in here,’ Devin shouted as I made my way to open up. I didn’t know whether to be enchanted that his thoughts went straight to his beloved Della’s baby boy or freaked that the legalistic terminology – minor child? – came so easily off his tongue. That was a window on to something, wasn’t it?

  I opened the door with an ‘Evening, officer,’ that I amended to ‘detective’ when I saw Mike standing there, flanked by Soft Cop and also Mills of God, the slowest police officer in fifty states, the district and Puerto Rico. The three of them were the first Cuento fuzz I had ever encountered, away back on Independence Day. ‘He-hey!’ I said. ‘The whole gang! We re-forming the band?’

  Mike glared and Soft Cop
rolled his eyes. Mills of God frowned in puzzlement. He’d chew it over at his own pace and get to the answer sometime before Easter.

  ‘How can I help you?’ I said. ‘Do come in, by the way. Tea?’

  ‘You still pushing that muck?’ Mike said. She always took it as a personal affront when I offered tea. But she didn’t like it any better when I learned the phrase, Frosty one with your name on it, right there in the cooler. There’s no pleasing some people.

  ‘Here’s why we’re here,’ Mike began when the three of them had squeezed themselves into an awkward kick-line arrangement in front of the woodstove. My living room is not large and, Diego’s diplomacy having failed and my hearthrug now being a theatre of war with battles raging on several fronts, there wasn’t a great deal of room for the sudden addition of three sizable officers. Also, maybe it was the shift in weight, or much more likely the aggressive knocking, but, one way or another, Blaike had been awoken and now appeared in the doorway, scratching his belly and yawning.

  ‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Or is it afternoon?’ Then he opened his squeezed-shut eyes and took in the tableau.

  ‘Mister Kowalski,’ Mike said. ‘I might have known.’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ said Blaike. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Your taste in acquaintances doesn’t improve,’ Mike said to me, earning a ‘Hey!’ from both Todd and Kathi. Della usually kept her mouth shut and her head down whenever cops were near. It killed me to see it, although it was sweet to notice that Devin wore the same expression as she did and was avoiding their eyes in exactly the same way.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school, up in Oregon?’ said Mike. ‘Does your father know you’re here? Does anyone here have permission to be harbouring this child?’

  Blaike said, ‘He’s not my father.’

  And Todd said, ‘Yes, someone does.’

  But neither of them loud enough to cover my, ‘Not Oregon. Iowadihio.’

  Diego, always my biggest fan whether I’m trying to entertain him or not, cracked up laughing.

  ‘I’m going for a …’ Blaike said. ‘To the bathroom.’

  ‘Vamanos, papi,’ Della said, standing and holding out a hand. I loved her for speaking Spanish at that moment, a little foot-stamp of pride to offset the fact that they were hustling off the boat, with Devin following. None of the cops looked at them, but none of them looked particularly troubled by the lowered heads and scurrying feet either.

  ‘What do you get from that?’ I said. ‘Don’t answer. What do you want?’

  ‘We’re looking for Brandee Lancer,’ said Mike. ‘Mother of that little firestarter, who taught him everything he knows.’

  ‘So are we,’ said Kathi. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Pretty well,’ said Mike. ‘We’ve found her son and we can conclude that she’s here with him. The only remaining question is whether she’s been here all along and you’ve all being providing false information to a police officer. Which is a serious offence.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said. ‘Brandeee’s not here.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Mike’s smugness would have been over the top for a villain in early Scooby Doo. ‘Well, in that case, someone in this room needs to come with me, and my guess is’ – she turned to Kathi – ‘you.’

  Kathi scrambled to her feet, letting my laptop slide to the floor. ‘To the police station?’ she said. ‘Am I under arrest? To go to the tank? I can’t. I can’t. I’ll die.’ And she shot off along the corridor to the back of the boat, with Todd in hot pursuit after her and me shouting, ‘Catch her! She’ll jump! Todd, save her!’

  Both uniformed cops leaped into action, but we caught a break. Soft Cop is not a small man and Mills of God – once you add his belt with its many accessories – is thick round the middle too. Add the fact that my corridor is narrow, et voilà. They were jammed in the doorway like Pooh Bear, and only getting more tightly jammed for all their struggling.

  ‘That looks like guilt to me,’ Mike said. ‘Jesus, Carl! Andy! Someone move backwards!’

  ‘It’s not guilt,’ I said, watching them both ignore her and continue to try to fit two sizeable belted torsos into a slender passageway. I wished I had a camera running. ‘It’s a cleanliness phobia. Lock-up would cause her a level of trauma she’s not equipped to withstand. What’s she supposed to have done anyway?’

  ‘Identity theft, hacking, offences against EFTA …’

  ‘What? What the hell’s EFTA?’ I said.

  ‘Electronic Funds Transfer …’ said Mike, but then ran dry. Finally, Mills of God managed to get ahead of Soft Cop in the passageway and barrelled off along it, bouncing off my walls with a sickening scraping noise.

  ‘If he’s wrecking my antique decor …’ I said. ‘She wasn’t hacking. And she definitely wasn’t transferring funds. Bran gave us passwords and PINs when he hired us to find her.’

  ‘Dr Lancer doesn’t have the authority to hand out his wife’s passwords and PINs,’ Mike said.

  ‘But Kathi didn’t know that,’ I said. ‘Molly, seriously, please.’ Mike bristled like a hedgehog sucking a lime in a draught. She hated being called Mike and I didn’t blame her. It was a slur on her sexuality and the worst kind of locker-room talk. The only thing she hated even more was being called her actual name. Which, to be fair, didn’t suit her. ‘Aren’t you scared of anything?’ I said. ‘Can’t you give Kathi a break? She’d need to be on suicide watch and you don’t need all that paperwork, surely.’

  ‘Did you find anything?’ she said.

  ‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘Negotiating instead of empathizing, OK. Yes, we did. So will you let Kathi give a statement here? Instead of at the station?’

  They were coming back. Mills, Kathi, Todd and Soft, in single file – as is best, in my passageway – followed by Blaike.

  ‘Why the conga line?’ he asked. No one answered him.

  ‘Mrs Muntz,’ Mike said, ‘can you tell us what you were doing online in the last half hour?’

  ‘Is that what this is?’ Kathi said. ‘How the hell did you know, anyway? Do the taxpayers of Cuento know that they’re funding Bourne-level cybersecurity?’

  Mike rolled her eyes. ‘There’s an automatic alert on her accounts and a link to our dispatch. No one’s hiding in a panel van with a bugging device.’

  ‘Under the authority of our client, Branston Lancer,’ Kathi said, ‘I accessed the credit-card account of his legal spouse, for the sole purpose of carrying out my contracted duty.’ She glanced at Blaike, then back at Mike.

  ‘And what did you find?’ Mike said.

  ‘Why are you snooping in my mom’s account?’ said Blaike. ‘Does she know?’

  Kathi ignored him. ‘She paid three thousand dollars for gift vouchers for her staff, which the staff never received. It was an irregularity Dr Lancer wanted us to clear up for him. She’s usually generous to a fault and it was one of the few areas of abnormal behaviour in recent weeks.’

  I was braced for Mike to scoff and say that information was useless and we’d insulted her by bigging it up. But she surprised me. ‘Good instincts,’ she said. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ said Todd, batting his eyes and putting Mike’s hackles right back up again.

  ‘You take all of us back in time to when life was harder when you pull that shtick,’ she said.

  ‘What shtick?’ said Todd. ‘This is me. I’m a southern belle trapped in the body of a burlesque-era stage-mother trapped in the body of a fabulous gay man.’

  ‘Like a turducken,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Todd. ‘Multilayered, brown and juicy.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Mike, which, coming from her while she was on duty, was clear evidence of how much he bugged her. ‘We don’t have time to waste on this. I’ve handed off the statues to the Feds, but there’s still a break—’

  ‘—in?’ I said. ‘A related break-in?’

  ‘We don’t have time to stand and chew the fat about our cases with civilians,’
Mike said.

  ‘But if it’s related,’ I said, ‘we might be able to help. I know we’re not officially detectives, but Bran’s employed us and—’

  ‘Not officially detectives?’ Mike said. ‘You’re not unofficially detectives. You’re not even imaginary detectives. You couldn’t even go to a costume party as detectives if someone else kicked in the raincoats and fedoras.’

  ‘But is it related?’ I said.

  Mike turned to Todd. ‘How do you stand her?’ she asked. ‘She’s so annoying.’

  ‘Oh she is, she is,’ said Todd, absentmindedly, as he scrolled on his phone. ‘But then so am I. I’m absolutely infuriating. You just haven’t spent enough time with me yet. We could go on a picnic one day. Then you’d see.’

  Mike turned to Kathi. ‘How do you stand them?’ she asked.

  ‘I drink,’ Kathi said, and got a slow, appreciative nod in reply.

  ‘Aha!’ said Todd, looking up. ‘Soccer Jew ear.’

  Everyone else looked interested but not befuddled.

  ‘You’re going to have to give me a bit more,’ I said.

  ‘S-A-C-A-G-A-W-E-A,’ Todd spelled out. ‘There are statues of her all over the west, but not as many today as yesterday. One in Washington State got boosted overnight. They chipped her baby off and left it behind.’

  ‘This is getting ridiculous,’ said Kathi.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Todd. ‘Lots of vigilante gatherings at the other Sacagaweas all over the place now, from the coast to Wyoming. Oh! They’ve got a living cordon round Phyllis Wheatley, in Boston.’

  ‘I hope she appreciates it,’ I said.

  ‘Is my mom at a protest?’ said Blaike. ‘Is that why she won’t answer her phone?’

  ‘That’s all outside our jurisdiction,’ Mike said.

  ‘And the unrelated break-in?’ I said.

  Mike heaved a huge sigh and pressed one index finger into the corner of her eye. ‘On campus,’ she said. ‘A break-in at the …’ Then she flicked a glance at Todd and clicked the side of her mouth, as if she was rethinking what she was going to say.