Small Time Crime (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 10)

by A W Hartoin

  Thinking about pretending to be getting married made me sleepy. It was all so exhausting. Everyone needed something. Even dead people needed something. I’d managed to put off looking through Maggie’s box, but it was out there, waiting to ruin any peace of mind I might have. I snuggled down, comforted by Chuck and Pick’s incredible heat and drifted off.

  “Mercy.”

  I don’t know if it was a minute later, but it sure felt like it.

  “Huh?”

  “The door,” whispered Chuck.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “It’s Aunt Miriam.”

  I yawned and shifted my head so that Pick’s ear slid off my face. “She can’t hear through walls.”

  “Are you sure about that? Because I’m not.”

  I listened and nothing happened. “You were dreaming. Nobody’s here.”

  “It’s a nightmare and she is here,” said Chuck rolling over and cuddling me.

  “How do you know? Don’t tell me you can sense the presence of angry.”

  “Wait for it.”

  A sharp—and yes, angry—rapping echoed through my apartment.

  “See?” asked Chuck.

  I burrowed into his chest, so warm and smelled heavenly. “Maybe she’ll go away.”

  “Has she ever gone away?”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  More rapping. She was going to damage the wood with that stupid cane.

  “Why is she here? Are you supposed to do something?” asked Chuck.

  “Not until ten. What time is it?”

  “Quarter till eight.”

  I knew Aunt Miriam believed in punctuality and by that I mean be early for everything, but this was ridiculous. “I’m not doing it whatever it is.”

  “You’re going to do it. Just get up and answer the door.”

  The rapping got angrier. I know that sounds impossible, but I could totally tell.

  “You answer it. Don’t you have to go to work?” I asked.

  “I’m flexing my time so I can sleep in with you.”

  “That’s so sweet. Go get the door.”

  Chuck rolled away and put his hands behind his head to show off his exceptional muscular development. “She’s your aunt.”

  “She hits.”

  “Toughen up, buttercup.”

  I sat up and slapped his rock hard abs. It hurt my hand and not him at all. “Don’t quote my father to me and you only say that because she doesn’t hit you.”

  “It’s the perks of being an honorary Watts. I’m not blood. It’s all you, baby.”

  “I might hate you,” I said.

  “I’m still not answering the door.”

  Dammit.

  I would’ve used my so-called feminine wiles, but who had time for that? I crawled off the end of the bed and staggered to the door. It was Aunt Miriam, full of righteous anger and caffeine.

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” She stomped in. “We needed to leave five minutes ago.”

  “The appointment is at ten. I have a life, such as it is.”

  “What is this? What is this?” She poked my spider bites. “You look contagious.”

  “Spider bites and I wish it was contagious.”

  “What have you been doing? Never mind. Get dressed. Chop. Chop. Let’s go.”

  I stepped back and put a breakfast bar stool between us. “It’s at ten. I’m not sitting in a waiting room for two hours.”

  “It’s at eight. I changed it.”

  “You didn’t tell me or ask me, for that matter.”

  She snorted derisively.

  “It matters. I don’t need to go. I don’t want to go.”

  “Get dressed. I need a ride.”

  “How’d you get here then?”

  “Uber.”

  I raised my palms at her in the internationally-recognized symbol of duh.

  “Don’t make me call your mother.”

  Chuck yelled from the bedroom. “Go ahead. I just got called in anyway.”

  Aunt Miriam looked at me in triumph and I marched back into the bedroom, got dressed, and threw three shoes at Chuck. He didn’t care. Somebody got murdered. I was off the list and he was out the door before me.

  When I came out into the living room, I marched past Aunt Miriam and flung open the door. “Alright. Come on.”

  Aunt Miriam didn’t move. She stood in the living room, frozen, clutching her cane and purse to her chest. Then I realized what she was looking at. Right in front of her was Maggie’s box, her name scrawled on the side where it couldn’t be missed.

  “Come on,” I said with my heart in my throat. “We’ll be late.”

  “What is this?” she said softly.

  “Um…late. Let’s go.”

  She didn’t answer and I got nervous. Aunt Miriam quiet was not a thing. “If we’re late, they’ll cancel and they’ll still charge you fifty bucks for missing it.”

  That did the trick. Her innate cheapness always won out and she turned around to march out the door and down the stairs. I had to run after her. She was pretty speedy on those little scrawny legs and she beat me to Mom’s car. Happily, the construction site was a ghost town and I didn’t have to deal with being called a smelly slut in front of a nun. I know they would’ve done it. I once had a guy make obscene gestures at me in front of Nana and Pop Pop. There’s nothing too low for dirtbags.

  I got her in and drove to the doctor’s building in an uncomfortable silence that made me clench my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. Aunt Miriam didn’t look at me or say anything. I used to pray for that, but, like with most things, be careful what you wish for. Something was coming and it was going to be bad.

  And it was. Bad. Uncomfortable. The kind of thing you would totally pay big bucks to have someone else do for you, like cleaning out your septic tank or lancing an anal abscess. Yes. I’ve done that. The doctor was too nauseated.

  Aunt Miriam sat in Dr. Harrison’s office with the full array of plastic female body parts on his desk while he tried to get her to say what her issue was. If I had to hear him say the word “vagina” one more time I would lose it.

  When I was just about to climb out of my skin, my father called and, for the first time ever, I was happy about it.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I have to take this.”

  Aunt Miriam started to protest, but I was out in a flash.

  “Hey, Dad. Did you get one of those anti-aging facials yet?”

  “What? No. Shut up,” he said. “How’s the case?”

  “You did, didn’t you? How about the eyebrow shaping because yours are off the hook wide.”

  “If you weren’t my flesh and blood—”

  “I know, I know. You’d kill me and dump me on a hog farm to be used as a snack. Whatever.”

  Dad took a breath and a different tack. “So, darling daughter, I heard you were nosing around on the Sister Maggie case. How’s it looking?”

  “Morty called you?”

  “Yeah. Hurry up. I raced ahead, but your mother’s going to catch up any minute.”

  “Raced ahead?”

  “Focus, Mercy. You have to do this now and not just for the business,” said Dad.

  I walked down the hall and into an empty exam room. So many speculums. “Why’s that?”

  “Morty’s talking crazy. He thinks Nikki will come back if he has a heart attack and he’s going to the gym.”

  “I knew that.”

  “He’s running on a treadmill, Mercy,” said Dad. “He’s trying to kill himself. You have to get to Greece.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “It’s been two days.”

  “On the cold case from hell.” I gave Dad the rundown and he almost sounded pleased, except for me not going through Sister Maggie’s stuff.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

  Apologize for missing my birthday parties, driving my mother crazy, smelling like a corpse at my first communion—

  �
��I want you to get your license and join the business,” said Dad.

  “What the hell?”

  “That’s not news. You love this work and what’s more you’re decent at it.”

  Decent?

  “You’re blowing me away with all that flattery, but I think I’ll have to decline.”

  “Why? You’re other career isn’t working out. You have to earn a living.”

  “I’m a nurse,” I said.

  “Not right now.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  His tone changed. “Seriously, Mercy. It’s our thing, our family thing and I…I need you.”

  “I want to be a nurse,” I said. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

  “I wanted to be the FBI director, but things don’t always go to plan. In fact, they almost never do.”

  “You wanted to be in the FBI? How come you turned them down when they asked you?”

  Dad told me a story I’d never heard before, which was surprising, since Dad liked to talk when he was around. Straight out of college, he applied to the FBI and thought he had a good shot with a double major of psychology and criminal justice. He got through all the testing and they turned him down. No explanation. Said he wasn’t suited. I’d never known my father to not get what he wanted, except for a perfect score on the SAT, but I don’t think that counts. He’d spent his career making them want him so he could turn them down. A little bit obsessive and twisted, but, hey, that’s my dad. He did accept consultation work and the occasional teaching gig. Being Tommy Watts, he worked those harder than anyone they’d ever seen.

  “Do you see my point?” he asked.

  “Not even a little.”

  He groaned. “It worked better this way. I got what I needed.”

  “To be a cop, instead of an FBI agent? I don’t know about that.”

  “I got your mother and you, you dipstick. If I’d been in the FBI I wouldn’t have met your mother. You think I’d give that up for the directorship?”

  Not Mom. Me maybe.

  “I guess not,” I said.

  “Are you going to come in with me?” Dad asked.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. Now get on that box—oh, shit, there’s your mother.” Dad hung up and I went back to the office, trying to think of an excuse not to go back in, but I wasn’t fast enough. Dr. Harrison stuck his head out the door and said, “Miss Watts, can you come back in, please?”

  I forced myself to go back in and it looked as though nothing had changed. Aunt Miriam sat there like an angry statue and the female reproductive system show and tell was still on the doctor’s desk. Dr. Harrison sat down and picked up a cup of coffee.

  I sat down next to Aunt Miriam and tried to find my patience, but it was MIA. “Why are we here?” I asked.

  The doctor sipped his coffee and said, “I’m getting paid. I don’t know about you.”

  “Definitely not getting paid.”

  Aunt Miriam started grinding her teeth and I said, “Fine. If you’re not going to speak, I’m out. I’ve got things to do as I think you know.”

  Nothing. My family. Honestly.

  “I’ll call my mom. I swear I will.”

  Nothing.

  “I already told my dad.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “Hallelujah,” said Dr. Harrison.

  “Quiet,” Aunt Miriam hissed at him. “I’ll deal with you in a minute. You told your father that I was…we were…”

  “He knows about gynecologists. It didn’t upset his delicate sensibilities. He doesn’t have any.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it felt good to say.

  “You should never have done that.”

  The cane went up, but I channeled Fats and moved fast, grabbing it and throwing it over my shoulder. Not half bad for a marshmallow Peep. “Look, we’re having this out right now or I’m not coming back. Understand?”

  “I can’t say it,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t make me get out one of those dolls they use with molested children.”

  “I have one,” said Dr. Harrison, digging in a drawer.

  “You are not amusing,” she said. “Neither of you is.”

  I stood up. “As it turns out, I’m neither amusing nor amused. Let’s go and move on with our lives, such as they are.”

  Aunt Miriam didn’t move and Dr. Harrison looked pretty worried that he might have to carry her out. He probably knew about the purse bricks. “Sister Miriam, I am incredibly discreet. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here, but I have to say this is just a waste of time for everyone.”

  He stood up to walk around the desk and I picked up the cane, thinking about when to call Mom.

  “I have a lump,” said Aunt Miriam in a strained voice that sounded like it belonged to someone else entirely.

  The doctor sat down and between the two of us, we got it out of her. Aunt Miriam had a double prolapse, bladder and uterus. At least that’s what we concluded. She wasn’t quite ready for an exam of the “area” as she called it. I didn’t really get it until it came out that she’d never had the “area” examined. Like never. Not a single pap smear. Nothing. I guess she didn’t need anything until now and it was critical, but we couldn’t get her to put on that paper smock. She wouldn’t get close to an exam room. I started thinking Dad was right. Healthcare was not for me.

  We made another appointment for Tuesday at ten and I promised to do something to prep her, although I had no idea how to do that. Dr. Harrison walked us out and gave me a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Good job.”

  Good job? What was good about it?

  “Alright,” I said to Aunt Miriam. “I’m outta here.”

  “I need a ride home.”

  So close.

  “Why are you going home? Don’t you have hospital business?”

  Staff to harass. Candy stripers to terrify.

  “I’m going to take a warm bath in Epsom salts,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  That’s how I ended up driving out to the convent. Dad was right. Sometimes things do work out.

  The convent sat on a low hill with a perfect blue sky highlighting the dark stone and lovely arches. When I was little I thought being a nun would be great if you got to live there. Then I found out about all the praying and became less enthusiastic.

  Aunt Miriam was never enthusiastic, unless it was about wiping out sin or whipping me into shape. I’m happy to say she never came close on achieving the second one. But she had a good record on sin and her views were pretty progressive, considering her age. She had no issue with prostitutes or drug addicts. Dealers and pimps were her enemy and she went after them hard. Whole neighborhoods were cleared out just because the sinners couldn’t bear to deal with her anymore. She helped the girls with therapy and the addicts with rehab, spending hours listening to what brought them so low. She didn’t talk or lecture, not to them. The family was a different story.

  On that day, Aunt Miriam stayed silent as she sat in the passenger seat and struggled with something. Her fingers tapped on her purse. She ground her teeth and sat so stiffly it looked like she had a corset on.

  I had stuff to do and sitting in a parking lot forever wasn’t on the list. “If you’re going to yell at me, I wish you’d just get it over with.”

  Aunt Miriam swallowed and said, “I don’t think I can get out.”

  Of all the things I had considered, that was not on the list.

  “Do you want me to help you?”

  “No.”

  Why can’t it be easy?

  “Do you want me to get someone else?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Don’t get mad. She’s in pain, not just a pain.

  “Alright. We’ll sit here and waste gas. I heard that’s good for the environment. We totally need those polar ice caps to melt.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Aunt Miriam.

  “Look who’s talking.”
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  “I am never ridiculous.”

  “Wrong. How about this?” I asked. “Do you need my help?”

  She pursed her incredibly thin lips and I took that for a yes. So I got out and went around to her side, opened the door, and maneuvered her out. My left arm was still in the sling and it wasn’t the easiest of maneuvers, but I got her out without any crying, me or her.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the doctor?”

  “Certainly not. Our appointment is on Tuesday.”

  Our appointment. Right.

  I held her around the waist and half-carried her in. Where’s Fats when you need her? She used dumbbells heavier than Aunt Miriam. This would be easy peasy for her.

  It took me a half hour to walk her in and get her into her little apartment. I insisted she go straight to bed and she actually agreed. If Mom had been in town, I would’ve called her immediately. Aunt Miriam going to bed at nine thirty in the morning. This was serious.

  I tucked her in and made tea and toast. “Well then, I’m outta here. See ya.”

  “Wait.”

  I knew it.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m only going to say this once,” she said.

  I’ll believe it when I see it.

  “Go for it,” I said.

  “Don’t do it.”

  That was it. Not another word.

  “Illuminating,” I said.

  “I mean it.”

  “I’m sure you do, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her lips went white she was pressing them together so hard.

  “Are we talking about telling Mom about your gyno situation or Maggie or something else altogether?”

  “Don’t investigate,” she said. “Now leave and do not tell anyone about anything ever.”

  “That’s a blanket statement and I’m not going to agree to it.”

  Then she pulled out the Dad card. “It’s for the family.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I never bought that when my father said it and I’m not buying it now.”

  “I’m your family and I’m asking you not to.”

  I crossed my arms and said, “I’m your family and I’m asking you, why?”

  She wouldn’t say anything. I tried and tried. Maggie was her friend. A murderer escaped justice and probably killed somebody else. Dominic should be cleared.