My Bad Grandad

by A W Hartoin

  She went downstairs and I got in the shower, trying not to aggravate my head wounds. The inside was already aggravated enough. The cut and egg stung badly. But it couldn’t distract me from the M1911. Grandad played it off, but it was significant. It couldn’t be a coincidence that it was the same weapon he was issued. Somebody was making a point.

  I came downstairs forty minutes later trying to figure out how I could get Jeanette alone. I needn’t have worried. She pounced on me when I turned the corner to the kitchen.

  “Oh, Mercy. How are you?” Jeanette hugged me. If she noticed my stiff response, she didn’t show it. I’m not that big on hugging, certainly not with virtual strangers that I suspected of murder.

  “I’m fine. How are you?” I asked, prying her arms off me.

  “I’m surviving. I don’t know what I’m going to do without my darling Steven. He was my life, you know,” she said before breaking down. I led her into the kitchen and Virginia ran over. “Honey, are you okay? What did you say, Mercy?”

  Why’s it always my fault?

  “I asked her how she’s doing,” I said, starting to go for the food on the island, but Jeanette grabbed my hand. “Stay with me for a little while.”

  I didn’t want to comfort her. I wanted to question her, but she was creeping me out. I reminded myself of what Dad always said. People lie was number one and there are no normal reactions was number two. You couldn’t accurately predict how people would behave when a loved one got murdered. He said cops got wrapped around the axel with what people should do, like there was a right way to grieve and they’d know it when they saw it. Nope. The cops totally believed Susan Smith and they didn’t believe Bill Wegerle. So Jeanette was creeping me out. It didn’t mean anything, unless it did. As Dad would say, I wouldn’t know until I knew.

  “Okay,” I said, sitting down with her on the love seat and patting her hand.

  “I’ll fix you a plate,” said Virginia and I nodded gratefully.

  “Can I ask you some questions?” I asked.

  “I told everything to the police, but I don’t think they believed me. Can you imagine that? I’m a widow and they don’t seem to care.”

  “Well, you fought a lot.”

  “No more than other people,” she said with a big sniff.

  “You threatened to beat him to death with a bat.”

  She pulled her hand away. “Not you, too. That was a lover’s quarrel. The police should be concentrating on who killed Hal and stabbed Robert.”

  “Not Steve?” This was feeling weirder all the time.

  “But you see it’s the same person. It has to be. They were all friends and in Vietnam together. It’s not a coincidence.”

  “I wanted to ask you about that,” I said.

  Virginia brought me a breakfast burrito and a giant mug of coffee. “Aaron made some other things, but this will be easier to eat over here.”

  Dammit.

  “Thanks.” I took a bite and waited for Jeanette to stop crying. Like Trevino, I thought it seemed sincere, sort of. Maybe she didn’t kill him, but she was happy he was dead. I could totally buy that. Something was definitely off.

  “I loved him so much,” she said when the wailing calmed down.

  Yeah, I don’t think so.

  “Do you know Cheryl Morris?” I asked bluntly.

  She sucked in a breath. “Who’s that?”

  Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.

  “The wife of your husband’s lieutenant in Vietnam.”

  “I wouldn’t know her. Steve was enlisted. Fraternizing is frowned upon. Steve was so sweet. Just the sweetest man.”

  That you wanted to hit with a hammer. Right. Got it. “Did Steve know Cheryl Morris?”

  “No.” The tears threatened, but I was undeterred.

  “She was at The Rack and Ruin on Tuesday night.”

  “So were a lot of people.”

  “He left the minute he saw her. You seemed to recognize her, too.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jeanette, her face getting redder.

  “Steve and Cheryl weren’t emailing each other?”

  She stood up with a jolt. “He wasn’t cheating on me, if that’s what you’re implying.” She began the ugly cry and Virginia rushed over and ushered her away with a chilling look at me.

  Smooth, Mercy. Real smooth.

  I ate my burrito and drank my coffee as fast as humanly possible. The kitchen was empty and I didn’t know where everyone else was. I could get up to Jeanette and Janet’s room and search it, if I was quick. Trevino hadn’t issued a search warrant yet and it would be nice to get through her stuff first.

  I put my dishes in the sink and crept out to the stairs. I could hear Jeanette crying somewhere, maybe back in the office. I went up the stairs to her room to try the door. Locked. I should’ve known. And the lock was a big old-fashioned one that took a brass key. I wasn’t sure I could pick that. Our lock was super loose. Picking would be difficult, but I’d give it a try.

  “What are you doing?”

  I screeched because I’m cool, calm, and collected. Janet stood behind me, having come out of the bathroom. “Um…”

  “Mercy.” She crossed her arms.

  “Okay, fine. I was going to search your room. I mean, Jeanette’s room.”

  Janet came over close to whisper, “Barney and I already did. There’s nothing.”

  “You searched it?”

  “While you were talking to Officer Trevino. We had to make sure she didn’t have a gun. She didn’t, but I snuck out and slept in Virginia’s office anyway.”

  “I don’t think she’d kill you,” I said.

  “But you think she’d kill Steve.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t kill him on Tuesday.”

  I glanced at the door. “You’re sure there’s nothing?”

  “I am. And I’ve been wracking my brain for why someone would do these things. I’m sure you’re right. It was the war, but Barney said his dad never said a bad thing about anyone and that was my experience. Calvin was a very positive man.”

  “Jeanette just told me she didn’t know Cheryl Morris,” I said.

  Janet’s shoulders jerked. “I’m positive that she knows Cheryl. Not well, maybe, but she was at the reunions. Barney has the pictures.”

  “I didn’t know there were formal reunions.”

  “Ace avoids them, but the rest go. It’s a big deal and the Gold Stars are always there.”

  “Steve went? He was dishonorably discharged.”

  “I think they didn’t have the heart to say no. You saw the tattoos and the clothes he wore. He was all about his time in the service.”

  “So Jeanette lied big time.”

  Janet nodded. “You’d better go to the barn. DBD has been rehearsing for hours.”

  “Does the barn have electricity?”

  “They’ve decided to do an acoustic set at four.”

  My stomach twisted. “Four?”

  “You’re playing at The Chip at four and nine,” said Janet like this was common knowledge.

  “How the hell,…oops, sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve heard worse. This morning, in fact. You’re playing twice because the word is out that DBD is here and people started lining up last night.”

  “Tell me you’re kidding. Please. I beg you,” I said.

  “It is what it is.”

  “Okay. You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  I went in my room and opened the window. No drain pipe. Nothing. Darn it. “I’m going to find Cheryl Morris and ask her what she was talking to the Millfords and Steve and all those other soldiers about. You’ve got to cover for me.”

  “I don’t know,” said Janet. “Mickey needs you.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s an over-preparer. I have to get to town and I don’t have much time.”

  Janet pursed her lips. “Ace says you�
��re going to drop it.”

  I snorted. “He did, did he? I don’t think so. And he should know better. He raised my dad and my dad raised me. We don’t walk away. Not gonna happen.”

  “You really think you can figure it out? They haven’t given you much to go on.”

  “They haven’t given me anything, but that’s no reason to stop.”

  Janet’s pursed lips spread into a smile. “Barney’s right about you.”

  “Probably. What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t give up. Barney says you’ll go back to Hunt as many times as it takes to get information out of that murderer.”

  The last thing I wanted to think about was Kent Blankenship. I could only deal with one murderer at a time. “Maybe. I hate going out there.”

  “But you will, won’t you? He has information about other deaths. Everyone thinks so.” She needed me to say yes and I needed her help.

  “Yes. I’ll go back,” I said. “Can you make sure the coast is clear? I really have to go.”

  “I’ll do it, but I won’t like it.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel about going to Hunt.”

  She nodded and went down the stairs. I heard her say loudly, “Mercy’s using the ladies’ room. She’ll be down in a bit. Her head’s hurting. Do you have some aspirin?”

  I crept down the stairs and peeked around the corner.

  “No, no. She’s fine. I’ll take it up,” said Janet, waving me toward the front door. I dashed through the common area and slipped out. Nobody was on the wide front porch and I went to the side to see if the parking lot was clear. It was. The barn beyond the parking lot had its huge sliding doors open, but nobody was in the opening. I ran for my truck, my feet crunching on the gravel. I got to the door and inserted the key in the lock. A great flurry of barks burst out from behind the house. I blinked and Wallace was at my feet, peeing.

  “Stop it. What is your deal, you nut job?” I pushed her away with my foot while trying to get the door open.

  “Are you ready?”

  I looked up at Lacy and Raptor. “I…”

  Bark. Bark. Bark.

  “For the love of God, Wallace! You’re killing me.”

  “Is that Mercy?” yelled Mickey from the barn and I slapped my forehead. So close.

  Lacy waved to him. “I’ve got her.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said, opening the door. “I’ve got to go get a thing.”

  “What thing?” asked Raptor.

  I glared at her.

  “Shampoos,” she said quickly.

  Mickey jogged over. He was in full rock star mode, complete with tight black leather pants. He was never off-duty. “Good. Let’s get to it.”

  “I can’t. I have to get…”

  “Shampoo,” said Lacy helpfully.

  “We need you and you agreed to do this,” said Mickey, his rugged face going tight. “We have to get the blocking done and run through the set.”

  “Raquel will do it,” I said.

  She gasped. “What? No! What?”

  I pushed Raquel in front of Mickey. “She’s a great singer.”

  “What are you doing?” she hissed over her shoulder.

  “Our contract is with you,” said Mickey.

  “I know that, but Raquel can do the blocking and sing whatever,” I said.

  Mickey leaned on my truck and narrowed his eyes at me. “Why would she? Where are you really going?”

  I gritted my teeth. I had to tell the truth and I was totally against that. “I’m going to interview a woman who’s the key to all the murders, okay? I have to go. I have to.”

  He stroked his beard. “You think you can solve it before showtime?”

  “No.”

  “Then that doesn’t do much for us.”

  “It does something for me. My grandfather could be next!” I yelled.

  Mickey straightened up. “You think Ace’s on the list?”

  “I’d be a fool not to think so.”

  He looked at Raquel. “So you’ve performed?”

  She shrank back. “Not really.”

  “She sang the national anthem at a Cardinals game,” I said, quickly.

  “Really?” he asked. “Did you hit the high note?”

  “Well, I…maybe—”

  “Oh, she hit it,” I said. “She hit the heck out of it. It’s on YouTube.”

  Raquel held up her hands, blushing like crazy. “It got like three views.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  Mickey was already on his phone. “Raquel Babinski?”

  “Yes,” she said, turning to me. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You know why. I’ve got to get out of here and you’re a better singer than me every day of the week.”

  Mickey watched the video and looked at Raquel appraisingly. “Alright. Shows at four and nine. Lacy, what do you want to do with her?”

  Lacy started going over Raquel’s face. “Good bones. Great hair. The bruises aren’t, good, but I can cover them. I say we do a Jane Russell in The Outlaw. It’ll work with Mercy’s Marilyn perfect.”

  “Who?” asked Raptor.

  “She was a bombshell like Marilyn,” I said.

  “I don’t have that kind of body.”

  Lacy grinned. “You will when I get done.”

  Mickey gestured to the barn. “Let’s do it. We’ll get you on the bill and call wardrobe. Mercy, be at The Chip by two thirty.” He took off, listening to Raptor’s anthem.

  Lacy had a tape measure and was taping Raquel’s waist.

  “What is happening?” asked Raquel.

  I got in my truck “Welcome to my life. Enjoy.”

  She looked at me with baleful eyes, red-rimmed and still swollen, reminding me that she was still in mourning and it was early days yet. June wasn’t so long ago as my ankles could attest.

  Hold on a minute.

  “I have to ask you something, but I don’t want to upset you,” I said.

  “Since when?” she sneered.

  “You got me there. When exactly did Judith pass away?”

  Raptor’s face bunched up and Lacy automatically went to comfort her with an arm around her shoulder. “June.”

  “But when in June?”

  She took a deep breath. “June twenty-first.”

  The day I was jumping off a bridge in Paris.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I have an idea.”

  “Find the killer.” She picked up Wallace and shoved her into my lap. “You’d better take her, just in case.”

  “In case of what? She’s not a Wonder Dog.”

  Grrr.

  Grandad came around the back of the house, waving. “What’s going on?”

  Raptor slammed the door. “Go!”

  I backed out in a flash, putting Dad’s combat driving lessons to good use, and peeled out, leaving a yelling Grandad in my dust. I didn’t get away clean, but I got away. That’s all that counts.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  AARON’S PHONE STARTED ringing before I got out of the driveway. Grandad was not happy and I was not answering. I called Uncle Morty instead.

  “You got something?” he bellowed.

  “I got out of the house.”

  “Whoopdy freaking do.”

  I pushed Wallace off my lap and she tried to climb back on. “I need Cheryl Morris’s location.”

  He snorted. “I need a Vader with double-telescoping lightsaber, but that ain’t gonna happen.”

  “What the? You gotta get me that address. The woman is staying somewhere. Jeanette just lied about knowing her. She’s the center of this whole deal.”

  “I think it was Steve. He contacted Millford and I found out it was him that hired the security company to hack Hal’s email,” said Uncle Morty.

  “Wasn’t first contact initiated by Cheryl to Steve?” I asked.

  “Yes, but we don’t know what happened to make her reach out.”

  “I think we might. You
said that Steve wanted money from Cheryl a couple months ago. What was the date on that email?”

  He started clicking away. “July first.”

  “So not two months. What was the date of the very first email from Cheryl to Steve?” I asked.

  More clicking. “June twenty-second. What are you getting at?”

  “Judith Babinski died on June twenty-first.”

  “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

  “Or not. I have to talk to Cheryl Morris.”

  He harrumphed and beat around the bush.

  “Are you telling me you can’t get her location?”

  “I can do anything when there’s an electronic trail, but she hasn’t used a credit card at a hotel or hotel restaurant. She’s not paying for parking with it. She never even called a hotel or googled one.”

  “She must be staying with a local.”

  “That’s what I figured, but there are no emails to a local and nobody in the Gold Star Brigade lives in South Dakota.”

  “Crap on a cracker. What about the calls on her cellphone?”

  “What about ‘em?” He had a funny tone like he thought I might have an idea and that was his job.

  “Was she calling a number a lot before she got here and not so much now that she’s here?”

  He let out a string of cursing that blistered my ear and set Wallace to barking. I tossed my emergency blanket on the pug, but she could and would bark anywhere.

  “I’ll buy you a burger,” I said.

  “What the hell?” asked Uncle Morty.

  “Nothing. Talking to the dog.”

  “Stupid freaking dog.”

  Grrr.

  “Never mind that. Have you got something?” I asked, passing a group of bikers heading into Sturgis. Several gave me the finger, but it was a legal pass.

  “Jennifer Jerry.” He gave me her address in Sturgis. Jennifer was a retired army guy’s wife, not a widow. No wonder I didn’t see her on the Gold Star Brigade website. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking Judith’s death set Cheryl in motion,” I said.

  “Any idea why?”

  “I plan on asking her.”

  We hung up as I drove into Sturgis. The crowds were bigger than ever. I was surrounded by Harleys and my truck was vibrating from their clamor. After plugging Jennifer’s address into the phone, I drove to her house, a small clapboard affair with peeling green paint and one car in the driveway, a Chevy Malibu with South Dakota license plates. The widow probably wasn’t home, but hopefully, whoever was would know how to find her.