In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5)

by A W Hartoin

  I glanced in the direction of the carriage house. A child. We had no children, but we had plenty of teenaged boys, well-muscled and strong.

  “Will you be able to tell how big the hands are?” I asked.

  “I’ll get a pretty good idea.”

  “So you could tell if it’s an adult or a teenager?”

  She glanced past me in the direction of the baseball fields. “Most of those boys are men. At least in size.”

  “Oh.” I really wanted to rule out the boys. “Leslie, what about the security system for the carriage house. Is it like the castle? Do they have to use codes after midnight?”

  “Yes, but that’s John’s area of expertise. He’ll be able to tell you who left or keyed themselves in after midnight.”

  “If anyone,” I said.

  Leslie smiled and Dr. Watts said, “What do you mean? We know it was after midnight. Your text and the dog barking proves it circumstantially”

  “They could’ve just stayed outside and then come back in when the castle opened.”

  Dr. Watts grumped and muttered, “Naturally.”

  “How good is your security system?” I asked.

  “The best or you wouldn’t be here,” said Leslie.

  “And the property is completely fenced?”

  “It is.”

  “Would you know if someone breached the fence?”

  “We would,” said Leslie.

  I stepped closer to him and saw his biceps bunch under his shirt. Hmm. “Well, was it?”

  “You’ll have to ask John.” His eyes flicked to the left. It was a micro expression. Telling if you could catch it. There was a breach last night.

  “I will,” I said. “Maybe Phelong and Gerry should walk the fence line and look for disturbances in the brush or cut wires, something like that.”

  “If you wish.” Leslie was all laissez-faire about it, but there was something in the way he shifted his feet and the fixed smile on his handsome face.

  “Great. I think they will.”

  “What?” asked Gerry. “Us? You mean us?”

  “Are there other Phelong and Gerrys?” I asked.

  “Our dads live in town,” said Phelong.

  “I’ve got two uncles,” said Gerry.

  I slapped my forehead. “I’m talking about you. You’re going to walk the property and see if you can find anything.”

  “But…but this property is huge,” said Gerry.

  “And I haven’t had breakfast.” Phelong made a sad face.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Aaron.”

  Aaron took off in what passed for a run in my weirdo partner.

  “He’ll get you something,” I said. “Do you have a camera to document the area?”

  Dr. Watts was already ahead of me. She gave Gerry a bulky Nikon digital. “Cover everything and no wandering off.”

  Leslie’s stance had loosened. Either his self-control had taken over or he’d realized what a couple of morons I had working for me. I’d show him. I had at least one non-moron at the ready.

  I dialed Tiny and told him I had an assignment for him and to come right out. I watched Leslie during my brief conversation and he showed nothing. Maybe that wasn’t it or he was too good for me to spot his tells.

  Tiny jogged out of the kitchen, saw us still at the fountain, and came over, red in the face and breathing way too hard. That weight had to go if he was going to keep up with Dad or me, for that matter.

  After he stopped huffing and puffing, I told him what I wanted him to do. He agreed. “Inside or out?”

  Leslie blinked rapidly. Damn if that wasn’t the one thing he was worried about, the fence had two sides. He didn’t think I’d think about it and he was right.

  Thank you, Tiny. Inside or out? Inside or out? What don’t you want, Leslie?

  “Outside,” I said, sounding much more certain than I felt.

  More blinking from Mr. Charming Host. Nice.

  “Aaron’s making you some food to go and as—” Before I could finish my sentence, Aaron came jogging out, carrying four paper bags and to go cups.

  Let the fourth be for me. Let the fourth be for me.

  Aaron handed out a bag and cup each to Phelong, Gerry, and Tiny. They opened their bags and the best smells came out. Crusty bread, sausage, cheese, and something healthy, maybe spinach. It all mixed with the heady smell of fresh hot coffee. I started drooling and lunged for the last cup. Aaron showed some surprising reflexes and moved the cup away from my grasping.

  “Who’s it for then?” I demanded.

  “You.”

  “Then gimme.”

  He held out the bag. “Eat.”

  “No. You wouldn’t keep me from coffee. Do you have a death wish?”

  “Orders.”

  “From my mother, I suppose,” I said.

  Aaron blinked and I came close to whisper in his ear, “I can’t.”

  “You will.”

  “Please, Aaron. You don’t understand. I can’t eat that.”

  “My food is good,” he said.

  “It’s not that,” I said, my eyes filling. “How about a salad or a green smoothie with lots of kale and ginger.

  “That tastes gross.”

  “I know.”

  He put the bag under my nose. “Four bites and you get coffee.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “My mother agreed to four bites?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  Aaron was breaking the rules as set down by my mother and that was quite something. Aaron didn’t go against Carolina Watts. Nobody did. Not even me usually.

  Aaron shook the bag and I was filled with gratitude. Maybe he did get it.

  Dr. Watts marched over, ripped the bag from Aaron’s hand, opened it and sniffed. “Smells good. I’ll take some of that. Now you,” she pointed a blunt finger at me, “eat.”

  “I’d rather have—”

  “Nobody cares what you’d rather,” she said. “I’ve got fifteen blond devil nephews and eleven blond devil great nephews. I can get you to eat.”

  I looked at Tiny. He had half a small whole wheat bagel in his mouth. Aaron was nice enough to give him a filling with cheese, spinach, and egg. Tiny’s eyes were closed, chin tipped up in bliss. There might’ve been moaning. No help there. I turned to Leslie.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’d eat it.”

  “Fine.” I took the four bites, chewing as fast as possible and getting it down quick. If you hardly taste, it doesn’t count, right?

  “Mercy,” said Dr. Watts.

  I wobbled around and bumped into the fountain.

  “Okay. Okay,” she said in a soothing voice. “Sit here.”

  I sat on the edge and felt a light spray of water on my neck. Better.

  “When was the last time you ate?” she asked.

  “Last night,” I said.

  “Less than a thousand calories is not enough. You’ve got a job to do and I’m not losing this to Springfield. You’re eating the rest of that.”

  “But I can’t,” I whispered.

  “I believe that you can. You’ve just forgotten who you are. Soon you’ll remember, but not without sausage. Eat it.”

  I ate. I’d like to say it was easy, but it wasn’t. It was hard.

  “Stop thinking about it,” said Dr. Watts.

  “I’m not,” I lied.

  She made her sneezing noise and waved the coffee under my nose. “You lie all the time. It’s part of the profession.”

  “Nursing?”

  “At times, but that’s not what I mean and you know it. Eat and then coffee.”

  I groaned. “When’s that funeral director going to be here?”

  “He’s driving through the gate right now,” said Leslie, looking at his phone.

  “Excellent. We can get this show on the road.”

  “Eat those last two bites,” said Dr. Watts.

  I stuffed them in my mouth and grabbed the coffee. “Happy?”

 
“Delirious.” She turned to look through the trees at a hearse coming up the road even slower than the cops had. It was an old school hearse, probably from the sixties. It had lots of chrome, fins, and was super long. It reminded me of the old batmobile from the TV show. Uncle Morty had a model of it next to the Death Star in his living room.

  “That is one old hearse,” said Tiny.

  “Wait until you see Flincher,” said Dr. Watts.

  “Did you call him a ghoul earlier?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “And you’re about to see why.”

  Chapter Twelve

  THE HEARSE PULLED into the parking lot and the door creaked open. Yes, I could hear it, even at a distance. The oldest man I’d ever seen got out in slow motion and that’s saying something. I know a lot of old people. He had a ring of snow-white hair, a large hooked nose, and a hump, for crying out loud. Flincher was exactly the person you’d expect to get out of that hearse.

  “Abacus B. Flincher,” said Dr. Watts. “Our local ghoul.”

  “Because…he so old?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Because he’s a funeral director?” asked Tiny.

  “I wish.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I give up. What is it?”

  “If you’re a decent detective, you’ll figure it out,” said Dr. Watts. “We better help him or we’ll be here all day.”

  Nobody moved.

  “You two,” she pointed at Phelong and Gerry, “Go help Flincher.”

  Gerry shuddered. “I don’t want to. I thought we were searching the fence line.”

  “You will. After you help Flincher,” I said.

  “I’d rather stay with her,” said Phelong, looking at Cherie on the ground. “By myself. At midnight.”

  “Go!”

  The cops gave Aaron their empty bags and he trotted back to the kitchen. Then they went to help Flincher, giving the man the widest berth possible. They got a gurney out of the hearse and practically ran back to us. Flincher hobbled along behind, peering at us under bushy eyebrows.

  “I’ve seen that guy before,” said Tiny.

  “Really? Where?” I asked.

  “Scooby Doo.”

  Dr. Watts and Leslie laughed, but it was nervous laughter.

  Phelong leaned over to me. “Don’t get too close. He’ll like you.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  “What was that smell?” asked Gerry.

  “I don’t want to know,” said Phelong.

  “What smell?” I asked.

  Dr. Watts nudged me as Flincher entered the love garden. “It’s possum. Shush.” She took the neatly folded heavy duty body bag off the gurney and opened it on the ground next to Cherie.

  Flincher entered the center of the love garden on the other side of the fountain and I got a whiff of the smell Gerry was talking about. If that was possum, I’d like to know what had been done to the animal because it was stank or rank or both combined if that’s possible to imagine.

  Flincher walked around the fountain, heavily stooped and completely silent. That’s not easy to do on gravel, but he managed it. He was incredibly thin or emaciated, depending on how you looked at it. Maybe he didn’t have enough weight to move the gravel, but he was able to move us. We all, including Leslie, took a step back when he got close. It was a completely involuntary reaction.

  “Well, well, well, what have we got here?” asked Flincher in a raspy oddly high voice that made the hairs on my arms stand up. He smiled at us, showing yellowed teeth with big gaps.

  “A murder, Flincher,” said Dr. Watts. “Try not to look so happy about it.”

  “Death is my business. Why shouldn’t I be happy?”

  “It’s unseemly for one thing.”

  Flincher came closer and the smell made me wish I’d thought of a way to get out of eating Aaron’s food. That sausage wasn’t sitting well. He saw me, cocked his head and smiled wider, revealing all his ghastly teeth and reddened, blotchy gums. “Yes, I’ve always been concerned with appearances.”

  “Obviously,” said Dr. Watts. “Back up. You’re going to make my ex-granddaughter vomit and I can’t have that.”

  She emphasized the ‘my’ quite strongly and Flincher’s faded green eyes settled on me. Now I know what a mouse feels like when the cat spots him.

  “Yours,” he said.

  “Mine,” said Dr. Watts, watching him with intensity.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Do.” She waved at Phelong and Gerry. “Come on, you two.”

  They stepped back again. “Why? What? What? Why?” they asked, rapid fire.

  “She has to go in the bag. It’s not a one-person job.”

  “Oh, no. Not me,” said Gerry.

  “What about…him?” asked Phelong with a head bob at Flincher.

  “I’m too old to be moving bodies,” said Flincher.

  No kidding. You look like you’re made of tinder.

  “And my assistant has the day off.”

  Dr. Watts tossed gloves at Phelong and Gerry. They bounced off their chests and fell on the gravel.

  “I can’t,” said Phelong. “I have a condition.”

  “Cowardice?” asked Leslie.

  “Yeah, sure. I’m not touching her. I’m not doing it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll do it, you wussies.”

  Dr. Watts gave me clean gloves and Leslie took some, too. He didn’t hesitate to pick up Cherie by the shoulders, despite the fact that she wasn’t completely in rigor and her head lolled a bit. It was unpleasant for me and I’d seen plenty of bodies. Curious that it didn’t bother a spa owner one bit.

  I took one of Cherie’s feet and Dr. Watts the other one. We got Cherie in the bag and zipped it up quickly. The three of us lifted her onto the gurney and ratcheted it up to waist height.

  While we were doing that, the smell got considerably stronger and my nose got runny. Something brushed against my back and Dr. Watts yelled, “Flincher!”

  I bumped into the gurney and spun around. Flincher was up on me, six inches away. He looked even worse close up, and the smell was unbearable. Gag.

  Dr. Watts dragged me away and pushed me behind her. “It’s time you get going, Flincher.”

  “Yes. I’ll be seeing you later, Miss…”

  “Watts,” I said.

  “Ah yes, so she said.” He turned to Phelong and Gerry. “Who will be pushing?”

  Neither moved. No surprise there.

  “I’ll do it.” Leslie cracked his knuckles and stretched, revealing a taut belly with a greying treasure trail. He caught me looking, winked, and pushed the gurney out of the love garden in front of Flincher as it began to drizzle.

  Phelong sniffed his uniform sleeve. “Is that going to come out?”

  “I use OxiClean,” said Dr. Watts. “Go help Leslie.”

  Phelong and Gerry reluctantly followed, their feet kicking up the gravel.

  “Was that really possum?” I asked.

  She waited until the cops were out of earshot and then said, “Partially.”

  “It smelled like decomp. What is he? I’ve met plenty of weirdos but he’s beyond weird.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “Some sort of predator. Has he killed anyone?” I asked.

  “They couldn’t prove it in court,” said Dr. Watts.

  “Who was it?”

  “His parents. Murder-suicide. But nobody really believed that theory.”

  Leslie had the gurney at the back of the hearse about to put Cherie in and I had a wave of guilt for subjecting that woman to Flincher.

  “He won’t do anything to her,” Dr. Watts said quickly. “I’ll make sure.”

  “Otherwise…”

  She shrugged. “Nobody knows for sure what he’s up to.”

  “How old was he when the parents died?” I asked.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Before you’re time here then.”

  “Right, but he’s only fifty-eight,” she said.
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  “Holy crap. That’s fifty-eight? What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know, but there are some theories floating around.”

  “Like what? He was cursed?”

  “That’s one.” She smiled at me and packed up her equipment.

  I gathered up the cops’ kit and asked, “How does he stay in business?”

  “He’s very cheap and the only mortician for fifty miles.”

  “Still.”

  “People around here are just getting by, and nothing’s been proven.”

  “They said that about Robert Durst.”

  “Yes, they did.” She gave me her phone. “Put yourself in. I’ll call you when I finish the autopsy.”

  I put myself in Dr. Watts’ phone as ‘Mercy the ex-granddaughter’ and dropped it in her lab coat pocket. Leslie, Phelong, and Gerry came back and she ordered the cops to document the rock garden and tape everything off before searching the fence line. Tiny took charge like he knew what he was doing and I slipped away as Dr. Watts went down her long to do list.

  The kitchen door closed behind me and I leaned back against it, heaving a big sigh. Aaron was bustling around the La Cornue stove, tossing herbs in the different pots and somehow directing the staff without saying more than three words together. It smelled like Thanksgiving, complete with pumpkin pie. That weirdo was an evil genius. I loved Thanksgiving food best of all. Stuffing! How could I not eat stuffing? Easy. I didn’t deserve stuffing. There. Problem solved.

  One of the cooks made me a latte without my asking and I thanked him before taking a heavenly sip and thinking over what to do next.

  Aaron gave a few more minimalist orders and came over to stand silently in front of me.

  “What?” I asked after scraping the last of the foam out of my mug.

  “I’m ready,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “So now you’re helping me instead of force-feeding me.”

  “Huh?”

  I gave him my mug. “Let’s find John and get the security data from last night. Maybe we’ll get lucky and our killer keyed himself out at 1:50 and when confronted will confess in a river of tears,” I said.

  “Ya think?”

  “No, but I always hope.” I tapped one of the cooks on the shoulder and asked where John’s office was. He gave me a set of directions I had no hope of following. To be fair, he lost me after the second right at the first set of armor and I stopped listening. Aaron appeared to be following it just fine or at least he was facing the general direction of the cook while he talked so I texted Chuck. “Scary mortician. He likes me in a bad way. Don’t you want to come back?”