In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5)

by A W Hartoin

  He growled, “Don’t insult me.”

  “Fine. Fine.”

  “What’s your theory?”

  I had a theory? It was news to me. “Well, the other baseball parents didn’t like her and I can’t figure out how she paid for this place.”

  “That’s it? How long you been on this?”

  “Like an hour. Give me a break.”

  “Screw that. Get me something else. I got work to do. The fans are waiting for this book.”

  With baited breath, I’m sure.

  Actually, they probably were. Uncle Morty was a famous novelist. People dressed up as his characters at Comic-Con. Even though I knew it was true, I still had a hard time reconciling fame with the lumpy grump currently holed up in a tower.

  “The daughter lied,” I said.

  “Nice. How?”

  I told him about the barely mussed up bed and Lane’s demeanor.

  “Could she kill her mom?” he asked, his voice deep and throaty. If there was one thing I knew about Uncle Morty, he loved his mom. Minnie and Moms in general were revered. He’d drop work to nail Lane if she had a hand in it.

  “I doubt it. She’s small and Cherie outweighed her by a good twenty pounds.” I told him about the head wound and he growled again. “I didn’t get the feeling that Lane did it, just that she was lying about something.”

  “She’s protecting the man that murdered her mother.”

  Oh no. I’ve poked the bear.

  “Not necessarily. If you get into her phone, I’m sure there’ll be a text record.”

  “If?”

  “When. I meant when.”

  “Anything else?”

  There was, but I feared bringing it up. Uncle Morty didn’t seem to care for John and Leslie already, but, on the other hand, he did enjoy besting people. Me included. “I think we have two crimes.”

  “Well, that’s just fan fucking tastic!”

  “Don’t yell at me. I didn’t do it,” I said.

  “Give it to me!”

  “There was a gunshot at 3:15 this morning.”

  “She was strangled!”

  I kicked the wall and yelled back, “I know! I told you!”

  Uncle Morty lowered his voice. “Who’s the vic?”

  “I haven’t found one yet, but John and Leslie are hiding something.”

  He was silent, a rare occurrence in my experience.

  “Uncle Morty?”

  “You could tell that they were hiding something?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Maybe they’re losing their touch,” he said.

  I kicked the wall again and Aaron jumped.

  “Or maybe I’m just that good.”

  He gave out a long juicy snort. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “So what’s the deal with those two? They’re not really spa owners, are they?”

  “They are now,” he said.

  “What were they before?” I asked in my most innocent voice. I don’t know why I thought it would work. Nothing worked on Morty. He was impervious to feminine wiles or any kind of wiles as far as I could tell.

  “Forget it, sister. They’re spa owners. I’ll send you their backgrounds,” he said.

  “You will? For free?”

  He growled. “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Well, if that isn’t suspicious I don’t know what is.”

  “End of discussion. You got anything else to screw up my day.”

  I sighed and my phone vibrated. “No. I’ve got to go. Tiny’s calling me.”

  “He’s not with you?” He yelled again, “He’s supposed to watch you.”

  “He’s searching the fence line with the cops and I’ve got Aaron.”

  Uncle Morty grumped about security and hung up on me. Next time I’d call Spidermonkey just to spite him.

  Tiny had given up so I called him.

  “Mercy?” he asked, tremendously out of breath. “Are you okay? You didn’t answer. I’m not there. Where are you? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine. Calm down. Your heart can’t take this. I was on the phone with Morty,” I said.

  “Thank god.” He took a few deep breaths and then said, “We found something, but you won’t like it.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “What?”

  “Blood, a trail of it. Outside the fence near the service entrance.”

  “Take some pictures and send them.”

  Sure enough. Blood. Not a huge amount. There were spots on some leaves, a bigger patch on a trunk a few feet away like someone had put their hand there, and a few broken branches. Not exactly a smoking gun but something happened there.

  I called back. “No body?”

  “Nope. You want to come out here?” asked Tiny.

  “I guess I have to.”

  “You better hurry ‘cause it’s starting to rain. I think there was a lot more blood but that drizzle last night washed it away. We almost walked by this stuff.”

  “What caught your eye?” I asked.

  Tiny chuckled. “Phelong falling down the embankment. It’s pretty wet by the fence and there’s only a little space to walk. He slipped and landed right next to a drop. It was the first picture I sent you. Lucky, huh?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean maybe? If he didn’t fall, I wouldn’t have looked down in this here gully.”

  “Why’d he slip?” I asked.

  “I told you it’s wet. Why what are you thinking?”

  I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling. That was a whole lot of luck, especially for me, and it was barely a drizzle last night. I had to see the spot. “I’ll be right out. Oh, and send in Gerry. I need him to fingerprint Cherie’s room.”

  “How come?”

  “It’s been searched and her laptop, phone, and her daughter’s Fire is missing.”

  Tiny told me exactly where he was so that even I could find them, and hung up. There really was a second crime. I sent Uncle Morty the pictures and he responded with texted cursing, which came across more funny than he intended and I told him so.

  Aaron was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He was so excited he cleaned his glasses on the hem of his tee. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to look at some blood. You’re staying here to protect this room. Gerry’s coming to fingerprint it and I don’t want anyone getting in and mucking it up.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No. You’ll get lost.”

  “Good point.” I couldn’t take Aaron and leave the room. The murderer might come back. Everybody else was a suspect, except my cousins. Mainly because they were drunker than I was last night. But I couldn’t ask them. It was a bridal weekend, not a crime-solving weekend.

  I called Tiny back. “Tell Phelong to take samples. I have to wait until Gerry gets here.”

  “Samples of what?” he asked.

  “The blood.”

  “Okay. How do we do that?”

  “Just tell Phelong to do it. He has the stuff, right?” I asked.

  Tiny asked Phelong if he had it. The reply was muffled, but I didn’t have a good feeling about it. It took a couple of minutes.

  “Um…what does it look like?” asked Tiny.

  “A tube with a Q-tip thing in it and a security seal.”

  “No.”

  “Give Phelong the phone!” I yelled.

  After a short argument, Phelong said, “Hey there. How you doing?”

  “Not good! I sent you to look for evidence and you didn’t take the kit?”

  “I didn’t think we’d find anything,” he said.

  “There was a gunshot,” I said.

  “Eh, there’s gunshots around here all the time. Maybe somebody was rabbit hunting.”

  I kicked the wall again. “Do rabbits climb trees?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Probably? Did you say probably?”

  “It’s raining more. Can we come in? I’m getting really wet and my mom says I have a w
eak constitution.”

  “You’ve got a weak brain. You’ve got to take a sample of that blood now. Do you have some clean paper or tissue?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh my god. Okay. There are leaves with blood, right? Break off the leaves and hold them under your hat until I get there.”

  Phelong whined, “I might get blood on my hands or my hat. I can’t get blood on my hat. It’s my uniform. Sheriff Greer is always talking about respecting the uniform.”

  “If you don’t protect that blood, I will tell Dr. Watts. Do you want me to tell Dr. Watts?” I asked.

  “God, no. She kicked me once,” said Phelong.

  “I’m going to kick you. In the wiener. Do it!”

  Did I say wiener? What am I? Five.

  “Are you doing it?” I yelled.

  Tiny came back on the phone. “He’s breaking off the largest leaves.”

  “Good.”

  “Mercy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you say wiener?” asked Tiny. “Big girls can say penis, ya know.”

  “Clearly I’m not a big girl. Now just stay there until I come with collection bags. Okay?”

  “Phelong isn’t going to like it.”

  “Fine. If he tries to leave, kick him in the penis.”

  Tiny hung up laughing. Wiener. My god.

  Aaron raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” I said. “Don’t even start.”

  We waited twenty minutes before Gerry moseyed down the hall with the fingerprint kit. I would’ve lectured him, but it was pointless. I told him to tape off the room and dust all the surfaces. He was very damp and even more reluctant. Aaron promised a bunch of sausages and he got moving.

  I watched Gerry for a couple of minutes, afraid to leave and afraid to stay. Anything I did seemed like a bad idea.

  Aaron nudged me. “Raining.”

  I groaned and called Tiny, telling him we were on our way. He asked me to hurry. The rain was getting worse. I told him we’d run.

  “Okay, Aaron. Let’s go get us some bloody leaves.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  IT TOOK US thirteen minutes to find Tiny and Phelong. Having cousins yelling your name is very motivating. So are the words wax, pluck, and hot yoga. The Troublesome Trio yelled them all and I discovered I had a sense of direction when being pursued. I think it’s castle specific though.

  Tiny and Phelong were still down in the gully when we arrived at the section of fence where the cameras were broken. There were two cameras perched on high poles above the fence to give a wide view, and their green lights were out. There were plenty of old apple trees in the area. Some of the big branches extended over the electric fence, an ideal place to go over if you could avoid being shocked to death. But it certainly wouldn’t be easy by a long shot.

  “Can we go now?” Phelong yelled up the hill at us.

  “Just a minute!”

  I scanned the area. No footprints. The grass was thick and uncut on the outside, but it was trampled down quite a bit. I could see where Phelong had taken his tumble. He had taken out a track of undergrowth and he wasn’t the only one. There was a second track beside it. I took several pictures and crept along the edge of the fence. The spot where Phelong had lost his footing was slightly narrower and extremely wet.

  I looked up at the trees. They gave good cover and it wasn’t so wet a few steps back.

  “What are you doing?” yelled Phelong.

  “Looking for why you slipped.”

  “I slipped.”

  I groaned and squatted. No. He didn’t just slip. While it was damp everywhere, the ground was completely saturated where Phelong slipped. Leaves from last fall covered the ground and slope, except where he fell. They’d been washed down the hill in a torrent of water so that the area was extra slick and muddy. This didn’t come from any drizzle. Someone had washed it. I got down on my hands and knees, my palms sinking into the goopy muck, and I sniffed.

  Something. Faint. Chemical. They treated the area. I wondered just what that gardener had been spraying on the rosebushes. Probably fertilizer, but it hardly mattered. The rain was washing the area clean as I looked at it, and fertilizer was hardly a smoking gun on a lush estate anyway. I couldn’t think what to do. What would Dad do? Something brilliant while I was just getting wet. The rain soaked my back even though Aaron was holding an umbrella over me.

  “Miss Watts!”

  “I’m coming.”

  Aaron helped me up and my eyes roved over the black metal bars of the fence. “There!”

  “Huh?”

  I sloshed over and pointed to a dent in the metal and several scrapes. “We’d be able to see it better from the other side. The other side. The shots came from the other side. See?”

  Aaron peered at the marks and agreed. To be fair, he probably would’ve agreed with anything I said. All I got was a nod.

  “They were standing here,” I said, “and someone shot them through the fence. They fell down the hill just like Phelong and whoever did it cleaned up the blood, except they missed a few spots. Our suspect is someone on the inside.” I did a happy dance. “Yes!”

  “Okay,” said Aaron.

  “Aren’t you intrigued?”

  Nothing. I guess shots fired in the middle of the night, blood evidence, and a trail weren’t all that interesting to a guy obsessed with hotdogs.

  “Miss Watts, come on!” yelled Phelong. “I’m all yuck.”

  “Fine!” We walked a little ways to where the hill wasn’t so steep and trotted down to them. Both were soaked and Phelong was yuck. Mud coated him from head to toe. He had a stick in his hair and a small leaf plastered to the side of his face. I pulled out a couple of evidence bags and opened one. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Tiny and Phelong ducked their heads and that’s when I realized Phelong was holding his hat and he certainly wasn’t protecting anything from the rain.

  “Tell me you didn’t let the leaves get wet,” I said.

  A furious red blush crept up Tiny’s neck and lit up his ears. Phelong stuck out his pointy chin. “I didn’t.”

  “Oh, really. Where are they then?”

  “You see there was this accident,” he said.

  “Accident? How could you have an accident? You were supposed to stand here and do nothing.”

  He ducked his head again and stared at his formally shiny shoes that were now caked with fresh mud. Very fresh. “What did you do?”

  Phelong reached up and peeled something off his chest. I flipped a lock of dripping hair back and leaned in. “Tell me those aren’t the leaves.”

  “They aren’t the leaves,” he said in an unnaturally high voice. “Except they are.”

  “You wrecked them? How? How? You were just standing here?”

  Tiny raised his head. It looked painful. “It’s my fault. I should’ve stopped him. He got tired of waiting.”

  “It took thirteen minutes!” I didn’t know my voice could get that high. Impressive, even for a girl.

  “It’s raining and I thought I could do it,” said Phelong.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “He was going to meet you halfway,” said Tiny.

  “How far did you get?” I asked.

  “Five feet. I slipped.”

  “And landed on the evidence, I presume.”

  “Little bit.”

  Breathe, Mercy.

  “Okay. What about that spot on the tree trunk? Where’s that?” I asked.

  Tiny pointed to a tree with nothing on the bark. “Rain.”

  I grabbed a fallen tree branch. “That was our blood evidence. Our only evidence that somebody got shot out here.” I hauled back the branch, aiming at Phelong’s crotch. “Stand still!”

  Aaron grabbed the branch and wrenched it out of my hand. He tossed the branch away into the trees. “You’re hungry. Let’s go.”

  “You always think people are hungry. This isn’t hungry. This is mad. Mad beyond measure.” I went into a stream of
consciousness rant. I used every cuss word Uncle Morty ever used, including the ones that didn’t make sense.

  When I was done, I fell over into the mud, panting.

  “Wow,” said Tiny.

  “Don’t get me started again,” I hissed at him.

  “Believe me I won’t.”

  “We still have the pictures,” said Phelong, brightening up, “and the trail. There are bullet things on the fence. How about that?”

  “Did you find a body?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Then we don’t have a crime without the blood.” I flopped back onto the wet leaves and let the rain wash over me. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

  Tiny squatted. “He doesn’t have to know.”

  Phelong nodded like crazy. “I won’t tell.”

  “Like you said, there’s no evidence, there’s no crime. We can’t fail if nothing happened.”

  That was interesting. You can’t do the time if there was no crime. I liked it. Then the trail on the hill caught my eye and I flung my arm over my face. “No. There was a crime. You know there was.” I sat up. “Somebody out here got killed by someone in there.”

  Tiny and Phelong just looked at me.

  “And we have to go back in there.”

  “Uh huh,” said Tiny.

  “Just because we can’t prove a crime happened doesn’t mean there’s not a murderer in there among the guests. Two murderers most likely. And we have to spend the night three more times,” I said.

  Tiny ran his big hand over his face, wiping away the rain. “I don’t think we should stay here.”

  “No kidding. But where do you suggest we go? Costillas are looking for me. We’re stuck for three more days. I’m not even supposed to be outside the fence.”

  “Who are the Costillas?” asked Phelong.

  “We should tell your dad,” said Tiny. “I’ll do it.”

  “No, you won’t,” I said. “He’ll just say, ‘So what? Figure it out.’”

  “Who are the Costillas?” asked Phelong.

  Tiny hauled me to my feet and pointed me up the hill. “But there’s been two murders.”

  “I wasn’t the target.” The tree overhead showed no sign that it’d been used to get in or out, but I wasn’t sure if it would. John said no one got in, but I wasn’t sure I trusted him. “Maybe whoever killed Cherie escaped over the fence but got shot before they got out of range.”