In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5)

by A W Hartoin

“Go! Now!” yelled Uncle Morty.

  “What else have you got? Four wheelers? Motorcycles?” I slapped my forehead. “Horses. Duh. You have horses.” I pointed at Leslie. “Call Jamie and have him bring out Sly Dog.”

  “He’ll kill you. That horse is insane.”

  “He’s a racer. He’ll get me there,” I said, thrusting Pick’s leash at Tiny and running off toward a random door.

  “Wrong way!” yelled everyone.

  “Dammit!”

  Leslie waved to me and I darted back to him. We took left turns and right turns and somehow magically came out of the castle close to the stables. Jamie came out leading Sly Dog, who was prancing in anticipation. I tucked the .22 in my waistband and did a quick prayer that it would stay there.

  “Get me a horse!” yelled Leslie.

  “No time.” I grabbed the reins and flipped them over Sly Dog’s head before leaping on.

  “Mercy!” yelled Leslie.

  “Call the real cops!”

  I rammed my heels into Sly Dog’s side. He leapt forward and went into a full out run down the trail to the fields, the place where Jamie said never to ride that horse.

  Here goes everything.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  SLY DOG STRETCHED out to his full length and galloped toward the baseball fields. The boys and the remaining coaches stopped what they were doing to watch us. I had the reins in my hands, but I didn’t need them. Sly knew where we were going. Joy radiated off of him. No more gentle rides for delicate tourists. He chose the more difficult path, jumping gullies and threading through a small stand of saplings just because he could.

  The boys poured out of the dugouts and pointed at a spot beyond the ballfields. Sly Dog went in that direction without a nudge from me. At some point, it occurred to me that the gate might be closed and with Sly going full out, how would we stop? The fence was too high to jump and electrified. Cory knew my code, not me. Just when I was about to pull back, I saw the gate, buried in a blackberry bramble. The gate was open. Thank god. Sly slowed on his own, but we were there in a blink. He slipped through the gate. It was so narrow my legs brushed the sides. If Sly noticed, he showed no sign. He cantered down the slim trail past a sign.

  Johnson’s Shut-ins State Park

  3/4 mile

  Tim had a good head start, but he didn’t have Sly chewing up the distance with every hoof beat. I hoped Lane hadn’t gone with Tim willingly and that would slow him down considerably.

  Up ahead I saw blue skies through the thick trees.

  Uh-oh. Drop off.

  I squeezed with my thighs and pulled back. Sly wasn’t interested.

  Oh shit!

  That thoroughbred pain in the ass knew what was coming and I felt a thrill go through his withers when I screamed. He launched us through the air over a set of stairs. It had to be fifteen down at least. Sly’s position was perfect. Mine was less so what with me screaming and grabbing his mane. If horses could laugh, I’m sure he would’ve.

  Sly hit the trail and in two paces jumped a tree that had fallen across our path. I didn’t scream that time. Sly could do anything. He continued to canter down the trail, dodging small boulders and the occasional stump. At the end of the trail was a split-rail fence and another sign announcing that we’d arrived. The parking lot and campground beyond was empty. I could hear the sound of rushing water in the distance. The water must be super high to make that much noise.

  Sly’s muscles bunched and he jumped the fence instead of going through the opening. Showoff. Then he galloped through the Shut-ins campground toward the camp store and ranger station. A ranger stood on the deck watching us. The access gate was closed with a sign across it saying “Extreme conditions.” I pulled up and Sly surprised me by actually obeying. He danced in a circle as I yelled at the young ranger, “I’m from the castle. Have you seen a man and a sixteen-year-old girl? She may be unconscious or in distress.”

  He shook his head. “I got the call, but I haven’t seen anyone today. My boss went down to the water to look.”

  I nodded and gave Sly a light kick. He didn’t need another invitation. He took off for the closed gate and jumped it easily. In the air, my phone started vibrating. No time for that. It stopped as we cantered down the trail and then vibrated again.

  “I’m busy!”

  We passed the last outhouse and the trail narrowed. The roar of dozens of waterfalls intensified. My phone vibrated again and I stood in my stirrups to get a better view of the water through the trees to the left. It was super high, up the banks and rushing around the trees. I’d never seen it like that. When I’d been there before it was always low and fairly calm. That day it was anything but calm.

  I didn’t see Tim or Lane. I urged Sly to go faster and we nearly mowed down a grizzly old ranger when we raced around a turn.

  “Whoa there, ma’am!” he yelled after he jumped out of the way. “This isn’t an equestrian trail.”

  “Sorry. I’m from the castle. Have you seen my kidnapped vic?” I asked, breathless.

  He retucked his shirt and straightened his name that said Silver on it. “No sign of anyone. You can’t get any farther on that horse. The trail’s too skinny.”

  Sly pointed his nose at the underbrush. No more low branches, thank you very much. I slid off his back and he snorted at me.

  “If you see them, detain him,” I told Silver.

  “You really think he’s trying to kill that girl.”

  “Definitely.”

  Should I yell for Lane or not? By alerting her, I’m alerting Tim. I don’t know. I don’t know.

  “Well, they’re not here,” said Silver. “I would’ve seen them come in. Not much happening with the park closed.”

  I scanned the water and my phone sang out, “Oh I swear to you, I’ll be there for you.”

  Silver looked around. “What was that?”

  “Chuck,” I whispered and my hand went to my pocket as a scream echoed through the trees.

  “Oh shit!” said Silver.

  “Which way? Which way?” I couldn’t tell. Was it behind us or up ahead?

  A flash of black zipped by us and darted into the brush.

  “Was that a poodle?” Silver peered into the brush.

  “Yes!” I dropped Sly’s reins and dashed in behind Pick. Another scream ripped through the air. I chased Pick through the brush to the beginning of the large rocks. He disappeared between two boulders as another scream came from up ahead. I knew where they were. The pool below my favorite sunbathing spot. I went right and took another path, slipping and sliding on the gravel in the forest of stone.

  “Lane!” I emerged beside the rock tower and saw a flash of white. “Lane!”

  Pick barked as I jumped into the rushing water. It was up to my knees where it was usually dry. Pick ran past me, jumping from rock to rock. I yelled for him, but the rushing water was so loud I couldn’t hear myself. I climbed up on a tiny point of a rock and saw them downstream. I pulled out the .22, but I was too slow. Tim and Lane were both in the river being carried away by the force of the water through sluices and down waterfalls. They tumbled into a roiling pool and Tim lunged for Lane, dragging her under. Pick launched himself off a rock to land in the pool with a huge splash and came up swimming and snapping.

  I jumped from rock to rock and made it to the edge of the pool where I slipped and dropped the .22. I lunged for it on instinct and fell into a sluice. The water battered me against the rocks and wedged me between a small boulder and solid rock. Something gave way and a searing pain went through my ankle.

  I popped out into the pool and was dragged under by the force of the current. I took a burning blow to my cheek that I thought was Tim, but when I came up I saw him and Lane going over another waterfall. Pick’s jaws were clamped on Tim’s arm and he was swept away with them. The water rammed me against rocks beside the waterfall. My nails dug into the algae as I tried to hold on. I went under and was carried away, shooting out into the air through the mist and p
ounding water. I landed in a great pool. Tim and Lane were on the other side, washed up on the rocky beach. I started swimming. One leg wouldn’t work. I was getting nowhere fast. My arms weren’t strong enough. I went under again and again. When I came up the third time, I saw Pick still had a hold of Tim’s arm, but in his free arm he had a jagged rock. Lane was lying face down in the water. Pick pulled back and Tim smashed him in the head. The poodle yelped and let go. Tim raised the rock above Lane’s head, Pick lunged, and two shots rang out. Tim’s back arched and then he pitched forward to land on Lane’s back, driving her face deep into the water. Pick jumped over Tim and clamped his jaws on Lane’s arm, trying to pull the limp girl away.

  I kept swimming and a wave of water pushed me forward. I dragged myself up next to Tim and pushed him off Lane into the pool. Between Pick and I, we managed to drag Lane onto the beach. I rolled her over and cleared her airway. Her mouth was full of water so I rolled her on her side. A good amount flowed out and I began CPR. After a few reps, Lane convulsed and a huge spew of water flowed out of her mouth and nose. She hacked and coughed. Pick gave her a couple of encouraging slurps on the face and then shook, spraying me with an amazing amount of river water. I collapsed beside Lane and heard yelling behind me. I rolled over and saw Silver swimming through the pool. Blood streamed out of his nose, but otherwise he was doing better than me.

  I sat up and he crawled up on the beach beside me. “You rock,” I said.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t be more help,” he said, gasping.

  “Are you kidding? You were great.”

  We watched as Tim’s limp body was carried away downstream. It rolled over, revealing the ragged exit wounds in his throat. I kinda thought I should snag him, but my ankle said no way. Silver crawled to the other side of Lane and patted her shoulder as she coughed and wheezed. “You’re okay. She saved you. Dr. Watts will be here soon.”

  Lane nodded and began a fresh fit of coughing.

  I felt my ankle. It was already swelling and there was a large impact bruise on the side. Broken. Fantastic.

  “I didn’t save her. I tried, but that was you,” I said.

  “Me?” he asked.

  “You shot him. Nice one by the way.”

  “I didn’t shoot him. I thought you did.”

  Oh crap.

  My eyes traced the path of the bullet and there they were. Leslie and John stood on the bluff overlooking the pool. Leslie waved and John stared down at me. Of course. I should’ve known.

  Pick shook again and licked me on the chin.

  “You were almost shot twice in one day,” I said. “What would Chuck say?”

  Chuck!

  I yanked out my phone and my waterproof, shockproof case wasn’t so much. My phone had died a watery, cracked death. All evidence of Chuck’s call was gone, if it had happened at all. I lay down next to Lane and pressed my phone to my chest. The ranger stood over us, trying without success to get his walkie to work and then yelled up to John and Leslie about emergency airlift.

  “We don’t need that,” I said. “John will find a way.”

  “That ankle’s broken bad and you two are shaking to beat the band. We got to airlift you out. This is what we call an emergency.” Silver yelled up to Leslie and John about calling for help.

  I looked at my dead phone again and then tossed it away on the rocks. Lane coughed hard and brought up some water. Her brown eyes were trained on me and her lips formed the words, “He told me Parker needed me. I shouldn’t have gone with him. I knew I shouldn’t. Sorry.”

  I rolled over and pushed her wet hair out of her eyes. “No worries.”

  “I knew what my mom was doing.”

  “You mean the blackmailing? She told you?”

  “No. I kinda figured it out. I didn’t know what to do. Parker’s family was cheating and Taylor deserved the prize, but Enrique’s sister…they needed him to win for her. I let it all happen. I pretended it would be okay.”

  “Parker left you that night in the barn, didn’t he?”

  Lane coughed and nodded. “I woke up and he was gone. I didn’t think…it wasn’t very long.”

  “Parker did hurt your mom, but he didn’t kill her. That was one of the Viper parents. It was about something that happened when she was in high school. It’s nothing to do with you. It’s not your fault, Lane.”

  Her battered face screwed up and she began to cry between coughs. I pulled her cold, shaking body to mine and cried, too.

  “Ah, hell,” said Silver. “The ladies are crying. Somebody get me a copter!”

  We kept crying. Through it I could feel Tim’s body, all bodies, being washed farther and farther downriver.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  NO COPTER CAME. We didn’t need it. Leslie carried Lane out over the rocks and John carried me. Sly Dog had worn himself out galloping up and down the trail while we were being bashed against rocks and was calm enough to carry us back to the castle. He got the good oats. Dr. Watts checked us out. Lane had a minor concussion and a multitude of cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious. My ankle was broken and hurt like hell. The only x-ray in town was in the basement of Flincher Funerals. Dr. Watts got it through a grant from a women’s health organization. I was surprised she didn’t have a MRI, but that grant was still under review. I guess being a retired Vietnam vet doing everything from stitches to autopsies in a rural Missouri town for free was pretty damn persuasive.

  Dr. Watts herself was a force not to be denied. She told me to hush up and quit my moaning, gave me some hydrocodone, a temporary cast, and put me in Elizabeth I’s bed in the Tudor Tower with orders to go to sleep instantly. I obeyed. I was scared not to.

  Three hours later, I woke up with a headache and an audience.

  “Miss Watts,” said Silver, dried out but very rumpled with a dab of blood on his nose, “I thought you’d never wake up.”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “Long enough. Springfield will be here any moment and we have to get our story straight.”

  I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “What story?”

  When I looked at him again I got it. Behind Silver stood John and Leslie, showered and in fresh suits. My grandmother would say that butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

  “Oh. You mean the story where I shot Cory in the butt and Tim in the neck,” I said.

  Silver blew out a breath. “Good. That’s all settled. You dropped the gun in the river by the way.”

  “Not in the right place. I dropped it when I slipped up in the rocks.” I went up on my elbows. “They’ll find it if they look.”

  Leslie nodded. “It’s in the right place now.”

  “They have to be the same caliber. Did John use a .22 on Tim?”

  “Of course.”

  “And let me guess. You already told Springfield that I shot Cory and Tim.”

  “It was necessary,” said John.

  “For you, not me,” I said.

  Silver came to my bedside and stuck out his hand, “You’re a good man, taking one for the team.”

  How do I get off this team?

  I shook his hand and he left. John and Leslie stayed at the foot of my bed, still as stone.

  “So we’re a team now?” I asked.

  “You’ll be the face of this,” said Leslie.

  “I never said I’d do it. You’re taking it for granted.”

  “Naturally,” said John. “You owe us.”

  “Not that much,” I said.

  They stared at me.

  I crossed my arms. “Are you saying I have no choice?”

  “None whatsoever,” said John and he turned to go. “Your father would agree.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said. “How come you didn’t end up in the water with me? Were you just standing on the bluff watching it all happen?”

  Leslie smiled. “No. We came in at the end. You were too fast for us.”

  “That doesn’t happen often,” said John. I couldn’t tell if he approved of my spe
ed during the chase or not.

  I laid back on my fluffy pillows. “I’m guessing you were made for stealth, not speed.”

  “Innkeepers are multi-taskers,” said John.

  “I’m a good accountant and a master distiller, for instance,” said Leslie.

  I threw my hands up. “Oh for crying out loud. You’re spooks, retired spooks.”

  They didn’t blink.

  “You’ve been watching too much TV,” said John.

  “Yeah, right. Morty can’t break through your firewall and the castle has better security than international airports.”

  “That’s not saying much,” said Leslie.

  “Fine. How about your backgrounds? They’re perfect, complete with speeding tickets and inaccurate medical histories.”

  “Inaccurate?” asked John, showing a spark of interest.

  “Your nose has never been broken, but you have had plastic surgery. That’s not in your history. And Leslie’s appendectomy didn’t happen in 1980.”

  “Now how would you know that?”

  “I glimpsed his abdomen and he didn’t have a significant scar. If he actually had an appendectomy, it was a laparoscopic procedure. Those weren’t used in ’80, so it was much later.”

  They didn’t confirm or deny. So frustrating.

  “Leslie already told me that he’s Shaun so obviously he didn’t play quarterback in high school in Pennsylvania to get a torn meniscus.”

  He shrugged.

  “You may as well tell me. You’re counting on me to tell the cops I shot two people for you,” I said. “You’re spooks. The truth will set you free.”

  “The truth never set anyone free. Evidence maybe. The truth, never,” said John. “And no one uses the term spook. That’s a journalist’s invention.”

  “What do you call yourselves then?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

  Leslie smiled. “Innkeepers.”

  “Oh my god!”

  “Nothing,” said John.

  “Nothing?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You have no name, no title?”