In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5)

by A W Hartoin

  Chuck tapped the duct tape covering my wrists. “It’s going to be hard to take off your top if you’re taped.”

  “You’re going to take off my top?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Okay.”

  Chuck had to borrow a pair of scissors from the maids that finally showed up and, even with their help, it took a half hour to get me untaped. The maids took the huge tape ball with them and were persuaded by Chuck’s charm to take Pick out for a walk. He closed the door and I said, “You and me.”

  “Together? None of this cousins and we’re gross stuff.”

  “We’re not really cousins.” I barely got it out. I sounded like Kathleen Turner with vocal cord damage.

  “I like the sexy voice.”

  “I hate that track suit. Can we burn it?” I asked.

  “Then I’d be naked.” Chuck grinned at me.

  I mirrored his grin with my own. “Works for me.”

  Three hours and a shower later, Pick was back on our bed, snoring with his paws in the air. Chuck traced my ribs with his finger. “Didn’t use to be this way.”

  “Puhlease. He always snored. The vet says he has a septum issue,” I said.

  “I mean this.” He flicked me in the rib.

  “Ouch. What was that for?”

  “Lettuce.” He flicked me again.

  “Stop it, you freak.”

  Another flick. “And carrots.”

  I smacked his hand.

  “Green smoothies that taste like crap.” Flick. Flick.

  “I will beat you to death.” I flipped over and sat on his chest.

  “Oh you will, will you?” he asked.

  I put my nose in the air. “I’m tough. I chase homicidal maniacs through dangerous rapids and save teenaged girls.”

  Chuck snorted. “He was trying to kill a sixteen-year-old girl and failed at that. He was a wussy.”

  “You weasel!” I pummeled him with an embroidered pillow until he gave up.

  “Alright. Alright. This Tim guy was one tough bastard and you brought him down with one hand tied behind your back.”

  I whacked him one more time for good measure. “That’s right.” Then I collapsed next to him and closed my eyes. “I wish we could stay.”

  “I think we should,” Chuck said.

  “What about work?”

  “I’m off for the next week. I’m supposed to see a therapist to make sure I’m adjusting after the assignment, but that’s it.”

  “Will you go?” I asked.

  He cupped my cheek. “Of course. Are you going to eat?”

  “I already am.”

  “Good.”

  I reluctantly sat up. “But we can’t stay. There’s too much going on. I’m expected by The Girls.” I looked at Chuck’s lean body. “Besides there’s a mortician around here that would love to get a hold of you.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  He coiled an arm around my waist and kissed my ear. “One more day. The parents won’t mind. Now that you’re in the clear and the Troublesome Trio are gone you can enjoy the castle.”

  I got up and slipped a sundress over my head. “Maybe. I’ll call Mom for an update. Are you hungry? I’m starving. Let’s see what Aaron’s cooking. I hope it’s something with butter.”

  Chuck laughed. “It’s always something with butter.”

  I went in the bathroom and combed the snarls out of my hair. I had curls in all the wrong places. Headband. Definitely. Some music sounded in the bedroom, “Danger Zone” from Top Gun.

  Please don’t be work. No work. No work.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  Chuck didn’t answer and my stomach tightened. I stepped out and found him standing in the middle of the room wearing his favorite jeans and holding his phone like he’d never seen it before.

  “Chuck?”

  He looked up. “It’s your dad.”

  “‘Danger Zone’? That’s funny.”

  “Hm…I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  The smile fell off my face. “What?”

  “Lester died.” He walked across the room and pulled me to his chest.

  Died. He’s not supposed to die. Not yet.

  “I didn’t even know he was sick,” said Chuck.

  “He wasn’t,” I whispered.

  “He was incredibly old.”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  “We’ll leave right now. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  He sat me on the bed and packed up the rest of my stuff. “How well did you know him? I know he’s worked for The Girls forever, but my mom has a gardener and I don’t know him at all.”

  “He went with us on some of our trips,” I managed to get out.

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  I smiled wanly. “The Girls would sometimes go out to restaurants that I couldn’t go to and Lester would stay with me. We’d play checkers. He really loved checkers.”

  Chuck gathered all my stuff and put the luggage outside the door. “You did not pack all this stuff. Let me guess. Your mom did it.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll call your crew. They’ll want to come.”

  Uncle Morty marched in with his laptop bag, smelling like a cross between a men’s locker room and antiseptic wipes. Dr. Watts had been working on him. “Hell yeah, we’re coming. What’s taking so long? Let’s move.”

  “We’re ready,” I said.

  He looked between me and Chuck. “So it’s finally happened. About time. Does he know?”

  “Know what?” asked Chuck.

  “That Lester was murdered,” I said.

  Chuck didn’t pause to take it in. No hesitation whatsoever. He called the front desk, ordered his car to be brought around, and asked about Aaron and Tiny. Aaron was coming up from the kitchens and Tiny was getting dressed after a massage. Chuck picked me up off the bed and carried me through the castle with Pick following close behind.

  We went out the front door and I saw his car, a brand new Mustang in ice blue. “When did you get that?” I asked.

  “Yesterday. Like it?” Chuck asked.

  “Gorgeous, but the guys aren’t fitting in there.”

  He looked at his car with adoration. “John, you got a car Morty can borrow?”

  John stepped out of the shadows and Pick hid behind us, whining. I hadn’t seen John there, but nothing got by Chuck. “Will a Mercedes coupe do?”

  Morty walked up beside us. “What color is it?”

  “Does that really matter?” I asked.

  “Aesthetics matter.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Says the guy who wore the same smelly sweats for days.”

  “I suffer for my art. What color?” asked Uncle Morty.

  “Black,” said John like there was no other color possible.

  “That’ll work. See you at home, Mercy.” He stomped back inside.

  My eyes met John’s and I said, “Thanks for everything.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I got the feeling he meant that and, considering that I was thanking him for killing someone, it was fairly disturbing. Chuck looked back and forth between us. A shadow came into his eyes as he put Pick in the back of the car and me in the passenger seat. He got in and squeezed my thigh, his long fingers wrapping around the muscle. It felt so good, so safe. “Now you’re going to tell me everything I missed.”

  I buckled up and thought about it. So much to say and how little I wanted to say it. Two months was a long time and it felt even longer.

  “Is it The Klinefeld Group?” asked Chuck.

  Among other things.

  “Yes.”

  He peeled out, speeding down the long drive. I glanced back and saw someone on the parapet, but then they were gone. Lane, Taylor, and Anthony came out of the big black walnut doors with Leslie and watched us drive away. I didn’t say goodbye. Another regret to think about another time.

  Chapter Twenty-S
even

  THE FUNERAL WAS two days later. I wore my Valentino suit and a ‘40s style hat with a big ostrich feather. Lester loved women in hats. He said they classed us up.

  He was laid to rest at Jefferson Barracks since he was a Korean War vet, and the wake was at the Bled mansion against everyone’s advice. Lester’s widow, Mary, wanted it there and The Girls insisted. The security was a nightmare for Dad. The wake was invitation only and streets were blocked off to keep the press and the general public at bay. The mansion was rarely open to that many guests and Dad was afraid The Klinefeld Group would make another move. Mourners had to present their invitations and go through a metal detector to even get on Hawthorne Avenue. It was crazy, but, I suppose, necessary.

  Chuck and I threaded through mourners gawking at the art in the foyer and found Mary in the receiving room with a bowl of untouched boeuf bourguignon on her lap and an empty whiskey sour glass in her hand. Her red-rimmed eyes didn’t seem to recognize me at first, but then she thanked me for coming in her gentle South Carolina accent. I almost lost it right there. Mary’s nickname was Fireball. Lester always said she had a temper hotter than the fourth of July. She was known to throw plates and occasionally dumped all his clothes on the front lawn. She and Lester were in love, a fiery kind of love. They were rarely apart, only when he traveled with The Girls. It hurt to see her there, alone and diminished somehow.

  My shoulders quaked and Chuck led me away through the throng. “How many people are invited?” he asked.

  “Around three hundred I think,” I said before cheek kissing Lester’s daughter, Sunny, and expressing my sympathies.

  “That many?”

  “Lester was well loved.”

  “No kidding.” He ducked as a server came through with more bowls of bourguignon followed by another with a tray of tacos. “Who planned the menu?”

  “We’re serving Lester’s favorites.” I patted the back of one of the maids, Holly. She was practically howling and was quickly led away by my Aunt Tenne, who rolled her eyes at me. Her job was to keep people calm and it wasn’t an easy one. The news that Lester was murdered had broken a couple of days ago and it was all people could talk about. A Bled employee being murdered was big news and the fact that nothing of value was taken fanned the flames. That the inventory was missing hadn’t been reported and wouldn’t be. Everyone who had pieces from the collection, the Bleds and the Holocaust victims’ families, had been informed of the danger, but nothing had happened. No more break-ins or visits from The Klinefeld Group. It made me uneasy. But it probably made them more so. News commentators all over the world were questioning The Klinefeld Group’s lawsuit and whether they were behind Lester’s death. They were a shadowy group and now the spotlight was on them.

  Chuck steered me into the formal dining room. “So it’s tacos and bourguignon.”

  “And fried chicken and quiche.”

  “He was a renaissance man.”

  I took a deep breath. “He was. Look at that.” I nodded at the buffet at the end of the dining room where the servers were loading their trays. People weren’t expected to serve themselves, but Uncle Morty was there with a plate, trying to get at the tacos. My mother stood between him and paradise.

  “You heard what Mercy said. If you’re going to eat this stuff you have to move. No more sitting.”

  “Get out of the way, woman,” growled Uncle Morty, trying to dodge her and failing.

  “You have a condition,” Mom said.

  “Yeah, hunger.” He juked to the right and she blocked him.

  Mom saw me and we exchanged nods. “Morty, so help me god. Let me see your pedometer. Are you walking enough?”

  “Leave me alone,” he bellowed.

  Chuck put his arm around my waist and squeezed. “I think your mom should’ve had more kids.”

  Mrs. Haas from next door called out to Mom and distracted her for a second. Uncle Morty dashed over, stole an entire taco tray, and made a break for it toward the hall.

  I laughed. “I’d say she has plenty of kids.”

  Mom focused back on the dining room and then glared, her eyes searching for Morty. Chuck pointed at Morty’s retreating back just as he went through the hall door.

  I elbowed him. “You big snitch.”

  “It’s for his own good,” said Chuck, grinning at me. “Besides, I don’t want you working on his sores every day.”

  “I am a nurse. It’s what I do.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I’ve got better things for you to do.”

  I elbowed him. “Quiet. This is a funeral or have you forgotten?”

  “Lester would approve. He once told me that before he married Mary he dated four or five girls at the same time.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” I said with a glare.

  “You’re all I can handle.” He squeezed my rear.

  I smacked his hand. “Stop it. People will see.” I scanned the crowd, looking for disapproving frowns, probably my mother’s, but instead found only one person looking at us and his expression was amused. Oz Urbani smiled slyly at me over a trio of old ladies wearing enormous going-to-church hats. I sucked in a sharp breath and Oz turned quickly before Chuck followed my gaze.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. You’re just bothering me senseless,” I sighed. “I need a drink. Can you get me a…strawberry margarita?”

  Chuck kissed my forehead and patted my rear. “Be right back.”

  With any luck, he wouldn’t be right back. Rodney, Aaron’s partner at Kronos, was making drinks to order in the morning room and he liked to talk. I hobbled toward the hall with my cane and hoped Oz would follow. He caught up to me in the left conservatory. There weren’t many people lingering in among the banana trees and palms. The temperature stayed at a humid 85 for all The Girls’ tropical plants and the sun streamed in through the three-story glass held up by the Egyptian hieroglyphic ironwork, making it even steamier. I ducked behind a huge pot of ferns and Oz followed. He managed to look cool in his pin-striped suit while sweat beaded on my upper lip.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “You definitely weren’t invited.”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said, gazing up at the wavy glass. “This is impressive.”

  “Whatever. How’d you get in?”

  Oz smiled, his white teeth gleamed in comparison to his permanently tanned skin. “You never fail to surprise me. As resourceful as you are, you still have to ask me that?”

  “Well, how?” I asked, feeling as dumb as dirt because I had nothing.

  “I had 500 dollars in my pocket, no weapons, or a camera. That’s the concern around here.”

  “You bribed the security guys?”

  “One guy. The other went to pee. You have to pick your moment,” he said.

  I slapped my forehead. “Nobody can see you here. Dad and Chuck’ll know it’s because of me knowing your sister. I don’t want them to think I’m involved with the Fibonaccis. The very thought freaks them out.”

  “I’m afraid you are involved.”

  “No, no. I saved your sister and your aunt helped The Girls with Brooks’ lawsuit. We’re even.” My heart was beating faster by the second.

  “You were even. Now you’re not.”

  I peeked around the plants to make sure nobody had come in. “Why? What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything. Aunt Calpurnia decided to help you with the Costillas.”

  My heart skipped about six beats. “Oh my god. What did she do?”

  “She had a friend of the family send a message to Benny Costilla,” said Oz. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “The shanking in the shower? That was Calpurnia?”

  “For all intents and purposes. She made it clear that you are a friend of hers and weren’t to be touched.”

  “And they just agreed? What about their brother?” I asked.

  “The boy is dead and business is business. He shouldn’t have come after you, given your connections,
and the Costillas recognize that. Besides, she helped him out with a certain lieutenant who’d gotten above himself. She would’ve helped him with the other one, but no one can find him.”

  And nobody ever will.

  “So I owe your aunt big.” I got a little light-headed and Oz pulled over a chaise lounge for me. “What happens now?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “If she needs something, she’ll let you know.”

  “Will you be the one to tell me?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I’m not really a part of the family that way. This all happened without my knowledge. She told me this morning to tell you in person so I’m here.”

  Oz gave me a soft linen handkerchief and I patted my lip and forehead with it. “Well, the price is off my head. I guess I can’t complain too much.”

  “You can’t complain at all. It’s done. This is how Aunt Calpurnia works. We don’t have to like it. If it makes you feel better, your father couldn’t have gotten the Costillas off you. He doesn’t have the type of power it took.”

  I nodded, at a loss for words. What was I going to do? This was not supposed to happen.

  “Are you going to tell your father and your new boyfriend?” asked Oz with a twinkle in his eye at the mention of Chuck.

  “That’d be a no. They would freak and, as you say, there’s nothing anyone can do,” I said.

  “Wise decision,” he said. “I better go. I have a feeling that Detective Watts will be keeping a sharp eye on you from now on.”

  “You’re probably right. Why didn’t you just call me? This is risky.”

  He smiled a lazy smile at me. “But fun and it’s not like I’ll ever be invited in to see The Bled Collection.”

  My phone rang. It was Spidermonkey. I waved Oz off and he went around the foliage the other way just as Chuck called out my name. I hoisted myself out of the lounge and waved around the ferns.

  He marched over, his eyes darting around suspiciously. “What are you doing in here?”

  I pointed to the phone. “Shush. Spidermonkey.”

  “Oh,” said Chuck and he gave me my margarita.

  I sat back down on the lounge and said, “So you were saying.”

  “Using me as a cover?” asked Spidermonkey.

  “Maybe. It’s Lester’s wake.”