The baby began to cry, striking terror into my heart, and I ran over to check on her. Finn saw me and smiled. Well, that was good. Maybe she just wanted to be held. I lifted her from the car seat and discovered that her diaper had tripled in weight and smelled like a dead animal. No problem! I knew just what to do!
I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and laid the baby on it. With a stack of diapers and both boxes of wipes, I carefully pulled the tapes off and slid the diaper out from under her.
Oh. My. God.
The contents of the diaper was enough to make me grab my cell to call for help. I hung up halfway through tapping out the number. Kelly was taking a nap. She did not need me interrupting to tell her I think her baby had expelled the equivalent of a New York City sewer. It could be that this was normal—and if it was, I was never ever having a baby.
I wrapped the diaper up and re-taped it, feeling pretty proud of myself that I'd managed to get none of that toxic sludge on anything else. Then I opened the box of wipes and pulled about forty out.
They were cold. How did I know that? From the look of shock that crossed Finn's face when I began cleaning her up. I tried to do it quickly, but the wipes were thin and not very absorbent. It took half the box before I felt like my goddaughter was clean enough to diaper. The pile of wipes was about three feet tall. I wanted to throw them out, but I couldn't leave Finn.
Philby walked past, still wearing her diaper, her tail still switching violently. She hadn't taken it off. That seemed a little weird, but then cats are strange.
Finn smiled at me and began kicking her legs furiously. It stopped me in my tracks. Was she having a seizure? She kicked her legs in a bicycle-like pattern, her fists opening and closing, and now her face was the picture of concentration. Was she trying to run? Where would she go? I know she's old enough to sit up on her own, but was she able to walk? At least she wasn't upright.
I slid the diaper beneath her little bottom and taped it together. The seizure stopped. Clearly I'd just saved the day from something. Now where should I put her? The basket thing was out of the question because she wasn't asleep. And it seemed cruel to put her back in the car seat. That left me with the weird chair Kelly had mentioned earlier.
I put the contraption on the table. It looked like a baby slingshot. That didn't seem right, catapulting babies. But what did I know? I noticed a strap in front that appeared to connect to the chair on each side, with holes for the legs, and I quickly strapped her in. After congratulating myself for figuring that out, I took the dirty diaper and wipes to the kitchen, where they filled the trash can.
Finn began running again, and the chair started to bounce up and down. That was cool. I'd kind of like a chair like that. No matter how hard she kicked her legs, the chair absorbed the movement, and she seemed to like that. Maybe I should feed her while she's trapped. Wouldn't Kelly be impressed that I'd changed her diaper and fed her? That would be a total win-win.
There were ten jars of baby food in the bag. Seriously, how long was Kelly planning to be gone? I unloaded them, placing the jars side by side on the table for closer inspection. There were carrots, peas, squash, and many more vegetables and fruits—all looking equally disgusting. Pears. I'd go with pears. Sure I wanted props for feeding Finn, but there was no way I was giving her something icky. I was going to be the fun godmother who only dished out the good stuff, so pears it would be.
The jar opened easily, which was nice. And Kelly had packed a long, tiny spoon coated with rubber. When Finn saw it, she started licking her lips and kicking harder. Oh yeah, I'm a natural. I can already read her and know what she needs. Kelly would be all Merry! You're my savior! And You are the best godmother in the universe!
I dipped the spoon into the goopy liquid, bringing up a very healthy portion. Finn opened her mouth and clamped down on the spoon. But as I pulled it away, she spit the food back out, and it ran in blobs down her chin.
I grabbed the wet wipes and used the other half of the box to clean her up, congratulating myself on not feeding her the obviously staining prunes or carrots. But how did I keep her from doing this again? A moment of inspiration hit, and I snatched a dish towel from the kitchen, gently tucking it under Finn's chin.
Philby jumped up onto the table and trotted over, the diaper crinkling as she sat down. She would hopefully sniff the spoon and pull away. What? Did she think I'd feed the baby tuna? Clearly Philby didn't know anything about babies.
Not like me. I was quickly turning into an expert on babies. And that was without training.
We tried a smaller spoonful, and Finn didn't spit it out. This was good because I was wondering if I could wrap her in a towel, shove the food down her throat, hold her mouth closed, and blow on her face like I had to when medicating my cat.
Halfway through the jar, Finn seemed less enthusiastic. She wanted to grab Philby who for some reason didn't have a problem with that. My cat just sat there while a baby tore out handfuls of fur. I was so impressed that I decided the cat would get a whole tin of tuna tonight.
That's when I noticed the buttons on the side of the chair. On and Off they said, daring me to touch them. What did they do? Kelly said something about it…but I couldn't remember. So should I turn it on? It couldn't be that bad if it was on a baby chair, right?
I switched the on button, and the chair began to vibrate. Nice. Now I really wanted a chair like that. Maybe one big enough for me and Rex. Finn's chubby cheeks were jiggling, and we both smiled. This was a good thing! Finn liked it! So, of course, I decided to turn it up to the next level. I mean, if she liked this, she'd love the next level, right?
I hit the button again, and this time the chair vibrated so hard that it started to move across the table. Well, that was not good. I had just pulled the chair from rocketing off the edge of the table when I noticed that Finn's eyes were open wide like she wanted to tell me something. That was when it happened.
She barfed. Not just on herself and the towel…but on the chair. On me. On the table. Somehow Philby escaped the mess, but I was covered in regurgitated pears. I switched the chair off and remembered what Kelly had said. Oh. Right.
I mopped the baby up using half of the other box of wipes (it now made sense that my best friend had packed so much) and stripped off my T-shirt. My bra was a little wet, but it wasn't vomit stained, so I didn't worry about it. I lowered the chair to the floor, and Martini bounced over, wondering what she'd missed. Upon seeing Philby's diaper she dragged one out of the open bag and brought it to me.
I should've put on another shirt, but Martini was pretty insistent. So once again I got out the scissors, only making a hole on one side this time, and diapered the kitten. Martini strutted around like she was the living end while I threw another huge stack of wipes into an overflowing kitchen garbage can.
When I came back into the living room, something seemed off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Finn was cooing at the cats. The cats were sitting there…wait…what's that in Philby's mouth?
A long, skinny piece of gray yarn dangled from her mouth. Which was weird because as far as I knew, Rex hadn't taken up macramé. Was the piece of yarn…moving?
Philby lowered her head to the floor and spit out a mouse that was running before his four feet hit the floor. The two cats started chasing the mouse, which was dodging his feline Stormtroopers by running in circles around the baby chair. I ran over and tried to swat at the mouse, but he'd decided it was safer being around me than the cats.
"Go! Get! Scat!" I shouted as I waved my arms at the rodent.
Philby and Martini split up, each stalking their prey from a different direction. They no longer resembled the snuggly cats I knew and looked more like the hunting velociraptors from Jurassic Park…if those velociraptors had diapers on, that is.
Finn, determined to get in on the fun, began to squeal loudly, kicking her legs and waving her arms. She knew something was up and decided she wanted in on this action. The mouse was on its back legs, trying to decide which
way to go as Philby and Martini closed in.
This was not good. I needed to get the mouse out of here before Kelly came back. If she knew I'd allowed a mouse around the baby, it wouldn't matter how many diapers I'd changed or vegetables I'd fed her—I'd never be forgiven.
Unfortunately, the mouse wasn't interested in scoring brownie points for me. He'd figured out an escape route by jumping up onto the baby's chair and racing toward her head. Philby and Martini decided this was a great idea and also jumped onto the chair and the baby. Finn giggled and squirmed as the mouse stopped right above her head. It looked like she was being swarmed.
Without thinking, I shoved the cats off the chair and, reaching behind the baby, pulled the head of the chair back as far as I could before releasing it. The mouse soared through the air, where Philby jumped up and caught it. It was pretty epic. At least no one was there to see it.
"What am I looking at?" Riley's voice came from behind me.
Okay, so this looked bad. He'd walked in to see me shirtless, launching a mouse from Finn's head while my cat snatched it out of the air.
"Why are the cats wearing diapers?" Riley asked as he walked over and unsnapped Finn from her seat, lifting her into his arms. "Why are you letting them put mice on my goddaughter? And why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
The open leer on his face told me that he didn't mind that last part at all.
A million explanations went through my mind, from the truth to a story where the cats put on the diapers and Finn picked up the mouse.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I saw you running around like a maniac in a bra," Riley said as he snuggled Finn. "I could see it all from your picture window. I thought something was wrong, and I knew the baby was here."
That seemed legit. I made a mental note to close the front drapes next time. If there'd even be a next time.
"Hold Finn. I'm going to find a shirt." I ran for the stairs.
"You can stay like that…if you want to." Riley grinned.
There was no way I was going to want Rex walking in to find me in a state of undress with Riley, so I ignored his comment and ran upstairs. Reappearing in minutes, wearing a new, vomit-free T-shirt, I walked over to Philby, who once again had a mouse tail dangling from her lips.
"Give me the mouse." I held out my hand.
Not that I actually expected her to do that. And she didn't. Philby kept the mouse and trotted into the bathroom. I followed to find her toss the animal into the tub and climb in with it. The mouse was trapped. Closing the door behind me, I joined Finn and Riley in the living room.
"How did you get in?" I asked.
"The door was unlocked."
"I'm sure I locked it." At least that was what I'd tell Kelly. Strike one against me, except for the mouse-on-the-baby thing.
Riley sat down on the couch with the baby. "Tell you what—I won't tell Kelly about the mouse and the unlocked door if you'll hear me out."
I narrowed my eyes. "I don't want to fight in front of the baby."
I wasn't sure if there was a way for Finn to tell Kelly what happened here. My guess was that, unless she was beyond her years when it came to pantomime, Kelly would never know.
"Fine. I'm going to hold you to that."
Riley nodded. "It's important that you understand what happened."
"You said you wrote about things that happened in the field." I snatched Finn from his arms and sat on a chair.
Riley had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I know it was stupid. But you have to admit—we've had some pretty crazy stuff happen in the field. I figured someday it would make a great book."
"We? The movie didn't have you in it. It only had some nitwit playing me! And why the hell was I a guy anyway?"
"You can't blame me for that! I had you as a woman in my manuscript."
I stared at him. "So in the last five minutes it went from being a few notes to a full manuscript. If you keep lying to me, I'm going out to the garage to get Rex's blowtorch."
Riley rolled his eyes. "Now you're just overreacting."
I covered Finn's ears before I blew up. "Overreacting?? Are you joking? I just saw my whole career played out on the big screen. The CIA is coming to get me…whatever that means…and we have two dead bodies because of your stupid little book!"
"Hey!" he said a bit defensively. "It's not stupid! It's a good book! I've put a lot of time into that, and it was totally ready for pitching."
"When? In thirty years when all of those cases become declassified?" Wait…did he just say it was polished and done?
I looked down and saw that Finn had fallen asleep. Very quietly I carried her into the dining room and put her into the basket thing, moving it to the doorway so that I could see her, but hopefully she wouldn't be able to hear us.
"I figured I might be able to approach the deputy director to get a pass…" Riley scowled. "Did you say two dead bodies?"
I threw my hands into the air. There was no reasoning with him. At this point I resorted to chewing him out.
"Most of the book would have to be redacted! You know this! You've seen what's happened to agents who've written books before!"
My first year out of the Farm (the training location for agents), a guy I didn't know had tried to sell his book about his experiences in the UK. The UK! And his stuff was boring! I guess he'd rescued one of the queen's corgis once or something. And he wasn't just shut down—he was transferred to Greenland for twenty years. And, as we all know, nothing ever happens in Greenland. As far as I knew, he was still there.
Another time, two secretaries wrote a novel together about a fictional field operative in Chile. They made up the whole book. Not one word was true. And they got sent to the mail room. Permanently. Greenland was a better alternative to the mail room at Langley. It was dingy, and they had bats.
"Two dead bodies, Wrath." Riley was no longer struggling. His calm, composed manner was back. "Explain."
I could've argued with him, but what was the point? The only way to get any real answers was to tell him what had happened. So I told him about Dewey the Pizza Guy and Tim Pinter. Riley listened quietly, patiently taking it all in.
"So you didn't have anything to do with those murders?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. Why?"
"I had kind of hoped it was you who killed Pinter."
"You just said you fired your weapon through the guest room bed and closet! You thought you were shooting me?"
"No. Not at the time. But later I thought you might have been behind it."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't kill in cold blood, Wrath. And not just for a movie."
"Maybe you were worried Pinter was booby-trapping my house. He was ex-CIA."
The two of us considered this quietly.
"You didn't know him, did you?" I asked.
"Never heard of him. But that doesn't mean anything. I don't know everyone."
That was true. The CIA didn't exactly have an annual yearbook or interoffice newsletter. There were a lot of spies I didn't know even existed.
"I can ask Maria…" I started.
Riley cut me off. "I don't think you should do that. We don't know how far up this goes."
My jaw dropped. "You're joking. I totally trust Maria. It's you I'm not so sure of."
This seemed to anger Riley, and he said nothing in reply. Had it hurt when I'd said that? Trust was so important out in the field. You had to trust the people you worked with because there was no one else.
"You should trust me, Merry," he said quietly.
"Why should I trust someone who's been in town, shadowing me for days, without letting me know?"
"I couldn't tell you anything until I knew what was going on."
"Really? Or were you hoping you could figure out who stole your damn book and leave town before I even knew you'd been here?"
"That's not fair," he said.
"What's not fair"—I picked up the conversation—"is you not answering my calls. Is you writing a sec
ret book about my exploits that you hoped to make money on—and we're going to get back to that, by the way. You've been hiding from me."
Riley took a deep breath. "I didn't kill your pizza man or the ex-agent in your guest room. I swear it. I have no idea who they are."
I tried a different track. "Does the CIA know you're here?"
"Not exactly…"
"Not exactly? Could you be more specific?"
"They think I'm on vacation in the French Riviera."
"Should I make french fries tonight so that you can feel you're really there?" I sniped.
Riley didn't answer.
"So you've gone rogue."
Going rogue wasn't like you see in the movies or on TV. Going rogue was a career-ending decision with the possibility of jail time. Significant jail time.
"I honestly thought I could take care of this without you knowing."
"It's kind of hard to do that when the CIA thinks I'm the leak. They're swarming Hollywood as we speak. Zeke says fourteen agents at least."
He frowned. "Zeke? You talked to Zeke?"
I stared at him as if he'd grown a unicorn horn out the middle of his forehead.
"Well, duh. He's my only contact there. I was hoping he'd know who was behind this." I thought about what he'd said minutes ago.
"Hey! You were hoping to leave town before I knew you were here! Did you think I'd just get blamed for your screw-up and you could head back to the Riviera and let me take the fall?"
"I wasn't hoping for that. I was hoping they'd see that you weren't involved and leave you alone."
"After a full investigation!" It didn't matter that I'd left the Agency a couple of years ago. I'd still be under suspicion on a possible actionable offence.
"I hoped it wouldn't go that far," he responded.
I sighed. "You were pinning your getaway on a lot of iffy hopes."
Mud Run Murder Page 9