Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

  “I don’t feel good,” I blurted out.

  She touched my forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Did you and your dad have a talk today? He says you want to work, but you must listen to me. You need to rest.”

  Seriously, Dad?

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to go get an…antacid,” I said.

  “It’s not your head?” Mom asked.

  “Head’s good.”

  “I’m still worried about that chemical and those headaches.”

  “It’s better.”

  “Really?”

  I hugged Mom and said, “Just going to the bathroom. Totally fine.”

  “Mercy,” called out Dad, but I darted away toward the front of the house. I bypassed the stairs and trotted down the hall to the kitchen. Chocolate. Aunt Christine always had a chocolate stash. She let me in on the secret a few years ago during a similar crisis. The green tea tin sitting on the counter was filled with chocolate. Nobody in her part of the family liked green tea, but they loved chocolate, so she had her own hidden stash. She couldn’t keep it in supply otherwise. The red-headed Watts might not like to eat, but they couldn’t resist chocolate.

  I burst through the kitchen door and stopped midway to the green tea tin. “I knew something smelled good.”

  My partner Aaron stood at Aunt Christine’s six-burner Viking with all the burners going and both ovens, too. The little weirdo didn’t turn around. He held out a tasting spoon and I obediently came over to take it.

  “That is fabulous.” I licked my lips. “Béchamel? But it kinda tastes like…champagne.”

  Aaron looked at me, well, he looked to the left of me and asked, “You hungry?”

  “More than I can express,” I said.

  He picked up a little pot and poured me a thick hot chocolate and added a dashed of spiced rum.

  I took a sip and put my forehead on his low, rounded shoulder. “Thanks. I really needed that.”

  The kitchen door creaked and I groaned inwardly. That was the shortest reprieve ever.

  “There you are,” said Chuck.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “I’m excited that you’re not anybody else,” I said.

  Chuck came in and leaned over the stove. “Thank God you’re cooking.”

  Aaron nodded and bumped him out of the way and we both retreated to let him work his magic. I was more than grateful for it. Aunt Christine was great but not a cook. Aaron needed to give her lessons, but I don’t think it was her fault. She had four people who didn’t like to eat. It’s hard to get good at something when nobody cares.

  “So,” said Chuck, “I gotta ask you something.”

  Swell.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “I think Jilly might have a thing for me.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  “She was, ya know, talking about my abs and stuff,” he said with his forehead creasing. “Do you think she does?”

  “Every woman I know has a thing for you,” I said.

  Chuck puffed up and started checking his biceps. “It’s the new muscle mass.”

  There’s no new muscle mass.

  “They’ve always had a thing for you. Women. All of them.”

  “The eggs are working. I’m going to eat more eggs.”

  I slapped his shoulder. “You’re getting perilously close to me not having a thing for you.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he asked in all seriousness, “Why? I look great. My plan is working.”

  “First, egg farts. I’m not a fan. Second, my boyfriend going on an extreme diet to attract other women is not a winning strategy,” I said.

  “I’m dating you. I have to look good,” he said.

  “And smell bad.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Perfect. Keep with the eggs and green smoothies and what all and the idea of separate bedrooms will become a reality,” I said.

  “I don’t like that,” said Chuck.

  “I don’t like—”

  My father’s voice rang out in the hall, “Has anyone seen Mercy?”

  I jumped behind the kitchen door a split second before it opened.

  “Hey, Chuck,” said Dad. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Um…talking to Aaron about…steak,” said Chuck.

  “Are we having steak?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, well,” said Dad, “have you seen Mercy?”

  I put my finger to my lips and Chuck said, “Not lately. Why?”

  “I’ve got to talk to her about the plan.”

  “Plan? What plan?”

  Dad lowered his voice. “This is just between you and me.”

  “Okay,” said Chuck.

  Dad went on to say that there’d been a development in Clinton State Prison in New York. Ben Solomon, a serial killer from the seventies, may have had contact with Brian Shill and had mentioned me in a letter to his court-appointed lawyer.

  “So what?” Chuck asked. “Mercy’s big in prisons.”

  Did everyone know that except me?

  “She is,” said Dad. “But this guy never gave the locations of his victims.”

  “How’d they get him?”

  “The body of his seventh victim was in his trunk when he was pulled over for speeding. Officer smelled it. A search of his cabin turned up trophies from four missing women and two men.”

  “What do you expect Mercy to do about it?” Chuck asked.

  “Ladd and Owens are here to interview her and we’re going to Hunt tomorrow,” said Dad.

  “Who’s going to Hunt?”

  “The four of us. Blankenship has agreed to see Mercy again.”

  Chuck frowned and crossed his arms. “I bet he has.”

  “Don’t give me that look,” said Dad. “You know we need this. He has information on the other burial locations and he won’t talk to anyone but her.”

  “You think Blankenship has info on Solomon?”

  “Unrelated. We’re booked on a flight to New York on Friday.”

  “So the plan is to throw Mercy in with Blankenship and this asshole Solomon? She has a head injury, Tommy. She’s recovering.”

  Dad snorted. “Head injury? Please. She’s fine and this is big. Those six families have been waiting since 1974. This is an in. We have to take it.”

  “What about Mercy?” Chuck asked.

  “You think my daughter doesn’t want to solve murders? She broke the Kansas case. Why do you think Ladd and Owens are here. Sightseeing? They’re here for her. Mercy’s a key. We have to use it. She’s flipping great with the crapbags. The taskforce is getting nowhere with the Kansas suspects we’ve got in custody. We have to do something.”

  “I know that. It’s frustrating,” said Chuck.

  “Glad you’re on board,” said Dad. “Now don’t tell Carolina about this. She doesn’t need to know.”

  “She’s going to notice Mercy’s gone on Friday.”

  “The official story is we’re going to Quantico for a tour.”

  Chuck rolled his eyes. “Come on. Carolina’s not going to buy that.”

  “She will if you back it up.”

  “Where does she think you’re going tomorrow?” Chuck asked.

  “Shopping.”

  “That’ll work,” Chuck said sarcastically.

  I guess my dad missed the tone. He just said, “Great. I’m going to find Mercy. She’s a little skittish, but don’t worry, I’ll talk her down.”

  “Sure.”

  The door closed and I said, “I’m not doing it.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  My eyes filled up. “Really?”

  “I never want you in with Blankenship ever again,” he said. “And Solomon, screw that guy. He probably just wants an eyeful of you.”

  “There is the possibility that I could get something,” I said.

  “I know. But this is just…I met Ladd and Owen.”

  “No
t a fan?”

  “They’re good, but they don’t think you are. I say screw ’em until they get a clue,” he said. “But the problem is what to do. Tommy won’t stop and he does have a point. I don’t know how to get you out of it.”

  “I do. I’m leaving for Germany in the morning,” I said, ready for a fight.

  “That’s supposed to be after Christmas.”

  “Not anymore. If I’m in Germany, I can’t be in Hunt. Besides, I’ve been hired to do that job and I actually want to do it.”

  “You do still have a head injury and a broken arm,” he said.

  “I’ve dealt with worse,” I said.

  “I can’t go with you.”

  “Nobody’s asking you to.”

  Chuck came over and hugged me. “You can’t go alone. Even if you weren’t a little iffy health-wise, I still think The Klinefeld Group is behind Thooft and your kidnapping.”

  “And I don’t. It’s somebody else.”

  “They could be worse,” he said.

  “I don’t think so. Blackmailing a teacher to do the dirty work? Nope. No way.”

  “Can Fats do it?” he asked. “She’s dying to go to Europe.”

  “No. She’s a lot better with the morning sickness, but she’s weak.”

  “Fats weak? That still makes her stronger than me.”

  “I’m not going to ask and Tiny wouldn’t want me to.” I looked past Chuck’s shoulder. “Hey, Aaron. Want to go to Germany tomorrow?”

  Aaron gave me a thumbs-up and kept on cooking.

  “Mercy, I love Aaron, but he’s not enough with you at half speed. Maybe I can do it. I’ve got time off coming to me.”

  “You’re on a serial rapist. That’s important.”

  “Not more important than you,” he said.

  My eyes filled up and tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t know how long I’d been waiting to hear that until I did.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Chuck asked.

  “I think I might want to marry you someday.”

  “Might?”

  I laughed and wiped my cheeks. “Maybe, if you quit the eggs.”

  “My future happiness hinges on eggs,” he said. “Who’d have thought it. But in all seriousness, Aaron’s not enough. He’ll run off and make schnitzel or something. No offense, Aaron.”

  Aaron shrugged. It was true. Aaron would stick with me to a point and he’d been great in the past, but food would lure him away.

  “I’ll be fine. I think I can take the cast off and my head’s good.”

  “You still get blurry. I’m not taking any chances. I’ll call my captain.”

  “I’ll do it,” said a voice from the breakfast room and we turned to see Grandma J stand up.

  My heart about stopped. Grandma J was my dad’s mom and what she was going to do was hardly predictable. She was super proud of Dad’s success as she was of Grandad’s. But she, like Aunt Christine, had liked my now-defunct nursing career and didn’t cheer my getting a PI license.

  “Hi Janine,” said Chuck hesitantly.

  “Hi yourself and before you ask, I heard everything.” Grandma J walked over and I saw where my cousins got their style. She was the most fashionable granny ever in a bias-cut eggplant-colored sweater, black leather leggings, and knee-high suede boots. Her silver pageboy haircut showed off her chunky earrings and skillful makeup. Grandad’s first wife, Dr. Dorothy Watts, called her “the luscious Janine” and she was dead on.

  “What did you hear?” I asked.

  “Don’t be coy.” She came over and kissed my cheek. “I heard your father being a work-obsessed, blinders-on jerk, just like his father.”

  My mouth dropped and so did Chuck’s. This was not my grandmother. I’d never heard her talk like that, not with all the crap Grandad pulled and he pulled a lot. He’d even come out of retirement again to work for my dad against her wishes. Grandma J kept trying to spend time with her husband, but he was a husband who had no time to spend and he liked it that way.

  “I’ve had it with him. It’s the last straw.” Her hands were balled up and her face filled with fury.

  “What happened?” I asked. “He’s already out of retirement. What’s left?”

  “One week,” Grandma J said. “One week and I’m not going to get it.”

  My grandparents had never been on a vacation together. They went to Vegas once because there was a woodworking convention happening and that was Grandad’s third career. But they never went on a cruise or to Europe or Florida. They didn’t buy a camper and see the national parks like my friends’ grandparents did. Grandad worked and Grandma waited. That was how it was. I was used to it. I guess she wasn’t.

  “Where were you going?”

  “Napa Valley. Wine tasting with our friends, Doris and Frank, over New Year’s. We were going to be warm and go to spas and be together. But your grandfather just canceled it. He didn’t even tell me. He canceled it himself and informed me. There’s a big case, you see.”

  “What’s the case?” Chuck asked.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. There will always be another case. Always another reason. I don’t know where I went wrong with Tommy, but I’m absolutely thrilled that you aren’t like him in the most important way,” said Grandma J and she kissed both of Chuck’s cheeks. “I’ll do it.”

  “What?” I asked, still confused.

  “I’ll go to Germany. I’m obviously not going with your grandfather and I’ve been waiting for Europe for fifty years.”

  “Oh, well, Grandma this is work, not a vacation.”

  “Will I be in Germany and not in my living room alone and angry?”

  Should I do this? Somebody tell me. I don’t know.

  “Yes,” I said slowly as I saw her swollen red eyes for the first time.

  “Perfect.” She held up her phone to show me a Christmassy picture. “Did you know that Stuttgart has one of the biggest Christmas markets in Germany?”

  “I did not.”

  “Will we have time for that?” Grandma asked. “It says three hours. Will we have three hours to go to a Christmas market?”

  “I…”

  “Yes,” said Chuck, squeezing my hand. “You’ll totally have time for that.”

  Grandma J looked at me and I nodded. “We will do it. I just hope you enjoy it. I mean, there will be a lot of running around.”

  “As opposed to sitting around? That’s exactly what I want. A life.” She hugged me again and then Chuck.

  “What will you tell Grandad?” I asked.

  “Exactly what you are going to tell my son. Nothing. If he’s lucky, I’ll leave a note.”

  “I hope you won’t be disappointed,” I said. “I mean Stuttgart isn’t a tourist city.”

  “Don’t worry. If I want more when you’re done, I’ll stay,” she said.

  “Stay?”

  “I’ll stay and tour on my own. I can do that. I’m a grown person.”

  “Of course, you are,” said Chuck quickly. “But wouldn’t it be more fun with someone else?”

  Grandma J tapped a polished finger on her dimpled chin. “I see your point. When we land, I’ll call Isolda. She’s always up for a laugh.”

  My mind went through Grandma J’s friends and I came up blank. “Who’s Isolda?”

  “How many Isoldas could you possibly know? Isolda Bled. Imelda’s daughter. She’s in Germany right now. We’re friends on Facebook and I’m following her travels. She always tells me I should up and go where I want. Now I am. I can travel with her. She won’t mind. She’s been asking me for years.”

  Isolda Bled was one of the Bled cousins, but a rarely seen one. I pretty much saw her at funerals and on the holidays. Occasionally, she turned up out of the blue to tell stories about traveling in the Middle East or Botswana. She was the best babysitter ever and would somehow get backstage passes to the elephant house at the zoo or take me to The Muny in Forest Park. I got to see Wicked and Beauty and the Beast. Then she’d be off aga
in and I wouldn’t see her for a year. She came off as a bit nutty, but she wasn’t one of those Bleds. Her mother was though. Imelda was in and out of psychiatric hospitals her whole life and I couldn’t help but think it scarred Isolda. She never stayed in one place for long. It was like she was trying to outrun her mother’s demons.

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Chuck. “You’ll watch her? Mercy’s slippery.”

  “Hey!” I exclaimed.

  “Please,” said Grandma J. “I know slippery. I’ll stick to her.”

  Aaron came over with a mug of hot chocolate and gave it to Grandma. She took it and kissed his cheek. “We are going to have the best time.”

  “Finding the crazies behind a kidnapping plot?” I was dripping with doubt.

  “And being not here.”

  I raised my mug. “To the best time.”

  Clink.

  Chapter Five

  The airport was hopping and by that, I mean totally insane. Everyone and their mother’s brother had decided to fly that Thursday. I didn’t think people flew out for Christmas so early, but I guess they did. We were lucky to have the Bled pull and got seats.

  Aaron and I wheeled our bags over to the Delta kiosks, weaving between happy couples off to skiing, angry businessmen, and families with wailing kids cranky about being at the airport at seven in the morning. I was with the kids, but it was worth it. We were there and no one named Tommy Watts had come out of the woodwork to stop us or at least try to stop us. I considered that a major victory and a minor miracle. My father, famous for his feelings, hadn’t smelled a rat. He did corner me after dinner at Aunt Christine’s and laid out his plan for Hunt and the medium security jail known as The Workhouse where Brian Shill was awaiting trial having been denied bail.

  Stevie had once told me that The Workhouse was total hell and detailed some things that were better left unsaid. I hoped Shill was enjoying every terrible feature The Workhouse had. I know that says something about me and my desire for vengeance, but I’m okay with it. The guy put Cassidy Huff through a wood chipper. Nothing was bad enough for him as far as I was concerned.

  Dad went on to inform me about my civic duty and flying to New York, how many interviews I would have to endure with Ladd and Owens, and what to expect from Solomon. I told him no that I wasn’t doing it. He said be ready at eight. I said I would not be ready at eight or at any other time, but Dad just kept bulldozing through like he always does. I finally gave up and just sat there until he took a breath.