by A W Hartoin
“You felt comfortable with that?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. We’re talking an army post here. It doesn’t get much safer.” I must’ve made a face because he quickly said, “This isn’t Fort Hood, Miss Watts. This group of posts is mostly officers and high command kind of people. It’s very secure.”
“The army gets a bad rap,” said Moe.
“They do, but we don’t have those problems here,” said Mr. McWilliams. “What happened with Anton…it was a total shock and we were so grateful that you were okay.”
I thanked him and asked, “So you never saw anything to make you suspicious of Anton?”
“No. He was a favorite with the kids. He went above and beyond. Great test scores.”
“Not social?”
Mr. McWilliams thought about it. “Friendly and helpful. He wasn’t a talker, but I’ll tell you this. Kids filled up his room at lunch. He made them feel comfortable. You could hear them in there talking a blue streak. Kids that wouldn’t say a thing to me, Anton could get them to talk.”
“How?” Moe asked.
“I don’t know. Ella?”
The girl sat back on the sofa. “He was just nice. He didn’t talk down to us and didn’t say stupid stuff about how hard everything was going to be all the time. He said we could handle college. It wasn’t that bad. Stuff like that.”
“I know people thought he might be gay,” said Mr. McWilliams.
“He wasn’t gay, Dad,” said Ella. “He like loved Mrs. La Roche.”
“She’s married.”
“That doesn’t matter. He loved her. I could tell.”
Anton Thooft was gay, but there was no way I was going to say it. If the rumors were wild about him already, the kids would go berserk if I added that to the mix. The waters were already muddied enough.
“Did he ever say anything about me?” I asked.
“We went through all this with the Army and the Polizei,” said Mr. McWilliams.
“I’m a little different.”
“I can see that.”
“Dad! Don’t be creepy,” said Ella.
“I’m not creepy. I’m observant.” He looked at me. “They asked about you. If he talked about you, but Anton Thooft didn’t talk about anything, except teaching and the kids.”
“Neither of you had any clue?” I asked.
“He seemed okay when he gave me the key,” said Ella.
“But not himself,” said Grandma.
“Well, no. He was usually more chatty about Porky Boy. He’d tell me how he was doing. If he’d been stealing food. Stuff like that. And he always went over the vet stuff.”
“And he didn’t this time?” I asked.
“Nope. He just gave me the key and said he’d be back in a few days,” said Ella.
“Did he say where he was going?” Moe asked.
“Just a trip. He said he was in a hurry and thanked me. That was it.”
“You should talk to Sherri La Roche,” said Mr. McWilliams. “She and Anton were tight. They traveled together and were part of a foodie group.”
“See,” said Ella.
“They were just friends, Ella.” Her father sighed. “Sherri’s husband is a notorious crab. He doesn’t want to do anything but watch football or hockey.”
“Whatever, Dad.”
Mr. McWilliams waved Ella up and said, “We do have to go. If you have any more questions, we’re happy to help.”
I shook their hands and then asked Ella, “Were there any kids that seemed particularly clued in with those rumors?”
She shrugged. “They were all over school. Everyone was talking about it.”
“Will you give some thought and let me know if there was anyone in particular?”
“Sure.”
“Were there any hotels mentioned by name?”
“No,” she said. “Just hotels. Totally stupid.”
I nodded. “Most likely, but I have to follow every lead.”
Ella gave Porky Boy another scratch and left to meet her friend. Mr. McWilliams and I went to the door and he hesitated on the threshold. “She’s more upset than she seems.”
“I know that,” I said.
“Nothing like this has ever happened before. A teacher being shot to death, not to mention the rest of it and with what he did to you, we can’t even mourn him.”
He didn’t want to say it, but I could see it in his eyes. Here comes Mercy Watts stirring the pot. Fantastic.
“I’m not trying to kick up a fuss. I’m doing my job,” I said.
Mr. McWilliams looked away. “I’m not blaming you, but you being here…”
“It’s not about what he did to me. It’s about what was done to him.”
His eyes darted back to me. “You consider him a victim, not a suspect?”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” I said.
He got out his phone and sent me his number. “I’ll call Sherri La Roche and see if she’s up to talking to you.”
“Having a hard time?”
“I’d say she’s shattered and blaming herself. Other people are blaming her, too.”
“What for?” I asked.
“They think she was running around with an Incel and should’ve known it. Total BS, of course.”
“On several levels.”
He pocketed his phone and said, “I’ll call you after I talk to her.”
I thanked him and Mr. McWilliams went down the stairs. I turned around and just about jumped out of my skin. Grandma, Moe, and Aaron were standing there. Aaron had a carving knife and a bottle of ketchup. Grandma had the cat and Moe was clearing the Glock’s chamber. It was like the weirdest superhero poster ever.
“And now we tear the place apart?” Grandma asked.
“What? No,” I said.
“That’s what your grandfather always says.”
Moe holstered his weapon. “I think that’s hyperbole.”
“Really?” Grandma asked. “I was going to make a mess like on TV.”
“We’re not wrecking the apartment. We’re searching it.” I turned to Aaron. “And what are you going to do?”
“The kitchen’s dirty,” said Aaron.
“Alrighty then. Aaron will clean the kitchen and we’ll search for something related to stuff we care about.”
Grandma put down the cat and smacked her hands together a lot like Grandad did. “And what would that stuff look like?”
Moe elbowed her. “It’s like porn. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Ooh. There might be porn?”
Gross.
“Let’s just see what we see,” I said. “You two in the living room and I’ll start in the bedroom.”
Grandma raised her hand. “I want the bedroom. That’s where the porn will be.”
What’s happening?
“Okay, Grandma. Go find the porn.”
“Janine, you surprise me,” said Moe.
Grandma smiled so wide her lipstick cracked. “I’ve always thought of myself as boring, predictable Janine. This is new and I like it.”
“So do I,” said Moe.
This does not bode well for Grandad.
“Let’s just get to searching and cleaning, for some reason,” I said.
We all went to our separate areas. I hit Anton’s office and dug through mounds of lesson plans, random papers on random subjects from the Peloponnesian War to Andrew Jackson to indoor gardening on a budget. Anton liked to print things a lot. He also liked to keep things. There were three old laptops stacked up in a corner along with two old cellphones, and a basket of tangled cords that went to who knows what. I found the self-help books he’d ordered from Jamie his former love at Black Heart Books. They were marked up with highlighter and had several bookmarks in each one, especially Getting to Yes: Negotiating Agreements Without Giving In.
From looking at that, I started to think there was something to Moe’s theory. Anton was stalling, trying to wriggle his way out, but something got him going. Maybe there
was something else. The vague accusation about inappropriate behavior with the kids would do it, but would Anton fall for that if there was no proof? I didn’t find anything about that in the office. Not a scrap of anything remotely questionable. He did have notes to himself about kids in his classes, but they were sweet. “Remind Dorian to turn in second paper.” “Tell Maddie her speech needs more documentation.” “Make homework packet for Logan.” I got the notes off his multiple bulletin boards and out of the trash to arrange them by date. The notes were pretty steady until about a week before he flew out. There were none after that.
On the desk, I found a stack of Christmas cards and letters from former students and teachers from both the school in Germany and back in Missouri. They ranged from simple signed cards to “You were the best teacher ever.” I know I shouldn’t be influenced by what Anton left behind. I should have an open mind, but I just wasn’t feeling it. If that guy was inappropriate, I’d eat a bag of crab.
Once I got through the office, I moved onto the guest bedroom. Practically empty. And the bathroom. Neat and minimalist.
“Mercy,” Grandma walked in as I was rummaging through a bin filled with arthritis creams, “I didn’t find any porn, not even the bad kind.”
“You’re disappointed?” I asked.
“Well, I wanted to find some evidence for you, but this man was pretty dull, like me.”
I finished the bathroom and we walked through the bedroom. A little messy and a full laundry basket, but nothing about kids or people blackmailing him. Grandma stood in the middle of the room and stamped her foot. “There’s nothing. No threatening letters and his Kindle is full of Sci-Fi and biographies.”
“The bastard,” I said with a smile.
“That’s right. He runs off to attack my granddaughter and doesn’t have the decency to leave any clues behind. How is that possible? He wasn’t a criminal mastermind.”
Moe walked in. “He did leave something behind.”
He showed me a book where Anton kept the receipts from all the money he’d withdrawn over the last two months before he came after me. It was stuffed full.
“Catch-22,” said Grandma. “That says something, doesn’t it?”
“It says he was trapped,” Moe said.
I took the book and went to the dining room table to spread the receipts out. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” I went through all of them and they were right, except for two extras for fifty euros each. They weren’t taken out of the same ATM, either. The large block of withdrawals was from one ATM in Sindelfingen. Those two extras were from Weil der Stadt and they were first before any of the other withdrawals.
“Lower amounts,” said Grandma. “Maybe he was just shopping.”
“He saved them for a reason,” I said.
“To keep track of what he’d paid,” said Moe. “You gotta know or you’ll overpay.”
“There’s overpaying with blackmail?”
He scratched his chin and looked off to the right. “No, but there is with gambling and women. We could be looking at a debt here.”
“And he paid it off by kidnapping Mercy?” Grandma asked.
“Wouldn’t be the first time, Janine.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Moe gave her a wide smile and said, “You should.”
I checked the time and it was only one o’clock. I couldn’t be calling my hacker Spidermonkey yet, but I needed those receipts checked. Did Anton go to Weil der Stadt often or ever? There must be a reason that it started there and changed later.
“I’m going to call Novak,” I said to no one in particular.
“Who’s that?” Grandma asked.
“Hacker.”
Her hand fluttered over her chest. “You can’t do that. Morty will be so hurt.”
“Uncle Morty is recovering. I’m not supposed to stress him.”
She picked up a receipt. “Would this stress him?”
“He’d yell,” I said.
“Morton yells at you?”
“Where have you been?”
Grandma looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know.”
“Well, anyway, Uncle Morty will already be pissed, because my dad is pissed.” I held up my phone to show the eighteen thousand messages I’d gotten from my father since I didn’t turn up to do his bidding. I’d read a couple. It wasn’t pretty. Words like betrayal, fired, and out of the will were bandied about, but I just replied once with one of Dad’s old chestnuts. “Not now. On a case.” There were a whole lot more texts after that. Dad’s thumbs must be cramped.
“Your poor mother,” said Grandma.
“She went to The Girls,” I said.
“Your mother left your father?” Moe asked, his eyes so wide and bulging, I thought they might pop out of their sockets. Very disturbing.
“She didn’t leave Dad. She took a vacay from his fury. Tiny went to Minneapolis. They are all scattering to the winds.”
“Tommy has messaged me a few times,” said Grandma.
“Oh, yeah? What did he say?”
Grandma crossed her arms. “I didn’t read them. I want to be happy. Call that Novak person and let’s get this show on the road.”
With Grandma’s blessing, I called and left a message for Novak. The guy was seriously busy and pretty odd, so he’d get back whenever he got back. Spidermonkey he was not.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” I said. “Unless you found something in the kitchen, Aaron.”
Aaron stuck his head out of the minuscule kitchen and said, “Mold.”
“Not what we’re looking for.”
He went back to washing dishes and Moe said, “I’ve got something that isn’t something.”
“Cryptic,” I said.
“Check this out.” Moe led me back into the living room and opened the glass front on the fireplace. “He burned a lot of papers before he left.”
“That’s where all the clues went.” Grandma slammed a fist into her well-manicured hand. “He is a bastard.”
I squatted in front of the grate and poked around. “Nothing left. Could just be paper from starting a fire.”
“That much? No way,” said Moe. “And look here. Anton had these handy little fire starter sticks. There’s no paper piled up with the wood or kindling.”
I smiled up at him. “You’re not half bad at this.”
“I’ve got a history of finding people that don’t want to be found.”
“I bet.” I dug around and found a scrap of paper at the back. There wasn’t anything on it. Can’t be that easy. I mean, come on now. But it was notebook paper, college ruled. I held it up. “Definitely not fire starter.”
“Maybe that was the blackmail letter,” said Grandma.
“On notebook paper?” Moe asked.
“You think blackmailers have stationary for doing their business?” I asked
“I see your point.”
I closed the fireplace and called out to Aaron, “Are you about done?”
The little weirdo ran out wearing yellow rubber gloves and asked, “You hungry?”
“Flipping starving,” I said.
Without a word, he went back into the kitchen and I followed in case I was supposed to. The kitchen was immaculate.
“Looks like Kimberly’s going to get the deposit back.”
Aaron stripped off his gloves and laid them over the gleaming faucet. “Brewery?”
“Yes, please,” I said, and I went back into the dining room to find Grandma with her coat on and holding Anton’s cat.
“Um…what are you doing with that?” I asked.
“We can’t leave him,” she said.
“Why not?”
Grandma’s lips went into a thin, red line. “We cannot abandon an American cat on foreign soil. What kind of people do you think we are?”
“People who are living in a hotel that doesn’t allow cats,” I said.
“Look at this beautiful American boy. We can’t leave him.”
“He cou
ld be German.”
Moe poked the flub rolling over Grandma’s arm. “That’s a big fat American cat.”
“Not helping,” I said.
“See. We can’t leave him. They might put him in the pound and he doesn’t speak German,” said Grandma.
“She has a point,” said Moe.
“Does she?” I asked. “The cat doesn’t speak German? He’s a cat. He doesn’t speak anything.”
“Mercy,” said Grandma. “I’m disappointed in you.”
And here we go.
“Abandoning a helpless animal. How could you?”
“I haven’t abandoned anyone. He’s here, being looked after by Ella.”
“What about your Skanky? Would you want Skanky abandoned in a foreign country?” Grandma couldn’t have been more dramatic if she’d channeled Meryl Streep.
“Skanky?” Moe asked.
“My cat.”
“You named your cat Skanky?”
“I tried to name him something else, but he was, ya know, skanky,” I said. “This is off-topic.”
“Janine,” said Moe, “I know she’s your granddaughter, but I don’t think I can trust her to make this decision after she decided to name her cat Skanky.”
“That’s not relevant,” I said.
“I think it is,” said Grandma. “We’re taking him.”
“Where?”
“Home. With us.”
I threw up my hands. “Hotel. No cats.”
“Figure something out,” she said. “You’re supposed to be good at that.”
“We can’t just take that cat,” I said. “He’s not our cat.”
Grandma pointed at the table. “You’re taking the book, receipts, computers, and cellphones.”
For crying out loud.
“Fine. I will call Kimberly and tell her about this cat,” I said.
“And tell her we will be bringing her brother’s cat home to the United States where he belongs.”
“I guess so but not today. He stays here for now.”
Grandma deposited Porky Boy on the sofa and smiled. “Alright then. Lunch. Where shall we go for our first meal?”
She bustled out of the apartment with Aaron, pinging him with questions about sausages and dumplings.
