Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

  “Nice. There wasn’t a whole lot of street surveillance, but I’ll see what I can get.”

  I had a big chunk of chocolate before I asked my next question.

  “Did you find any evidence of inappropriate behavior on Anton’s old phones or laptops?” I asked. Please say no. Please say no.

  “Rest easy on that one,” Novak said. “I didn’t find anything and those bricks date back fifteen years. Anton Thooft had no sexual interest in kids that I could find.”

  “Thank God,” I said.

  Novak raised a brow at me.

  “I didn’t want to have to tell his sister he was a child molester. Flipping nightmare. This is bad enough.”

  “That rumor is nothing. Just kids talking.”

  “Yes, but I still think somebody saw Anton in a café with someone and that someone could be our guy.”

  “A teenager?”

  “Or it could be a coincidence. Anton’s there to meet the blackmailer. Kid comes up for a chat with their favorite teacher. It gets seen differently after he attacked me.”

  “So…”

  “The kid might’ve seen who Anton was meeting. At the very least, they can say which café. I can interview the people working there and Spidermonkey can see about credit card charges.”

  “Could be your blackmailer brought his laptop and stayed a while,” said Novak.

  “Wouldn’t that be sweet?”

  “Very.” Novak poked his shower cap and said, “Time to rinse. You seriously need one of these.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I pushed him off the bed. “I have to call Spidermonkey.”

  “I’m going.” He went for the door. “Do you want info tonight, if I get it?”

  “I will kill you if you wake me up,” I said.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Do that.”

  He left and I called Spidermonkey to give the names I had. He’d check out Sergio’s finances but doubted a teenager would be using cards much, especially in Germany where cash was often preferred. There was some good news. Spidermonkey had checked out Ella’s situation and found out that the rumors about her were purely that, rumors. The young cat sitter had no connection to anything.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and hung up just as Grandma lurched in. “We’re back!”

  “I noticed. How was the Christmas market?”

  “Enormous.” She tossed her coat toward a chair and missed before flopping down on the bed to take off her boots. “I had the worst drink under the sun.”

  “You can’t be talking about Glühwein,” I said.

  “Glühwein is wonderful. We had four kinds. One was apple.”

  “Nice. What was the bad stuff?”

  “Eierlikör. I thought it was eggnog, but it was like angry egg schnapps.”

  “That’s pretty much what it is,” I said.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s too strong and also weird.”

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “I don’t want to get up.”

  I yawned and closed my computer. “Don’t.”

  “We have to do our routine,” said Grandma.

  “Routine?”

  She rolled over and slapped my shoulder. “Have I taught you nothing?”

  Um…pretty much.

  “What’s the routine?” I asked.

  “Hello. Our skincare routine.”

  “Do we have one?”

  Grandma looked at me and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, right. It’s you.”

  “That’s right. It’s me. Mercy Watts. Your granddaughter,” I said. “How much egg liquor did you have?”

  “Hardly any. I was thinking you were one of the girls.” Grandma rolled out of bed and landed with a thump beside it.

  “Holy crap!” I ran around the bed and found Grandma lying on some throw pillows, looking startled.

  “Do you think I broke a hip? That’s how Mabel Grossman did it.”

  “Are you in horrible pain?” I asked.

  She thought about it. “No. I feel fine.”

  “Could be the liquor talking.” I checked her out and got her to her feet. “Don’t do that again.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.” She took my hand and started to drag me to the bathroom.

  “What are we doing?” I asked.

  “The routine. I taught the girls and now I’ll teach you.”

  The routine was Noxzema. She washed her makeup off with it and then slathered a thick layer of the cold cream on her face.

  “Let it sit for a minimum of five minutes, but it’s better to do ten. Then we’ll put on our creams and serums.”

  I did as instructed and asked, “So who are the girls? Not Millicent and Myrtle.”

  “Goodness no. The girls. Sorcha, Bridget, and Jilly.”

  “You’re telling me that the trio uses a four-dollar pot of Noxzema, not some potion made in the Swiss Alps out of goat placenta?”

  “They did, but it was sheep placenta,” said Grandma.

  “I was joking, but that’s gross.”

  “I know, but then I taught them and it’s the routine. They have beautiful skin and it’s hard considering how fair and sensitive their skin is.”

  “When did you teach them?” I asked.

  “During a trip.”

  “A trip?”

  It turned out Grandma J had been taking trips with the Troublesome Trio for years. It started with a trip to the Grand Canyon for Sorcha’s high school graduation and became an annual thing, but the Noxzema was a recent lesson that happened in Key West. My grandmother took three of her four granddaughters on a trip to Key West and I never even knew it happened.

  Grandma poked the cream on my face. “See how nice that feels?”

  It feels pretty crappy.

  “Yeah, the cream is nice.” It was, but I barely noticed it. “So where was I?”

  “When?”

  “During the Key West trip,” I said.

  “Honduras, I think.” She turned on the water and said, “Now wash it off.”

  I washed it off and tried to think of a way to ask why she never asked me to go anywhere, but nothing came to mind.

  “Chuck texted me,” she said.

  “Swell,” I said.

  “He thinks you’re mad.”

  “He managed to detect that, did he?” I asked.

  Grandma instructed me in her serum application. “He said it wasn’t serious between him and Natalie.”

  “They were engaged and he just sent me there without a clue. It was embarrassing. She obviously knew all about me.”

  She patted my back and said, “I know. It was a big mistake on his part, and I told him to give you some space, but you should call him.”

  “Hard pass.”

  “Why not talk to him? He loves you.”

  “I get to be mad,” I said.

  Grandma smiled at me. Her face was remarkably soft and unwrinkled, considering her age. “My girls are feisty.”

  “Am I one of your girls?”

  She lurched out of the bathroom, saying over her shoulder. “Of course, you are.”

  I followed her out, fully intending to question her on the trip thing, but it was too late. My beautiful grandmother collapsed into bed and began doing sweet little snores almost instantly.

  Thwarted, I called my mother, who picked up on the first ring. “Are you okay? How’s your head?”

  “Fine. Just a little headache. Why do you sound so panicked?” I asked.

  “You never call me when you’re working on a case,” Mom said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re just like Tommy in that. I watch the news or call Fats now if I want information.”

  Am I a jerk?

  “Who are you calling this time?” I asked.

  “Grandma J. Why?”

  “Did you know Grandma takes trips with the Troublesome Trio?”

  “Of course.”

  I was quiet, and Mom asked, “Are you upset?”

  “W
ell, yeah. Why didn’t I get invited?”

  Mom thought for a minute, and I did my best not to pummel her with petulant questions.

  “You had The Girls and the trio had Janine. That’s just the way it was,” said Mom. “I never thought much about it. You traveled more than they did and got so much.”

  “The trio wanted to be invited by The Girls,” I said. “They told me.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “Why weren’t they?”

  “That was down to Uncle George. He didn’t want The Girls’ help. He was weird about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He always had a chip on his shoulder about being self-made as if anyone truly is,” Mom said. “So how’s the trip going?”

  “It’s good. I might be getting somewhere. It’s hard to tell, but I have a good feeling.”

  “So…is Grandma trying to split everything?”

  “She is. What the heck is that about?”

  Mom started laughing and telling me stories about Grandma trying to split everything from a chicken leg to an ice cream sandwich. I laughed so hard I almost forgot to be hurt. Almost.

  Chapter Ten

  Grandma was not getting up. That much was clear. I poked and prodded. I threatened not to do the Noxzema thing, but she could not be moved.

  “I’m leaving without you,” I said to the pillow over Grandma J’s head.

  There was a muffled ascent, so I threw on my coat.

  “Call me when you wake up,” I said on the way out the door.

  I doubt that she answered and it didn’t matter if she did. I had a meeting and I wasn’t going to miss it.

  “Where’s Janine?” Moe asked.

  “Sleeping. Let’s go.”

  “She won’t get on the right schedule.”

  “And she doesn’t care.” I took off down the hall with Moe and Aaron tight on my heels. I had hoped to book it out without the two of them catching on, but Fats clearly got some of her skills from her uncle. Moe had been in the hall, waiting with arms crossed when I made my move. One step ahead like his niece.

  “What’s the hurry?” Moe asked.

  “Appointment at nine.”

  “We’ve got time for coffee and a croissant.”

  “No, we don’t,” I said. “Traffic in Stuttgart is terrible.”

  “Google maps says it’s fine.”

  “We’ll see.”

  And we did see. The traffic was a disaster on the A81 and it took twenty minutes extra. We barely got to the main gate of the post five minutes ahead of schedule. Moe drove up to the gate with a big grin and began chatting with the Pond’s gate guard who was, surprisingly, an Irishman.

  After a back and forth on German weather and the hideous traffic, I said, “We’re going to be late.”

  The guard waved us through and we drove on a kind of cobblestone road past the PX complex. They had Dunkin’ Donuts. I so wanted a donut, but we drove on and Moe confidently found his way past the post hotel where Anton met kids and drove over to the school complex that resembled a low-security prison with all the razor wire around the area. The school was pretty nice and had a large parking lot that had more cars than I expected on a Saturday.

  We parked and went for the high school that had a large metal panel for visitor check. I was going to push the button, but Moe marched on by, like a man that never asked permission, which I guess he was.

  “They’re going to ask for ID,” I said, trying to delay. High school hadn’t been my favorite thing and my counselor, in particular, was a problem. He was always trying to help me when I never asked and by that, I mean he kept calling my mother in for meetings. He just wanted to see her. I’d grown into being my mother and the last thing I wanted was another Mr. Klemper saying, “Oh, don’t you just know how to fill out a sweater.” I had a headache and jet lag. I might punch someone. “Maybe we should call Natalie and see if this—”

  “We’re not calling anybody,” said Moe. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Flashback.”

  “Murder?”

  “High school.”

  “Arguably worse,” he said. “But this is what you do, so we’re doing it.”

  Before Moe could reach for the door, a man wearing a Semper Fi tee and built like a small refrigerator rushed out, hand extended. “Miss Watts. I’m glad you made it.”

  Startled, I took the hand of the man who was so short he looked me in the eyes but was also twice as wide. “Mr. Hobbes?”

  “Yes. Jackson Hobbes.” He looked past me and asked, “These are your bodyguards?”

  I introduced Moe and Aaron without really specifying their jobs. Nothing fit them. Bodyguards? Come on.

  “Come in,” said Hobbes. “We’re all set up in the library.”

  I didn’t get a chance to ask what we were set up for and I was keenly aware that I didn’t come in hot as Keith told me to. On second thought, I didn’t really know how to do that. Fats would’ve. She came in hot to pretty much everything from hair salons to murderers.

  Hobbes led us into the high school and down a hall to a small library where a woman was waiting at a table with coffee and an array of donuts. She stood up with a huge smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “You got us donuts?” I asked.

  “You’re surprised?” Hobbes asked.

  “Well…Keith told me this would go a little differently.”

  The ex-marine ran a hand over his shaved head and then crossed his arms. I’m not sure how he did it with so much muscle. “What did he say?”

  I swallowed and said, “He said to come in hot.”

  To my surprise, he burst out laughing. “That fucker.”

  Moe joined in on the laughter and then they began going off about the military and the desire to mess with everyone at every opportunity.

  The woman stepped up and any reservations I had melted away. Mr. Klemper wasn’t in residence. “Meredith Calhoun. I’m also a counselor here. Hobbes thought I might be helpful to you.”

  “Thanks for coming on a Saturday,” I said before introducing Aaron and Moe.

  “Not a problem. After what happened, I decided to stick close to home in case there were any problems.”

  “Have there been?”

  Aaron poured coffee and gave me a donut before heading off into the stacks, looking for cookbooks, I guess. I’d never seen him read anything else.

  Meredith watched him go before answering. “I’ve kept up my counseling through the weekends. I don’t usually do that.”

  “The students are upset?”

  “I’d say rattled. The ones with previous issues are having a hard time coping. Mr. Thooft was very popular and the thought that he was someone else on the inside has shocked everyone.”

  I went on to ask about their impressions of Thooft. Not surprisingly, they were pretty much the same as everyone else. Great teacher. Great with students. No problems.

  “Keith didn’t like him,” said Hobbes.

  “Do you know why?” Moe asked.

  “Yeah, he told me after he died.” Hobbes told us about Anton lying and Meredith was shocked.

  “I can’t believe people knew,” she said.

  “He told you?” I asked.

  “In confidence.”

  I told her about Anton’s pattern of lying and the counselor herself was rattled. Hobbes questioned the website stuff and I reassured them both that the Incel sites were planted.

  “At least that’s good,” said Hobbes. “What do you want to ask us? We really had no idea he was going to attack you. If you’d have told me he would do something like that, I’d have said you need your head examined.”

  “Well, he was being blackmailed,” said Meredith.

  “He was,” I said. “Did you see any odd behavior before he left?”

  “None at all,” said Hobbes. “I wasn’t close to the guy, but I think I’d have heard if a kid had an issue.”

  “The staff had no problems either,” said Mer
edith. “He told me he had a family thing and had to go back to the States to handle it.”

  “Was he distressed when he told you?”

  “A bit, but that was normal. Being overseas, we often feel cut off from what’s happening at home. Things can seem worse than they really are.”

  We talked about the last couple of months before and nothing unusual was happening from their points of view. Anton was the same as always.

  “Can you think of any reason why he would go to Sindelfingen to go to this ATM?” I asked, showing them the picture.

  Hobbes sat back and frowned. “No. He lived in Waldenbuch and there are ATMs at the credit union and PX here on post.” He looked at Meredith and she shrugged.

  “Do you know any staff that live in Sindelfingen?”

  “Not off the top of my head. People live all over. The community is pretty spread out, but Böblingen and Sindelfingen are popular because they’re close.”

  “Do you think students would be living there?” I asked.

  “I’m sure there are.” Hobbes picked up a donut and asked, “What are you getting at?”

  “There are rumors about Anton and some student at a café.”

  Meredith threw up her hands. “Oh, that’s just silly. Teachers can have coffee with students. There’s nothing wrong in that.”

  “It’s a lead,” I said, not mentioning that I had a feeling. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t. “I heard the rumor may have started with Sergio Tarantina.”

  The counselors looked at each other in surprise and I waited to see what would bubble up. It took a minute or two, but they both said they found that hard to believe. Sergio was a top student with a full load of AP classes and a champion wrestler. They’d had no problems with him or complaints.

  “You don’t think he’d lie then?” I asked.

  “Who told you he said anything?” Hobbes asked.

  “My source wouldn’t like to be identified. Let’s just say I believe what I was told.”

  Meredith nodded and got a laptop out of her bag. “Let me look and see if there’s something I missed.” She got to work and we ate our donuts while she went through Sergio’s file.

  “All his grades are steady. I can’t reveal what they are, of course. No discipline problems. No complaints from teachers or staff or students.”

  “Can you look at Anton’s grade book?” I asked.