Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

  “Let’s print Alison, too,” I said.

  “Ooh, where are we going?” Grandma asked.

  “Back to the café,” I said. “But you’re not.”

  Her lower lip poked out and she was adorable despite the shower cap. “Why not? I’m part of this investigation.”

  “You’ve got goop on your head.”

  “That’s easily fixed and you need a translator,” she said. “Aaron saved your bacon today.”

  “And he can do it again,” I said.

  Moe cleared his throat. “Actually, Aaron went to the spa.”

  “I’ll get him.”

  “It’s a naked spa.”

  “Never mind.” I pointed at Novak’s head. “What about that? You can’t leave him half done. He’ll look ridiculous.”

  Novak looked up at me with his face full of Noxzema and then swept an arm over his skintight ski getup. “As if that’s something I’m concerned with.”

  “Alright, Grandma. Rinse your hair. It’s back to Sindelfingen.”

  “Are you going to tell that cop you’re coming?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell him after.”

  “What happens if his boss catches us?”

  Nothing good.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Oh, I love this town,” said Grandma. “It’s a lovely town.”

  Moe and Grandma walked ahead of me, arms linked in no particular hurry. Sindelfingen was even more crowded and people were rushing around laden with boxes and bags. Moe was right. It was super Christmassy and I’d have been smiling, if we weren’t immediately disobeying the Polizei. Koch’s charmless boss wanted to be told when we came back so someone official could be with us. Pass. First, I didn’t want some cop leaning over my shoulder the whole time making sure I could add two and two, and second, people were less likely to pony up some info if they were.

  The Saturday market was starting to close up, but Grandma dragged us through there, asking questions a mile a minute in her phenomenal German and once she got going, there was no stopping her. She bought a handy basket for shopping: flowers, oranges—we needed the Vitamin C—two Christmas ornaments, potpourri, and a hat for Grandad.

  “Don’t you think Ace will love this scarf?” She held up a wide scarf in a green plaid.

  “I’ve never seen Grandad wear a scarf,” I said.

  “That’s because he doesn’t have this one. I’m getting it.”

  I tried to be patient. I really did, but there’s only so much shopping I can take when I’m not the one doing it. “Fine. I’ll go to the café and you two keep buying.”

  I tried to dart off, but Moe’s wrinkly old hand snatched me back. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  “Come on. Claudia and Marta might leave or we might get caught by Koch. You just know he’s lurking around.”

  “He’s on our side.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  Grandma tucked the scarf into her basket and said, “I’m done. So there.”

  “Okay. Great. Let’s go.” I started across the square and heard behind me, “Oh, look, chocolate-covered strawberries. Let’s split one.”

  I spun around and marched back. “No splitting anything until we do our interviews.”

  “Fine. Fine,” she said. “Were you always this bossy?”

  “No.”

  “Fats says yes,” said Moe.

  “Swell. Come on.” I got on the other side of Grandma and forced her through the crowd to the café that was filled to the gills. We got in line and Grandma started talking about what we could split. She saw a sandwich in the window and thought it was so big we should do thirds.

  I’m going to lose weight on vacation.

  “I’ll have my own sandwich,” I said.

  “You don’t want all that. You’ll get gas.”

  A man in front of us chuckled and I cursed the German school system that made just about everyone under forty learn at least some English. He snapped a picture with his phone over his shoulder. Awesome. My nose was red and running, so it was sure to go right to Instagram with hashtag gassy.

  “Mercy was the gassiest little girl I ever saw,” said Grandma. “My goodness did she toot.”

  “She looks gassy,” Moe said with a chuckle. “How about burping? Did she burp a lot?”

  “You’re fired,” I said.

  “You can’t fire me, gassy girl,” he said.

  I blew my nose and the guy ahead caught me mid-blow. That would be a good one. It seemed like Germans ought to have some law about taking pictures of people they didn’t know. I ducked the next time he tried, but I’m pretty sure he got a bad action shot with my mouth open or something.

  We finally got in the shop and Claudia recognized us, but not in a good way. She kept looking past us and tried to go in the back, but Marta wouldn’t let her. Grandma got to the counter and ordered the sandwich cut in thirds, which confused Claudia, but Marta totally understood. Then we got lattes and two pieces of cake. I was excited, until I realized that Moe got one and we were sharing the other.

  Grandma paid and I put the picture of the boy on the counter next to the little money dish. Claudia took a look and ignored it. She just took the money.

  “Claudia, do you recognize that kid?” I asked. “Has he been in here?”

  “The Polizei said I’m to talk to them about the investigation, not you.”

  “Koch said that?” I asked.

  “No, the other one.”

  “Older guy? Crabby? Thinks I’m a cupcake?”

  “Huh? This is English that I didn’t learn,” said Claudia.

  “It just means he thinks I’m a fluffy, useless woman,” I said.

  She nodded and turned to the next customer.

  Dammit.

  “Just tell me,” I said.

  “I can’t,” she replied and went to cut a hunk off a huge loaf of brown bread.

  Marta rang up another customer, gave me a hard look, and then headed into the back. I pushed the cakes and sandwich into Moe’s hands. “Find a table and get our coffees.”

  “Wait what?” he asked and I got to see his eyes bulge more. Not a pretty sight.

  “Come on, Grandma.” I grabbed her arm to drag her around the end of the counter.

  “What are we doing? We can’t go back here.”

  “Watch us.”

  “This is wrong,” she said.

  I pushed her through the swinging door and said, “This is investigating.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Bummer,” I said. “You’re my translator.”

  Grandma straightened up. “Oh, yes. I am. Let’s do it. You just surprised me.”

  We went through the oven area where two bakers stopped shoving brown bread in an oven and yelled.

  Grandma said something about Marta and was pretty aggressive about it. They backed off and pointed to a back door. We went through and found Marta smoking a cigarette in the alley behind the shop. She picked a bit of tobacco off her lip and eyed us before saying, “Show me the picture.”

  “You speak English,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Hardly at all. I was not a good student.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  She smiled and I showed her Alison’s photo and she shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen her.”

  “How about him?” I handed her the boy’s photo. She took a drag and then tapped it. “This is the one you chase earlier.”

  “Yes. Do you recognize him?”

  She nodded. “It’s a little blurry, but yes. He comes quite often, but not in the last couple of days.”

  “An American?”

  “Yes, of course. Look at that coat. I recognize the coat.”

  Take that, Koch.

  “Have you ever seen him with the man I asked about before?” I held up Anton’s picture on my phone.

  She shook her head. “No. The boy was always alone.”

  “How often do you usually see him?”

  Marta
took a long drag and then tapped the cigarette against her lower lip. “Every other day. Very often but less lately.”

  I crossed my fingers. “When did it change?”

  “Oh, a couple of weeks now.”

  Grandma and I exchanged a look. A couple of weeks ago Anton left for the States.

  “Did you ever see him talk to the blonde woman you saw the man with?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Was he there at the same time?”

  She tapped her lip again. “I think so…yes.” Then she frowned. “He was there the same time a lot.”

  “Every time?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t say,” said Marta.

  I got out Alison Fodor’s picture and showed her. “How about her?”

  “Another American?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. She is a little familiar, but I don’t think she comes to us a lot.”

  “You haven’t seen her with that man, the boy, or the blonde?” I asked.

  Marta took the boy’s photo back and shook her head. “No. The boy was always alone. I remember thinking it was sad that he had no friends to come to the café with. Children these days are too much with the computers and games. Not enough of the social.”

  “Did he have a computer with him?” I asked.

  “Yes. Always with a computer. We have the free Wi-Fi.”

  I made a fist and said, “Yes. That is perfect.”

  “This is helpful?”

  “Absolutely fantastic.”

  Marta took out another cigarette and lit it before finishing the first. I waited. She had something to say and I wanted to hear it. At least, I thought I did.

  “You know the officer? Koch,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t say I know him. He saved me from a crowd of angry shoppers and basically threatened to arrest me.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “He likes you,” she said.

  Where is this going?

  “Koch wants to make an arrest. He thinks I can help him do that,” I said.

  She nodded. “You will be calling him?”

  “Yes. I promised to keep him in the loop.”

  “I have helped you with this investigation you are doing?”

  Here it comes. What’ll it be? Fix a ticket? DBD autographs?

  “You have helped,” said Grandma. “What can we do for you?”

  For crying out loud! She could ask for anything. Blood. Fingernails. It’s happened before.

  Marta looked at me and I nodded. What else could I do?

  “Speak to him about Claudia,” she said.

  “What did she do?” I asked.

  “You saw that she is…interested in him, but he does not see her. I’ve tried, but he is oblivious.”

  “Oh,” said Grandma. “That’s lovely. So nice of you to help.”

  “I am her mother and he is the only one that she has looked at.”

  Can’t say no to Mom.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  Grandma patted Marta’s arm. “We will take care of it. Mercy knows how to get attention.”

  “We don’t want him noticing me.”

  She waved that away. “No problem. We can do it.”

  “Since when am I a matchmaker?” I asked.

  “Well, I am.” Grandma went on to tell us about fifteen marriages she’d arranged, including Uncle George and Aunt Christine. They were all still married. She had a perfect record. Her one failure was Uncle Rupert. He refused to meet with Grandma’s pick and married Chuck’s mother instead. She was still pissed about that.

  Marta leaned in, bringing her cloud of cigarette smoke with her. Gag.

  “How will you do it?”

  “Well,” said Grandma in true scheming matchmaker style. “We’ll be in Esslingen tonight at the market.”

  “We will?” I asked.

  “Shush.”

  “We’re here to invest—”

  “If you don’t be quiet, I’ll tell your mother about the time you pretended to have cramps to get out of school to go see Radiohead.”

  “I don’t like Radiohead. That must’ve been Jilly,” I said.

  “Nevertheless.”

  “Not nevertheless. Details are important.”

  Grandma looked at me and channeled Aunt Miriam. The stink eye was so hard I felt it in my kidneys. “We will help. That’s what we do.”

  I turned to Marta. “So we will be in Esslingen tonight.”

  “I will make sure Claudia is there, too.”

  The ladies hatched a romantic plan that included me luring Koch to the medieval Christmas market in Esslingen wherever that was. How I was going to do that was unclear, but God help me if I didn’t pull it off.

  “We’re all set,” said Grandma and she gave Marta my number and hers.

  “Thank you,” said Marta. “They will be perfect together, if only he would see her.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I said.

  “Mothers know,” said Grandma.

  Whatever.

  We went back inside, leaving Marta polluting herself in the alley. Claudia was still behind the counter and looking seriously worried. “Is everything fine?”

  “Yes. Your mother is very nice and helpful.”

  A wrinkle formed between Claudia’s eyes, but she nodded. We left her and went to find Moe. He’d gotten a table in the far corner and the plates were empty. No sandwich. No cakes.

  “You pig,” Grandma said. “You ate everything?”

  Moe put his nose so far in the air I could see the hairs, a whole lot of hairs. “I certainly did not. There were some bums that needed a break. I shared. It’s Christmas.”

  Oh, come on.

  “What a sweetheart you are,” said Grandma. “I’ll get some more.”

  Seriously?

  “I’ll be right back. Same thing?” she asked.

  I plopped down in my chair and asked, “Why not?”

  Grandma got in line and I glared at Moe. “You big fat liar.”

  “She’s happy. That’s what’s important.”

  “Is it? I’m starving.”

  “You ate five donuts this morning,” he said. “You’ll survive.”

  He had a point, but I wasn’t happy. I still wasn’t happy when Grandma came back with the one sandwich cut into thirds and Moe, the bastard, ate one section and one whole piece of cake. I got half a piece of cake and one-third a sandwich. I ended up hungrier than when we sat down.

  Grandma, of course, was stuffed and moaned about it as we left the café. She was so distracting I wasn’t paying attention to our surroundings. Big mistake.

  “Watts!”

  There past a vegetable stand was Nachtnebel, holding an apple with a face the same color. He charged for us. The vegetable guy chased him, yelling about euro. Grandma elbowed me and said, “Run.”

  “What?”

  “Run.” With that, my prim grandmother clutched her heart and called out something in German. I think it was about blackness coming over her, but I didn’t have time to process it. Moe grabbed my arm and we darted behind a flower seller’s truck. He was packing up, so it was a huge mess and a minefield. We jumped over buckets of roses and juked around large Christmas table arrangements. Moe was moving. The tennis shoes he’d put on might’ve looked stupid, but the geezer could corner.

  We sprinted behind a butcher’s truck and Moe yanked me to a stop. “We lost him.”

  I peeked around the edge of a truck to see the Polizei double back to Grandma, who was prostrate on the cobblestones. He wasn’t happy about it, but the onlookers were pointing and demanding his attention. He knelt by her side and she threw an arm over her eyes and let out a groan. Who knew that the woman who was reluctant to go to my dad’s retirement ceremony because she might have to say a word or two could be such a ham?

  Moe smiled and squeezed my arm. “Where has she been all my life?”

  “Married to my grandad,” I said.<
br />
  He pointed a finger at me and made a circular motion. “A tiny insignificant detail.”

  “Why does that sound familiar?”

  “Love Actually,” Moe said. “It’s my favorite Christmas movie.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “What did you think it was?”

  “Die Hard.”

  “That’s a good one, but I’m a romantic,” he said. “I bet Love Actually is Janine’s favorite, too.”

  I crossed my arms. “It is not.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Dammit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We left Grandma J in Sindelfingen. Once upon a time, I would’ve worried about her but not anymore. She could handle herself and the Polizei. She’d probably fix their skin issues, put them on diets, and intro them to their future spouses before she was done. They deserved it and I deserved a break and a snack, but I wasn’t going to get either.

  Moe and I headed for our rooms in the hotel, only to find Koch leaning on the wall outside mine.

  Oh god damn. Thirty minutes. That’s all I get.

  “That took a while,” he said.

  “We don’t have sirens,” I said.

  “You should have a bell around your neck to warn bystanders.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Disaster follows you and Nachtnebel isn’t happy,” said Koch.

  I batted my eyes and put a fluttery hand on my chest. “Why is that?”

  He snorted, choking back a laugh. “Your grandmother is in the hospital.”

  “You don’t say,” I said.

  “She convinced half of downtown Sindelfingen that she was having an attack of the heart”—he referred to a notebook—“gout and also herpes. All at the same time. The paramedics were so confused they took her in.”

  “I love that woman,” said Moe.

  “Stop it!” I said.

  “Too late.”

  “Someone will have to go get her,” said Koch. “Nachtnebel doesn’t realize who she is yet and I’d like to keep this connection secret.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Moe a little too fast.

  “Nope. Forget it. I’m going,” I said. Time alone with Grandma J was not a good idea, even if it was with the weirdest looking mobster of all time.