Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

  He abruptly stopped typing. “I don’t know if they ordered it, but they are connected. I have no doubts about that.”

  “Swell.”

  “It is what it is.” He started up again and said, “Let me call you back. We’ve got a lot of Wi-Fi users in the café and looks like the entire building taps in. This will take some sorting.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He hung up and I opened my computer, feeling a little weird about it. Someone was out there butting their head up against Spidermonkey’s wall. If you bang on something long enough there was bound to be a crack.

  I pushed the food away and sat down on the bed to go through Anton’s photos again. All those young faces, happy and hopeful. They were the very opposite of the boy at the café, but he was connected. He had to be, but something wasn’t right. Something about his pain, that guilt. Why feel it? He wasn’t at the table with Anton. But he knew the woman. He must or else where did the guilt come from?

  One of Anton’s boxes contained different sets of papers, graded and ungraded, from his different classes. The boy looked about seventeen, so I put aside the freshman government class and went with the higher levels. Separating the boys from the girls I ended up with two sets of possibilities, but I kept going back to the AP Gov pile. That look on the boy’s face. It wasn’t a casual relationship. He knew Anton well. That said AP. Anton was close to those kids.

  I came up with a list of twelve names and then started going through the boxes again for some hint of who the blonde was. Anton knew women. He liked women. Marta said twenty, but the woman could be as old as twenty-five or thirty. Age could be well hidden with makeup and clothes.

  “Another teacher? Parents would be too old. Someone he knew but wasn’t friends with.” I drifted off to sleep to have dreams of Anton’s hooded face, but now it wasn’t coming at me in the dream. He was silent, unable to move. Trapped.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Mercy!”

  I jumped and knocked two of Anton’s boxes on the floor. “What happened?”

  Grandma marched over to the bed. “You can’t be sleeping. You have to get on the right time zone.”

  I yawned and stretched. “It’s fine. Just a nap.”

  “How long have you been sleeping?”

  I glanced at the clock. Four hours. Holy crap. “Not long. Where have you been?”

  “The hospital. Germans are very thorough,” she said. “I got the works.”

  “Good and what’s the verdict?”

  Grandma ignored me and took a look at my plates. “Did you eat all of this?”

  “It’s not that much.” It was. I ate all the quiche and half of the eggs benedict and crepes. I would’ve eaten the rest, but I couldn’t force it down my gullet.

  “Your poor stomach. You’ll have indigestion.”

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “You will.”

  “I won’t.”

  Grandma couldn’t be persuaded to believe that my stomach that was regularly fed by Aaron, who thought small portions an insult, could handle that much food. She marched into the bathroom and came out with a glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer. “Here drink this.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Mercy, we have things to do. Sorcha, Bridget, and Jilly listen to me. Why don’t you?”

  “They don’t listen to you,” I said. “They don’t listen to anyone.”

  She fixed a beady eye on me and I plopped the tablets in the glass. Alka-Seltzer and Noxzema. I was losing track of what year it was. 1965? What was next? Tang and pimento loaf?

  “Good,” she said. “Now we have to get going. I called Marta and Claudia. They will meet us before we meet Koch. What’s your plan?”

  To get this glass of fizzy weird down.

  “Er…nothing,” I said.

  “What are you going to say to Koch to get him to notice Claudia?”

  “You’re the matchmaker. You tell me.”

  I drank my Alka-Seltzer and Grandma cooked up a plot to throw Claudia and Koch together. I’ve got to say, it wasn’t half bad and I sort of felt for Koch. Grandma was thinking a June wedding and I could see it. Grandma had done her homework. They did have things in common. Hiking, skiing, and dog rescues just for starters. According to Grandma, and I don’t know how she found this out, Koch thought he was too young to marry. Grandma and Marta thought otherwise. He was twenty-five and ready because they decided he was. He wanted to make rank and Grandma had all kinds of research saying married people rose faster than single ones. Koch wouldn’t know what hit him.

  “How come you never tried to matchmake me?” I asked and then burped. I did feel better, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  “You’re going to marry Chuck.” She applied fresh lipstick and a dab of blush to her cheeks.

  “I mean before we were dating.”

  She got out a different lipstick and handed it to me. “Try that. I think the pink gloss will look very nice with your new hat.”

  “I didn’t buy a hat,” I said.

  She pulled out a poofball hat with two poofballs instead of just one. It was adorable and pink with metallic green thread through it. “Put this on.”

  I did and she was right. The hat and the lipstick were good. Not too Marilyn. I generally avoided lipstick because it always accentuated what I didn’t want accentuated. “Nice,” I said, and she gave me a little blush.

  “Are you going to answer the question?” I asked.

  “You were always going to marry Chuck,” she said.

  “I hated him.”

  She gave me my coat and opened the Mauser’s box. Like a true Watts, she cleared the chamber, checked out the two clips I had, chose one, and slapped it in. “Here. You need this on you at all times.”

  “Who have you been talking to?”

  “Moe,” she said. “Do you have your panic button?”

  I showed it to her and pulled my pepper spray out of the luggage. “Happy?”

  “If you stay with Moe, I’ll be happy,” she said.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That someone is trying to track you. After what happened to Carolina and you, I’m taking no chances.” Grandma got out her own pepper spray and a rape whistle. “I’ll be right with you, too.”

  “I can handle myself,” I said.

  “Of course.” The expression on Grandma’s face said, nope, but she’d never say it. She was too polite. “Do you have enough tissues?”

  “Huh?”

  Grandma rolled her eyes. “A grown woman should have tissues in her purse.”

  “Um…why?” I asked.

  “In case someone needs a tissue.” She got three little packs out of her carryon and made me put them in my purse. I guess there was going to be a lot of sneezing. No wonder moms have such big purses. “All set?”

  “I guess. Let’s get Moe and the other two.”

  “Who?”

  “Novak and Aaron.”

  “They’re not coming,” she said.

  “Seriously? Does Aaron know there will be food in Esslingen?” I asked.

  “I assume so, but you can tell him yourself. Novak said they would be in Conference Room C.”

  “Weird.”

  “I’m sure it’s normal for them,” she said and with that marched out the door.

  We found Conference Room C, but the door was locked.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked.

  Grandma knocked. “Of course, I’m sure.”

  A second later, the door was unlocked and one of Novak’s brown eyes peered out at us. “Oh, it’s you. Come in.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting in that conference room, but it wasn’t what I got. It was a medium-sized room with a large oval table that was completely covered in a map with mountains, trees, and fortresses. Tiny little figures were clustered in different areas. On one side of the room was a kind of buffet. There were five computers set up along with external har
d drives.

  “What in the world is going on?” I asked.

  “I’m working,” said Novak.

  “Are you? Which figure am I?” I picked up a tiny guy. “The one with the flaming sword or the one that’s half scorpion?”

  “Don’t touch that.” Novak gently took the figure away from me and placed it back on the table. “They’re very delicate.”

  “Is this Warhammer?” Grandma asked. “Looks like you’ve got the Imperial Guard and who’s this other army?

  I stared at her. “Who are you?”

  “Oh, right. Da Orkz,” she said. “It flew right out of my head.”

  Novak threw up his arms and did a double fist pump. “I knew you were cool.”

  “Well, don’t get too excited. I only know because my dear friend Kathleen’s husband, Ralph, plays with their grandsons. It’s taken over their entire basement.”

  “Still impressive,” said Novak.

  “Where did you get all this stuff?” I asked.

  “I brought it. Aaron’s into it and I thought we could have a game.”

  I didn’t even know what to say. I thought I knew nerdy, but this was bringing it to a whole new level. “Alright. Did you get anything for me?”

  “Spidermonkey sent me the Wi-Fi data he collected and we split it.” Novak waved me over to the computers. “Ignore those three on the end. These two have your stuff on it.”

  One screen had some sort of YouTube video up with a creepy figure that might’ve been Native American if it were alive. The other screen had the Instagram of a guy named Ethan. “What am I looking at?”

  “We’ve narrowed it down to five possibilities for your guy. Ethan is an American that goes to the café to do homework and look at porn.”

  “Novak!” Grandma exclaimed.

  “It’s a fact, Janine,” he said, totally deadpan. “You can see he bears a resemblance to the photo we have.”

  I leaned in and got a good look. “It’s not him”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure. Why?”

  “He was there on several of the days Anton was there,” said Novak.

  “But not all?” I asked.

  “No one we found was there on all the days.” He showed me three more guys all seventeen or eighteen. They all had been in the café at least forty percent of the days that Anton had been there.

  None of them was my guy, but they were so similar, if they’d been in a lineup it would’ve been hella hard to decide who was who. I was starting to doubt my memory as it was.

  “What about this other screen? What’s that about?”

  “That’s a strong contender. Spidermonkey says it’s him, but I’m not sure. He was in the café less than the others about thirty-seven percent of the days. His visits go back months and he’s still coming. The sessions are longer than the others, two or three hours. Most of the others are there two at the most.”

  “Show him to me,” I said.

  “That’s the thing,” he said. “I can’t.”

  Novak explained that the computer was fairly old and was only used in the café. There was no home Wi-Fi on it. Nothing. The guy came into the café, connected to the Wi-Fi there and did his thing.

  “What about files and social media?” I asked.

  “Nada. If he connects again, I can get in there and poke around, but he’s dark right now.”

  “How do you know he’s not doing social media and other stuff?” Grandma asked.

  “The IP address is only reaching out to SCP and SCP related material,” said Novak. “He is American. Everything is in English.”

  I sat down in front of that screen. “What’s an SCP?”

  “Stands for Special Containment Procedures.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” said Grandma.

  “Actually, it’s very cool.”

  Novak explained that SCP was a kind of collective fiction project. Anyone could join in and add to the wiki. There were videos produced about the different stories. They were usually Sci-Fi or horror. Novak typed a website into the other computer and it was a simple website, but I have to admit super intriguing. One section was called “Not all Gods Decompose” and under the title, it said the SCP was not contained.

  “So he’s reading these…stories?” I asked.

  “And writing them. He’s very prolific when he works. Not slow. High typing speed. He probably plans when he’s not online.”

  Grandma stood behind me and said, “I don’t understand what this is.”

  “Have you ever seen the show Warehouse 13?” Novak asked.

  “I loved that show.”

  “The stories are kind of like that. Some object is magical, usually dangerous to humans, and has to be contained. The stories are about trying to contain them.”

  “That is fun,” she said.

  “Why does Spidermonkey think this is our guy?”

  “He was there on the one Saturday, but no other Saturday,” said Spidermonkey. “He thinks that’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” I said. “You can’t get anything else on his computer?”

  “It was purchased in 2008 by James Edgewood in Los Angeles at a Costco. Edgewood was sixty-five and he’s now dead.”

  “How did it end up in Germany?” Grandma asked.

  “Probably given away or sold on eBay. It could’ve passed through several hands before it got here. If he shows up at the café, I’ll get in and we’ll know more,” said Novak.

  “Until then?” she asked.

  “Mercy will investigate. Figure it out,” he said. “I just give information. She’s the one who uses it.”

  I clicked play on the SCP video and text started rolling on the left side while a man’s voice that reminded me of a news anchor’s read what it said. Basically, it was about some creatures that resembled humans that ran around and attacked people.

  “He’s watched this one?” I asked.

  “Several times and he’s added to the wiki.”

  “Can you send me everything he’s watched or added to in the last two months?” I asked. “I’m just looking for a list.”

  “Sure.” He leaned over and chose a different video. “Look at this one.”

  Grandma tugged at my sleeve. “We have to go. We’ll be late.”

  Novak straightened up and said, “I’ll send you everything.”

  I hated to leave, but I couldn’t think of a way out, so I said goodbye and we went to Esslingen to make a match and have Glühwein. I totally needed Glühwein.

  Esslingen could’ve been better, but I really don’t know how. We’d stepped through a portal into a place that only had smiling faces, medieval buildings decked out in lights and bowers of evergreen, people wearing armor, and booths selling everything to make you merry at Christmas.

  It was hard to keep up with Grandma and her basket, but Moe somehow managed it. The town was packed and the Glühwein was flowing. Grandma got in a line. I wasn’t sure what she was going for, but she came back with two pretty mugs.

  “Here,” she said. “We can keep them and take them home if we want.”

  “I know,” I said, pointing to the sign. “It’s called the Pfand.”

  She wasn’t really listening; her eyes darted around and glistened with excitement. “If you don’t want to keep it, they give you some money back. Isn’t that smart?”

  “Brilliant,” said Moe. His eyes were glistening, too, but he was only looking at my grandmother.

  “Do you want to keep it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What was that?”

  I elbowed him and he grinned. “Mercy wants to keep her mug. It’s adorable.”

  It was adorable with a pretty painting of medieval Esslingen on the side, and I did want to keep it, but I’d have ditched Moe quick if I could.

  “I have to go back to the Stuttgart market,” she said. “I didn’t know we could keep them.”

  “I’ll take you,” said Moe,
looking as though he’d take her anywhere. Forget about Fiking, I might very well get ditched if Grandma made the slightest move in that direction.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “You probably need to eat.”

  I led her over to a stand selling wild boar goulash and predictably she had to split it with Moe, which thrilled him to no end. Then we went through the stands, buying ornaments and a hat for Aunt Tenne and lavender soaps for my mom. Moe followed the smell of sausages roasting on huge grates hung by chains over wood fires and got one to share with Grandma.

  “It’s too much,” she said.

  “Live a little, Janine,” he said. “Mustard?”

  She said yes and he grabbed one of the bottles that were swinging upside-down from the rafters of the hut and squeezed on a liberal amount. They ate their sausage and I went up on my tiptoes. “We have to find the pyramid.”

  “I know where it is,” said Moe.

  When they finished, Grandma checked her phone. “Isolda is coming, but she got held up.”

  “Let’s find Claudia and Marta,” I said.

  It was hard to get through the crowd when Moe kept stopping to take pictures of the people in period dress, everything from knights to peasants to wenches were in Esslingen.

  “This is better than Stuttgart,” Grandma said. “Oh, there they are. What in the world is that thing?” She pointed up at a kind of wooden sculpture looming over the market.

  “That’s the pyramid,” said Moe. “There were some little ones in Stuttgart.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  He laughed. “I’m not surprised.”

  Claudia and Marta stood next to the pyramid, which wasn’t really a pyramid the way we think of one. It was four stories in wood and each story had a different Christmas theme with characters and candles. At the top were windmill blades like a flat crown. Myrtle and Millicent had a real pyramid that I picked out in Nuremberg on one of our trips. When you lit the candles, the blades turned from the rising heat. It fascinated me as a child and I couldn’t wait to light it every year.

  Marta saw us and waved. Grandma grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t forget our plan.”

  “You mean your plan,” I said.

  “Whatever,” she said with a boozy smile. A little Glühwein went a long way with my grandmother.