Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

“I can move on to Sindelfingen and check those families.”

  “Hold on.” I went back to my computer and clicked through one of the stories our kid had written. Then I checked another one. “Is there anyone who didn’t look at SCPs at all? I mean never.”

  “Ah, yes.” He typed for a minute. “I’ve got two.”

  “Great. Are you in their computers?”

  “I can be,” he said. “What am I looking for?”

  “Google searches for Gurkh Kukri,” I said.

  Novak looked back at me. “I checked for visits to suicide sites and there was no activity.”

  “Not for that. Our SCP guy used that knife in his stories about the musical score and in another story, too. He was very detailed about it, talking about the carved handle and etched blade. Either he had one or—”

  “He googled it.” He typed for a few minutes and then smiled back at me. “Got him.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  While Novak searched through the life and times of Jake Purcell, a very depressed seventeen-year-old junior at the high school, I got dressed and slapped on some of Grandma’s makeup in a vain attempt to hide the ginormous bags under my eyes. I don’t think they’d ever been that big before. They were practically luggage.

  I yawned my way back to the bed and my phone buzzed. Grandma sent me a slew of hiking photos and then some of the lovely and leisurely breakfast she was having. I didn’t want to think it was romantic, but it kinda was. Two old folks hanging out in a café off the Marienplatz and looking at Christmas decorations. I couldn’t remember the last time Grandad did something like that with her. Heck, he didn’t do things like that period. A two-hour breakfast with a man that didn’t eat? Not going to happen. Moe might be super-weird looking, but he was a lot more fun. I considered warning Grandad, but I doubted he would’ve been bothered. To say he trusted my grandmother was the understatement of the year. She did love him and he had the Watts charm in spades, but I was starting to wonder if that was enough.

  I asked her when they were coming back and she said that they were heading back in a few minutes. She needed a nap. I said that we had a good lead and she only responded with, “Nap.”

  “Turns out it’s nap time,” I said to the back of Novak’s head.

  “Yes, it is.” Novak yawned. “I’m finished.”

  “What do we have?” I asked.

  “Everything but the finances. That’s Spidermonkey’s department.”

  He opened up a window and showed me Jake Purcell’s life, at least the online portion. It was a family of three. Mother, sister, and Jake. Dad was killed in Afghanistan in 2010 and Mom was active duty Army. They’d been stationed in Stuttgart for three years. Jake wasn’t a social media guy. He had Instagram but didn’t post. Mostly, he used it to communicate with other gamers. He was big into world-building games, not first-person shooters, I’m happy to say. Grades were good. No sports or clubs. No discipline issues at school. He saw a therapist for depression and anxiety and was medicated. Novak could get those records, but he hadn’t yet.

  I got a funny feeling as Novak talked. The Purcells sounded pretty average, but Jake was involved in Anton’s situation. I was sure of that and he hadn’t gone to the MPs or the school counselors about it. There had to be a reason for that.

  “Show me the sister,” I said.

  “I was wondering when you’d get to that.” He pushed a button and a family picture came up. The three Purcells together next to a canal in Amsterdam. “Before you ask, she’s twenty.”

  “And blonde,” I said.

  “Very.”

  “College age. Is she here?”

  He smiled. “She is. Working at Pizza Hut on post and going to college online.”

  “I never considered that the blonde might be his sister,” I said quietly.

  “Why would you? That German said they were never together.”

  “Could be a coincidence.”

  “Could be, but I doubt it,” he said. “I’ll tell you this. She’s not a hacker. Minimal interest in computers. She didn’t put the 4chan stuff on Anton’s laptop. And there’s zero communication with him.”

  “Was she in his class?”

  “She was AP Gov. She got a four.”

  I went back to Anton’s AP books and looked at Madison Purcell’s smiling face in the photo from two years ago. Would that girl blackmail her teacher? Why? And more importantly how would she ever have known about Kimberly and the adoption thing?

  “What is Madison into?” I asked.

  “Typical girl stuff. Clothes. Makeup. Kittens. Clubbing.”

  “Kittens?”

  “She likes cats. She follows Fat Cats of Instagram, for instance.”

  I flopped back on the bed. “This is ridiculous.”

  “If you want my opinion,” said Novak. “It’s her.”

  “We’re saying a twenty-year-old pizza maker who loves kittens and makeup set up a blackmailing scheme, got Anton Thooft to kidnap me, and hired a private jet to bring me to Germany?”

  “That is what we’re saying.” He stood up and stretched. “Spidermonkey might find a financial motive.”

  “Like what? She gambled away her eight bucks an hour and thought ‘hey kidnapping, that’s the ticket.’”

  Novak chuckled and started packing up his stuff. “I don’t do motives. If you want me to find something, I find it.”

  “What about that jet?” I asked. “How in the world did she swing that?”

  “Nobody booked it and Spidermonkey said nobody paid for it.”

  “But it still came to Missouri to get me?”

  “It did,” he said. “My money is on a favor.”

  I sat up. “A favor to that girl? She wears H&M clothes and way too much highlighter.”

  We looked back at the remaining open screen where Madison smiled with her brother and mother. An innocent, happy face. I couldn’t square it with what happened to me.

  “When was that taken?” I asked.

  “August. Right before school started.”

  “Jake looks good. Not so thin.”

  “I noticed that. He’s lost weight,” said Novak as he closed the screen. “I sent you the photos taken over the last few months, but there weren’t many.”

  My phone dinged and Grandma said they were pulling into the parking lot.

  “Don’t park,” I texted and grabbed my hat and coat. “We’re leaving.”

  “Do not leave that room,” texted Grandma with an angry emoji.

  “Novak will walk me out.”

  She gave me a thumbs-up and Novak agreed to be my watchdog in exchange for being allowed to sleep for a very long time as if I could stop him.

  We walked out of the hotel and the Mercedes was parking. Moe and Grandma were getting out and I waved and said, “Oh no, you don’t. We’re going to Sindelfingen.”

  “I’m not,” said Grandma. “I’m sleeping. That hill was bigger than advertised.”

  Moe followed her and I cut him off. “Where are you going?”

  “Also to sleep. I hiked for the first time since the Army and I did not miss it.”

  “Hand over the keys then,” I said. “We’ve got a lead.”

  “Don’t you dare, Moe,” said Grandma.

  “Why are we going to Sindelfingen?” Moe asked.

  “I’ve got a photo that I want Marta to see,” I said.

  “Flipping text it. I’m exhausted.”

  “So am I and I would, but she’s not answering.”

  “She’s asleep like any normal person would be after a night of partying,” said Moe.

  I turned him around and pushed him toward the car. “She’s working. She said so last night.”

  “Oh, goddamn.”

  “I know, I know, but this is how we roll.” I turned around to say goodbye to Novak and Grandma, but they were already through the door. It didn’t hit them. “It’s just you and me, Moe. I think Aaron’s sleeping.”

  “Lucky him.” Moe got in and I followed.

>   He pulled out of the parking lot and I said, “We’ve identified the kid.”

  “That’s not as exciting as you think.” He gave out a jaw-cracking yawn and I mean that. I heard his jaw crack.

  “We’re close,” I said.

  “Not to a nap.”

  “I noticed you had plenty of energy to have a long breakfast with my grandmother.”

  “That’s different. Janine and I have fun.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” I said.

  He only smiled in return and my worry got a tad bit worse.

  It was sunny and quiet in Sindelfingen. The remnants of Saturday’s market were completely gone and all the shops were closed. We scored street parking and found the café to be once again packed. The line was out the door and people were even sitting at the outdoor tables with blankets, smiling over cups of coffee and plates of rolled cakes. I wanted coffee and cake but sitting outside was a no-go.

  We waited in line for ten minutes, during which Moe started talking about the various pillows of his life. His favorite feather pillow. A weird one made of hard foam. His helmet pillow in Vietnam. He slept pretty well on that helmet, but I think that was pure exhaustion from trying to not get killed while killing other people.

  “We’re in,” he said as we stepped over the threshold. “I was right on the edge.”

  “Of what?”

  “Leaving.”

  I snorted and he grumbled.

  Marta spotted us and waved with a tired but absolutely joyful smile.

  “What would you like, Mercy? Moe?” she asked.

  “Double espresso with an Americano chaser,” said Moe.

  “Latte and some of that raspberry kuchen,” I said as I got out my phone.

  “It’s got alcohol in it,” said Marta.

  “So much the better.” I smiled and we shuffled down to the cash register.

  Marta leaned over the counter. “A table is opening at the back.”

  Moe didn’t wait. He was off like a shot, leaving me to pay. It was only fair. The whole trip was my idea.

  Marta rang me up and the other woman behind the counter got the coffee. “So…” I asked. “How was the setup? Did they figure it out?”

  “Not at all. They think they are working on the case.” Marta handed me my change.

  “Oh, no. Not a love connection?”

  She smiled. “I went home and Claudia came in at three in the morning.”

  “I call that a success.”

  Marta crossed her fingers. “Can I get you anything else?”

  The people behind me were restless, so I said, “Can you come to the table for a second? We’ve got a lead.”

  She nodded and turned to the next in line. Moe looked comatose when I got to the table and was listing to the side so much that several of the other patrons were looking pretty worried. I’m not sure how he stayed upright at that angle, but his eyes were open if a bit glazed.

  I poked him and said, “You’re freaking people out.”

  “I do that.”

  “Try not to look like you’re having a stroke,” I said.

  “Like you’d know,” Moe said.

  “I would, in fact, up close and personal.”

  Moe’s eyes flew open wide and he straightened up. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your mother.”

  “It’s not only her. I’m a nurse.”

  “Now you’re a detective,” he said, taking his coffee.

  “It’s not permanent.”

  Suddenly, he threw up his hands and said, “Nothing’s permanent!”

  I pushed down his hands. “Are you having a stroke? Be quiet.”

  “It’s Moonstruck. Haven’t you seen Moonstruck?”

  “I’ve been busy.” I drank my latte and forked my super tender cake.

  “It’s Janine’s favorite,” he said. “We’re going to watch it together tonight after dinner with Isolda.”

  “Tell me it’s not a romantic comedy.”

  “It’s a great romantic comedy about Italians, and there’s no criminal elements before you ask.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask, but you know I’m now watching that movie with you two,” I said.

  Moe threw back his first espresso and laughed. “I figured.”

  “I’m going to call Fats about this.”

  “And say what? Her odd uncle found a friend? She’s going to do something? I don’t think so.”

  You know you’re odd?

  “She’ll tell you to back off,” I said, although I wasn’t sure. Fats Licata was full of surprises, not all of them good.

  “You hold onto that hope. Janine and I are friends. Deal with it.”

  I was about to retort when Marta came up and sat at our third chair. “You have found the boy?”

  “We have.” I showed her Jake’s picture and she clasped her hands together.

  “You did it. I do not know how, but it is impressive.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got another photo for you.” I switched Jake’s photo to one of his sister Madison. “Do you recognize this person?”

  Her eyes went wide and she pulled back. “That’s her. That’s the woman who met the teacher. How did you find her?”

  “She’s the boy’s sister,” I said.

  “You don’t say,” said Moe. “A little family conspiracy.”

  “I get the feeling the boy wasn’t all in. The problem is that we don’t have a motive and really anything other than it was them.”

  “You will tell Viktor?” Marta asked.

  I steepled my fingers over my coffee. “I figured Claudia could do that.”

  She smiled. “I’ve always liked Americans. I have to go. We are very busy.”

  Moe took my phone and looked at the picture of Madison Purcell and said, “I don’t think so.”

  “You heard Marta,” I said. “She was meeting Anton on the right dates. Her brother was here, too. It’s them.”

  He put down my phone and tapped the photo. “She didn’t put this thing together.”

  “Because she’s a girl and young and pretty?”

  Moe threw back his espresso and raised a wiry brow over a very moist, bulging eye. “Trust me. I know a thing or two about putting together operations.”

  “Oh, I bet you do,” I said.

  “From my time in the Army.”

  “Naturally.”

  “That girl may have done it. She may have wanted it to happen, but she didn’t put it together,” he said.

  The more I thought about it, the more I agreed. For one thing, she wasn’t a computer person. Neither was her brother. “Give me one good reason,” I said just for the sake of argument.

  “She’s pretty and young and a girl.”

  “I will smack you.”

  Moe threw back his head and laughed. The whole café jumped with the burst of noise and then settled back down to look at the two uncouth Americans with distaste.

  “You should see your face.” Moe wiped his eyes with a napkin. “Oh, that was rich.”

  “I can’t tell if you believe it or not,” I said.

  He shook his head and leaned over to another table that was listening intently while pretending not to. “She thinks I don’t think women are capable of high crimes and misdemeanors. My boss is a woman and she directed me to work for this curvy little cupcake.”

  “Don’t call me a cupcake,” I said, thinking about the Mauser in my purse.

  Moe ignored me. “My niece is the biggest badass you ever saw in your life. She could snap you in half and use you to pick her teeth and she would if it were required. Do I think a pretty young woman could pull off a complicated crime? Yes, I do. I don’t think that young woman could.”

  “Why not?” asked a man who was dressed in a three-piece suit with alligator shoes on a Sunday morning because we were in Germany.

  “Because she works at Pizza Hut.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “A girl that works at Pizza Hut could not do the crime you are alluding to. I’ve been to a Pizza Hut i
n California. Criminals might work there, but they aren’t good ones.”

  “I tend to agree,” I said.

  The elegant man and his equally elegant friend got up to take their cups to the front. She leaned over to me and said, “I love your look. Are you that detective?”

  “I am,” I said.

  “Autograph?”

  I gave her an autograph and the whole café was looking again.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, standing up myself.

  “But my Americano,” Moe protested.

  “Throw it back old man. The cupcake is on the move.”

  He laughed, joined by a couple of tables, and we were out of there.

  “I thought I couldn’t call you a cupcake,” Moe said.

  “You can’t. I can,” I said.

  “Women are confusing.”

  “Like men aren’t.”

  “Where to?” Moe asked as he tied a scarf around his neck.

  “Weil der Stadt. Let’s go check out our not-so-mastermind.”

  He rubbed his hands together and got a twinkle in his eye. “Roger that.”

  It didn’t take us long to get to the little town of Weil der Stadt and was it pretty. Nestled in a valley with an intact city wall and a plethora of half-timbered houses, it was just the sort of town Grandma wanted to see and I felt a little guilty for seeing it without her.

  “Well, every town’s nicer than the last,” said Moe. “Did you see that tower? I half expected someone to shoot arrows at us.”

  I looked up from texting Spidermonkey, who wasn’t up yet. “It feels homey to me,” I said. “My parents’ house is a Tudor.”

  “But not German like this.”

  “No, not like this. Nothing’s like this.”

  As if to make the point, a few fat flakes started coming down. After we drove around the town and then down a cobble-stoned lane past houses decorated with lights and evergreen boughs over the doors, there was a light covering of snow because it wasn’t charming enough.

  Moe oohed and aahed over the Christmas pyramids in the windows and these beautiful arched candle holders carved out of wood depicting Christmas scenes. I didn’t have one and I needed it. Everyone needed a Schwibbogen. That’s what they’re called. I’m not kidding.

  “I think we should park here,” he said, finding a spot.