Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

“Gimme a break. How weak is she?”

  “You say that because you aren’t the gentle type.”

  Am I being insulted?

  “Oh, no?”

  Spidermonkey told me a story about his daughter, the one that ended up being a physicist. She met a guy in sophomore year that had her shunning the family and doing pot at record levels. Before Spidermonkey and his wife Loretta knew it, she was off the rails. The guy had convinced her that he was the one that loved her and knew her. Her family was crap and her future could only be good by listening to him.

  “What happened?” I asked. “You said she finished her degree and has a family. Not with him, I hope.”

  “No, he’s long gone,” he said. “I’m not without skills and connections, as you well know.”

  “I can’t wait to hear this,” I said. “My dad could take notes from you.”

  “He could. From what my daughter did say about Horatio, yes that was his name, I surmised that his money wasn’t family money and that he was likely dealing drugs. This was during the crack epidemic, you see, and it was a big deal. A few well-placed calls, a tip here and there and Horatio ended up getting his upscale apartment raided. He went to prison and that was the end of Horatio. Good riddance.”

  “To bad rubbish as my grandma would say. But…”

  “What’s bothering you?” Spidermonkey asked.

  “They haven’t fallen out. The family is strong. There’s love. I’m sure of it.”

  He thought about it and said, “Yes, I see your point. But what’s another reason she could’ve done this, if not love?”

  “Maybe it was love. We just don’t know where it was directed yet,” I said. “Do you have everything from Novak? All the phone stuff?”

  “I have everything he has,” said Spidermonkey. “My money is still on Madison’s Horatio. That money is going somewhere and she wanted it for a reason.”

  A reason…

  My brain lit up and I grabbed my laptop to look at the money, all the sums Anton had taken out.

  “Mercy?”

  “Hold on.” I looked at everything, the crime scene photos, me in the trunk, Anton dead on the ground, the plane, the plants on Anton’s computer, all of it, and then I looked at her. Madison Purcell. That twenty-year-old sat in a café and took money from a teacher. A teacher, for God’s sake. It’s not like they’re loaded and she got small amounts.

  “She bought that one purse,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “It was a treat.”

  Spidermonkey stopped typing. “So? She took her teacher’s money and bought herself a purse. Despicable, but so what?”

  “Madison could do that. She had control of that money. I’ve been thinking of this as one thing. One crime.”

  “It is,” he said. “A conspiracy to kidnap you.”

  “That’s a big crime and that is not Madison. She’s twenty years old. Her big idea is treating herself to buy a purse. Kidnapping me is not purse money.”

  “I agree. So…the second crime is the small sums?”

  “Yes. That’s Madison’s speed. What does she make at Pizza Hut?”

  He started typing. “Ten twenty-five an hour.”

  “A hundred euro would seem like a lot to her. That was her idea. I bet Horatio doesn’t even know about it,” I said.

  “Madison has to know about the big payday. She’s the point of contact,” said Spidermonkey. “But he’s the cause of all of this. I know it.”

  “I agree, but let’s leave him alone for now. We don’t know him. We know her,” I said. “She’s the way in.”

  “Okay. So both crimes are about money, big and small.”

  “Madison is getting it every which way she can. If it was just greed, why not spend a bunch of it? The PX has all kinds of stuff. I saw signs for Lancôme and Michael Kors boots. She could’ve had a spending spree.”

  “Maybe she did and the co-worker only knew about the purse,” he said. “There’s a mall in Sindelfingen and a luxury mall out in Metzingen. I checked when you mentioned the purse. It’s got Prada, Hugo Boss, the works.”

  “I don’t think so. Madison wouldn’t brag about the purse and stay silent about everything else. It was her treat. The thing she gave herself and then…”

  “She tried to sell it to her friend,” Spidermonkey said slowly.

  “After the deal with Anton went bad. She needed the money and not for her Horatio. For herself. She was desperate for hours at work and suddenly she wasn’t.”

  “When they hatched the plan to nab you, she didn’t need them, but now she’s asking again. What in the world could she need money for? She lives at home,” he said.

  “College money?” I asked.

  “I checked that. Madison and Jake have college funds. They got them after their father died. The mom funded them with the life insurance.”

  Hold the phone.

  “How much life insurance was there?”

  “Let’s see,” said Spidermonkey. “SGLI in 2010. 400,000.”

  “I assume that’s not in Lisa’s savings account,” I said. “Where’d it go?”

  He typed away and then said, “She got the payout a few months after the father’s death. It did sit in the savings account for about two years. She didn’t touch it.”

  “Grief. Makes sense,” I said. “Then what?”

  “She took out fifty grand for each of the kids and put it in 529 plans for them. Not inventive, but she made solid choices for the funds invested. They made money. Madison has been dipping in every semester to pay for tuition and books. She’s living at home and the school’s online so it’s not super expensive. She’ll get through with no debt. Jake’s account is just sitting there. No withdrawals.”

  “Everything is where it’s supposed to be for the college money, so where’s the rest?” I asked.

  I held my breath while Spidermonkey worked. This was it. I just knew. Madison needed money. What for? College was all good. I’d seen her. Not a drug addict, unless she was hiding it super well. She looked healthy and fit. It was Mom. She needed it. Something about retirement coming up. The retirement money for enlisted couldn’t be a golden parachute, but still blackmail? What was up?

  “Lisa Purcell took the money out in the form of a cashier’s check in 2012,” said Spidermonkey.

  “Holy crap. The whole 300 thousand?”

  “All of it. I didn’t see this before, but to be fair, I wasn’t looking at Mom hard.”

  “What in the world did she do?” I asked.

  “Nothing dramatic. She opened a brokerage account with a firm in Colorado Springs. She gets emails from them occasionally, but she’s not interested. She doesn’t open them. Probably doesn’t want to think about that money and how she got it.”

  “Is it still there?”

  “Working on it. The brokerage is tight. I’m going to have to be at this for a while,” said Spidermonkey. “But I can tell you she hasn’t opened an email from them in years. If I had to guess, she set it and forgot it.”

  “Can you read the emails?” I asked.

  “Sure, but they just say she should try new account structuring, shift her funds into different areas, or look into their retirement plans. They’re just mass emails. Nothing on Lisa’s account in particular.”

  “Check Madison’s computer,” I said.

  Spidermonkey paused and said, “You think she took it?”

  “She needs money for something. I’ll bet the farm that account is empty.”

  “Why?” he whispered as he worked.

  “Just tell me it’s gone and then we’ll find out,” I said.

  “Madison has the account on her computer.”

  Wait for it.

  “It’s gone,” he said with pain in his voice, dripping, angry fatherly pain. “She took it all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Spidermonkey and I worked for the next two hours. By the time we were done, I was depressed and exhausted. Grandma was crying. That money was gone and Lisa Purc
ell had no idea. Her husband had lost his life serving his country and his own daughter had stolen what he left his family. Grandma couldn’t stand it. Vietnam came back for her. She lost friends over there. Grandad had in large numbers. Thinking about the sacrifice brought her to her knees. Moe, too, truth be told. The old sniper didn’t cry, but he looked like he might be ready to take up his old profession again.

  Even Aaron’s hot chocolate didn’t soothe them and it was a masterpiece. That’s saying something when it comes to Aaron. Everything he does is exceptional. I wanted to cancel our dinner with Isolda, but Grandma insisted. She put on lipstick and a new dress she bought just for our trip. Moe pulled out all the stops, wearing a three-piece suit and a tie. He looked like he stepped out of the 1930s and even with the hump and eyes, he was almost handsome in a grizzled sort of way.

  I, on the other hand, didn’t have a suit, dress, or lipstick on. Moe thought I looked like I was going camping. If you know me, you know how unlikely that would be. I camp only under duress. My dad’s stinky old Army tent scarred me for life.

  “I do not,” I said. “This is just regular clothes.”

  Grandma pursed her lips. “We’re going to a Bled restaurant.”

  I sighed. “And what is a Bled restaurant?”

  “Fancy. Isolda promised a treat and you know what she’s like.”

  “I do. She wears fur to the grocery store and shops at Goodwill,” I said.

  Grandma sucked in a breath. “Oh, she does not.”

  “I’ve been to Goodwill with Isolda. We bought end tables circa 1960 and she refinished them.”

  “Those funky ones in the Soulard apartment?” Grandma asked.

  “The very ones. Fifty bucks for the pair.”

  Moe snugged up his tie and asked, “Why would Isolda Bled buy things at the Goodwill?”

  “She likes it. You find cool stuff there,” I said. “She bought the end tables and donated five thousand dollars at the same time.”

  “Now that sounds like Isolda, but the restaurant will be fancy,” said Grandma.

  “She bought me lunch the same day. Tacos out of a trunk. You never know with Isolda,” I said.

  “How were the tacos?” Moe asked.

  “Delish.”

  “Please, put something nice on,” pleaded Grandma. “We could end up at a Michelin-starred restaurant and you’re wearing old hiking boots and a stained sweater.”

  I’m not going to lie, I was wearing a stained sweater, but that’s only because Grandma spilled stuff on it while she was drunk. The boots were for warmth, not hiking. I don’t hike, either.

  “I’m going to come clean,” I said. “I don’t have anything nice.”

  “You have a dress. Wear that.”

  “No dress.”

  “How can you not have a dress? You have to prepare for different occasions,” she said.

  I held out my foot. “I prepared for cold and chasing people.”

  “Have I taught you nothing?”

  “You keep asking that. The answer is the same.”

  Grandma put the stink eye on me and said, “What’s the answer?”

  “Careful,” muttered Moe under his breath.

  “That you did teach me,” I said. “I don’t learn.”

  She grumbled and went over to the small wardrobe, flinging it open. “Where are your clothes?”

  “Suitcase.”

  “They’ll be all wrinkled.”

  “Not a huge concern for me,” I said.

  “Have I taught—”

  “Give it up, Janine,” said Moe. “She’s hopeless.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Grandma grabbed my suitcase and riffled through it until she came up with the other sweater I brought, super wrinkled but stain-free. Then she did the extraordinary. She got out a tiny steamer and steamed my sweater.

  “Put that on and no complaining,” she said. “I will pick out jewelry and you will wear it.”

  “It’s like I’ve got a little angry butler,” I said.

  “Don’t push me.”

  I took the sweater. “Not pushing. Getting dressed.”

  I went into the bathroom, changed sweaters, and put on deodorant. Probably should’ve done that before, but I was on a case. I forgot things.

  Before I could do anything else, Grandma banged on the door and then barged in to apply makeup to me against my will.

  “Are you this way with the Troublesome Trio?” I asked.

  “You shouldn’t call them that,” she said as she selected a gloss to put over my lipstick.

  “You do. Everyone does.”

  “Still.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  She gave me the once over and said, “You need mascara and shadow.”

  “It makes me look more like Marilyn.”

  “Oh, please. I’m not buying that. You’re just lazy.”

  You are not wrong.

  “Fine. Mascara it is.” I did as instructed and Grandma was as good at makeup as Fats and that is saying something. But she even topped my bodyguard by pulling out a curling iron. It was not a good thing.

  When she finished, I sighed. “Oh, come on. Really?”

  “What?” Grandma clasped her hands under her chin. “You are stunning.”

  “Can you see me?”

  “I always see you.” She put her purse in the crook of her arm and said, “Let’s go.”

  I followed her out and Moe said, “Hot damn. Too bad you don’t have the dress.”

  “What dress?” I asked.

  “The one from The Seven Year Itch. You are the spitting image.”

  “Swell.” I grabbed my poofball hat and Grandma said, “Don’t even think about it.”

  “People will stare.”

  “Let them. This is who you are.” She tossed the hat on the bed.

  “But I don’t want to be this.”

  Moe herded me toward the door. “We will be late. Let’s go, ladies.”

  I made a move for the hat, but he blocked me and I had to go out looking like Marilyn in full makeup or possibly worse, a drag queen. I was getting that more and more. There were stares. Oh, yes, there were. And pictures. So much for being on the down-low during an investigation.

  Moe got us into the car without incident and I have to admit his hawkish behavior probably kept a few people in the lobby at bay so that was something. Not enough, but something.

  “So where are we going?” I asked.

  “Back to Waldenbuch,” said Moe. “Isolda texted me.”

  “You look happy,” said Grandma.

  “We’re having Italian. My gut can rest easy.”

  Please don’t ask.

  “Has your stomach been bothering you?” Grandma asked.

  Here we go.

  “Has it?” Moe regaled us with stories of his gut, notably leaving out our lunch. Instead, we went all the way back to Vietnam. Apparently, you can have diarrhea for an entire year and survive. I didn’t want to know the details, but I got them.

  Then they started in on various old people issues. Reading glasses. Glaucoma. Bursitis. Forgetting why they went into a room. Moe sometimes forgot why he was packing a gun and had the beginnings of cataracts. By the time we got to Waldenbuch, I was questioning my safety and that of others. On the other hand, he didn’t need a map to get to the tiny town and knew exactly where to park. I just hoped he didn’t have cause to draw the gun he forgot he had.

  “Oh, this is charming,” said Grandma, looking up at a half-timbered building just off the town’s square. The little osteria was blazing with light and the scent of baking pizza and roasting meat filled the air.

  Isolda stepped out of the front door and waved at us. The fur was gone, replaced by a red satin trench that was just about the coolest coat I’d ever seen.

  I followed Grandma and Moe and watched as they exchanged hugs. Moe was in there, easily accepted by Isolda. If she had any reservations because of the Fibonacci accusations about her mother’s disappe
arance, I couldn’t tell.

  “Where on Earth did you get this delicious coat?” Grandma asked.

  “Copenhagen in a vintage shop. It was fantastic. We have to go.” Isolda turned to me and we exchanged cheek kisses. “My dear, you look exhausted.” Then she paused and looked us over. “You all do. Has something happened with your case?”

  “It has and Isolda, it’s just the worst thing,” said Grandma, getting teary again.

  “Our table is waiting. Let’s go up and talk it over.” Isolda led the way into a little ground-floor shop with wine and olive oil for sale. Moe got distracted and we had to pull him away from the displays of aged balsamic vinegar. He had a lot of opinions on the proper aging of vinegar, but we got him upstairs into a little dining room with just about ten tables, most of which were full. Our table was in the corner and the owner hustled out to greet us and offer wine from her home region in Southern Italy. She spoke German, but Moe answered in Italian and they started a lively conversation about Italy and wine and oil and food in general. Soon, everyone in the restaurant was talking to us. There were questions about me, I’m sorry to say. Pretty sure someone asked if I was a man and that didn’t help my mood, but mostly it was the usual before Christmas joy.

  I joined in as much as possible, picking a wine and snacking on the wonderful amuse-bouche that came out. I don’t know what was in the soft cheese that came with some crunchy fried dough, but I could’ve just eaten that alone and been happy. Well, maybe not happy. I couldn’t get my mind off Madison and what she’d done. Spidermonkey had worked through Madison transferring the money out of her mother’s investment account to an account she’d got at the credit union on post. It sat there until everything cleared. Then she opened a wallet on a bitcoin exchange and started buying bitcoin. It was more convoluted than it sounds. She went through several exchanges and somehow all of the investment was gone. It looked like it was lost in a dramatic downswing in the market, but there wasn’t a downswing on the day it happened. In short, Madison Purcell lost her father’s insurance money gambling on bitcoin, except she shouldn’t have lost. Spidermonkey was looking to see if it went to another exchange in a more volatile market or if she went into a different crypto and lost it there. Something like Ethereum was high on my hacker’s list and once Novak was feeling a little better, he got into the act and started working as he played Warhammer with Aaron. They were sure they’d figure it out, but I already had a feeling about that bitcoin thing. Something wasn’t right. Madison didn’t know about that stuff. She didn’t make those decisions.