Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

  That caused an eruption of epic proportions. Didn’t I know who my friend was? Apparently not, but in my defense it was freaking Aaron. He never talked about himself, even when I asked. I was lucky to know he had sisters. Who they were remained a mystery.

  I held up my hands. “I will ask him about the noodle thing.”

  “Now?” asked a girl named Madison. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of Madisons in Gen Z.

  “Sure. Now, do you want to do it or just get a demo.”

  “Do you think he really knows how?” one of the two boys asked. “I heard it takes years to master.”

  “It’s Aaron, so I would guess he does.” I turned around, looking for the kitchen.

  One of the two Madisons in the room came over and said, “You can go through that door there right into the kitchen prep area or go out in the hall and go in the other door to the pantry area.”

  “Prep area it is.” I vamoosed as fast as possible before they asked about cheese making or my favorite mascara. They’d proven to be interested and unfocused at the same time.

  I walked through the door into a kitchen that surprised me. Tons of stainless steel, very industrial, and well-appointed. I wished I’d had culinary in high school. Home economics on an ancient Sunbeam stove just didn’t compare.

  And there was my little partner holding court, if you want to call it that, at a giant island. One half was stove and the other prep. About ten students were chopping veggies and three were working at the burners, whisking, tasting, and salting in a concert of creativity. Aaron was talking and it made my eyes mist. Compliments, directions, and criticism came quietly and often all in the same breath.

  “Aaron,” said a girl, bending over a stockpot. “I think it needs something.”

  He leaned over and sniffed. After a second, and without tasting, he said, “Saffron. Mercy?”

  “I’ll get it,” I said automatically as I did when we were cooking in my apartment or the mansion or Kronos. I use the term we loosely by any standard. My knife skills were decent, but how you could sniff a need for saffron was beyond me.

  Aaron looked up because I hadn’t moved, his glasses steamed, and I did an about-face to go toward where one of the Madisons had said the pantry was. I didn’t get far. Only to the edge of the island where the dicing and slicing was fast and a little bit worrying. There were so many young fingers and a lot of sharp flashing steel.

  He saw me first, a boy in the doorway, his arms filled with stacks of bowls, each stuffed full of produce, spices, and tools. I felt his eyes before mine left the bowls with spices. I’d been wondering if there was saffron in there. I never found out because I looked up to ask and the face from the café’s window stared at me with much the same expression as it had then. I didn’t move. I was afraid to. His face was so pained. So tight in its struggle that even breathing seemed a dangerous thing to do.

  Jake Purcell’s eyes slid to the left. There was a counter with piles of bowls, cutting boards, and multiple knives caked with veg and bloody bits of meat.

  “Don’t,” I whispered, and it was a mistake.

  He dropped his burden in a spectacular crash and darted out of sight. It happened so fast I wasn’t sure that he didn’t grab a knife as he spun around. He could’ve. There were plenty to choose from.

  “Moe!” I screamed as I ran through the mess to the other door and slid into the hall on rolling peppercorns and shards of glass. I banged my cast on the door jamb and pain jolted up my arm.

  Moe came running as I slipped around. “What? What?”

  “Jake!” I pointed down the hall at the boy running toward the office.

  Moe took off. I cleared the debris as Grandma yelled, “Mercy!” But I was gone, running down that long empty hall, hoping to God someone would stop him and if they did, no one got hurt in the attempt.

  But no one turned up, Jake banged out of the front bank of doors, sprinting with long legs. Neither of us could match him and when we burst out of the doors, we found the quad area between the schools empty.

  “Where’d he go?” I asked. “Did you see?”

  Moe grabbed my arm. “He turned right. Parking lot.”

  We ran for the lot that was completely filled and devoid of people. The area was fenced in with the extra measure of razor wire on top. Jake couldn’t go running off into the woods or something. He must’ve run toward the road.

  I ran for it, looking through the rows of cars with Moe panting beside me.

  There was a sturdy guardrail at the edge of the lot and I slammed into it to lean over and look for Jake running under the overpass, but he wasn’t there. He was fast, but not that fast. He couldn’t have cleared the parking lot that quickly. Of course, he couldn’t.

  “He’s…still here,” I said to Moe, who nodded.

  We started to work our way through the cars to see where he was hiding when an engine roared to life. A newish Volvo station wagon backed out of a spot and was jammed into drive. Jake floored it to race down the row of cars.

  “Come on!” Moe was at our car and backed out before I got there.

  I threw myself in and he hit the gas. “Don’t have an accident!”

  “Do you want to catch him or not?”

  “Yes!”

  “Buckle up!”

  We left tire marks at the end of the parking lot and raced under the overpass.

  “There he is!”

  The Volvo narrowly missed a minivan and made a wide turn, bumping up on the sidewalk next to the bowling alley.

  “Where the hell is he going?” I asked.

  “The other gate,” said Moe.

  “There’s another gate?”

  Moe did a better turn than Jake and we saw him barreling down a short stretch, bypassing cars coming toward us and rolling up on the sidewalk to pass others on our side. He was getting through. It didn’t seem like he could, but somehow he did and we were right behind.

  “They’ll stop him at the gate, ri—” I screamed as Jake sideswiped a car and nearly hit a woman on the sidewalk.

  “No,” said Moe. “They won’t.”

  They didn’t. We raced past a small commissary and over a little hump in the road. Jake had taken the sharp left turn at too great a speed. The guards dove for cover and were on the cobbles. Jake took out a pillar of the tent structure that was erected over the small gate and hit a second car that was coming in. The structure groaned and began to topple forward toward us.

  “Go!” I yelled. “We’ll lose him.”

  Moe got us under the falling tent and to the main road so fast I didn’t blink. Jake had left a trail of destruction behind him, sideswiping a car that had been turning into the gate and a fender bender in the other direction. Moe drove us around the mess and yelling drivers to get behind the Volvo that was gaining speed.

  “I have to call someone,” I yelled. “Who do I call? Who do I call?”

  “You’re asking me?” asked Moe. “I’ve never called the authorities in my life. I’m the reason people call the authorities.”

  “Not helpful!”

  “Driving!”

  “MPs or Polizei? MPs or Polizei?”

  “Koch!”

  I patted myself down. No purse, but my phone was wedged in the seat under my butt. “Where is the damn traffic? There’s always traffic!”

  “Clear today,” said Moe as we merged onto the A81 without incident and started working through the lanes and cars with a brisk efficiency I recognized.

  “Did you learn from my dad?” I asked.

  Moe smiled, his bulging eyes trained on the road. “He learned from me. You gotta get fast to catch Moe Licata.”

  “Did he?”

  “Close, but no banana.”

  That was a good description of the Volvo. We couldn’t quite get to him. The boy could drive. I called Koch. The Polizei could cut him off. They were known for efficiency.

  “Hallo,” said Koch in a breezy way that I was about to banish.

  “We’re chasing
Jake Purcell!”

  “Mercy?”

  “Who else would call you about chasing people?”

  Koch stammered and then asked what was happening. I told him, using as few words as possible. Not enough as it turned out.

  “Who is Jake Purcell?”

  “The kid from the café. He’s suicidal. I think he is. I don’t know.”

  “Scheiße!”

  “I know. Send somebody. We’re on the A81,” I said.

  “Let him go!”

  “I can’t let him go. He might have a knife or hurt himself.”

  “You’ll have an accident!” Koch yelled.

  Moe shook his head. “We’re not having an accident and the kid is doing okay.”

  “We’re okay,” I said. “And Jake isn’t doing badly.”

  “Where’s he going?” Koch asked.

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “Why did he run?”

  “He saw me at the high school,” I said.

  “And he ran? What did you do?”

  I felt like throwing the phone out the window for all the help Koch was being. “I frigging stood there and he ran. Send somebody to slow him down.”

  “I’m coming,” said Koch.

  “Where are you?”

  “Stuttgart Süd.”

  “Is that close?”

  “Close enough.” A car engine roared to life and Koch yelled to someone, “Get in!”

  “Mercy,” said Moe. “He’s slowing down.”

  I told Koch and he asked where we were.

  “Passing Vaihingen,” I said.

  “He’s going to exit,” said Koch. “Probably at the university.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There’s an easy access overpass.”

  I went ice cold and turned to Moe. “He’s getting off at the University so he can jump off the overpass.”

  “No,” said Moe and he put on speed.

  “I’m coming,” said Koch and he hung up.

  I dropped the phone and gripped the dash. “Maybe this is the wrong thing? He’s terrified.”

  “We’re committed,” said Moe. “And he was already terrified.”

  Please help us.

  The Volvo exited right where Koch said it would, but there was some traffic that Jake couldn’t get around. We were one car behind bumper-to-bumper with a BMW that wasn’t too happy with us. Cars were passing on the overpass. The cars in front of Jake weren’t moving.

  “He’s going to run for it,” I said.

  “Wait!” yelled Moe, but I was out, running up the ramp. Jake was out of the Volvo before I cleared the BMW. He got to the half-moon of pavement above the highway and grabbed the railing.

  I stopped where the curve began and touched the railing with the fingers sticking out of my cast. I needed it to steady myself, but I couldn’t get a grip while I hoped to God inspiration would strike and I would find the words to make a seventeen-year-old boy not jump off a bridge.

  Horns were honking. People were yelling. Traffic came to a stop under the overpass. Drivers got out, waving and shouting to Jake as he sobbed so hard his body was quaking with the spasms. He didn’t look at me, but he knew I was there. I could feel it and somehow I think that gave him pause. Me. My presence. Maybe it was just another person being on the bridge, but I didn’t think so.

  “Please don’t,” I said. In the end, the words just came with no thought or planning at all. I was guided. By whom, I couldn’t say.

  “You don’t know,” said Jake without looking at me and the wind kicked up, making the loose legs of his jeans flap around his thin legs. We were both shaking. I couldn’t tell if it was cold or the fright, but I almost thought I would be pitched off that bridge right along with Jake should he choose to go.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

  He put a foot on the lowest rung of the guard rail and swung the other leg over. “It was.”

  “I forgive you!”

  Jake stopped mid-movement and looked at me, his face full of surprise and denial. “You can’t.”

  “I certainly can, Jake,” I said, wanting to edge closer but knowing it was a bad idea. “Don’t forget I was the one in that trunk, so I get to choose, don’t I?”

  He swallowed hard and I watched the Adam’s apple in his throat bob up and down. It made him look so delicate, so fragile. “Why?” he asked.

  “Why do I forgive?”

  “Yeah.”

  Several Polizei arrived from the direction of the university and stopped, cutting off all cars and getting out to approach us. I held out a hand and to my surprise, they froze.

  “Because I know what really happened now. It’s bigger than me or you or even Madison. Much bigger,” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jake and he shifted his weight forward, just an inch, but it was enough to send my heart rate through the roof.

  “Let me tell you then. I just found it all out and I will tell you everything I know,” I said. “I won’t lie or hold anything back.”

  “I already know,” he said, and a fresh wave of tears coursed down his face.

  “You don’t. You couldn’t, unless you’ve got serious hacking skills. Do you?”

  Jake came back an inch and I could see the officers beyond him take a breath and say something in their walkies.

  “You have a hacker?”

  “Several, actually, and they found out things even Madison doesn’t know,” I said. “Let me tell you about it.”

  “Tell me now.”

  Crap on a cracker.

  “The money wasn’t lost. It was stolen.” Because I had to say something, I said, “We can get it back.”

  “Mr. Thooft is still dead,” said Jake.

  Did we have to go there?

  “Kimberly will forgive you,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Anton’s sister. She wants to know everything and only you can tell her. Surely you can do that for her. She’s such a nice person.”

  “Mr. Thooft was a nice person,” said Jake with renewed sobbing.

  “It wasn’t your fault, but you can still tell her you’re sorry,” I said. “That’s important. You’re sorry for what happened to me, aren’t you?”

  He nodded but couldn’t speak.

  “You should tell her and your mom.”

  Jake jolted forward at the mention of his mother and tipped forward. A blast of screams came up from below us. “I can’t.”

  He was going. It was happening.

  “Death can’t make amends. Only life can do that,” I said.

  “I can’t tell her.” He went up on the ball of his foot and was so precarious a stiff wind could’ve taken him over.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll tell her and make her understand. Then we’ll get the money back.” I wasn’t sure about the money, but at that point, I would’ve said just about anything.

  “Madison said it was gone. My mom’s retirement. Everything our dad left us.”

  “It’s not and we know who has it.”

  Jake focused back on me. “Who?”

  “Madison’s boyfriend. He used her and stole that money. His name is Sebastian Nadelbaum and he’s on a train to Paris right now. We’re going to catch him. Please come down and help us.”

  Just for a second, I thought he was going to go anyway, but then Jake Purcell made the other choice and swung his leg back over the railing. A cheer went up and I ran over wrapping my arms around his thin, shaking body.

  “Thank God. Thank God,” I said.

  “Why do you care?” Jake whispered.

  “I couldn’t live with it.”

  He hugged me back and softly said, “I don’t know if I can. It’s my fault about Mr. Thooft. I told my sister his secret. I did it and now he’s dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It’s been my experience that after things are slow, like watching a boy decide whether or not to kill himself, things get really really fast. The Polizei were al
l over us. Yelling and blankets. Traffic and high winds. It was all a rush, blurred beyond belief. Later, I would remember what happened in a fuzzy unreal way, like I dreamt it instead of living through it.

  Thank goodness for Moe. I never thought I’d say that, but the old mobster might not call the cops, but he sure knew how to handle them when they showed up. There was talk of arrests and hospitals, but Moe masterfully delayed until Koch showed up on the scene, then he began explaining, saying I was known to the Sindelfingen department. He made it sound like I was authorized to do something and Moe was, too. This was a suicide and we don’t arrest people for stopping suicides. The bosses that came onto the scene weren’t convinced, but somehow Jake and I got moved into a squad car to watch the conversation in the relative warmth.

  I kept my arms around him and I thought he would protest at some point, but he didn’t.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he said.

  “You won’t,” I said.

  “You can stop it?”

  “I think something will, not necessarily me.”

  “Was all that stuff you said true?” Jake asked.

  “Absolutely.” I told him what we’d uncovered and then asked, “Did you meet Nadelbaum?”

  Jake shook his head. “I saw him pick her up after she met Mr. Thooft in the café.”

  “Did that make you suspicious?” I asked. “That you never met him.”

  “Kinda. Madison said he was a secret because he was older, but he’s an asshole. I knew that pretty quick. Madison loved him though.”

  “When was the last time she saw him?”

  “I don’t know. Weeks ago. He stopped answering her texts and phone calls. He just disappeared.” Jake wiped his tears away and his voice got stronger. “I knew he was a dick. Do you really think he took the money?”

  “I’m certain of it,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

  Jake and I watched the Polizei talk to Moe and Koch and then start to clear the traffic as Jake spilled his version of what happened. He was a typical boy and not paying close attention to what was going on around him until it was too late. He was aware that Madison had gotten a boyfriend, but only because his mom was making a big deal out of not meeting him. Madison started lying about the trips to Paris and Prague, saying she was going with friends but then confiding to Jake that it was really the boyfriend who was taking her and paying for everything. She was very impressed with the money and talked about that a lot.