Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

by A W Hartoin

  Moe caught up and said, “Someone’s mad enough to eat nails.”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  Madison banged on the door so hard she cracked the glass. “Open up so I can kill you, Josephine!”

  A crowd was gathering and a woman started yelling. We backed up to see the doughy Josephine pointing her phone at us. “I’m calling 112! You are crazy!”

  “Call them!” screamed Madison. “I can’t wait to tell them what you did.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Madison started to scream again, but Moe grabbed her and I yelled up, “You’re harboring a fugitive!”

  “I am not!”

  “Sebastian Nadelbaum stole 300 thousand dollars from this girl and orchestrated a kidnapping and a murder. You want us to tell the gendarmerie that you helped him? Do you? Because we will.”

  Josephine’s face went red and then pale. “I didn’t do that, any of that.”

  “Oh, yeah? Tell us where he went. Right now, and maybe we’ll leave you out of it.”

  “Hey!” yelled Madison.

  “Shut up,” I hissed. “Josephine, tell me or I will turn you in. I know the FBI. Surely you know who I am.”

  She started to close the window and I yelled, “I’ve got all night to talk about how the woman who lives in this apartment helped get a man murde—”

  Josephine threw open the window. “He went shopping for Christmas, you crazy bitch.”

  “Where?”

  “On the Champs Élysées. Where else? He likes the finer things!” she yelled. “Go the fuck away!”

  “Not good enough! What store?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “You better figure it out!” I yelled.

  Josephine was shaking with rage and the crowd was pointing. “Louis Vuitton for me and Disney for my daughter.”

  “He’s buying you Louis Vuitton with my mother’s money, you whore?” screamed Madison. “I will—”

  Moe whipped Madison around and marched her away and I yelled up one more time. “If we don’t find him, we will be back!”

  “Fuck you!”

  My mother would be proud. I kept my dignity and only gave her the finger. Trust me. I wanted to say a lot more than that, but who had the time? I had a Disney store to get to.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  There are Disney stores everywhere and I do not get it. Even on the Champs-Élysées, there was a line to get in and it wasn’t a good thing. Madison was losing her mind. She’d started mumbling on the metro and I don’t know what language it was or if it even was a language. People near us appeared to think she was speaking in tongues. When people start crossing themselves, you know you’ve got trouble.

  “Call your mother,” I said in yet another attempt to distract her, but she ignored me and pushed up against a woman in front of us like a true European. Personal space? What personal space?

  Moe pulled her back and apologized. “Call your mother. Now.”

  Madison obeyed him and texted the relieved Lisa. On the way to Paris’s swankiest shopping street, I had Madison send her mother all her bitcoin wallet information, and Lisa used it to transfer the money into her savings account.

  “She’s got it,” said Madison as we moved from the elegant avenue to the super crowded store. I had hoped we’d catch a break and find Nadelbaum in Louis Vuitton. It wasn’t so popular with the masses, but no such luck. A haughty salesman deigned to look at a photo and said Nadelbaum might’ve been there. He wasn’t about to swear to it with so many handsome men wearing black wandering about and we were invited to leave. No loitering allowed in Louis Vuitton.

  “I don’t see him,” said Moe up on his toes to look through the Disney store.

  It was so crowded and there were barriers, pillars and displays.

  “He could be—”

  “Upstairs,” Madison said and jetted toward the spiral blue staircase with crystal-lined spindles.

  “Wait!” I cried out, but she was pushing past moms to get to her quarry.

  Moe went to follow. “Come on.”

  “I’m going to clear the back,” I said, and he stopped.

  “Are you going to Fike me?”

  “He could be up there,” I said. “Do you want her to toss him over the balcony?”

  “It’s not the worst idea I’ve heard,” Moe said.

  “Just go. I’m not going to Fike you.” I worked my way through the rest of the store past little girls holding up princess dresses and trying on tiaras and fathers looking like they were ready to lay down and sleep right there on the floor. Nadelbaum was nowhere to be found.

  I texted Moe and started up the staircase when I heard a shout. “I see you, you crap weasel!”

  “Get away from me, you stupid little bitch!” a man yelled, and a shocked gasp rose from the crowd.

  “I’ll show you stupid!”

  Nadelbaum and Madison were on the stairs. He was shoving people and they were going down like dominoes. Security ran up but got tangled in customers. They were coming around the curve and she did it. Madison launched herself at Nadelbaum, using the bannister to kick off and come at that guy like a rabid flying squirrel. It was a thing of beauty, if insanity. Fats would’ve been impressed, except for one thing. She missed.

  Nadelbaum ducked to the left and she sailed past, nailing security and me. I fell backward, tumbling down the stairs amid so many other bodies. It didn’t hurt. I was well-cushioned.

  “Arrête! Stop!” screamed security.

  I looked up to see Nadelbaum slamming into a customer coming in the door. She slowed him just enough for me to scramble to my feet.

  “Mercy! No!”

  I glanced back at Moe on the stairs above the fray.

  Sorry. Gotta go.

  I ran the obstacle course to the door and juked around security who were helping the woman to her feet. Then I was out on the avenue, running full out behind Nadelbaum. The trees beautifully strung with red lights showed him off. He darted into the Christmas market; upsetting cups and powdered sugar went everywhere. He was so much taller and faster, but he plowed into everyone. I ran through his wake, undeterred and apologizing. Yes, it was in German and possibly Italian. I don’t know. I was apologizing. It was a reflex my mother ingrained in me.

  I thought for sure Nadelbaum would go for a metro station, but instead he ran for the river. I was not thrilled. It wasn’t that far, but by the time he turned to run down the path beside the river, I was ready to pull out the Mauser and shoot him. Unfortunately, there were tons of tourists getting on and off boats. I couldn’t take the chance and they did slow him down. That guy could not corner. It was all straight lines for Nadelbaum and right into everyone in his path. I almost caught up to him when he turned to run across the Quai d’Orsay, but a car almost took me out and he dashed out of sight.

  Straight line. Straight line. Straight line. Invalides.

  I ran for the Invalides metro stop. From his trajectory, that was the goal.

  Please, let this be right. Please.

  There he was at the entrance, bent over and holding onto the pole. Idiot.

  I kept running, sounding like a beleaguered water buffalo and he heard me, staring in astonishment at my persistence before running down into the metro with me not far behind. He jumped a turnstile with ease. I did not. I tumbled over that thing with all the elegance of a baby elephant and staggered down into the station sucking wind and once again thinking about shooting him.

  Nadelbaum didn’t go into the metro. He probably thought I would assume that. I did, but I saw a woman exclaim and drop her bags. I knew that would be him. Sneaky he was not. I chased him into the RER and right onto a platform with a train waiting. He ran down the length. I thought he was going to run right back out again. That’s what I would’ve done, but at the last car, he juked inside. The closing door alarm went off and I had no choice. I darted into the first car to my left, almost getting caught in the door. The train left the station and I started working m
y way toward Nadelbaum’s car. The train was packed and it wasn’t easy. I thought he would get off a the Musée d’Orsay and he did, but I managed to hide behind an enormous Swede at the door to my car and watch. He looked around at the crowd leaving. There was such a rush of people and I wasn’t the only short woman with a poofball hat on. I could’ve been one of them going for the stairs. Several were in a Mercy-like hurry. I watched him bite his lip and then dart back on the car.

  I worked my way up three more cars until I was in his. He saw me as we rolled into the Saint-Michel station. He shoved some women away from the door.

  “I’m calling the gendarmerie!” I yelled. “You can’t get away.”

  People grabbed at him. The word gendarmerie was magic. He threw a punch and a man’s nose exploded. Blood spattered against the windows and the doors opened. He ran out through the cacophony of screams and I was right with him.

  Everyone was so shocked on the platform that no one stopped him and there were no gendarmerie or national police as there often were. He ran through the station and shoved through an exit gate with some poor woman who was screaming as he stumbled over her body.

  “Stop him!” I screamed.

  People rushed to help the fallen woman, but a man next to me stood stock still, mouth open with his ticket in hand. I snatched it and shoved it in an exit slot.

  Score!

  “Hey!” the man yelled. “Mon billet!”

  I tossed the ticket toward him and ran past the woman, catching sight of Nadelbaum as he rammed a kid into a wall. It was like chasing a wrecking ball with legs. I dashed past the kid and his screaming parents up to the street and there Nadelbaum was running toward Notre Dame and the cranes repairing it.

  What is the damn plan? Are we going to run through all of Paris?

  Nadelbaum jumped off the sidewalk and for a sweet second, I thought he was going to get hit by a car. Instead, the bastard snatched a man off his bike. It happened so fast the guy just came off and landed on the sidewalk before he even screamed.

  I guess not.

  I looked for my own bike. No such luck, but a scooter rolled up and started to get off to help the bicyclist.

  It’s worked before.

  I ran to him and yelled, “We have to get him!”

  The scooter guy looked at me and then the bicyclist, who yelled, “Va! Va!”

  Without asking, I leapt on the back to his surprise and pointed at the bike passing Shakespeare and Company. He hit the gas and we zipped through the traffic after Nadelbaum, who looked back and nearly took out a trashcan. I thought we had him, but he sped off, squeezing through hordes of tourists. We took a safer, longer route, but kept after him, zigzagging through the streets until we reached one with an incline up between tall buildings made of creamy stone on either side. It seemed familiar, but I didn’t know where we were until I saw the building where the road ended in a T at The Panthéon.

  Nadelbaum was almost at the intersection, struggling on his bike, and we were right behind.

  “Stop!” I screamed and he looked back but kept going, t-boning a black taxi and launching himself over the hood.

  The scooter guy skidded to a halt and shouted, “Woohoo!”

  I jumped off the scooter to hurry around the taxi, totally expecting Nadelbaum to have hit one of the stone benches that lined the walkway, but Nadelbaum had come up running. He looked back and I automatically dropped down, peeking past the taillight. The driver was out of the car and shaking a fist. People were yelling and pointing. Two scooters collided and took out some pedestrians enjoying Vin Chaud. People were yelling into their phones for ambulances and sirens erupted in the distance.

  Nadelbaum didn’t see me and stopped running. He pulled a cap out of his pocket and pulled it low over his eyes before he straightened his coat, tucked his scarf up around his ears, and melted into the frantic crowd all dressed in black coats.

  I stayed with him to the square in front of the Panthéon. It had a beautiful display of Christmas trees that was kind of ruined by the tremendous number of sirens going off and bouncing off the stone buildings surrounding it. Nadelbaum shoved his hands in his pockets and scanned the area. Then he went between the trees and the Panthéon. I decided to stay tucked up behind a square pillar at the edge of the Panthéon grounds to see where he went. I didn’t have a plan, as usual, but pulling a weapon on a panicked, packed square didn’t seem like a good idea, and I didn’t know how else I could subdue him.

  I waited and Nadelbaum hesitated, looking around for an out, but then a group of national police came running from a side street, hands on weapons.

  Yes!

  Nadelbaum hung a left into the Panthéon entrance.

  No!

  That douchebag casually walked up the stairs to security, averting his face and showing his empty hands. The guard barely glanced at him. Now I could’ve gone to the police and pointed out where he went, but let’s face it, if Nadelbaum was all over their radios, so was the crazy blonde in a pink poofball chasing him. They could arrest me and let Nadelbaum get away.

  I took a breath and trucked inside the gate, trying not to look frantic to catch up, which I certainly was. The guard was focused on the crowd down in the square and waved me past. I walked into the checkpoint where another distracted guard was up on her tiptoes trying to see what was happening. I opened my purse and said, “There was an accident.”

  The guard nodded, but was so distracted by the sirens and her own radio, squawking non-stop, she barely looked. Hello. I had a Mauser in there under the remaining tissue packs and wallet, but she didn’t see it and waved me in.

  I came into the grandiose interior, expecting to see Nadelbaum buying a ticket, but the area was empty. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. I brought up his picture on my phone and asked the man inside the glass booth, “Did you see this man come in here?”

  He dragged his eyes from his own phone and nodded, saying in lightly-accented English, “Yes, he just went in.”

  “Did he buy a ticket?”

  “No. He had a pass.”

  Bastard.

  I bought a ticket and went through the ticket gate to rush over to the exit guard with my phone up. “Did this man just leave?”

  The guard glanced at my phone and then me, did a double-take and stared.

  I said something about a friend in clumsy French. I was panting a little and it was hard to think.

  “I speak English,” he said.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I said, getting more breathless. He’d like it. I could tell. “My friend, have you seen him?”

  The guard looked at Nadelbaum’s picture and shook his head. “He hasn’t been by me. What is the matter?”

  I considered my options and went with the most dramatic. “I’m supposed to meet him here and I think he’s off his meds. I need to find him immediately.”

  He reached up and clicked his walkie. “J’ai une situation.”

  Too dramatic.

  “No, no,” I said. “It’s fine. He just gets emotional and he’ll…cry if I’m not here.”

  The guard made a face and asked, “What do you wish me to do?”

  “I’m going to look for him. Can you call me if he leaves, so I can catch up?”

  He agreed and I gave him my phone number. “This man,” he asked, “he is your boyfriend?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said and asked for his phone number. He liked that and I was sure he’d call me if Nadelbaum scooted out.

  I dashed into the nave past the paintings depicting the life of Joan of Arc to find a few tourists inside, milling around and craning their necks to see the super-sized statues and austere stonework in soft grey all leading up to the paintings under the enormous dome. I hurried around the perimeter over the marble floor done in geometric designs. It deserved more pictures than it got. Everyone was looking up.

  So many columns. So many statues. Nooks and crannies galore, but I didn’t find Nadelbaum in any of them while keeping an eye on the front. I didn’t think
he’d gone out. Right after I came in, a couple of national police entered, scanning the area and speaking on their walkies. Nadelbaum was clearly a chance taker but trying to get past them would’ve been a huge one to take and I didn’t think he had the balls to try it. He wasn’t that kind of criminal.

  Where would I go? Where would I go?

  I stopped at Foucault’s pendulum under the dome, standing at the thick tape measure that blocked off the swinging gold ball, and watched it gently come to me and then away.

  I wouldn’t have come in there at all. It was a dead end. It was stupid. But he was stupid. What was the stupidest thing to do? What would I never do?

  “The crypt.” I did an about-face and walked back toward Marianne the revolutionary goddess of liberty standing stern above all the men struggling below. The Girls liked that statue. I always wondered where the women were.

  I bypassed Marianne and the Panthéon model to go down the stairs to the world’s most exclusive graveyard. A few people were coming up, but I was the only one going down, which was weird because the crypt was the best part. Where else can you be in such good company?

  Rousseau and Voltaire didn’t get a second glance on that visit. A first glance was enough to see that Nadelbaum wasn’t there. I slipped my Mauser into the pocket of my jacket and strolled through the vestibule, looking behind each pillar holding up the beautifully arched ceiling before climbing the curved stairs to the rotunda. I called it the donut when I was little. I loved the smooth walls, curved like a donut.

  From there I went for the first passage to the crypts on the right. It was an obvious place to hide. The right passage had one open door and I checked inside. It was empty of both Nadelbaum and honored dead. The other doors were closed and locked. I went back to the center hall and started at the beginning of the left passage. I knew that one well. Jean Moulin, The Veils, and Germaine Tillion were honored there. Stella was supposed to have known them during the war and The Girls thought Stella’s time in Ravensbrück probably coincided with Germaine’s, so we always visited her, too, even though she wasn’t really there, just some dirt from her grave. It’s the thought that counts, Millicent would tell me, but at that moment I was having no thoughts other than that the crypts were darker than I remembered with more shadows and lonely without any other visitors in the area. I’d never been afraid there before. It was a new and unpleasant sensation.