by A W Hartoin
“So you were going to give up your whole life for a woman you were humping on the internet?”
“Katy didn’t love me. She said we were just a casual thing for fun, but I loved her,” he said.
“Why? No offense, but seriously why? Catherine’s decent looking but she’s no…I don’t know,” I pointed at Patty’s picture on the wall. She was prettier and certainly more together, “Patty. She’s good-looking. What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing. Patty’s okay.”
“I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear that.”
He went stiff. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”
“Not a chance, but you have to tell me. What is it with Catherine?”
“She listened to me. She liked me. When I made a sale, she was so proud of me.”
Me. Me. Me.
I crossed my arms. “What about Patty? She’s not proud?”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “She’s busy. We’ve got four kids. They all play sports. Jessalyn’s in cheer.”
I want to kick you.
He finally took a tissue out of the box and blew his nose so hard I thought he’d give himself a minor aneurysm. “I don’t think Patty likes me.”
“I don’t blame her,” I said. “I’m not crazy about you and you didn’t cheat on me.”
“I mean before. She didn’t like me. When we were first married, she used to make me lunch and put little notes in it saying she loved me. The last lunch she made me was four years ago. Egg salad.”
Ew.
“And it had already gone bad,” he said with another burst of tears.
“Okay. I’ll give you that one.” I stood up. “Before I go, Mr. Hove, just for the record, you didn’t send any emails to Catherine’s job, did you?”
“I tried to email her, but they bounced.”
“What about her boss?”
“No. Why would I do that?” he asked, looking me dead in the eye.
“You know what, Mr. Hove,” I said, “I don’t think you would.”
He walked me to the door and I asked, “So are you staying married?”
“Maybe. Patty’s in therapy, trying to forgive me,” he said.
“But you still love Catherine.”
He nodded and I thought for a split second. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. Making the wrong decision was practically my calling card (see the news at five), but I thought it was for the greater good.
“Mr. Hove, I’m going to tell you something that’s going to hurt you a lot.”
He recoiled, but he didn’t stop me.
“You aren’t the only one Catherine has online. In fact, you’re one of many.”
“No, not my Katy. She’s sweet.”
“I’m guessing that’s why there’s a few of you in her phone,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he asked. I swear I could see his eyes drying up.
“I’m positive. Think about that the next time someone compliments you.” I walked out of his office saying, “I will take a look at those properties and let you know. I’m not sure if Chesterfield’s right for us. So far out of downtown.”
Amber gave me a thumbs up and I was out. Was it a good deed? I certainly hoped so, but they don’t usually go unpunished. I should’ve remembered that.
Chapter Ten
CHUCK CAME OVER as promised and he brought Chinese food, oh so much Chinese food, and chopsticks and a new set of plates to go with the Chinese food. The man couldn’t stop shopping, but having come off my interview with the sad Mr. Hove I told Chuck I loved the three types of lo mein and I needed new plates desperately. However did he know?
He was happy and I decided that that was the perfect time to tell him that my mom knew about our investigation into the Bleds, The Klinefeld Group, and the rest of it. We talked for hours like we used to and decided it was a good thing. I was stuffed like a turkey and too sleepy to work up much worry. I was also too slow to hide the Alexa cord. Chuck discovered that I’d unplugged it and was up until midnight trying to fix the thing. He came to bed triumphant. There was a bug in the program and he’d fix it by God.
He didn’t fix it. We woke up to Car Talk blaring in the living room. Chuck fell out of bed and I got a glimpse of his naked rear running out as he yelled, “Son of a bitch!”
“I told you,” I said.
“But I fixed it,” he said.
“Definitely.”
“It was a bug. It needed an update.”
“Yep.”
He walked in the bedroom and pointed at me. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Me? No way. I think you’re very smart and pretty, too,” I said, tilting down my chin and batting my eyelashes like crazy.
“I’m coming over there,” he threatened.
“I’m properly intimidated.”
He launched himself at the bed and we forgot all about the Alexa until it started blaring CBS Sunday Morning and my phone buzzed. It was Saturday, for heaven’s sake.
Chuck ran for the living room and I answered against my better judgment.
“Hello?”
It might’ve been Big Steve, but I could barely hear over Chuck’s yelling at the Alexa. She decided that she didn’t understand him.
“What?” I yelled at my phone.
“Mercy, we…”
I dashed into my closet and slammed the door. “Oh my God.”
“Are you okay?” asked Big Steve.
“I’m fine, but my Alexa’s going wild and Chuck is losing his mind.”
“Sorry to bother you so early.”
“It’s nine o’clock. How long have you been working?” I asked.
He chuckled. “That doesn’t matter.”
“That’s what I thought. What’s up? More nastygrams about Catherine?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, no is right,” he said, his voice going down and getting serious.
I would’ve preferred a nastygram with whatever pictures it might contain to what actually happened. Catherine had gotten up that morning and decided to go into the office to pick up some paperwork. When walking to her car in the parking garage, a man came up behind her. He yelled, “You’re a whore,” and threw urine on her.
I was so surprised I couldn’t speak.
“Mercy?” asked Big Steve.
“I don’t know what—”
Chuck opened the door to the closet and came in. “What are you doing?”
I pressed my phone against my belly. “Nothing. It was loud.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Big Steve.”
“What’s he want?” asked Chuck, getting so tense all eight of his abs popped out hard.
“None of your business,” I said.
“You’re my business.”
I gritted my teeth and said, “It’s a favor. Nothing big. Now go on.”
“Tell me.”
“Get out or I’ll kick you.”
He flashed me his biggest grin. “Oh, yeah. I’m tall and you’re short. Give that a shot.”
I drew back my foot. “I’m not aiming for your head.”
“Dammit, Mercy.”
A series of little smacks got him to back out of my closet as his phone rang. Chuck went to answer it and I closed the closet door again. “Okay,” I said. “Did she see him?”
“No,” said Big Steve. “What was that about with Chuck?”
“Nothing. Did she see a car or recognize the voice?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not. She was completely shocked.”
“What did the cops say?”
Silence.
“Are you kidding me?”
Big Steve hemmed and hawed, but it came down to politics and embarrassment. It was less than a month until her father’s fate was decided. He and the other candidate were neck and neck. The last thing he needed was a urine-daughter. People would think where there’s smoke there’s fire and all the sudden people would take a hard look at the candidate�
��s family. That was the last thing Catherine wanted. Plus, she was completely horrified that she’d inspired that kind of hate. She ran back to her apartment, showered, and threw out her clothes. Bye bye, evidence. Then she called Big Steve because who does Big Steve know? Tommy Watts. Catherine figured she could hire Dad to track down the guy and have a little talk with him. Big Steve didn’t tell her that my dad was now Captain Worrywart and it would be me he’d call.
“That is completely ludicrous,” I said. “Call the police. This guy is escalating. Next time it’ll be a knife in the back.”
“I told her that, but she refused. She loves her father. You understand that. You’ve put up with a lot from Tommy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So where are we? Have we got a guy yet?”
I told him about Joe and Patty Hove, but, in my opinion, Joe wouldn’t throw urine on Catherine or threaten her in any way. He wasn’t a Mission Hill Babcock, in other words. On second thought, urine was too tame for a Babcock. They would probably throw battery acid, not that anyone in their right mind would mess with a Babcock’s husband.
“I’ll get Morty on Joe, just in case,” I said.
“Who’s next on your list?” asked Big Steve.
I tried to run my fingers through my hair, but it was still punishing me and was totally knotted up. “It depends on what Morty’s come up with. What did Calabasas say?”
“Well…”
“No. That’s not happening. He has to know. Catherine needs extra security when she goes into work and if I were you, I’d put someone on her twenty-four seven.”
“She doesn’t—”
“Enough. Catherine isn’t a child. Anything but.”
“Mercy, we had a deal,” he said and I heard the lawyer voice coming out.
“And a deal’s a deal? It is, except when it isn’t. I’m interviewing Catherine about her extracurricular activities, Calabasas is told, and she gets full-time security, or your next call is to the cops.”
“Cabot doesn’t want Catherine to know about those pictures,” he said.
“She knows about the pictures. She took them and guess what, someone’s decided to use them against her. As Dad would say, it’s time to cowboy up.”
“I’ll think about it. I don’t want you interviewing her until you absolutely have to.”
“What about security?” I asked.
“She won’t agree. I already offered,” he said.
“Because she doesn’t know about the pictures.”
“That won’t change her mind. She doesn’t want someone standing outside her door garnering attention. Catherine will stay home today and you’ll get a bead on this guy. If you don’t, we’ll get security.”
“You know this is crazy, right?” I asked.
Sometimes you can hear people smiling on the other end of the line and I heard Big Steve smiling then. “I do and I appreciate you keeping this quiet as long as possible.”
“How much do you appreciate it?”
“So you want something?”
I told him about my truck’s window and blamed it on construction at Aaron’s bakery. My dad wasn’t the only guy Big Steve knew. Vintage vehicles were a passion for him when he had five minutes to spare.
“I have a guy,” he said. “But Tommy will want—”
“Nope. This is on the down low,” I said.
Big Steve smiled again. “And why is that?”
“I’m trying to make my dad better not worse. You know how he feels about that truck.”
He saw my logic and we had an agreement. When I came out of the closet, Chuck had taken a lightning fast shower and was buttoning his shirt.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Julia called,” he said.
I crossed my arms. “Stop the presses. Julia called.”
“She needs some help with a case.”
“Who’s her partner?”
“Nazir.” He tucked his shirt in and made for the door, but I snagged his arm, “Where’s Nazir then?”
“There, I assume.”
“Why are you going?” I asked.
“It’s a triple at O’Malley’s no less. Her first and she’s the lead.”
“So what?”
“She needs help,” he said, his face going stony. I’d seen that very expression on my dad’s face and there was no hope, but I’m me and I couldn’t stop myself.
“That’s what Nazir is for, not to mention her lieutenant and everyone else. You’re supposed to be off today,” I said, trying not to sound petulant and failing.
He pulled away from me and said, “And you’ve got a favor for Big Steve. I’ll call you later.”
Chuck left and my stomach twisted. This wasn’t good. I knew that, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. He was going to help. Dad always did no matter what Mom said.
I threw myself on the bed and called Uncle Morty. I had no excuse for not helping Catherine although I sorely wanted one. He answered in a hushed tone and I gave him a quick rundown of the urine incident.
“Did Catherine get on her…other phone last night after the boyfriend left?” I asked.
“Yeah, she did.”
“Is your worm thingy installed?”
“It’s spyware, for your information,” he said.
“Whatever. What have you—”
He hung up on me. That wasn’t all that unusual for Uncle Morty. He took grumpy to a new level, but I generally had a clue why. That was abrupt, even for him.
I called back five times and it went straight to voicemail. One of the problems with knowing about murder and crime in general is that you start to worry when you shouldn’t. I started thinking maybe Uncle Morty got stabbed in the neck by an irate fan or Nikki got sick of his gas and decided to club him with her favorite heavy-duty All Clad pan.
It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. I threw on my clothes and got to Uncle Morty’s twenty minutes later and was running up the stairs when I crossed paths with Nikki dashing down.
“Mercy, my God, what’s happened?” she asked, obviously not covered in Uncle Morty’s blood.
“Er…nothing.”
“You were running. You don’t like to run. Are you okay?”
“Well, I ate a lot of Chinese food last night and I have to work it off.”
“Really?”
“I do that.”
She raised an eyebrow but said, “Alright. If you say so. How are your parents? Morty’s so worried about them. He said you’re working on a plan to pull Tommy out of his depression.”
“Er…yeah, yeah we are,” I said.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, leaning in. “He won’t breathe a word.”
“It’s…um…not fully realized yet. I’ll let you know.”
I don’t think she really bought that, but she was helping out at Kronos again and had to go much to my relief. I knocked on Uncle Morty’s door and when he finally opened it after ten minutes of knocking, he had the chain on.
“Whattayawhat?” he asked.
“To know what the hell is going on,” I said.
“Nothin’ ya pain in my ass.”
“Let me in.”
“You can call me.”
“I’m here.”
“Call me.”
“You hung up on me.”
“Serves ya right.”
I rammed my hands into the door, bouncing the door off his big, bulbous nose. “Don’t make me call Dad.”
“You ain’t calling Tommy. You think he’ll go over the edge,” he said, a glint in his eye.
“Fine. I’ll call Mom.” I grinned at him. “She likes a puzzle.”
“Son of a bitch.” He let me in. I kind of wish he hadn’t. He was sweating again and more than a little odiferous.
“You stink,” I said.
“Shut up. It’s your fault.”
He claimed that he was sweating because I bothered him, but I’d been bothering him my whole life. That was hardly new and it was
a lukewarm sixty-eight degrees in his apartment, but he was sweating like it was ninety-eight degrees in Florida.
“Whatever,” I said. “So what have you got on Catherine?”
“Looks like someone accessed her phone and grabbed up all her pictures,” he said as he settled into his office chair and chugged an entire bottle of water. I wanted to take his temp, but I knew better.
“Define all,” I said.
“All as in all. Her pictures. The pictures guys send her. All of it.”
I’m going to regret this.
“What did the guys send her?” I asked.
Uncle Morty pressed a button and his monitors filled up with naked dudes.
“Oh my eyes. Make it stop.”
He chuckled and typed. “Like you never seen a naked man before.”
“That’s by choice,” I said, daring to peek between my fingers and regretting it.
“You’re a nurse. Suck it up.”
“Are you going to take those down or what?”
“Yeah, yeah. What an uptight wuss,” he said.
“You didn’t like Catherine’s pictures,” I said.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
He growled and got back to typing. “Here’s her last text exchange. Eleven last night.”
I read through it quickly and it was about what you’d expect. “You’re so sexy.” “I love your body.”
“He’s not sending threats to Calabasas,” I said.
“None of them are doing it,” said Uncle Morty.
I sat down in the chair next to him and yawned.
“Am I boring you? Get out. I got crap to do.”
“Somebody’s doing it and they’re escalating,” I said, squishing down and getting comfortable.
“It ain’t one of those numb nuts.”
“So who got all the photos?”
Uncle Morty didn’t know yet, but whoever hacked Catherine’s phone did it much the same as he had, except the code was original. Uncle Morty didn’t use an original code. That was a lot of work for something fairly pedestrian.
“They wrote their own code for this?” I asked. “Why would someone bother?”
“Two reasons. Maybe they thought someone, like me, would recognize the code, the mods, and trace it back to them.”
“How would that work?”
“I, for instance, took an existing code and modified it for my purposes. I don’t freaking care about the nail salons Catherine searched or crap like that. I wanted messages with certain words. Sex, horny, etc. I wanted the photos associated with texts like that.”
