by A W Hartoin
“What’s new?” I asked.
“The coding.”
“Er…”
He explained without any patience that there were trends in the computer world, kind of like the fashion world. Things came into style and went out again. This particular style was new, so new none of his cronies had seen it before in practice.
“So you can’t do it?” I asked.
“I can do it. I don’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“What do I care about style? My stuff works. I don’t need to add bells and friggin’ whistles.”
That got my brain working. Style. Fashion. New. There was something there, but I couldn’t quite lock on to it. “So do you think the person who wrote that code might be able to write a code to defraud Midwest’s customers?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
Aunt Miriam smacked his hand so hard the entire place looked up like in those wildlife videos when the prey animals are alerted to danger.
He rubbed his hand and reluctantly said, “Sorry.”
“You’re forgiven this once, but only because there’s something wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
She gave him the stink eye and he scooted closer to me. Swell. That smell was no joke.
“So what about the account? Are you in yet?”
“I been working on the code. Catherine’s files are gonna take some time to get in and then see if I can find that coder’s work in the Midwest accounts. It’s a friggin’ needle.”
Aunt Miriam sniffed her cookie, but didn’t bite it. I suspect she did it to torture me. “How much time?”
He grumbled.
“Well?”
“I got no idea. Months. You know how much code we’re talking about?”
I sipped my latte, letting the warmth roll through me and wake up my mind. “Forget that.”
“I’ll get it,” he said. “Eventually.”
“I mean, let’s go after it at a different angle.”
“Catherine’s angle? I’m not an accountant. The only numbers I’m good with are ones and zeros.”
“My angle,” I said. “Let’s look at the time frame to see if this even fits. When did Elite get the account? When did the Bank first talk about giving it to Elite and when was Catherine mentioned?”
Uncle Morty smiled and scratched the stubble on his chin. “And who was listening.”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe nobody was,” said Aunt Miriam. “What then?”
I pointed at the Madeleine. “Give me your cookie and I’ll tell you.”
She handed it over with a smirk and I didn’t care. Chocolate. “We’re going to keep going on the disgruntled lovers. I’m confident that the Hoves are out and so is John.”
“I’ll get on that Martin Doyle,” said Uncle Morty.
“Can you take a look at the scumbag boyfriend, too?” I asked.
He raised a brushy brow.
“He’s not coming back with his girlfriend in the hospital.”
“Yeah, he’s a scumbag, but he didn’t do it, hire some dirtbag or anything. No money going out. No suspicious calls and he don’t get a thing if she dies. He knows the dad will friggin’ kick his…butt out if he gets half a chance. He wants Catherine to live so he can freeload for a while longer. He thinks DBD is his big break. Douche.”
“He’s swell,” I said.
Jim brought two fresh cups of coffee and practically ran away. Uncle Morty took a sip and said, “Now that’s coffee. Hey. How’d Cabot know for sure that Gary Vance’s hookup was Catherine?”
“He hired someone to snoop Gary,” I said.
I swear I saw his ears perk up like a dog’s, only less subtle. “Who’d he hire?”
“Beats me.”
“Call him.”
I dug out Cabot’s card and he answered instantly. “Hi, it’s Mercy. I have a quick question.”
“I have a question, too,” he said. “When did our police force become incompetent?”
“Huh?”
In the background, I heard Julia’s voice saying, “Mr. Cabot, move aside. I need access to your daughter. You can’t bar me.”
“I’m a lawyer and a good one. You have no right to demand anything.”
“Holy crap! She doubled back,” I said.
“I will have you charged with harassment,” said Mr. Cabot.
“I’m trying to solve your daughter’s shooting, sir.”
“She’s unconscious.”
“I can see her looking at us.”
“I’m refusing access as a father and a human being,” said Mr. Cabot.
“I only want to confirm her version of events.”
“She doesn’t have any version. She doesn’t remember the shooting.”
“Mr. Cabot, her memory may have improved,” said Julia.
“Then it will still be improved when she’s not hopped up on painkillers and in constant pain. She barely knows her own name right now.”
There was a brief discussion that I couldn’t make out and then Cabot came back. Julia had somehow ditched Nazir and returned without him knowing. When Cabot got to the ICU, Julia was arresting Mark for interfering in a police investigation because he wouldn’t let her into the room to wake up Catherine.
“Did she let Mark go?” I asked.
“No, she had him hauled out in handcuffs. Is she from Utah?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to call Big Steve?”
“Just called him a second before you rang.” His voice got a little funny. “I can’t believe this.”
“Mr. Cabot? Mr. Cabot?” Takira yelled for a chair. “Alright. You can call them back.”
“It’s Mercy,” he said.
“Mercy?” Takira took the phone. “Oh, my God. This is insane. She actually arrested Mark. He was only trying to protect his patient.”
“She’s a one-woman wolf pack,” I said. “Can Cabot talk? I just need a name.”
She conferred with him and he came back. “What is it, Mercy? Anything I can do I will do.”
“Who did you hire to get the info on Gary Vance?”
“Tracy Payne. Anything else?”
I told him to try and relax. He said he would, but he wouldn’t. Dad’s don’t. I hung up and told Aunt Miriam and Uncle Morty about Mark. Uncle Morty got squinty and drummed his meaty fingers on the table.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Just thinking. Who’s that hacker?”
“Tracy Payne.”
He threw up his hands. “Thomas Henry Cabot hired Contempo Casual? You got to be joking.”
“Contempo Casual?”
“Ya know like the store,” he said.
I drew a blank.
“That went out of business when Mercy was little,” said Aunt Miriam. “It was a ladies’ clothing store.”
“Oh,” I said. “Why do you call her Contempo Casual?”
“‘Cause she operates like it’s the 80s. Never updated anything, including her wardrobe.”
Uncle Morty should talk. Until Nikki came along, he shopped in the Goodwill reject pile. “So she sucks.”
“She more than sucks. She’s indicted.”
“For what?”
“Wiretapping, blackmail, and fraud,” he said. “When you don’t keep up with the times, you gotta make ends meet somehow.”
“So she’s not exactly kosher?”
“She’d do anything for a buck.” He gave me a quick rundown on Contempo Casual’s crimes and she was inventive. I’ll give her that.
I rolled my latte between my hands, my brain firing on all cylinders, for once. “When did that start?”
“A few years. What are you thinking?”
“Maybe she’s the one that nabbed the photos of Catherine off her phone,” I said. “She knew what Catherine was up to.”
“Tracy didn’t write that shit.”
Aunt Miriam gave him another stinging slap on the hand, but instead of saying sorry Uncle Morty bellowed, “Don’t
slap me, Sister. I’m not a damn kid.” Then a stream of profanity echoed forth like he’d been bottling it up for months. He hadn’t, but it just kept coming in waves as he packed up his laptop, swilled both his coffee and Aunt Miriam’s, and stomped off, kicking the door open with a battered Nike.
“Wow,” I said.
“He’s troubled,” said Aunt Miriam.
“By insanity. What in the world was that?”
She stood up. “He needs spiritual guidance.”
I pushed her back down. “Not from you.”
“If not me, then who?”
Anybody. Anybody at all.
“Let him come to you,” I said sagely.
She nodded and fingered the crucifix hanging on the slender gold chain around her neck. “Perhaps I’ll light a candle for him and ask for prayers.”
“Excellent idea.” I jolted to my feet. “I’ll take you to the Cathedral right now.” With any luck, I could get her inside and leave her to God.
Aaron trotted out of the back with two large mugs piled high with whipped cream. Stuck in the whipped cream was a dark chocolate Florentine cookie. He plunked the mugs on the table, said nothing, and ran back to the kitchen.
I sat down. “It can wait.”
A half hour later, my brain was saturated with sugar and fat. I could barely think, but Aunt Miriam was eagle-eyed as always.
“Where to now?” she asked.
“No idea. I don’t even know if Uncle Morty’s on the case anymore.”
“He’s on the case.”
“How do you know? He blew a gasket and he might say forget it. He didn’t want to do this one anyway.”
“We make a good team.”
“Who?”
“Us. He and I.”
I used my finger to mop up a bit of cream on the side of my mug. “Since when? You two are oil and water.”
“Remember your parent teacher nights.” She rubbed her hands together in glee. “We were unstoppable.”
“Yeah, you really took those teachers down,” I said. “That didn’t come back and bite me in the butt at all.”
“I miss those days.”
I’d actually done a pretty good job of wiping them from my memory banks. Mom worked for Big Steve back then and there always seemed to be a big trial when it came time for parent teacher conferences. I was all for skipping it. Mom wasn’t and she’d enlist whoever was available. I prayed for my sweet Aunt Tenne, Mom’s sister. She’d bring treats and the teachers loved her. But Mom caught on that Aunt Tenne was just there to smile and nod, never getting any real dirt, so she brought in the big guns, Aunt Miriam and Uncle Morty, whoever wasn’t busy. Sometimes they were both free and I got the dastardly duo.
“I don’t. Miss Holly was never the same after you two.”
“Well, what kind of question is ‘In your opinion…?’ She can’t ask that question and mark it wrong. It’s an opinion.”
“You made her cry.”
“It was just a little sniffing. Don’t be dramatic.” She stood up. “I’ll call Morty and remind him how well we work together.”
“No way. We’re letting him come to you, remember.”
“I remember Mr. Phillips’ math errors. Morty took one look at that fool’s grade book and brought you from a B to an A minus.”
“And he told all the other parents. I was totally the teacher’s pet after that.”
“As it should be. He was a pinhead and you are a Watts. Remember Sue Lacey and her spelling lists.”
“Please stop. My childhood is flashing before my eyes.”
“She had spelling errors on her own spelling list. I had to correct her.”
“Her husband just died.”
“I was helping.”
“By pointing out her errors? I don’t think so.”
She hauled me out of my chair. “By bringing her to her senses and back to church. I put her in a quilting circle and she remarried to Colin Brindle. He’s an avid quilter.”
“Men quilt?”
“Yes and they knit, too.” She dragged me outside and put me in the Isabella. “I will call Morty to get an address for that Martin person so we can strike him from the list.”
I sat there while she tried to dial her phone. Honestly, she could remember humiliating details from my childhood, but she couldn’t remember how her phone worked. Every time was the first time.
“Drive,” she ordered.
“Where?”
“Just go and we’ll be halfway there.”
So I drove and like a homing pigeon I went home.
Not my home and not my home away from home. I went on auto pilot to my parents’ house, parking behind the garage before I knew what happened.
“What are we doing here?” Aunt Miriam asked.
“I don’t know. Have you dialed the phone yet?”
“Yes.”
She hadn’t. She turned it on, got distracted, and had to put in her code again. I could’ve already called Spidermonkey, had the address, and been on Doyle’s doorstep.
“Forget it,” I said. “Can I just dial for you?”
“I don’t need you to dial for me.” Aunt Miriam put her phone away and got out. “Come on. I have a plan.”
“Wait! What are we doing?”
“We’re here. We may as well check on Tommy and Carolina.”
She stomped up the path and I chased her. “Tell the truth. You’re going to have Mom dial that phone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I was ridiculous most of the time, but I was also right occasionally. As soon as the hellos were done, Aunt Miriam asked to speak to Mom in private. Gee. I wonder why.
They left to talk about nothing to do with phones and I went in the butler’s pantry, the place I ended up after those disastrous parent-teacher conferences, looking for cookies and the strength to face the teacher the next day. That time I wasn’t in the market for cookies. A boozy coffee was just the ticket. I wouldn’t be able to drive for a while, but that was the price I was willing to pay.
While I rummaged around looking for the key to the liquor cabinet I checked my messages. Julia had gotten my number. From Chuck, I presume, and I had multiple messages from her as well as Chuck. Delete. I did have one message from someone I could stand. Nazir. Him I’d call back.
“Hey, it’s Mercy. You rang,” I said as I unlocked the cabinet and lowered it’s beautiful marquetry front.
“Oh, thank God,” said Nazir. “Did you hear?”
“That your partner’s a crazy nut job? Yeah, I did.”
He hesitated. “What makes you call her that?”
“Hello? She arrested Mark for protecting his patient. You know they settled that case in Utah for half a million.”
“It wasn’t that bad. Julia only wanted an interview.”
“Against the family’s wishes.”
“How do you know that?” he asked, super suspicious. The wiener thought I was there hiding out or something.
“Mr. Cabot called me.”
“Why?”
“Because I know Catherine. I already told this to your insane partner.”
“You didn’t say much,” said Nazir. “We need you to come in and talk.”
I’d rather get a smoking hot enema.
“I answered her questions,” I said. “Her manners leave something to be desired. I’m not a suspect.”
I could hear him take a drink and gather his thoughts. “I know you’re not. She’s under a lot of pressure.”
I rolled my eyes and rifled through Dad’s collection of liquor. “Aren’t we all?”
“Can I say something without you getting mad?” he asked.
“You can try. No guarantees.”
“Julia’s the only female detective we have right now. There are a lot of eyes on her, and everyone’s comparing her to you,” said Nazir.
I know somebody who is.
“Oh, really? Do tell?” I asked.
“Mercy, have you read the papers?”
&n
bsp; “The one that says I’m a nitwit or the one that says I’m a sexpot that got lucky?”
He groaned. “The one that’s questioning why Julia’s on this case. She has to do well and she knows it.”
“She can do well on her own without help from the sexpot nitwit,” I said.
“Please, Mercy. I’m on this case, too. Why were you at the scene?”
“I wasn’t.”
“I have twenty witnesses that say you were. I know you have something to do with it. This is about you.”
“They weren’t shooting at me,” I said.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind me.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I turned around and found my dad standing in the pantry doorway, his clothes hanging off him, windstorm hair, and deep purple grooves under his blue, bloodshot eyes. I knew him, of course, but in a weird way I felt like I was looking at someone entirely separate from the father I loved.
“Mercy?” asked Nazir.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
“Tommy’s there? Can I talk to him?”
“No.”
Dad walked in and touched my arm like I might be scorching. “Someone shot at you?”
“No, no. I wasn’t there.”
“But you just said—”
“I wasn’t there, Dad. I swear to you I wasn’t. I was talking to one of the vics on the phone and heard it. Then I went to the scene. That’s all. No big deal.”
“You heard the shooting?” asked Nazir. “What did you hear? How many shots? Did you hear shouting?”
“I heard three shots and screaming. That’s it,” I said.
“Who got shot?” Dad had the tiniest spark in his eye, but it only flashed and was gone.
“Nobody you know,” I said. “Later, Nazir.”
“Let me talk to Tommy. He’s the best mentor on the planet. Julia needs a steadying hand.”
“I thought Chuck was doing that,” I said with an edge that could split a hair.
“Oh, well, not really. Chuck’s just, you know, trying to keep her head screwed on right.”
“That’s not what she’s interested in having screwed on.”
“What?” Nazir was breathing heavier. Yep. I was right on target. “I need you to come down and make a statement.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Can I please speak to Tommy?”
“Julia has my boyfriend. She can’t have my father.” I hung up and blocked Nazir’s number. The man must be crazy. My scarecrow of a father wasn’t helping Julia. I wasn’t sure he could help himself to the bathroom.
