Down and Dirty (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 9)

by A W Hartoin

  “I was. I am. Why did your brother go to the military academy?”

  Porter headed over to the fireplace and looked at a picture over the mantel, a big blowup of the five kids gathered around a campfire. “You were asking about that? It’s fracking ancient history.”

  “It was four years ago,” I said.

  “Seems like longer. Seems like forever. It’s so stupid. Nobody cares about that anymore.”

  I joined him at the mantel. “Then you won’t mind telling me.”

  “Do you know why I brought you to my mother?” Porter asked.

  “No.”

  “I know who you are.”

  I sighed and leaned on the heavy wood. “You and a million other people.”

  “I mean, I know you’re kind of a detective,” he said, his face growing more somber by the moment and he brushed away a tear. “You’re here about my dad and what happened to him.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Did he really kill himself?” His hand was shaking and I longed to put mine on his to steady it.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you tell me if he didn’t? If someone killed him?”

  “I definitely would,” I said.

  Porter walked away and sat down on the sofa, putting his head in his hands. “He didn’t really leave a note. I was hoping that it wasn’t true.”

  “I thought he did leave a note.” I sat down next to him.

  “A stupid one. It didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like him. We always talked.”

  Be a big girl. You can do it.

  “Porter, please tell me why your brother was sent to military school?” I asked.

  He looked up, his face streaked with tears. “If you tell me why you want to know.”

  “Deal.”

  “Peyton’s an idiot. I mean, he’s a good kid, but so gullible. He got mixed up with some kids and broke into houses with them. It was so stupid. He didn’t even want that stuff.”

  “Was he arrested?”

  “Yeah. Breaking and entering. The first time, the judge let him off. First-time offense. You know how it is. We’re white and rich. I’m surprised they didn’t give him a lollipop on the way out. I was so pissed.”

  “Because they let him off?”

  “I didn’t want him to go to jail or anything. Peyton was just a kid, but Dad should’ve done something. Grounded him from those stupid dirt bikes or taken away his video games. Dad was so weird about it. He didn’t seem to care.”

  “What’d your mom say?” I asked.

  “She wanted to take away the dirt bikes, too, but Dad overruled her. I couldn’t believe it. Then Peyton did it again. They got caught climbing in Karen Kerr’s front window.”

  “Not exactly stealthy.”

  “She was the judge that let Peyton off.”

  I sat back and got ready to text Spidermonkey. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “They were stoned and had stuff from other houses in their backpacks.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow is right,” said Porter. “But my dad got him off again. Made a deal that he’d get counseling and go to military school. Now you tell me why you care and what it’s got to do with my dad.”

  “Who was he arrested with?” I asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I think so. Big time.”

  “A bunch of losers from his dirt bike club.”

  “Names?” I asked. “Please. It’s important.”

  Porter put his head in his hands again. “Hell, I don’t know. I never knew Peyton’s friends. There was a Kyle and an Austin, I think.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Austin Pratt?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  Dammit.

  “How about an Emma Ryder, Joshua Hall, Matt Guzman, Tyler Rippon, or Ashley England?” I asked.

  He chuckled and turned to me. “You really think an Ashley or Emma would be riding dirt bikes?”

  “You never know,” I said. “People don’t always live up to their names.”

  “I do. I have to. My mom’s always saying my name is everything. I’m a Weeks and that means something. Now it means suicide on a golf course. So much for last names being all that.”

  “Last names,” I said. “What about the last names? Do you recognize any of them?”

  “I don’t know. What were they?”

  “Ryder, Hall, Guzman, Rippon, and England.”

  “That’s it,” said Porter.

  I was so tense I could hardly breathe. “Which one?”

  “England. It was Austin England.”

  And there it is.

  “You must be out of your fucking mind if you think my brother had anything to do with stealing from Midwest,” said Porter, marching to the door after I told him why Austin England was important. He insisted that he wanted to know. I should’ve known that wasn’t true. Not really.

  “I’m not saying your brother did it.”

  “He once asked me who won our civil war, us or England.”

  “Peyton didn’t do it.”

  He grabbed the door knob. “Well, his friends are just as stupid. They wouldn’t be his friends if they weren’t.”

  “His friend’s sister, Ashley England, is part of a group that wrote the code to steal from Midwest’s customers.”

  “That is such bullshit. Why are you here? What’s this got to do with my dad? He sure as the hell didn’t kill himself because Peyton’s friend’s sister whatever the fuck.” He kicked open the door and I yelled without thinking, “Have you ever heard of the Frightful Five?”

  Porter stopped and beyond him I could see the guests looking at us from around the pool. He turned around. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “That’s what they call themselves,” I said. “Have you heard that before?”

  “He called us that.”

  “Who?”

  “My dad.” Porter’s chest started heaving. “We were his Frightful Five.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He was figuring it out. I didn’t have to say anything else.

  “You think my dad…but he didn’t have to. He was a CFO. Midwest is an international bank.”

  “Why don’t you come sit down?” I tried to take his arm, but he jerked it away from me.

  “Is that why you came here? To tell me my dad was a crook?” Porter was screaming and guests started streaming out of the house.

  “No. Not at all.”

  Rita ran over. “What the hell is going on?” she hissed. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

  “Me? You’re having pictures taken at Dad’s funeral like we’re celebrating.”

  “It’s for articles about your father. He gave us everything. We can make sure he’s remembered. Now be quiet.”

  “I won’t be quiet! Dad was miserable and you made him miserable with this stupid house!”

  Rita pushed him in the door. “Shut up and go kiss that girl. She’s a bit questionable, but she’ll do to calm you down.”

  “I’m not kissing any sluts.”

  Hey!

  “I was just leaving,” I said.

  “No, you’re not!” yelled Porter. “You’re going to tell me.”

  Rita pushed at her son, glancing over her shoulder at the crowd. “Yes, talk to her, but be quiet.”

  “She’s telling me that Dad’s a crook!”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “I know. Dad wouldn’t do anything like that. He was the best person I ever knew.”

  “He was no saint. Maybe she can disabuse you of that notion,” hissed Rita.

  Porter grabbed my arm. “No, she can’t.” He dragged me out of the pool house. Don’t ever get dragged in four-inch heels. It won’t work out for you.

  I immediately tripped and fell, losing one shoe and got dragged into the house on my knees.

  “Peyton!” screamed Porter. “Peyton, you idiot! Where are you?”

  He dragged me through the house room after overdone room screaming for his br
other. Portia and Paige came, trying to get him off me, but his hand was locked around my wrist so tight I lost feeling in it completely. He jerked me around, spinning me on the marble floors. Pain shot up my arm and I thought I would mercifully black out. No such luck.

  At some point, I saw Ward. He was on the phone and I yelled, “Call Ameche!”

  The valets tried to intervene and several guests, too, but Porter just kept screaming for Peyton. Finally, his little sister, Priscilla, ran up and said, “He’s in the pool room.”

  I only got a glimpse of her terrified face before he dragged me off down a hall, out a door, and through an area that was parked up. I managed to get to my feet while he weaved around the cars.

  “Stop it!” I screamed. “I think you broke my arm.”

  “I don’t fucking care. I’ll break your neck.” He dragged me up a set of stairs into another hall and whipped open a door. Inside was a game room with a pool table, Ping-Pong, and a bunch of vintage video games.

  “Peyton!” Porter screamed, jerking me around the pool table to a sitting area where Peyton Weeks sat with six other people. I knew five of them.

  “The Frightful Five,” I gasped.

  Porter shoved me away and yelled at them, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Porter, what is wrong with you?” Peyton came over with his hands up. “These are my friends. You remember Austin.”

  Austin sat there with his mouth hanging open. Not the brightest bulb, but the others were plenty bright. They weren’t looking at Porter. They were looking at me.

  “She says your friends have some kind of criminal conspiracy to steal money from Midwest,” said Porter.

  “You’re fucking nuts,” said Peyton.

  “Close the door,” said Emma, tucking her long blond hair behind her ears.

  Joshua Hall hesitated, but then he ran for the door and locked it.

  I got to my feet, cradling my arm. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s much too late now.”

  “Shut up,” said Emma. “I have to think.”

  “I told you that you should’ve killed her,” said Austin.

  “You did want to kill me?” I asked astonished.

  Emma wrinkled her nose. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “I do,” said Tyler. “That’s Mercy Watts. We are totally screwed.”

  Porter looked at me and then them. “It’s true?”

  “Is what true?” asked Peyton.

  “I told you. She thinks your friends stole from Midwest and she thinks…she thinks Dad helped you.”

  “Us?”

  “Them,” I said. “You’re just the reason they ever knew your dad.”

  Peyton got thoughtful. “How much did we get?”

  “Millions.”

  He made a fist. “That is totally dank.”

  “It’s not dank, you imbecile. This is not a meme. Dad’s dead.” Porter drew back and punched his kid brother square in the face. Peyton’s nose exploded and he staggered around the room, screeching.

  “Shut him up,” said Emma. “Fortunately, I planned for this.”

  I pointed at the spraying Peyton. “You planned for that?”

  “No. I planned to get away.”

  “Then why would you come here today?”

  Emma held up a Mac laptop. “I needed an excuse to come here and get this. Matt grab her.”

  I dashed for the door, but Matt and Tyler easily caught me. Tyler held me in a bear hug, holding me off my feet.

  “Are we going to kill her?” asked Austin.

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Emma pulling a small caliber handgun out of her pocket. “We just need her to be quiet for a while.”

  “I think we should kill her,” said Austin.

  “You would,” said Joshua.

  “We should’ve killed the other one for sure,” said Austin.

  “Who are you talking about?” asked Porter.

  Ashley, who hadn’t moved from her seat, said, “If we hit her with a truck accidentally this would never have happened.”

  “Who?”

  “The slutty one.”

  Porter pointed at me. “Her?”

  “Stop calling me slutty!” I yelled. I don’t know why that was important at that moment, but it was. “And it’s Catherine they wanted to kill.”

  “Who the hell is Catherine?” asked Porter.

  “Do you hear something?” asked Ashley.

  “Holy crap!” said Tyler. “We better hit it.”

  Sirens. Thank you, God.

  Emma waved the gun at me and Tyler. “Take her out the back.”

  “I’m not going,” said Ashley.

  “What?”

  “I’m not going. I’m not leaving my mom. She’s the only reason I did this in the first place.”

  Emma pointed the gun at her. “Move. We’re together.”

  “No.”

  “Ashley, we agreed that it’s us all together,” said Emma.

  “Leave her alone,” said Matt.

  Somebody knocked on the door. “Is everything okay in there?” asked a man.

  “No!” I yelled.

  Tyler clamped a hand over my mouth and Emma ran over to a back door. “Hurry up.”

  “I’m not going,” said Ashley.

  “For God’s sake,” said Joshua. “Let’s discuss it some more. The cops aren’t here or anything.”

  He ran for the door and whipped it open. Peyton started to follow with blood dripping off his elbows, but Porter stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Thoou punthed me in thuh faceth,” said Peyton spraying the room with blood.

  “I’ll punch you again. You’re not going with these dickwads.”

  “Yesth I amth.”

  Peyton went for the door. Porter grabbed him and they went down. I bit Matt’s hand. He screamed and dropped me. Emma pointed the gun at me again. “Move. I can’t have you telling people where we went.”

  “That’s a hard pass,” I said.

  “I’ll shoot you.”

  “Go ahead. I already got blood on this dress. It’s vintage and it belongs to Calpurnia Fibonacci. How do you think that’s gonna go over?” I yelled.

  Matt ran for Emma, turned her around, and tried to shove her out. “Go!”

  Just then the other door got kicked in. Splinters flew across the room and Colin stalked in with a semi-automatic and the will to use it. “Freeze.”

  They didn’t freeze. I would’ve. I did, in fact. But the Frightful Five was scared witless. They ran for it and Colin put two in the ceiling. They dove for cover and Ward walked in. “I take it you got what you needed, Mercy?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ward came over, eyed the stunned Porter, who had frozen and was still freezing, and put my arm on his. “You don’t look pleased.”

  “Look at my dress,” I said. “I got blood all over it. What’s Calpurnia going to do?”

  “That’s hard to say. It was her mother’s.”

  I gasped. “Oh, my God. I should’ve let them take me.”

  “Something to consider for next time,” said Ward.

  “There isn’t going to be a next time.”

  “I bet you say that a lot.”

  Dammit. I do. I really do.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I’VE BEEN TO a few wakes. They come in all sizes and degrees of sadness, but there are two kinds of mourners, quick and slow. Some people make an appearance and they are outta there. Others linger, speak to everyone, share stories, and do a proper goodbye. But when the cops show up, all bets are off.

  I’ve never seen people leave anywhere as fast as people left the Weeks wake. It was like someone throwing a rock into a flock of pigeons. They flipping scattered with much squawking and squealing of tires. By the time I got outside to supposedly go to the ambulance there were no parked cars left except Ward’s limo and the cop cars. The rest were lined up in the driveway, honking in a panic. Others had given up on roads altogether and were d
riving through the woods, knocking down unfortunate saplings and wrecking the lawn.

  The ambulance that Ameche had called was still out on the road and couldn’t get in because of the crush. I leaned on the enormous decorative planter at the bottom of the front steps with its twisted topiary tree and cradled my arm, which had gotten so swollen and discolored it resembled one of Aaron’s jumbo pork sausages, uncooked. The pain was pretty bad, but Rita’s wailing from somewhere in the house kept it in perspective. I don’t think anyone stayed to help, except Ward, the people who were paid to be there, and Father Joseph, a young priest newly ordained and in so far over his head that he couldn’t see the top of the water. He wandered around making pointless observations and quoting scripture that didn’t apply, but he was stylish in a way that made women say, “Why, of all men, does he have to be celibate?” I’m sure that’s why Rita picked him, but that wasn’t working out in a huge way. When he quoted Isaiah on trust, Porter threatened to “beat his ass.” I couldn’t do anything to help. They hated me more than Father Joseph. It wasn’t exactly my fault, but it sure looked like it was.

  After a couple of minutes, Ameche walked out with Emma in handcuffs. She was clear-eyed and thinking. If she’d been a little faster I have no doubt she would’ve gotten away.

  “I wish I’d known you knew Catherine Cabot,” she said.

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “I’d be in Cuba or Venezuela.”

  “I think you’re my favorite criminal.”

  She laughed and asked me to push up her glasses. I did and she said, “I’m not much of a criminal compared to your usual.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Ameche. “You’ve racked up a few felonies.”

  “Nobody got hurt.”

  “Tell that to Catherine Cabot.”

  “We had nothing to do with that and Mercy knows it,” said Emma.

  Ameche eyed me and I shrugged. “You did threaten to shoot me.”

  “But I didn’t and I wouldn’t. We stole a little money that no one missed. The average transaction lost no more than three cents. That doesn’t even rate the designation of peanuts.”

  “You know you’ve got a cop listening, right?’ I asked.

  She raised a shoulder laconically. “I always have a plan.”

  Emma did have a plan. I could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t remotely worried about going to prison.