My Bad Grandad

by A W Hartoin

  His forehead wrinkled. “This guy’s a freaking idiot.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It smells like Malört,” he said. “Only freaking weirdos drink that shit.”

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  “Thanks. You’ve been a big help,” I said, standing up straight.

  “I still got to call Bob.”

  “Do that, but can you call the cops first? They’ve got to collect this for testing.”

  He nodded and started calling while I squatted and took multiple pictures.

  “Done?” asked Aaron.

  Bark.

  I scratched Wallace’s head. “He’s not talking to you.”

  Grrr.

  “Whatever.”

  The guy got off the phone and raised his hand. “Bob’s pissed.”

  “No way,” I said.

  He tilted his head. “Yeah, he really is.”

  “I was joking.”

  “This isn’t funny. We’ve got poisoned vomit. People are gonna think we tried to kill that guy.”

  I stood and patted his beefy shoulder. “They won’t as long as we find who did do it, if they did it at all. I could be wrong. It happens all the time.”

  He went back to the phone and told Bob what I said. There was some yelling. It seems men are always yelling about something I did or said. The guy kept glaring at me, but I was unperturbed, which kind of perturbed him. I guess I was supposed to be scared, but I grew up with Tommy Watts. Now he was a yeller and most of the time, I deserved it. That time, I didn’t. It wasn’t my fault there was a murderer on the loose.

  “You gotta take this seriously,” he said.

  I yawned.

  “You are nuts.”

  “What’s he gonna do? Take away my birthday?” I asked.

  “He could fire you.”

  “I don’t work for Bob.”

  That stopped him. He frowned, puzzling over this inconceivable information. “Who are you working for then?”

  “I’m forced labor for my family.”

  Bennett walked through the back door, wearing a rumpled uniform decorated with a coffee stain and a greasy smear. “God dammit! I knew it was you. Why don’t you go on vacation or something?”

  I leaned on a storage bin. “I am on vacation. Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “I probably slept as much as you.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does,” he said. “Dispatch said something about poison.”

  “Poisoned vomit, to be exact.” I told him about Big Mike getting sick and my theory that he’d fallen off the wagon, drinking the Malört that Hal ordered. It was a good lead. Somebody might’ve seen who spiked it. Bennett listened, but he wasn’t loving it. “I’m not picking up old vomit,” he said. “You don’t know that it’s Malört.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it,” I said. “Anybody got a Ziploc?”

  “Dr. Capshaw isn’t going to test that. We haven’t got an unlimited budget.”

  “I’ll test it,” I said, turning to the guy. “Ziploc?”

  He went inside and Bennett started tapping his foot. “How are you going to test it?”

  “I’ll call my dad and ask him what lab to send it to. People owe him favors. A lot of favors.”

  “You’re going to involve your father?” His voice got a bit tight.

  “Yeah, and the press loves my dad. Come to think of it, I’m pretty popular. Maybe I’ll just call a reporter.” I would’ve named a reporter if I could’ve thought of one that I didn’t detest and they weren’t too crazy about me either, despite what I said. I didn’t do interviews like Dad. He would do an interview any time, any place, about anything.

  “No reporters,” said Bennett.

  “Send somebody over to get this stuff and run it.”

  “I’m telling you we don’t have the budget for all your crimes and this is barely a maybe crime.”

  I tapped my chin. “I totally forgot. My dad knows Dr. Capshaw. They worked some serial killer case together.” I gave Bennett a hard glare. “He likes my dad. A lot.”

  He sighed and rubbed his poor red-rimmed eyes. “You’re killing me.”

  “It’s kinda my M.O.”

  “I bet.” Bennett bagged a generous sample before calling Dr. Capshaw, who was enthusiastic, to say the least.

  “Did you know that Hal had a warrant out?” asked Bennett.

  “Yeah, Raptor told me. How bad was he?”

  “Bad enough to get killed.”

  I rolled my eyes. “His murder has nothing to do with credit card fraud.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Robert and my grandad are squeaky clean and they got stabbed the next day. It’s connected. Has to be.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. My brain has seized up from exhaustion.”

  “What will convince you?” I asked.

  “A confession.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “You’ve cheered me up considerably,” said Bennett. “I’m off with this probably useless vomit.”

  “Have fun.”

  He stalked off, holding the vomit well away from him. I hoped he didn’t chuck it.

  “Food?” asked Aaron.

  Bark.

  “Once again, he wasn’t talking to you,” I said to Wallace.

  Grrr.

  “We have to get Grandad first. They’re probably done with that test drive.”

  “Barbecue,” said Aaron.

  “Fine. Call Raptor and find out their ETA,” I said, handing over his phone. “I have to think.”

  I did have to think, but my brain wasn’t interested. Calling Dr. Watts and asking her questions about a time in her life that she’d spent decades trying to recover from was about the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t think of another way.

  “Twenty,” said Aaron.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “They’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  “That’s taking a while,” I said, reluctantly taking back the phone. “I think I’ll have to wing it with Dr. Watts.”

  He lifted a shoulder and headed out with Wallace, explaining the differences between Kansas City barbecue and Central Texas barbecue to the pug. No choice. We were getting barbecue, but the style—while vitally important—remained a mystery.

  The phone rang two times and her voicemail picked up. I tried three more times. No luck. Then I tried the office phone. I’d rather have not, because Dr. Watts might be performing an autopsy or a mammogram. She was a one-stop shop and did everything in the basement of an uber-creepy funeral home owned by a guy straight out of Scooby-Doo.

  I held my breath, praying that Abacus B. Flincher didn’t pick up. I once had to trade him blood for evidence. So not in the mood to be extorted.

  “Dr. Watts’ office,” said a cheery voice. Definitely not Flincher. Thank God. “Janine speaking.”

  Janine?

  “Um…Grandma?” I asked.

  “Mercy?”

  “Yeah, did I dial the wrong number? I’m trying to get—”

  Grandma’s voice went up three octaves. “Why are you calling? What happened? I just talked to him. I knew I should come up there. What is it? Tell me. Tell—”

  “Grandad’s fine. Totally fine. I was calling for Dr. Watts,” I said in a rush.

  “Are you sure? When were you last at the hospital? How was he?”

  Great. She didn’t know he’d been released and I either had to lie or get yelled at.

  “He’s completely fine. Resting comfortably.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Dammit.

  “I’m not lying. Grandad’s fine. Really,” I said, putting on my how-can-you-possibly-doubt-me voice.

  She started to grind her teeth. That is not fun to listen to on the phone. “So he’s not resting.”

  “Well…”

  “He’s not at the hospital.”

  “You see, it’s like this—”

  “Mercy, does your mother kn
ow? I can’t believe—”

  Aaron took my arm and led me across the street through a pack of Harleys. I couldn’t hear a word, which was probably a good thing.

  “At his age. You’d think he’d have more sense,” she said. “Mercy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you hear what I said?” asked Grandma.

  “Sort of. There are a lot of bikes around and they’re loud.”

  More teeth grinding. “Where is he? In Sturgis? Is he in Sturgis?”

  Lying wasn’t working out for me, so I tried the truth. “Yes, but he’s fine.”

  “Let me talk to that geezer. Right now.”

  “Er…”

  “You’re not with him, are you? Mercy Watts. You’re supposed to make him rest and relax.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” I asked. “You’re married to him and you never could.”

  She went quiet and the grinding stopped. “Where is he?”

  The smell of the most wonderful barbecue wafted over me and I instantly started drooling.

  “Mercy?”

  “Barbecue.”

  “What?” she asked.

  I told her that Grandad was getting barbecue. Aaron had been raving about it and he was at the truck with Raptor chowing down.

  “So he’s been eating for you?” she asked.

  “Pretty good. I mean, he tried to split food, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  She gave me a lecture about how Grandad had to eat. I promised that he’d eat everything the barbecue place had, including the warm potato salad that Aaron said was made with a generous amount of duck fat.

  “All right then. I’ve got to go. Love you, dear.” Grandma J hung up. I called back immediately. “Dr. Watts’ office. Janine speaking.”

  “Grandma, it’s me again. Don’t hang up.”

  “Did something happen? Don’t tell me something happened?”

  Oh my god!

  “Nothing happened. I need to talk to Dr. Watts about the case,” I said.

  “Dorothy? What for?”

  I considered lying about the reason, but clearly, I was too tired to lie convincingly. So I broke down and told her how I thought Hal’s murder and the stabbings had to do with Vietnam.

  “Well, the boys won’t tell you anything about what went on,” said Grandma J.

  “I know. I tried and they stonewalled me.”

  “Bad memories, I suppose. Ace won’t say a thing unless it’s about how Big Mike pulled him out of that crash. You know all about that.”

  “Not until yesterday, I didn’t.”

  I gave her the cast of characters and she knew all of them, except the Millfords. She confirmed that none of the guys liked Steve Dudgeon or his testy wife. She thought it was because Steve was pushy and tried too hard to be one of them.

  “Not because he was a dealer over there?” I asked.

  “Dealer of what?”

  “Drugs, Grandma.”

  “Well, dear. I didn’t know that, but they don’t talk about Steve. And they never said that they don’t like him, but you can tell.”

  “I could.” I asked if she knew of any enemies. Predictably, she didn’t. My hopes were fading fast, but I asked for Dr. Watts.

  “She’s taking blood samples right now,” said Grandma.

  “What are you doing there anyway? I didn’t know you knew Dr. Watts.”

  “Of course I know her. She was married to my husband.”

  “That seems like a good reason not to know her.”

  “Mercy, you say the oddest things. I’ve known Dorothy for forever and I always volunteer at her health fair. You should be down here. She can use all the help she can get.”

  “Believe me, I’d rather be there. Can I talk to her?”

  “Must you? The war. It was a painful time for her,” Grandma said softly.

  “I can’t think of anyone else that might help. Please.”

  “I’ll get her, but I can’t guarantee she’ll talk.”

  We arrived at the barbecue truck and I gave Aaron carte blanche to order whatever he wanted. They didn’t have seafood of any kind, so I felt safe, and Aaron was never happier than when he was telling me what to eat.

  “Mercy, how’s my favorite ex-granddaughter?” asked Dr. Watts.

  I cringed. Grandma was right there.

  Dr. Watts made a sneezing noise in the back of her throat. “You haven’t turned into a pantywaist, have you, girl?”

  “Grandad says I have,” I said.

  “Have you?”

  “Could be. I don’t really get what that is.”

  “It’s a weakling and my ex-granddaughter is no weakling,” said Dr. Watts with another sneezing noise. Grandma J was laughing in the background. “I just love you, Dot.”

  “Right back at you, lady,” said Dr. Watts. “Mercy, what’s occurring? I hear you’re wreaking havoc on Sturgis.”

  “It’s not me,” I said with a pout.

  “Well, it’s somebody. Who is it?”

  “I’m hoping you can help me with that.”

  Dr. Watts paused. “Why do you sound like I might go nuts?”

  “Um…it’s about the war.”

  “What war?” she asked.

  “Your war.”

  “If you’re talking about my war with Flincher, rest assured, I’m winning. That screwball hasn’t harvested any more samples since you were down here.”

  “You mean, nobody’s died?” I asked.

  “Yeah, business is slow for our local ghoul. It’s a great war.”

  “Actually, I was talking about Vietnam.”

  Dr. Watts went quiet. For a second, I thought she put down the phone. “I’m not talking about that. You know why.” Her voice was strangled and pain-filled.

  I did know why. The stress of what she experienced during her time in Vietnam caused her to cut herself. I’d seen the scars and it was bad. The sound of her voice…no…there had to be another way. Other people were there. Other nurses, combatants. Uncle Morty would find them. I would pay. She didn’t have to pay any more.

  “Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”

  “Your ideas are rarely stupid.”

  I blinked back the moisture in my eyes. “You’re about the only one that thinks so. Aaron’s got the barbecue. Gotta go.” I hung up quickly. “Crap.”

  “Huh?” asked Aaron, holding a box of food that would feed ten people.

  “I couldn’t ask. Just bringing up Vietnam hurt her,” I said. “What’d you get?”

  “Meat.”

  “That’s it? What about coleslaw?” I asked.

  “They do meat.”

  “Alrighty then.”

  Aaron trotted off with his box o’meat. I followed with Wallace. She was on fire, wagging and yipping. Bikers rode by, waving and taking pictures. Aaron’s phone buzzed and I grimaced. There wasn’t an ID. Bad news. Had to be.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “You can ask me,” said Dr. Watts.

  I stopped walking and Wallace yanked on her leash, growling and yipping at Aaron’s retreating back.

  “Really? Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Of course.” That’s what she said, but her tone was restrained and wary.

  I told her what I knew about Steve and Jeanette Dudgeon, the drugs, and the hack into Hal’s email. She thought about it for a moment before asking, “You suspect Steve?”

  “He’s high on my list,” I said.

  “I understand why, but the Steve I knew was never violent. Obnoxious, certainly, and sleazy, most definitely, but not menacing.”

  “There was an anonymous source that ended his career over a drug charge. Steve was a lifer like my grandad and he got a Dishonorable Discharge.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly.

  “He knows Grandad. It could’ve been any one of our guys or maybe he thought it was.”

  “I don’t think so, Mercy. Sorry to ruin your theory,” said Dr. Watts.

  I told her about the contact between Steve and Lt. Morr
is’s wife, Cheryl. It was important. It had to be. “Did you know Lt. Morris?”

  “I did it.”

  Wallace tried to pee on my foot and I didn’t even care. “What?”

  “I reported Steve’s dealing. Normally, that kind of thing was accepted and ignored, but Steve’s product wasn’t just getting our men high. It was landing them in the hospital. I couldn’t let it go on.”

  “You?”

  “Me.”

  I shook my foot and shooed Wallace away as she gave it another go. “Well, he still could’ve thought it was Hal, Robert, or maybe that the whole group turned him in.”

  “He knew it was me,” she said.

  “What makes you think that?”

  Dr. Watts told me how Steve visited the guys who had bad reactions to his stuff. There were rumors that he was the one. Dr. Watts wasn’t exactly shy about letting him know that he was pond scum. She was there when he was taken into custody by the MPs outside the hospital. Steve spat at her.

  “Everyone knew it was me,” she said.

  “Did you get any backlash?” I asked.

  “Jerry Mitchell had multiple seizures and suffered permanent brain damage. I got a pass.”

  I let Wallace drag me toward the Indian section on the street, walking slowly as I thought it over. “So Steve never threatened you?”

  “I never saw him again. As you might imagine, I don’t go to reunions and I’m out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know,” I insisted. “Your name wasn’t on the file. Steve isn’t the brightest bulb. He forgets his own hotel room.”

  “My boss, Dr. Grenville, made sure my name was kept out of it. He didn’t want it to affect my career. He was a good man. Better than anyone knew at the time.”

  Interesting.

  “Have you talked to him lately?”

  “He passed away a couple months ago.”

  I instantly got a feeling, one of those Dad feelings. Something wasn’t right.

  “What did Dr. Grenville die of?” I asked.

  “Heart failure.”

  Better check that.

  “When?”

  “A couple of months ago.” Her normally brusque tone got weaker.

  “So,” I said quickly. “Do you remember a guy in Vietnam named Wayne Millford?”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar. Who’s that?”

  I told her about the shooting and the fight in the bar. She brushed it off, saying that it could’ve been a military thing. A rivalry.