by A W Hartoin
“You got something to say?” he asked them in a tone that reminded me of Clint Eastwood, except not as friendly.
“No, sir,” said the older one hastily.
The younger started, “I was just—”
Grandad cut him off, “Being a gentleman? Treating my granddaughter like the lady that she is?”
“I…I…”
“That’s what I thought. Get out of here and consider yourself fired.”
The older one was aghast. “They won’t fire us. This has nothing to do with our job.”
“It has to do with your character, which is sadly lacking.”
“You destroyed my phone,” said the younger. “You have to buy me a new one.”
“Go ahead and sue me, you twerp.”
They both looked puzzled and the older of the duo grew a pair. He said to the cops, “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“I didn’t see anything,” said LePage. “You, Pinkett?”
“They dropped their phones. It happens,” said Pinkett. “Move along. I’d get your résumés in order.”
They walked away muttering aloud about how to sue someone.
“Thanks, Grandad,” I said. “But they’re probably going to sue you.”
“I’m more worried about that bike.” He pointed at an Indian that was swathed in a padded cover.
“What about it?”
“Your grandmother has frozen my credit.” He took my arm and led me to the table. There was a pile of paperwork and it all had my name as I knew it would.
“Oh, no. I can’t do it. Mom’ll kill me right after Grandma J kills me,” I said.
He kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s not about that.”
“So you’ll do it?” Grandad asked. He couldn’t have been more adorable if he’d been Wallace.
I went to rub my forehead and winced when I touched the egg. Grandad lifted my hair and then sat me down quickly. “You weren’t kidding about the head injury. Is that blood? Did someone attack you?” Grandad looked around for an assailant.
“No. A canopy collapsed in the storm and I got hit.”
The sales girl named Lisa gave me a cup of coffee. “Sorry about those guys. They’re always doing things like that. The rest of them are nice.”
“Thanks.” I glanced up at LePage and Pinkett. They were waiting for me to break the news so they could ask some questions. I’d rather have gotten Grandad back home first, but they’d been awfully decent about the phone thing. “Grandad, I have to tell you something about Steve.”
“Steve who? Not Big Steve Warnock. Is he okay?”
“Big Steve’s fine. Why don’t you sit down?”
Grandad went stiff. “Who died?”
“Aren’t you going to sit?”
“I don’t need to sit.”
“Okay. Steve Dudgeon. I went to interview him and he was dead,” I said.
Grandad didn’t move. “You went to get wipes.”
“Yeah, I didn’t get wipes. I went to Bear Butte Lake to find Steve.”
“We needed wipes.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with that. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Steve was murdered.”
Grandad’s eyes cleared and a veil dropped over his face. “I understand completely. Are you going to sign this paperwork or what?”
“Did you say somebody else got murdered?” asked Lisa.
“I’m afraid so.”
Lisa shook a little. “I was just out at the lake a couple hours ago.”
Pinkett took her by the arm and led her away, asking who she might’ve seen out at the lake.
“Sir,” said LePage. “I need to ask you about your friend.”
“He wasn’t my friend,” said Grandad. It was the first definitive thing he’d said about Steve.
“No?”
“We were in Vietnam at the same time, but we were never friends.”
I took a big drink of the lukewarm coffee. “He seemed to think you were on Tuesday night.”
“I didn’t want to be rude. Steve has never been my sort of man. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I’m afraid we can’t, Mr. Watts. You knew the victim,” said LePage. “We need some idea of why someone would want to kill him.”
“I’d try his wife. Jeanette’s been threatening to do just that from the moment they met.”
“Jeanette Dudgeon.” LePage wrote the name in his notepad. “Any idea where they’re staying?”
“No.”
I swallowed and weighed my options. I could just go ahead and tell them about the motel, but then Jeanette would be arrested. Her husband was murdered. That seemed harsh. Plus, I didn’t think that Jeanette killed him. Something bigger was going on than just marital strife.
“She’s getting a massage,” I said. “I called her and asked her where Steve was.”
“A massage where?”
“She didn’t say, but her therapist was called Boris.”
LePage nodded. “That’d be the Deadwood Lodge.” He walked off and called it in, crossing paths with Aaron, who trotted over with another box, this time full of tacos. “You hungry?” he asked Grandad.
Grandad patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve never been less hungry in my life and that’s saying something.”
“I think we should leave,” I said.
“And go back to The Ornery Elk?”
“No. I mean, leave Sturgis.”
“I’m not leaving Robert here in the hospital and you haven’t had any fun yet.”
LePage returned, listening quietly.
“Fun isn’t part of the plan. I’m trying to find out who killed Hal and now Steve. Why won’t any of you cooperate?”
“Because we don’t know anything.”
“Yes, you do. I know you do. It has to do with Vietnam.”
“What a ludicrous idea. Hal had plenty of troubles in the last decade. You don’t need to look at the sixties.”
“You don’t want me to look at the war.”
“Look at whatever you want,” said Grandad. “Let’s go back. I’m getting tired. I need my rest.” Grandad never looked less tired.
“Fine.” I looked at LePage and he shrugged. “You’re free to go.”
Grandad patted Aaron on the shoulder. “We’ll take those tacos back with us. I bet Robert would love one in the hospital.”
I hung back with LePage and gave him back his jacket. “He’s not going to tell you or us anything.”
“I know,” I said.
“He’s protecting somebody.”
“I hope it’s worth it, but I don’t see how.” My pocket buzzed. Uncle Morty texted that the preliminary test on Big Mike’s vomit was back. I was right. Big Mike drank the Malört meant for Hal and it was chock full of another calcium channel blocker, Diltiazem.
I texted back, asking him to see if anyone related to the case, including the Millfords, had a prescription for Diltiazem. Uncle Morty texted back, “On it.”
“What was that?” asked LePage.
“Nothing that you won’t know pretty soon.”
“You have connections.”
“Sort of.”
“Who’s left on your list?” he asked.
Cheryl Morris, the rest of the Gold Stars, and the marines I couldn’t identify were on the list, but they’d all made themselves known that first night at The Rack and Ruin. Not the greatest plan if you were going to start killing the people there.
LePage agreed and we parted ways. Aaron drove us back to The Ornery Elk in silence. That wasn’t unusual for my partner. But it was downright bizarre for my grandad.
We went by the hospital to see Robert first. Grandad went to the ICU and I went to buy a sweatshirt in the gift shop. Aaron and I sat in the waiting room alone, eating the tacos that Grandad left for us. They were fantastic and oddly vegetarian. Aaron, usually, thought everything was better with bacon.
“Is this…fried avocado?”
“Tempura,” he said.
/>
“It’s your recipe, isn’t it?”
He blinked at me and I took that as a yes.
Grandad came back a half hour later taco-free and said that Robert was being transferred to the regular floor the next morning.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
Grandad stepped in front of me. “He’s sleeping.”
“You don’t want me to talk to him.”
His expression said it all. I could talk to Robert non-stop for a week and it wouldn’t do me any good.
“Fine, but this isn’t over.”
“I assure you it is.” Grandad left the room with me trailing behind, asking what he meant by that. He just said he meant that Robert was asleep and couldn’t be disturbed. But that wasn’t it. Every instinct I had confirmed it.
We drove back to The Ornery Elk to find Barney and Janet sitting alone at the cold fire pit. They looked up, morose and red-eyed.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
They murmured something as Virginia came out and offered spiked cider. She gave me a little head tilt and I followed her inside to the warm and fabulous-smelling kitchen.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Kathleen looked up from the asparagus she was trimming and said, “A reporter called an hour ago.”
My stomach twisted. “Yeah?”
“He wanted a statement from Barney because his father knew the dead man out at Bear Butte Lake.”
I sank onto a kitchen chair. “Great. I was hoping to tell him myself.”
“We didn’t know that there’d been another murder.” She chopped off the ends with more ferocity than necessary and they scattered on the floor. “You should’ve called him yourself.”
“I didn’t think about the press. The cops said they’d let me tell Grandad.”
Virginia came over and gave me a hot cider. “There’s blood in your hair. Were you attacked, too?”
“It was a storm thing. Nothing to worry about.”
“I heard Barney talking to Janet,” said Kathleen.
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”
“Don’t get excited. I just want you to know that neither of them knows anything.”
So not helpful.
“I assumed that,” I said.
“Have you talked to Raquel?” asked Kathleen.
“About what?”
The sisters exchanged a look.
“She wasn’t with you when you found the body?” asked Virginia.
“No. I left her with my grandad,” I said. “And she dumped him. Not cool.”
Kathleen swept up the asparagus ends and tipped them into an old coal scuttle that served as a trash can. “Well, she was quite upset when she came back from town.”
“What about?”
“She didn’t say,” said Virginia. “I offered her a cup of tea, but she said she was going to bed.”
“In the middle of the day?”
The sisters shrugged. “That’s what she said,” said Kathleen.
I drummed my fingers on the kitchen table. Had something happened? Not as far as I knew. Robert was recovering well and Grandad didn’t mention Raptor at all. “Can I have that tea?” I asked.
Virginia made me a cup of chamomile with honey and cinnamon, saying that was how Raptor liked it. As far as I knew, Raptor didn’t like anything, so I went with it.
I knocked on the door of our room with the burning hot cup in my hand.
No answer.
Another louder knock set off a flurry of barking. I heard a thump and little pug nails tapping on the floor. “Raquel?”
“Go away!”
“I can’t. I need dry clothes and your tea is burning the hell out of my hand,” I said.
The door clicked and I tried the knob, slowly opening the door in case Raptor had only unlocked the door in order to bludgeon me. But she’d retreated to her bed and was curled up in a ball, facing the wall. I set the tea on her side table and tossed Wallace a biscuit that Virginia had given me as reward for not acting like a nut when she got back.
Wallace scarfed down the biscuit and pawed at Raptor’s bed. She was way too short to jump up, so I popped her on the bed. The pug ran over and weaseled her way into Raptor’s arms, propping up her smushed muzzle on Raptor’s neck. I’d never thought of Wallace as a comfort animal. She was usually causing me discomfort. I hoped she didn’t pee on Raptor. I’d never hear the end of it because obviously, it would be my fault.
“Don’t do anything bad,” I said to the pug.
Little bark.
That was new. I didn’t know she had a little bark. I kept an eye on her and visa versa as I rummaged around my suitcase for a dry set of clothes, jeans, and a not-white tee. While I was changing Aaron’s phone buzzed and kept buzzing with an insistence that screamed Uncle Morty.
“Are you going to pick that up?” asked Raptor, not looking at me.
Little bark.
“I’m afraid it’s bad news,” I said, slipping on a super cozy sweatshirt that my mom tried to throw out on multiple occasions because it was brown and made me look like a fudge pop. It belonged to a guy I dated in college. He cheated and I got the sweatshirt. A pretty good deal since he was twenty-seven and was already divorced. It didn’t feel lucky at the time, but it really was.
“It can’t get any worse,” said Raptor.
Robert was still in the ICU and we had a murderer on the loose, possibly more than one. It could get a whole lot worse.
“I respectfully disagree.” I picked up the phone. It was Morty and it was bad news. None of our major players had a prescription for Diltiazem or any other heart med. Fantastic.
I texted back, “Thanks.”
“You need a new lead,” Uncle Morty replied.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Get to work.”
I didn’t answer that. I’d have gotten to work if I knew where to work. Nothing was presenting itself and I was inclined to let the cops handle it. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and went for the door.
Little bark.
Raptor was snuffling into her pillow and Wallace whined. Oh, great. Dog guilt. Mom guilt was bad enough. I steeled my nerves for the berating that was sure to come and went to sit on my bed.
“Did something happen?” I asked Raptor’s back.
“Go away.”
Little bark.
“Do you know something about the murders?”
“I don’t know anything.”
I flopped back on my bed. “Nobody knows anything or cares.”
“You should talk,” she hissed.
“Holy hell, Raquel. What do you expect me to do?”
She sat up with a jolt and Wallace ran around the bed, yipping. Raptor crisscrossed her legs and dragged Wallace into her lap. Her big eyes were blood-shot and swollen over her bruised nose. The shocking array of purple and green didn’t conceal the venom she had for me. “You could at least say you’re sorry. How about that?”
My mouth dropped open. Sorry? For what? A flash of white-hot anger zinged through me. “I’ve never known you to say you’re sorry for anything. Ever.”
“I would if someone died. I wouldn’t just ignore it like you,” she spat. “You’re always like I’m so fabulous. Look at me on the news. I don’t care what’s happening. It’s all about me, Mercy Watts, fabulous Mercy freaking Watts.”
What’s happening?
“I’m sorry that Hal died and the Millfords and Steve. Being sorry isn’t going to change it.”
“But it helps!” she yelled at me in a tight, strangled voice.
“Who’s it going to help?” I asked.
“You are so self-absorbed.”
I grabbed my pillow and twisted it. “Is it Steve? You didn’t say you knew him.”
“I didn’t know him. I don’t care about him.”
“Then Hal? I didn’t know you were that close. Help me out here!”
She threw her pillow at me and hit me on my giant egg.
<
br /> “Ouch, Raptor.” I touched it gingerly. “What’s your problem?”
“I want you to say you’re sorry!”
I threw the pillow back. “Then I’m sorry!”
“For what?”
“I don’t know!”
Raptor fell over and sobbed so hard it sounded like she was choking to death.
Grrr.
Wallace glared at me. If you’ve never had a pug glare at you, let me just say it’s bizarre. Pug faces are made to smile.
“I tried,” I said, getting up.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“What now?”
Bark.
“Nobody else better have died or I am done.”
Grrr.
I opened the door and found Grandad standing there with a serious frown on his face. “Are you yelling at Raquel?”
“She’s yelling at me,” I said.
“Raquel wouldn’t yell at you.”
“She just did. Do you have selective hearing?”
Grandad maneuvered me out of the room. “Considering the circumstances, we have to understand. Now let’s go downstairs. Aaron’s going to teach a class.”
I shook off his hand. “What circumstances?”
“Mercy, you know this has been very hard on Raquel,” said Grandad.
“Harder than it’s been on you? Get real.”
Grandad was going for the stairs, but he stopped, completely puzzled. “Why would it be harder on me?”
“Well, for starters, Hal was your friend for fifty years.”
“I’m not talking about Hal. I’m talking about Judith,” he said.
“Judith? Who the hell is Judith?” I asked.
“Like you don’t know!” yelled Raptor from her bed.
I thought for a second. Nope. Nothing. Total blank. “I give up. Somebody tell me what’s going on?”
Grandad gripped the newel post. “You’re not helping yourself, Mercy.”
“I guess I’m a dirtbag then, because I don’t know anyone named Judith.”
Grandad’s hand relaxed and he tilted his head. “Judith Babinski.”
It took me a second. Judith was Raptor’s grandmother. I’d met her a couple of times, graduation and our capping ceremony. I don’t think we’d exchanged two words. She was extremely shy. “Oh, that Judith,” I said. “What about her?”
“She died in June.”
I just stared at him.
“You didn’t know?” he asked.
