A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red

by A W Hartoin

  “The kid’s got issues,” he said.

  “I got the impression he’s some sort of genius.”

  Wellow rocked forward in his chair. “We’ve got plenty of geniuses around here. Most of them don’t have a lick of sense.”

  “Like Grayson Harris.”

  “He’s a good example, but if you’re thinking he had something to do with Miss Farrell’s supposed rape, think again. He thinks he’s in love with her as much as he knows about love, that is. He wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “Would he hurt someone he thought hurt her?” I asked.

  “A nose wipe like that? Forget it. All he’d do is follow her around. He was always places he shouldn’t have been.”

  “If Grayson was always following her, did you question him about the night it happened?

  “I didn’t need to ask him, because it didn’t happen. Case closed.”

  Derek whispered under his breath, “Oh, shit.”

  Wellow focused on Derek for the first time. “What have you got to do with this?”

  “Um,” muttered Derek.

  “He’s my assistant,” I said.

  “So the world-famous Mercy Watts needs a pimply college kid to help her investigate,” said Wellow.

  Derek flushed to the roots of his spiky blond hair and so did I. What an ass.

  “He gets the job done,” I said.

  “Desperate, huh?”

  Oh, it is on, old man.

  “Care to put your money where your mouth is?” I asked sweetly to cover up my desire to smack the crap out of him.

  “What do you have in mind, Miss Watts?” he asked with plenty of smug on his face.

  “I solve the rape and poisoning before you and it’s dinner at Irene’s.”

  “You know about Irene’s?” Surprise replaced the smug.

  “My mother’s a native. What about it? Up for the challenge?”

  “What do I get?” asked Wellow.

  “What do you want?”

  Don’t say anything gross.

  He steepled his fingers. “I’ll take Irene’s. My wife’s heard the soft shell crab is to die for.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You’ve never been there then.”

  “I hate crab,” I said with a shudder.

  Wellow grinned over his bitten-to-the-quick fingernails. “Me, too. Let’s make it interesting. The loser pays for dinner at Irene’s and has to eat a crab.”

  I leaned forward and spat out, “Make it two.”

  What the…

  Wellow stuck out his hand. “Done.”

  We shook on it and I tried to look extremely confident, which I wasn’t. What the hell was I thinking? I’d rather chop off a useless pinky toe than eat two crabs. Two! I took it from one to two, like a kamikaze moron.

  “Anything else I can’t do for you?” asked Wellow.

  “We’re good,” I said. “I hope you have a lot of space on your credit card, because I love wine pairing.”

  A flash of fear went through Wellow’s eyes. Ah! The bastard.

  I laughed and couldn’t resist taking it further. “Can’t you tell? I’m a luxury few can afford.”

  “Um…well.”

  “I look forward to meeting your wife. I bet she likes pairing, too. Irene’s has an extensive wine list and their wait staff has excellent, if expensive, taste.”

  “She…um…”

  “We better be going now. People to see, crimes to solve, you know. Bye now.” I stood up and flounced out.

  We left the campus police station and blinked hard at the glaring light outside. The temperature had gone up ten degrees and I fanned myself with my hand.

  “What’s next?’ asked Derek.

  “We need to find Faith and get her story. That’ll be my job,” I said.

  “Do I have a job?” he asked.

  “I want you to go back—”

  “Hey, Mercy,” called out an all too familiar voice.

  No. Seriously. No.

  “Whatcha doing in the cop shop?”

  There was Stevie, out in broad daylight, leaning on a fire hydrant and holding a drippy mess of an ice cream cone.

  I went over with Derek in tow. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m gonna help you.”

  “You’re going to help me? Did Chuck put you up to this?”

  “Nah. He’s still asleep on the floor.”

  I stared at Stevie in all his goofy, clueless splendor. “How did you find me?”

  “Pretty impressive, huh?” He grinned at me and took a huge slurp of his ice cream.

  “You used to take finals in classes you didn’t have because you wandered into the wrong room. There is no way you found me on your own.”

  “Yeah, I did. Chuck installed an app on your phone.” He held up Chuck’s phone. “And I tracked you with it.”

  My mouth fell open. I never pegged Chuck as the stalker type and I knew stalkers. “I can’t believe it. What a jerk. And you’re no better. Where’s my privacy?”

  “You don’t need privacy. We’re family,” he said.

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Well, you’re Chuck’s family.”

  “His mother is my ex-aunt.”

  He nodded sagely. “Family. He’s looking out for you. Like always.”

  “He doesn’t look out for me. He bothers me, the big sleazebag.”

  “You like it.”

  “I will punch you in the face.”

  Stevie laughed as if I was joking and looked at Derek. “Hey, man. How you doing?”

  “Hi,” said Derek, looking thoroughly confused. Who could blame him?

  “Stevie,” I said, “you can’t be out in public. You know that.”

  “I went out with you last night,” he said after more slurping.

  I lowered my voice. “Chuck was there. The Costillas wouldn’t take you out with a cop right there. Come on.”

  “Who’s the Costillas?” asked Derek.

  “Just some brothers that wanna kill me,” said Stevie, casual, like people say that all the time.

  “People want to kill you? For real?”

  “You see I stole some—”

  “Stevie!” I hissed.

  “Huh?”

  “You can’t be telling people that.” I dragged him over to a tree and shoved him into the shade as if that would protect him from prying eyes. “You have to stay at the house or just disappear before Chuck takes you back to St. Louis.”

  “Nah. I’m having a good time. New Orleans rocks. There’s a haunted pub crawl tonight. I say we do that,” said Stevie.

  “You’re going to get killed on my watch,” I said, slapping my forehead.

  “I’m good.”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve never ever been good.”

  Derek held up his hand. “So you two are friends and you’re a detective and he’s a…” The knowledge took root in Derek’s eyes, “a criminal.”

  I often forgot that normal people didn’t know criminals as a general rule. Just another clue that I wasn’t normal. I knew lots of criminals, ranging from Blankenship, the mass murderer, to the criminally stupid, Stevie.

  “We’re not exactly friends. Our parents are friends,” I said.

  Stevie flashed a wide grin. “We’re totally friends. I tell people about her all the time.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Too late.”

  Groan.

  “Fine. We’re going back to the house.” I pointed at Derek. “Forget you ever saw this numbskull. It’s better for your health.”

  “I thought I had a job.”

  I rubbed my eyes, suddenly very tired. I told him to go back to his frat and ask if anyone had seen Grayson Harris, lurking around on the day Christopher’s father was murdered.

  “You think he did it?” asked Derek.

  “Not yet, but Wellow said he was always where he shouldn’t be. He couldn’t stalk Faith anymore, so why not stalk her rapist?”

  Derek took off,
after promising to update me if he found anything, and I called a cab. Stevie finished his cone and wiped his hands on his pants before plaguing me with tour suggestions. He was even willing to tour The Gallier House. 1830’s elegance didn’t sound like Stevie at all. He was full of surprises.

  The cab drove into the Quarter with Stevie giving me his take on the best karaoke spots that we absolutely had to try out.

  “Stevie, the best you’re getting out of me tonight is a game of Yahtzee and that’s if you’re lucky,” I said, turning away from him.

  I really meant to stick to that. My feet hurt. I was starving. I had suspects cropping up every which way and now there were three crimes. I was staying in and sleeping like I meant it.

  But it was not to be. We walked in the door to find the floor empty. Chuck waited for us in the kitchen, showered, shaved, and burning for revenge.

  “You!” he said with a long finger pointing at my chest.

  “What’s your problem, stalker,” I said, kicking off my shoes and going for the ice cream. Dessert before dinner. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  “You got me drunk, so you could skip out on me.”

  “And they said you weren’t very bright.”

  “Payback’s a bitch.”

  “I’ll show you bitch.”

  “You and me. Mano a mano.”

  I took a bite of stracciatella and said through the creamy coldness, “You want to fight me? Did you hit your head when you passed out?”

  “I mean, you and me, we’re going out drinking. I’m serving the drinks and you’re drinking them.”

  I laughed. “I’d rather lick Bourbon’s gutter.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  Stevie pumped his fist. “Party!”

  “No party,” I said. “Sleep.”

  “No sleep,” said Chuck. “You owe me.”

  “For what? You’re not even supposed to be here. You’ve got Stevie. Hit the road.”

  “I’ve got the spare keys.” Chuck held up Nana’s spare set and shook them.

  I shrugged. “So what?”

  “I will go out on Bourbon, find a party, and bring it home.”

  I gasped. “You wouldn’t. This is my nana’s house.”

  “Try me.” Chuck leaned over and sneered in my face. Oddly, he was never so handsome as he was in that moment. His blue eyes glittered and there was a flush in his cheeks. I was momentarily stupefied.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. You’re on. Give me the keys,” I said.

  “You can have them at midnight.”

  “Fine, but I’m not getting wasted.” I tossed the ice cream back in the freezer and glared. Why did he have to be so handsome and downright annoying at the same time? But all I had to do was get the keys back and I was home free. I’d curl up in bed and watch something mindless. I could use a little mindless.

  “Fine.” He somehow squeezed Nana’s keys in the pocket of his very snug jeans and grinned at me like he knew what I was thinking. I was sure I could still get the keys with the help of a distracting female or two. It could be done.

  I was wrong. I was very, very wrong.

  Chapter Nineteen

  WAKING UP WAS like swimming through jello and lime jello at that. I was half right about our night on Bourbon. I didn’t get wasted, but I didn’t get the keys either. Chuck couldn’t be distracted. He drank virgin margaritas and teased me with his sobriety. Luckily, he couldn’t help watching hot women walk by and I was able to dump half my drinks, and fake being wasted. Unfortunately, the half I didn’t dump I had to drink. I hadn’t been that drunk since Mom and Dad’s anniversary party when Uncle Morty made the punch and it was eighty percent vodka.

  I groaned and tried to roll over, but something heavy was pinning me down. I suffered a minor panic attack until I realized it was an arm, then I had a major attack. I screeched and shoved the arm.

  “What? What?” yelled a bleary-eyed Chuck as he sat up bare chested.

  I screeched again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re in bed. Together.” I jumped out of bed and patted my fully-clothed body.

  “You wanted to,” he said.

  “No, I did not.”

  Chuck smiled and smoothed the sheets. “You begged for it, baby.”

  “Don’t call me baby.”

  “That’s what you called me last night.”

  “Oh my god. That is not true.” My eyes migrated down his taut torso. Was he naked? Did I sleep with a naked Chuck?

  His smiled widened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “Really?”

  No!

  I pointed a shaky finger at him. “You took advantage of me?”

  He stretched and the muscles on his torso rippled. My friend Philippa was right. He did have an eight-pack. I slept with an eight-pack. I probably touched him. I probably touched him a lot. Hell, I wanted to touch him right then.

  Blackie jumped up on the bed and nudged Chuck’s hand for a pet. He stroked the animal as it watched us with expressionless eyes, and then Chuck raised an eyebrow at me. “Advantage? You’re still dressed.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I sleep nude.”

  “Ew.”

  “Hey, you kissed me first.”

  I gasped and ran out of the room.

  “Mercy!” yelled Chuck. “I was kidding.”

  Too late. I was already on the move. I grabbed my purse and shoes, which I found next to a snoring Stevie on the couch, and ran out of the house. The courtyard was empty and wet. It must’ve rained heavily. One of the Birds of Paradise plants was so saturated that it drooped over the edge of the planter. It brushed my bare leg as I paced. I didn’t remember the rain, but things were coming back. The warmth of Chuck’s body, dancing, touching. We might’ve kissed. He said he was joking, but…

  “Mercy!” called Chuck from inside the house.

  I took off past the door, ran down the alleyway, and banged my way out the gate. Coffee. What was open? Wink’s was always open. I headed off in the direction of the riverfront, making sure my phone was off. Chuck could try to follow, but he wouldn’t know about Wink’s. He’d probably try the Café du Monde.

  The streets were empty. It was very early. I only saw a couple of delivery trucks, rumbling through the narrow sodden streets. Wink’s was open, but only just. I opened the door and the best smells rushed out. Fried dough and fresh coffee. The place was empty. A counter girl with gold gauges in her ears gave me a wave and went back to her phone while I perused the pastries.

  “Have you decided?” she asked after a few minutes.

  “Half a dozen buttermilk drops and a large coffee, please.”

  She poured my coffee and eyed me over the edge of the pot. “Rough night?”

  “It shows, huh?”

  “You look like you slept in your clothes.”

  I patted the fabric of the halter dress I’d wore out last night, but it was hopeless. The nice lines now looked like a blue garbage bag. “I did.”

  “Bummer. I thought you’d be out of that dress pretty quick.” She filled a bag with drops and handed it to me.

  I squinted at her. “Do I know you?”

  “My second job is at the Cat’s Meow. I served you last night.”

  I groaned. A witness.

  She smiled and gave me my total. I paid and hesitantly asked, “How bad was it?”

  “Depends on what you consider bad,” she said.

  “Did I happen to kiss anyone?”

  “Not that I saw, but,” she whistled, “that guy you were with was fine. I thought you went home together.”

  “We did.”

  “And you slept in your clothes? I would’ve been naked before we got through the door. Goddamn, he was fine.”

  I took my change and gave her a weak smile. “He’s also obnoxious.”

  “Who cares with a body like that?”

  I must’ve still had a buzz on, because I wasn’t sure why I cared. Nobod
y else did. I found a seat, took a sip of coffee, and pulled out my phone. Turning it on probably activated the tracking thingy Chuck installed, so I couldn’t check messages or call Derek for an update. Faith Farrell was next on my list or Mrs. Schwartz, but she wouldn’t be in the office yet. The drops were fabulous and the combo of caffeine and sugar cleared my head. I needed my phone. I needed help. The counter girl had an edgy confident look to her. Someone who didn’t exactly follow rules very well with her neck tattoos and gauges.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you good with phones?”

  “I guess,” she said with interest.

  “That guy you think is hot—”

  “He’s crazy hot,” she interrupted.

  “Well, he’s crazy. I know that. He put a tracking app on my phone, so he knows where I am. Any idea how to get rid of it?” I asked.

  “That sucks.”

  “Still think he’s hot?”

  “I’d do him.” Then she smiled wickedly. “But I’d never let him near my phone.”

  “Good tip. Any ideas?”

  “I’ve got a friend. I’ll call him.”

  The counter girl’s name was Phoebe and her friend, Burt, said to call my provider on Phoebe’s phone. They would fix it. Sure enough. Chuck was now on my account and he’d added the tracking. I smelled Uncle Morty, maybe Spidermonkey, but I didn’t think he’d agree to someone spying on me. Uncle Morty had no problems spying on anyone for a buck. My company apologized and, after much haggling, gave me a month free and took Chuck off my account. I tipped Phoebe heavily and turned on my now safe-from-tracking-phone.

  Uncle Morty had been busy and he was pissed that I wasn’t answering his texts. There were twenty-three all together and contained everything I needed to start the day and avoid Chuck altogether.

  He gave me Faith Farrell’s address. She lived in the Garden District. I’d have thought she was out-of-state. Tulane was mere blocks from her house. She could’ve gone home during the Christopher situation, but I had the impression that she stayed on campus until she left at Christmas. Odd. I would’ve gone home. No doubt about it. Then Dad would’ve killed my rapist and made it look like an accident. But Faith didn’t go home. Morty confirmed her major. She finished the semester with straight As in some pretty heavy-duty classes. She’d withdrawn for personal reasons and her transcript had not been forwarded. It got weirder. Uncle Morty found out Faith’s phone had been canceled the day she left the university and he couldn’t find another one in her name. There was no hospital visit charged to her insurance and she wasn’t seen at the campus clinic. Maybe it wasn’t that odd. Some girls don’t want anyone to know. She reported the rape at her father’s insistence, if Wellow was to be believed. He could’ve found out too late for there to be any point in an exam. Still, something felt a little weird about her being so close to home. Where was her mother? Wellow didn’t mention her.