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

by A W Hartoin

  “Harassing Farrell?”

  “His connection to the Tulio case in St. Louis.”

  “If there’s a connection, it’s news to me,” I said.

  She leaned back and rubbed her jaw like my dad did when he was thinking. “I heard this big lug was over at Schwartz Realty when the Feds raided it.”

  “He was going to interview Mrs. Schwartz.”

  “What for?”

  “Rob Berry worked for her and—” My phone rang. Dad. 911. “I have to get this.”

  She shook her head. “This is important. Why was he talking to Schwartz?”

  “Sorry. It’s my dad.”

  She sucked in a breath and a muscle twitched in her jaw.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, turning away.

  “Don’t tell her anything!” he burst out.

  “Who? What?”

  “Cortier. She’s on her way to find you. Don’t tell that woman diddly-squat.”

  “Oh, well…”

  “She’s there, isn’t she?” he asked.

  I looked back at Cortier. She was trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. “Yeah, she’s here.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Good girl. Now tell her to piss off,” said Dad with glee in his voice.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Alright fine, ya goody two shoes. Now I want you to get yourself over to the lockup and interview that Schwartz woman pronto. I can’t find any connection between her husband and Andrew Marlin, neither can Spidermonkey.”

  My chest went tight. “Spidermonkey?” I squeaked out.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Um…Chuck uses him sometimes, I think.”

  “Yeah, he does. Morty’s partying at that Comic-Con and I needed this ASAP. For god’s sake, don’t tell Morty.”

  “No problem. So you don’t have anything?”

  Cortier flashed a smile and then quickly concealed it.

  “We’ve got Andrew Marlin. Cortier doesn’t have anything. I need you to get the connection from Schwartz. Her husband ran for it, so all we’ve got is the wife.”

  “Dad, I’m not the one for this. Think about it,” I said.

  Cortier perked up.

  Dad mumbled something. “Yeah, yeah. This is up Chuck’s alley. He could charm the skin off a snake.”

  He didn’t know. I hated giving bad news and this news felt like a huge screwup on my part. If I’d figured it out sooner…

  “Mercy?” said Dad.

  “There’s been a complication,” I said.

  “Ah, shit. I knew I should’ve sent Aaron with you. All that chocolate makes you think. What’d you screw up?”

  “I solved the poisoning.” I glanced at Cortier and she nodded with a smile.

  “Really? That Farrell kid?”

  “Her father.”

  “What’s the bad news?” Dad asked.

  “He tried to kill Chuck and two other cops.”

  Dad let out a string of curses that would’ve made Uncle Morty take note. Very creative. When he calmed down, he asked, “How’d you solve it if people almost died?”

  I told him what happened and he grudgingly gave me a few props.

  “So there’s really no point in me going down there,” I said. Schwartz wasn’t going to tell me anything. If Chuck was on his feet, maybe.

  “Figure something out!” Dad yelled. “I’m not eating catfish!”

  I glanced at Cortier. “Catfish?”

  “I hate freaking catfish!”

  “Okay. Nobody is going to make you eat catfish, Dad.”

  Cortier raised her hand. “I am.”

  “What the…”

  “That woman’s trying to bogart this case.”

  “Let her. I need a vacation. A real one. No blood.”

  “To hell with that. We have a bet. Loser eats catfish.”

  So that’s where I got it from. All my stupidity was Dad’s fault. Mom would be thrilled. The argument about where my brain came from was long-running.

  “How can she take the Tulio case? It happened in St. Louis,” I said.

  Cortier smiled.

  “It’s complicated, but there’s some small basis, if the crime was planned in her jurisdiction and the Berrys were lured to St. Louis. The Schwarz employees are going to be locked up tight and most of them are women. You’re no use there.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Why’d you let Chuck get clobbered?”

  “Not my fault.”

  “I’d like to know whose fault it is?” he asked.

  “I’m going with the guy that did it. Farrell.”

  Dad started typing in the background. It helped him to think. “Yeah, yeah. Who else would know about the Schwartzes and doesn’t owe them anything? Who else have we got to ask?”

  “I’ll think of something,” I said.

  “You better. If I eat catfish, you eat crab.”

  Crab again. It always comes back to crab.

  I hung up and looked at Cortier.

  “So the big man has told you to shut up,” she said.

  “Yep.”

  “He’s a huge pain in the ass.”

  “Nobody knows it better than me.”

  Cortier tried to pump me for information, but it didn’t last long. She paced and then walked through the curtain only to pop her head back in. “Where’s your partner? I need to interview him.”

  “Comic-Con,” I said.

  “What?”

  “My partner, Aaron, is at Comic-Con in Portland.”

  “Not that partner. The other one. Gangly, but charming.”

  “Oh, him.”

  Think fast. Nope. I’ve got nothing.

  “He’s on a date.”

  That flummoxed her. I guess people don’t generally get romantic after going through a bloody crime scene. She didn’t know Stevie and, if I had my way, she never would. When he got back to Nana’s, I was shipping him off. Anywhere was preferable to New Orleans and Chuck was in no shape to take him home. Dad could snag him at some later date, assuming he could avoid the Costillas.

  I fussed with Chuck’s blankets and he grabbed my hand. “What’s wrong?” he slurred.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t believe…”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  He was already out so I put up his side rail. A connection between Marlin and the Schwartzes. Who would know that? Rob Berry, possibly. Donatella? I hated to bother her, but, at least, I had good news. It took a half hour of trying before she answered. She was shaky and so sad, she sounded like she was talking to me from under the ocean. I suppose I was hoping for happiness when I told her she was off the hook in the listeriosis case, but she only accepted what I said and waited. Grief can be like that, even the things that matter terribly cease to matter for a time.

  “Donatella?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever heard the name Andrew Marlin?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t ask why I wanted to know. She couldn’t have cared less so I let her go. If Rob knew the connection, he took the knowledge with him to the morgue. Sheila was the other possibility and she was dead. Cortier hadn’t mentioned her. Maybe she hadn’t put it together. I doubted anyone knew about Rob’s relationship with Sheila. No, no. That couldn’t be right. Sheila was young and none too bright. She’d have told someone. She couldn’t resist. Of course she did, and that person would know everything she knew.

  I jumped out of my chair and Chuck raised a hand. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. I’m getting hungry. Be right back.”

  He tried to sit up. “Liar. You’ve got an idea. I’m going to.” His mouth twisted and he grabbed his head.

  I pushed him back and gave him a basin. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  He protested, but I was out the door, calling Spidermonkey an
d avoiding the cops.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I MET TINY at airport security and he was exactly what you’d expect in a Tiny. He was six foot six and morbidly obese. I was mildly afraid that he would fall on me. He looked that bad. Sweating and out of breath after walking the five feet to greet me at the front desk.

  “You must be Mercy,” he wheezed.

  This guy is going to die, like right now. I don’t have time for that.

  “That’s me. Did Detective Cortier call you?”

  “She did, but there’s nothing I can do. Got to have a ticket.”

  Damn.

  “Any ideas?”

  “There’s a flight to Naples, Florida in thirty. 350 bucks.”

  I groaned. “Tiny, you’re killing me.”

  “You’re lucky I’m here. Joe would strip search you and still wouldn’t let you on the concourse.”

  “Joe’s a stand-up guy.”

  “He’s a dirtbag, but he’s my boss,” said Tiny and his cheeks changed from their dark brown to crimson. It’s not easy to get skin that dark to go red.

  I took a step back, just in case of eminent collapse. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m good. Just ate lunch.”

  There was a choice to be made. I could sit Tiny down, loosen his tie, and assess his condition which was obviously bad. Or I could buy that over-priced ticket and get out on the concourse, saving myself from a crab dinner and Dad’s wrath. I didn’t know which would be worse.

  Damnit, Tiny!

  I took him by the arm and attempted to steer him back to the extra-large office chair behind the desk. I failed. Tiny stood there and watched me tug on his elbow which was, incidentally, right in my eye line. I’d never felt so short.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to sit you down.” Now I was out of breath from tugging on that enormous arm.

  “Don’t you have to get on the concourse?”

  I let go. “I’m going to give it to you straight. I’m afraid if I leave you here, you’re going to collapse and die. I can’t have that on my conscience. There’s too much on there already.”

  Tiny chuckled. “I’m not going to die. Why you think I’m going to die?”

  “I’m a nurse and I’ve seen people in the ICU that look better than you,” I said. “Please sit.”

  “You’re a nurse? How’d that happen?”

  “It’s a mystery.”

  “Cortier said you was a detective,” he said.

  “Are you going to sit or what?” I asked.

  Tiny laid a twenty-pound hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got a job to do. You want that ticket? Her plane takes off in twenty minutes. You don’t have a lot of time.”

  “I’d rather lose her than you.”

  He laughed again. “You dramatic, girl. I’m all good. Let’s get you that ticket.”

  Tiny steered me out the door into the hubbub of the airport. He lumbered along beside me at a pretty good clip, considering his size and the odd turn to his right knee. We took the elevator up to the United desk and I plunked down my credit card. 350 bucks for a flight I wasn’t going to take. It pained me. It really did. Physical pain. That money would’ve been better spent on a flight to Germany with Spidermonkey to research the Klinefeld Group. Spending it on anything would be better than spending it on nothing.

  Tiny used his radio to call for a zippy little airport cart. When he got on, the thing lurched so hard to the right I wasn’t sure the tire would rotate. But it did and we made it out to A33 quickly.

  Spidermonkey had sent me a picture of Sheila’s roommate. She was a pretty girl of twenty-two. Leslie Hutton was at the gate, waiting with the other flight attendants and not happy to see me. I get that a lot. I jumped off the cart and sprinted to catch her before she made it through the door.

  “Leslie!” I yelled as I ran.

  Leslie stopped at the door and turned, frowning. She had big bags under her eyes and a papery look to her skin. Not a lot of sleep since she found Sheila strangled in her kitchen.

  I stopped in front of her, gasping. “Leslie.”

  “We’ve boarded. I have to go.”

  “No, no. Just one second. It’s about Sheila.”

  She flinched and turned right into the attendant at the boarding pass scanner, bursting into tears.

  “Sheila!” The woman grabbed her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she sobbed.

  The woman, her tag said Mary, glared at me and folded Leslie into her narrow chest.

  I put myself between them and the door. “I wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t important.”

  “Doubtful,” said Mary.

  Tiny lumbered over. “Stand down, Mary. Miss Watts is legit.”

  Mary wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t try to move Leslie around me either. Tiny grabbed the scanner kiosk to support himself. He’d sweated through his uniform and was puffing at an alarming rate. The kiosk tilted and I lunged to keep Tiny upright. Once steady, he shook his head as if clearing a fog. “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Mary.

  Leslie lifted her head, wiping her tears. “I’m sorry for all this.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” Mary’s expression turned from caring to vicious when she looked at me. “You go away. Running around upsetting people.”

  “That is my M.O. I can’t help it,” I said.

  “Yes, you can. You’re making a show of yourself. It’s disgusting.”

  Not the first time I’d heard that, but it was the first time with that nasty tone. It stung me for an instant until I remembered that I was a book with a showy cover. I would be judged by it. That’s how it is. Deal with it, Mercy.

  “Leslie found her roommate strangled two days ago. My job is to find out who did it,” I said with dignity, I hoped.

  Mary clutched Leslie tighter. “Oh my god. That was you, honey.”

  Another flight attendant came out and tapped Leslie on the shoulder. “You need to board. Now, Leslie.”

  Tiny held up a finger. “Hold it. We’re solving a murder here.”

  “Are we?” she asked.

  “We are,” I said. “I hope we are. Leslie, you were close to Sheila, right?”

  She nodded and her face squinched up, prepared for the ugly cry. “I knew her forever. And now… and now, she’s…”

  I took her away from Mary and looked into her weepy eyes. “Did she talk to you about Rob Berry?”

  Her eyes widened and cleared.

  “It’s okay. I already know. Did she talk to you?” I asked.

  “We told each other everything.”

  “And Rob told her things.”

  She nodded.

  “About the company. What they were up to? Illegal things?”

  Another nod.

  “Did she ever mention a man called Andrew Marlin?”

  Leslie frowned. “No. That’s a funny name. I’d remember that.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I gave her arms a brisk rub. “It’s okay. I thought I had something there for a second. You better get on your plane. It’s best you’re out of town for a bit.”

  “Won’t the police want to talk to me?” asked Leslie.

  “It can wait. Get on the plane and get some distance between you and the Schwartzes.”

  Mary and the other attendant dried Leslie’s eyes and straightened her uniform.

  “Rupert, can you take Miss Watts away?” asked Mary. “People are staring. They’ll be getting nervous about,” she whispered, “terrorism.”

  “They’re not staring because of that,” said Tiny.

  Mary gave him a look that said she didn’t agree. I was a dime a dozen. Harlot. Tramp. I ignored her and took Rupert/Tiny’s wrist. His pulse was racing and the sweating wasn’t letting up.

  “So you’re a Rupert?” I asked to distract him while I looked in his eyes.

  “I prefer Tiny.”

&nb
sp; “It’s a good nickname.”

  Nickname. Tiny was his nickname. Of course!

  I spun around and grabbed the door just as it was about to close. “Leslie!”

  Mary grabbed me. “Stop that! Rupert will arrest you.”

  “No, I won’t,” he said. “But you better stop anyway.”

  “Leslie!” I yelled again and she came back around the corner.

  “What?”

  “What about Andy or Drew? Either ring a bell?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Wait, wait. What about Fish? That’s a nickname for Marlin. Anything?” I asked.

  Leslie brought up her finger and tapped her chin.

  Yes? Yes?

  “I’ve heard that one. I thought it was a weird name, but it has nothing to do with Rob Berry,” she said.

  “I’ll take it. Where did you hear it?”

  “From Sheila. She said some guy called Fish showed up at the office a couple of weeks ago.

  Right before the Tulio murders.

  “He hit on Sheila in front of Rob. The guy was really obnoxious.”

  “Who was he, Leslie?”

  “Well, Sheila said Mr. Schwartz called Fish a distant cousin but he seemed more like a brother. He was sleazy enough.”

  Another flight attendant came around the bend, tapping his watch. “Leslie, get a move on. Do we have to replace you?”

  “No, no. I’m sorry,” said Leslie, but she didn’t turn to go. She reached inside her carry-on and pulled out a pink flowered book with a little brass lock.

  “Diary?” I asked.

  “Whoever…hurt Sheila searched for it, but they didn’t find it.”

  I took the diary and pressed it to my chest. “Thank you. We’ll get him. I swear.”

  She wiped a stray tear as the other flight attendant tugged on her sleeve.

  “Just out of curiosity, where was it?” I asked.

  “Brown sugar canister. We never bake.” Leslie turned away and disappeared around the bend. Mary tugged me backwards and slammed the door.

  “You,” she pointed, “go.”

  “Alright then,” said Tiny. “Let’s get you back.”

  We got on the cart and zinged through the crowds back to the elevator. I got off, but Tiny didn’t.

  “That girl’s friend was murdered?”

  “Yes,” I said.