Brain Trust

by A W Hartoin

  “Mothballs?”

  “You know, we use them to keep out the moths,” she said like she was highly disappointed in my lack of housekeeping knowhow.

  “I know what mothballs are,” I said. “It’s just weird.”

  “Why would anyone be wearing wool in the summer?” she asked, looking me straight in the eye for the first time.

  “Good question. I will find out. I promise.”

  “Can you find me a bathroom first?”

  I chuckled and she even smiled, sort of. I didn’t find her a bathroom. I found her a bedpan and it was a no-go. Takira and I managed to get her on it. No mean feat, considering she wasn’t supposed sit up or roll. Once we got her on it, she couldn’t go. It happened all the time. Peeing while lying down is practically impossible. We were considering a catheter even though Mom said she’d rather die. Takira finally badgered Dr. Siddiqui into letting her get up. Apparently, Mom had moved herself from the gurney to the bed with little assistance. Takira thought she’d be fine as long as we were careful.

  She peeked around the door. “She can get up to go, but we have to be super careful.”

  “Where’s the bathroom?” asked Mom as I put the head of her bed up.

  “Behind you. There’s a curtain,” I said hesitantly.

  “I’ll take it. This hurts so much.”

  Before I could get around the bed, Mom had swung her legs over the side, stood up, and taken two shaking steps.

  “Holy crap, Mom!” I steadied her and I think Takira had a minor heart attack.

  “I have to go.”

  “You can’t get up like that.”

  “I just did.”

  “Good point,” I said. “Let me help you. We have to be very careful with the meds still in your system.”

  Takira and I helped her and pulled the curtain. We backed away and Takira mouthed to me, “You saw the underwear and bruising?”

  “Yes, but there’s no fluids and the bruising looks more about trying to get her panties down.”

  “I think she’s okay,” said Takira. “But the counselor will come anyway.”

  “What are you two talking about?” asked Mom from behind her curtain.

  “Nothing,” we said simultaneously.

  Mom pushed back the curtain and lurched toward the bed.

  “You were supposed to wait,” I said, diving for her.

  She rolled her eyes. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “You had a stroke.”

  “That doesn’t seem right.”

  “I totally agree.”

  We got her back in bed and tucked in. She looked at her left hand, the one that jabbed her in the eye. She opened it and closed it. It worked but not right, not even close. “Where’s your father?”

  “We’re trying to find him.”

  “That’s right, you said that.” She gave me the stink eye that I knew so well. “What were you two talking about?”

  I decided to go ahead and tell the truth. I’d rather it came from me than some counselor she didn’t know. “We were talking about who attacked you. There was some suggestion that you might have been sexually assaulted.”

  She looked at Takira. “Who suggested?”

  “Me,” answered the nurse, “the ER staff, and your neurosurgeons.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I took her hand and kissed it. “Would you remember?”

  She began to cry again. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. There’s no pain down there.”

  “That’s a good sign,” said Takira. She explained that a counselor would be coming to talk later. Mom didn’t want a rape kit and I didn’t blame her. I’d done a few and they were miserable from start to finish.

  Mom asked me for Dad again and I checked my phone. Nothing from my father, but there were messages from just about everyone else, including Spidermonkey. He said he’d like to come to the hospital but didn’t want to expose our connection. Mom’s best friend, Dixie, was driving back from Pennsylvania where she’d been visiting her sister and Mom’s parents were freaking out that I wasn’t answering the phone. I had it on vibrate and never felt it buzz.

  “Tommy?” Mom asked hopefully.

  “No, but Nana and Pop Pop are coming.”

  She nodded and looked away. Damn my father. I would kill him for doing this to her.

  “Mercy?” Takira called into the room.

  I went out and she told me that the internist and cardiologist would come in the next day, but they’d put in orders already. I should’ve cared, but at that moment I really didn’t. Mom was alive and likely to remain so. But Takira wanted to tell me the treatment plan so I listened. It included tests for Afib and an MRI. No surprises.

  I went back in and told Mom, but she just wanted Dad. She was starting to get pretty upset about it. Takira didn’t like how her heart rate was increasing, along with her pressure.

  “Mom, I was thinking of going home and getting your stuff,” I said quickly. Two birds, one stone. I had to see the crime scene.

  “My stuff?” she asked.

  “Your cozy pjs, your perfume, and that quilt Nana made you for your birthday.”

  She brightened up. “That would be nice.”

  “Aunt Miriam can come—”

  “No!” she yelled.

  “Mom?”

  “No one is coming in here. Promise me.” Her blood pressure alarm went off and Takira ran in. “Mrs. Watts, you have to stay calm. Please don’t jerk around like that.”

  “No one,” Mom cried. “No one but you. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  “You look good.”

  She held up a wet hand. “I’m drooling.”

  Takira tried to gently press her back into the bed. “We have to calm her down. The tPA is still in her system.”

  Calm her down. She needed Dad or her mother. Somebody. Something.

  “I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”

  I raced out of the room with the wail of my name chasing me.

  Chapter Four

  “I COULD GET in big trouble for this,” said Takira.

  “You won’t,” I said. “I know people and she has the vest.”

  Takira looked doubtfully at Wallace, who was snuggled up to Mom’s side and licking her tearstained cheek. The pug whined a tiny bit every time she moved. The ribs had caught up with her.

  “Doesn’t she pee on your feet?” asked Takira. “How is she a therapy dog?”

  “I have anxiety,” I said, trying to look nervous or something.

  “Well, I’d have anxiety if I had your life. I’ll give you that.”

  “So we’re good?”

  “For now. I’m only on until seven,” said Takira.

  I glanced at my phone. Holy crap. It was almost seven. Chuck was going to haul off the evidence and I’d get nothing. Dad would kill me. Right after I killed him for leaving Mom high and dry.

  “Mom, I’m going to go get your stuff from the house. Is there anything else you want? Aaron will make you any kind of food known to mankind and even some that isn’t.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  I smoothed her tangled hair and said, “You’ll be alright? Are you sure about being alone?”

  “She’s not alone,” said Takira. “I’m with her and after me, Mark will be here. Ex-marine. He tells the worst jokes.”

  “How is he with pugs?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Go ahead,” said Mom.

  I managed to stuff a painkiller down Wallace’s throat with the help of a peanut butter pack that Takira gave me and I left Mom with plenty of anxiety. I could’ve used Wallace, for real. And even more than that I could’ve used an escape route.

  “Mercy!” yelled Uncle Morty.

  He snagged me and demanded to know what was going on. I told him everything I knew. He got sweaty when he heard about her lack of memory and went straight to his computer, typing furiously. His hacking skills were legendary. He was as good as Spiderm
onkey, maybe better. It was hard to tell.

  “Can I go in now?” asked Aunt Miriam. She seemed old and small. I hated to say no. She had the cane at the ready, but I had to.

  “I don’t understand. I’m family,” she said, tearfully.

  “She doesn’t want anyone. Just Dad and Nana.”

  Aunt Miriam scowled. “Tommy. I’m going to beat that boy bloody.”

  “Stand in line,” said Grandad. “I’m getting the runaround from the feds. I think they’re up to something. Bennett called from Sturgis. They’ve taken over their investigation of Cheryl Morris.”

  “On what grounds?” I asked.

  “Crossing state lines. US mail violations. You name it. They’re using it.”

  “That sucks. Bennett and Trevino deserve the kudos.”

  “I agree, but there’s nothing we can do. Maybe Tommy would have some pull, but he’s out.”

  I bit my lip and picked a Wallace hair off my chest. “You think they’re keeping Dad away on purpose?”

  “The bastards will do anything,” said Uncle Morty.

  Grandad nodded. “It doesn’t look good for getting to Tommy any time soon.”

  “Fan-freaking-tastic. What about Nana? Where are they?”

  “Can’t get a flight. Everything’s booked solid. They’re looking at booking a private plane.”

  “No!” I yelled.

  Aunt Miriam almost toppled over, but Aaron stuck a hand out to steady her. He was the only one who didn’t look startled.

  “Mercy? What on earth?” asked Grandad.

  “No private planes,” I said. “They’ll have to drive.”

  He and Uncle Morty glanced at each other. Uncle Morty watched me like a video game, intense and calculating. It would’ve unnerved me if I wasn’t so stressed already.

  “They can’t drive,” said Grandad.

  “Why not? They have a car. It’s like eleven hours.”

  “They can’t drive at night anymore. It’s not safe.”

  My hands went into fists and I felt my face flush. That just made me angry. “No private planes. Absolutely not.”

  Grandad stayed very still and said slowly, “What are you afraid of?”

  If it hadn’t been such a disastrous day, I might’ve thought of something else. But I told the truth. It just popped out like a piece of PEZ. “Because I don’t want them to die.”

  “Why do you think they’ll die?” He said it like he knew the answer.

  “It happened to Daniel and Agatha. Our family is full up on murders, don’t you think?”

  “Murders?”

  “They were murdered, Grandad,” I said, barely aware that I was yelling at my grandfather. A man who’d never yelled at me in his life.

  “Who told you that?” asked Uncle Morty, his beady eyes boring into me.

  “Aunt Tenne. She thought I knew.”

  Aunt Miriam shook off Aaron’s hand and stomped over to me. “Why would she tell you that?”

  “You don’t think I had a right to know my own great-grandparents were murdered?” I asked.

  Nobody said anything. I took that as a no and crossed my arms, determined to wait them out. I wanted them to say something. To be honest. I should’ve known better.

  Agatha and Daniel’s murders were related to The Klinefeld Group, a so-called nonprofit. They were after something they thought my godmothers, Millicent and Myrtle Bled, had or knew the whereabouts of. They were more than willing to kill to get it. Chuck, Spidermonkey, and I had been working on it for months. So far, we’d figured out that it had something to do with Millicent and Myrtle’s cousin, Stella Bled Lawrence. She’d met my ancestors, Amelie and Paul, in Paris in November of 1938 and given them something to conceal.

  That was the beginning of my family’s connection to the powerful Bled family, a connection that everyone pretended started with Millicent and Myrtle meeting my mother. It went way deeper than that. The Bleds knew my dad’s family, too. They took care of us. There were scholarships, jobs, and, of course, me. I’d practically been raised in the Bled mansion, despite being the daughter of a cop and a paralegal. I never questioned it until The Klinefeld Group tried to get ahold of the Bled art collection. After that, weird things started happening: break-ins, the Bleds’ chauffeur was murdered, and a mysterious man named Jens Waldemar Hoff started sniffing around.

  Agatha and Daniel had been up to something when they unexpectedly flew up to St. Louis from New Orleans. They’d had break-ins and men had followed them. I was sure The Klinefeld Group had murdered them. I just didn’t know why.

  “Well?” I asked when I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Why did she tell you?” asked Aunt Miriam.

  I wanted to scream and I very nearly shouted out that I’d been investigating the family just to see what they’d do. It would’ve been a disaster. My family was nothing if not good at keeping secrets. Luckily, another family secret burst from my lips. “I saw the cat.”

  “What cat?” said Grandad and Aunt Miriam.

  “Oh, please. Blackie. The cat that came with Nana and Pop Pop’s house when the family bought it in 1830.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Aunt Miriam primly. “You should get back to your mother.”

  She so knew about that cat. She’d seen him in New Orleans, even though she acted like she didn’t. “You know, the cat that shows up when something terrible happens to the family.”

  “Mercy, you’re overwrought.” Grandad tried to extend a bony arm around my shoulders, but I shoved him off.

  “He showed up when Agatha and Daniel died, when Aunt Tenne had her accident, and before Richard Costilla tried to stab me in New Orleans. Blackie saved me.”

  Shock was written all over their faces. Not Aaron’s face. He never had any expression so he didn’t count. I watched Grandad and Aunt Miriam for a second as they tried to look normal and failed. For once, I knew something they didn’t. Mom didn’t tell the family what had really happened in New Orleans. Weird.

  “How do you know—” started Grandad.

  “I saw him in Paris before the bridge. And I saw him today. He led me to Mom.”

  Aunt Miriam rammed her cane into the floor. “That’s just a family legend.”

  “I. Saw. Him.”

  “Well…even if you did, it doesn’t mean anything,” said Grandad. He even looked like he believed it.

  “Doesn’t mean anything?” I yelled. “That cat is the harbinger of death and destruction.”

  Aunt Miriam gave me a swift whack with her cane, cracking me on the leg and nearly buckling my knee. “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “Someone tried to murder my mother. Is that exaggerating? Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, lifting the cane for another go.

  “You want ridiculous? How about this?” I snatched the cane right out of her hand and snapped it over my knee, throwing the pieces in the corner. “That’s ridiculous. You’ll just buy another cane and hit me with that. Now I’m going to my mother’s house and attempted murder scene to get her pajamas and perfume. You got a problem with that?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Aaron, can you make Mom some dinner? She’s having a hard time swallowing. It needs to be easy to chew and swallow.”

  “And Wallace.”

  “Huh?”

  “Dog food,” said Aaron, blank as ever.

  “Yes and food for the dog.” I gave him a smacking kiss on his pudgy cheek, leaving a smear of lip balm. “Is my truck here?”

  He handed over my keys and gave me the location in the garage.

  I pocketed the keys and pointed at the rest of them. “Nana and Pop Pop are not taking a private plane, now or ever. Mom wants her parents alive. Got it?”

  They nodded silently and I marched out triumphant.

  It didn’t last long. Triumph never does.

  I turned left and saw Spidermonkey standing at the elevator, holding an enormous b
ouquet of yellow roses with a card that said, “Happy Anniversary!”

  He pushed the button on the elevator and I glanced back at the waiting room. No one had followed me, to my surprise so I darted over and tried to shove him in the elevator as the doors opened.

  Spidermonkey looked past me. “Hold on.” He plucked the card off. “Give these to your mother. I’ll hold the elevator.”

  “Morty is in the waiting room. He can’t see you.”

  “He won’t. Go.”

  I screeched a little, ran the flowers to the ICU, and gave them to Patsy. “Be back soon,” I said, closing the door in her face. I ran back to the elevator, passing Uncle Morty as he was coming to the waiting room door. He saw me, his face deeply etched with a frown. I darted into the elevator with Spidermonkey and punched the Close Door button like a crazed woodpecker.

  “Are you crazy?” I asked.

  “I was bringing my wife flowers for our anniversary,” he said in his honeyed South Carolina voice.

  The doors closed and we started down. I spun around. “It’s not your anniversary.”

  “It could be.”

  “But it’s not.”

  Spidermonkey crossed his arms and leaned on the wall, a warm smile wreathing his face. “Morty has never seen me. He has every reason to believe that I’m a twenty-five-year-old snowboarder who’s obsessed with eighties punk bands instead of a seventy-year-old married father of four who prefers Muddy Waters.”

  “You’re going to give me a heart attack and I’ve already had about three today,” I said.

  “I want to hug you, but Loretta says that might be creepy.”

  My eyes filled. “It’s not creepy, but I’m hugged out. Why are you here?”

  “You didn’t answer my texts and I heard that Carolina was attacked. I was worried that you’d run off and start investigating on your own. Aaron doesn’t need to make food. He needs to stick to you.”

  “You heard all that.”

  “I did and it was fascinating.”

  “Don’t break out the strait jacket,” I said, more fearful than I wanted to admit.

  “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious,” said Spidermonkey.

  My brain cramped for a second. “Einstein?”