A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (26 page)

“I was grieved to hear about your friend. Mr. Flouder, was it?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I said.

I left Mrs. Haase to her roses with a promise for an afternoon call. I walked around the rest of the house. All was in order and I didn’t know what to look for anyway. I walked down the flagstones and stopped midway. The 300’s passenger seat was occupied. The tinted windows were enough to obscure the person’s identity. I sprinted down the walk, flung open the gate, and then the car door.

“How you doing?”

Aaron.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” I said, in a low voice. I had the feeling Mrs. Haase was watching from the hedgerow.

“What?” Aaron’s eyebrows shot up from behind his smudged glasses.

“What do you mean ‘what’? What are you doing in this car?”

“Heard you had a trip,” he said.

“Who told you that?”

Aaron blinked and opened the glove compartment. “I brought snacks.”

“You can’t come. Get out.”

“You didn’t say please,” he said, pulling out a carton of chocolate milk and opening it.

“Please,” I said.

“Nope. I’m going. I never been to Lincoln. Hear it’s nice. Does it snow there year-round, or is that Alaska or maybe Canada?”

God help me.

“You hungry? I got dogs.” Aaron smiled at me and I knew it was hopeless. Dad had sicced him on me, but for what purpose I couldn’t guess. Maybe my father secretly hated me. The thought that Aaron could protect me was ludicrous. No, Dad hated me.

“No hot dogs in the car.” I slid into the driver’s seat, breathing in the aromas that accompanied Aaron wherever he went: hot dogs, chili cheese fries, and some kind of drugstore cologne that I couldn’t name. It was kind of a nice combo, but I’d never say that under oath.

My cell phone vibrated and Aaron answered it. Then he pressed the off button, tossed the phone on the floor, and went back to rummaging around in his snack bag.

“Who was that?” I asked.

Aaron shrugged. “They hung up.”

“Well, don’t throw my phone on the floor. You’ll break it.”

Aaron shrugged again and ate a Snickers bar.

The drive to Lincoln was seven hours long. Between Aaron’s bathroom breaks and hankering for diner food, it took us eight and a half. If it wasn’t for the constant talk of snack food and Dungeons and Dragons, the drive would’ve only taken two days off my life instead of three.

Aaron booked a couple of rooms for us at the motel that Gavin used. It wasn’t far off the highway in a commercial district. We checked in, and I called my cell provider for another number change. A scant two minutes after I hung up, Aaron banged on my door.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

I’m going to Fike you, bub.

“No plan. I’m going to wing it.”

Emphasis on “I”.

“Wings sound good,” he said.

“You can’t be hungry.”

“Or ribs. Wings or ribs, what’ll it be?”

“All you did for the last eight hours was eat. You are not hungry,” I said.

“I have to check out the competition.” Aaron plopped down on one of my beds and began flipping channels. It was late. All I wanted was a boiling hot shower and a bed in a room absent of Aaron.

“Are you completely gone? We’re in Lincoln. They’re not your competition. What do you think, a couple guys are going to say, ‘Hey, you want to go to the rib joint on the corner or drive seven
hours to St. Louis for Kronos?’”

“Got to keep current,” said Aaron.

“Current on what? Rib joints in Lincoln?”

“So it’s definitely ribs. You ready?”

I threw up my hands. “Fine. Fine. Yes, I am ready. I am absolutely ready.” I grabbed my purse, avoided my reflection in the mirror over the desk and stomped out to the car. Aaron followed me, thumbing through a restaurant guide and giving me choices that I didn’t give a shit about. With minimal help, he picked a rib place with a chuck wagon theme. He forced me to admit the food was superior and, instead of shower and sleep, I came up with a plan as my cell phone rang. The caller moaned and hung up. My second new number was out in record time. I had to figure out how to block everyone but friends and family. Uncle Morty didn’t fit neatly into any category, but I called him anyway.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said in my best most cheerful voice.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“You weren’t asleep.”

“I could’ve been,” Uncle Morty said.

“No, you couldn’t. You’re like a bat or a wolverine.” It was true. Morty’s sleeping habits were the subject of speculation, because he rarely slept and, if he did, it was during the day. When I was a kid, I convinced myself, and most of my school, that Morty was a vampire. That was before I read Anne Rice and realized that vampires are supposed to be sexy.

“What do you want and who’s paying?” he asked.

“Did you find out who’s following me?”

“Bernard Rey, known as Nardo. Has-been paparazzi,” Morty said.

“How can paparazzi be has-beens?” I asked.

“He used to get the big shots of Jennifer Aniston sunbathing topless. That kind of shit. Now he can’t. You’re his comeback.”

“How do I get rid of him?”

“You don’t.”

A headache bloomed in the back of my skull. “That’s bullshit. He can’t stalk me and take pictures of me all the time.”

Morty snorted. “Sure can. You signed that release, like a freaking moron, and now you’re a personality like an actress or something.”

“Aw, crap.”

Morty laughed a booming, throaty guffaw.

“Wait,” I said. “If I’m boring he’ll go away, won’t he? I mean there’ll be nothing to take pictures of.”

“You be boring? That’ll happen,” said Morty. “What else you got?”

“It’s about The Girls.”

“I don’t give a shit. Who’s paying?”

“Me or Dad. Somebody’ll pay, alright?”

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to look at The Girls’ financials,” I said.

“Why? Hoping the old bags bought you a tiara for your birthday?”

“No, smartass. I’m just worried. They’re acting kind of weird.”

“News flash, they’re rich old bags. That’s what they do,” he said.

“They won’t let me or Mrs. Haase in. The lights are all off. The gardens are a wreck and nobody’s seen Lester for weeks.”

“Maybe they killed him. I’m telling you it’s
Arsenic and Old Lace
over there. Those women weird me out.”

“So does Aunt Miriam. Do you think she’s been out killing, too?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. Would you?”

“Well, that’s more likely than The Girls killing Lester,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take a look. You in Lincoln?”

“Yes.” Was there anyone who didn’t know where I was?

“What’d you find out?” Uncle Morty asked.

“Not a thing. We’re still eating,” I said.

“Wings or ribs?”

I cut short a discussion on the merits of Lincoln’s restaurants and paid the bill. Aaron wanted to go for ice cream, but I was bloated and we called it a night.

Chapter Twenty-Two
 

IN A FIT of get-up-and-go, I set my alarm for five. I showered and got dressed in my best give-me-some-information-people outfit. A pair of black pants with a perfect, non-flashy fit and a button-down made me look professional, while hiding my boobs. Boobs are never a good thing when trying to get information from women. Mom taught me that. Last, I donned one of Mom’s jackets from last season to make me look like I had two nickels to rub together. Rich is better than poor. That was another of Mom’s lessons and it helped me out on more than one occasion. I expected to be dealing with women at the university and then I’d check out Bart Sendack’s girlfriend. I doubted they had anything to do with Gavin’s death, but he found something that led to Sample’s stalker. Maybe that something was Sendack. Plus, Doreen deserved a favor and I felt generous, despite my overwhelming need for coffee.

At a quarter after six, I decided to make a break for it. I’d never seen Aaron before eight in the morning, so I figured he’d be sleeping. I opened my door and, pow, there he was, leaning on the railing. If I hadn’t looked out my peephole during the night, I’d have thought he’d stood there for the last seven hours. He certainly looked like it with his hair standing on end, not to mention the clothes. He probably slept in them, although it might’ve been a different shirt. It was hard to tell, but the new one was free of rib sauce.

“Hi Aaron.”

“Hey. Ready? Let’s go to this diner on 12
th
. I hear it’s got the best omelets in town.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Janitor,” he said.

“You’ve been talking to the motel janitor?”

“Nope. He works in an office building,” he said.

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

Aaron directed me to the Kissimmee Diner. I guess somebody had a hankering for Florida. The color scheme was blinding. The bright oranges, greens and yellows made my head hurt and I wasn’t crazy about the plastic palm trees either. The place was more than half full of college students trying to wake up after a long night, truck drivers and business types getting an early start. The omelets were as advertised and we lingered while trying to clean our plates. Aaron managed, but I gave up. I’d have to join Weight Watchers if I kept letting Aaron order for me. He knew what I liked and ordered in volume. It might’ve been my imagination, but that volume was showing on my hips.

After breakfast, I decided to hit the university first. Since it was summer and early, not many students would be there and hopefully the ladies would’ve had their coffee. Aaron looked up the address on his phone. I didn’t know he was technically savvy, but I was beginning to suspect there was a lot about Aaron I didn’t know. He input the address into Dad’s navigation system and it proceeded to tell us where to go. I started thinking about getting a newer vehicle. There was something to be said for climate control and a glove box cooling system. Then again, the words ‘car payment’ made me queasy.

We drove through the university’s well-planned streets shaded by mature trees and watched the early birds go after their worms. Aaron talked. I don’t know what he said. I became a master of the well-placed, “Oh yeah,” and “Sounds good.” Parking was brutal. I wondered if any architect ever thought about how many cars people actually use or maybe they’re too busy designing archways and fountains to worry about how people would get to them. I found a space a good half mile from Student Administration and it was eight o’clock in the morning.

“Why don’t you stay here?” I suggested to Aaron as he munched on a soft pretzel he’d produced from behind his seat.

“No way,” he said.

“Why not?”

“You’re trying to Fike me.”

True, so true.

“How can I Fike you? You’re in the car?” I asked.

“You could get a rental.”

Damn.

“I won’t get a rental.” I gave Aaron the big eyes, but he didn’t look convinced. “I swear, cross my heart and all that.”

“Nope.”

Double damn.

I needed to Fike Aaron and not just because he was a pain in the ass. I was trying to look professional. Aaron’s look said tons, but nothing close to professional or even clean.

“Look Aaron, I have to get information out of these women. Do you really think you can help me do that?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you stay here?”

Aaron didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. We both knew the reason. Dad asked him to watch me and he was damn well going to do whatever Dad asked.

“Fine you can come, but for heaven’s sake be inconspicuous. Can you do that?” I had my doubts, but Aaron nodded. I got out of the car and walked towards administration. I forced myself not to look back. I didn’t hear Aaron’s breathing or smell him, and I took that as a good sign.

Student Administration inhabited a large brick building with a well-manicured lawn and trees. Students lounged under the trees eating Pop-Tarts and cramming useless data into their heads. I felt a familiar sting of regret as I passed them and jogged up the stairs. I’d gone to a private nursing school. It wasn’t all girls, but pretty close to it. There were no parties, no frats, none of the stuff you’d associate with the college experience. I had fun, but it was harder to come by. We didn’t even have a campus to lounge on. I suppose I regretted that the most, the long walks to class, playing Frisbee on the quad, all that stereotypical crap that I fantasized about in high school. My friends that went to regular schools told me I was out of my mind. The walks sucked. They froze their asses off in winter and they never once played Frisbee. Still, I would’ve liked to have tried it.