A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (37 page)

“Yeah, Mercy,” said Chuck. “You and Aaron are great partners.”

“Please go away,” I said.

“He can’t. He’s here to sit with you,” Mom said.

“Oh no,” I said.

“Oh yes,” Chuck said.

Mom got up and said she had to check on Dad who was about to go stir crazy, but still too weak to go far.

“Plus, I have to interview you,” Chuck said.

“Didn’t you do that last night?”

“I tried, but you told me to go fuck a duck.”

“Oh, is that what I said.”

Mom looked at the ceiling and said under her breath, “Give me strength, Lord.”

She left us and Chuck pulled up a chair. He put a foot up on my bed and opened his notebook.

“Nice crotch spread. Can’t you sit like a gentleman?”

“Are you saying that you, as a lady, deserve such consideration?”

“Drop dead and rot,” I said.

“Right. Let’s get to it. What happened?”

“What happened when?”

“Mercy!”

I started at the beginning with Dixie’s call from the hospital and ended with me lying on a bed of gravel. So I left out a few choice bits like searching Gavin’s office. What’d it matter?

“How’d you know Lee was the stalker?”

“How didn’t you know?” I said with as much venom as I could muster.

“I knew. We just didn’t have enough to pick him up,” he said.

“Whatever.”

“So how did you know?”

“Uncle Morty told me. He didn’t know he told and neither did I at first,” I said.

“Say that again,” Chuck said.

“He called me from Lincoln. He told me that Gavin went to the novelty shop and signed the mailing list book. Gavin wrote something down out of it. Morty thought he’d spotted a name in it that made him stay in Lincoln an extra day.”

“And?”

“And he said that Lee’s name was in the book, but that it wasn’t a surprise,” I said.

“He brought a present for Sample there.”

“Right. But he also read me some of the names and said he had a headache from reading all that bad handwriting.” I looked at Chuck, who cocked his chair back on two legs and said, “Shit.”

“I didn’t put it together until I thought about Lee signing the guest book at Rebecca’s memorial. He told me he’d never been to Lincoln, so how did he sign the book? He lied because he was the stalker. Still, I knew Lee didn’t kill Gavin because you were interviewing him when it happened. Helen Card said Darrell and his mother treated Lee like he was disabled, so it had to be one of them to kill Rebecca after she found out about Lee. Mrs. Holtmeyer couldn’t have overpowered Gavin on her best day, so that left Darrell.”

“How’d you know about me interviewing Lee?” asked Chuck.

“Word gets around.”

“Not bad. Not bad at all. Care to hear a little info from my side?”

“If you must.”

“You were right Lee was in Lincoln. He went to school with Sample for a couple semesters, but he didn’t graduate. He had two classes with her. That must’ve been what Gavin found out at the university. Lee was stalking her even back then.”

“How could she not know he was stalking her?”

“She did, sort of. Her roommate said they got a lot of hang ups and Sample got flowers with no cards, but it wasn’t anything creepy. We think it was pretty casual until she graduated and moved here. He must’ve taken it as a rejection and stepped it up.”

“How in the world did she end up dating him?”

“Dumb luck. He bumped into her in a grocery store.”

“People actually meet that way?” I asked.

“I guess so. Her friend Helen was with her. She said he accidentally rammed their cart. Helen knew him from the gym and introduced them properly. The intro made him a known quantity. You can’t plan that kind of thing,” he said.

“I bet he was stalking her in the store and got turned around. I doubt he ever would’ve risked face-to-face contact on purpose.”

“That’s what our shrink says. But if you ask me, he was escalating. He would’ve done something to her eventually,” said Chuck.

“But Gavin wouldn’t be dead, if it happened that way.” I looked past Chuck to the cloudy sky out my window.

Chuck reached forward and touched my hand. “Yeah, Gavin wouldn’t be dead.”

“So what did Darrell use on Gavin?”

“Epinephrine,” Chuck said.

“How’d he get it? I mean, it’s not like it’s a street drug.”

“His mother has a nut allergy. We think he took her EpiPens.”

“No way. It would take at least nine to OD somebody. Nobody carries that many pens with them.”

“Mrs. Holtmeyer refilled her prescription several times in the week before the wedding. Doctor shopping.”

“Why?” I sat up quickly and my vision narrowed to a point for a moment. I grasped the handrail to steady me. “What was she planning?”

“I suspect the epi was meant for Rebecca. Mrs. Holtmeyer was none too fond of her, but when Darrell had to deal with Gavin, she handed them over.”

“Sounds good, but Gavin only had one puncture. What’d they do? Milk the pens and combine them into one syringe?”

“Sure, why not?” Chuck stood up and laid me back on my pillows. Behind him Nardo slunk in and shot a round of pictures. Chuck whipped around and shoved Nardo against the wall.

“Mercy,” Nardo shouted. “Tell him.”

Chuck’s hand left Nardo’s throat, but he didn’t turn around. “Tell me what?”

“It’s alright,” I said. “He’s my official photographer, I guess.”

“So that’s why the internet traffic slowed down,” said Chuck.

Nardo shrugged. “I have connections.”

Chuck put his large hand on Nardo’s scrawny shoulder and steered him out the door.

“And now you’re done.” Chuck deleted the pictures over Nardo’s protests and closed the door.

“So now you’re protecting me?” I asked.

Chuck sat down on my bed, tucking me into an envelope of his fabulous scent. “From everyone but me.”

“Please.” I rolled my eyes.

“Too much?” asked Chuck.

“Way.”

We laughed together, and I forgot how irritating he was until he started going on about his interrogation techniques. I fell asleep as he proclaimed himself brilliant, second only to my dad.

Chapter Thirty

I WAS DISCHARGED on Tuesday after the doctors decided that my severe concussion wasn’t going to kill me. Neither were my broken ribs, or dislocated shoulder. Dr. Houtin felt satisfied because I only had a little blood in my urine. Swell. A little kicking goes a long way.

Gavin’s funeral happened on Wednesday and I missed it. I can’t say that I minded. I’d had enough of funeral homes. Mom and Dad went and that’s the important thing. Mom said Myrtle and Millicent were there and she managed to talk them in to dumping Mr. Cardiff as their lawyer. She couldn’t find out the particulars of Brooks’s case against them. I would’ve been more curious, if I hadn’t had so many painkillers on board.

Instead of nosing my way into The Girls’s business, I spent the rest of the week lounging on The Oasis, watching baseball with Dad and Merchant Ivory films with Mom and Dixie. We ate popcorn, told stories, and looked through albums. Dad went through two cases of Belgian Trappist beer. It was our own private wake in our own private way. Gavin got a fine send off, and I think he would’ve liked it with the exception of the Merchant Ivory.

After six hours into my first day home, I begged Mom to stop answering the phone. Every friend and a couple enemies called for a personal account of my ordeal as they put it. Most of them were impressed, but some were disappointed that my face was still intact. All agreed Chuck looked swell on TV. There were more than a couple of inquiries about his marital status. Chuck called to tell me to stop telling people that he had crabs. I promised, but I was on Vicodin, after all.

On Friday, I decided to start weaning myself off the painkillers and celebrated by staying in bed all morning eating Ho Ho’s with Aunt Tenne. She left to replenish our supply when Dad peeked in.

“Busy?” he asked.

“Amazingly.”

“You’ve got a phone call.”

“Please, no. I can’t take it.”

“It’s some Doreen woman. She wants to talk about her case.” Dad’s eyebrows were practically touching his hairline and he was vibrating with excitement. He’d been waiting for me to take a case voluntarily since my birth.

“Get a grip, Dad. It’s Gavin’s case. I just helped it along.”

“When you work a dead man’s case, it’s your case, baby girl. Do you need a ride somewhere? I’ll drive you.”

“Yeah, right. I doubt you could push down the gas pedal.”

“So I barfed a few times, get over it. I’m back to full speed. In fact, I’m going out today. Want to ride along?”

I’d rather go to the gynecologist.

“I need to rest,” I said.

 
Dad passed me the phone and paused in case I changed my mind. It was a no-go. I knew there’d be a next time, but I wasn’t ready for it to be so soon and with Dad there was no such thing as just riding along.

“Hello, hello?” a voice said from the phone.

I’d forgotten I was holding it. “Hello. Sorry about that.”

“Hi. It’s Doreen. You remember me?”

“Of course. How’s it going?”

“Great. I got the money,” she said.

“Congratulations.”

“Could you come by the Crab Shack today? I’d like to thank you properly. Give you all the crab you can stand.”

Great. I’d just as soon eat a pile of fingernails.

“Well, you know how it is. I’m not exactly having a good week,” I said.

“Come on. You ain’t hurt that bad. I got beat up worse by my brother.”

“What is with your family?”

“We’re pretty normal.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have any siblings, do you? Now get up. I want you to see my boys. I’ll make it worth your while,” Doreen said.

“Alright. I’ll be over in a couple hours.”

Doreen said she was thrilled and I pretended I was. A couple of hours, who was I kidding. If Mom didn’t come home, I’d have to wash my hair with a pasta spoon and rinse it with a ladle. That could take all day.

Mom found me with my ladle an hour later, laughed, and finished up for me. She fastened my bra and picked out a stunning ensemble of sweatpants and one of Dad’s button-up shirts. I looked like a shlub, but a comfortable one. As for my face there was no hope. By some miracle my nose wasn’t broken, but it looked like it was with the black eyes, the bruising and the scratches from my close encounter with gravel.

“We could try some base and cover stick,” Mom said.

“Got some flesh-toned spackle?”

“It’ll be fine.” Mom smeared cover stick all over my face.

“That’s what you said when I got a huge fever blister an hour before Homecoming,” I said.

“It
was
fine. You looked beautiful.”

“My nickname was VD for the rest of the year.”

“It isn’t anymore, so it’s fine,” Mom said.

You can’t argue with that. Mothers. There’s no hope for them either.

“Is Dad driving you?”

“No. I want to live,” I said.

Mom fussed with my hair. “I think he can do it.”

“I have another plan.”

After a fifteen-minute argument with Mom, she allowed me to walk to Kronos. By the time I got there I was exhausted and it felt like I had an elf sitting on top of my head hitting me with a tiny pickax. I’d planned on going in, having a refreshing iced tea and half a Vicodin, but the bar was packed. I’d forgotten the lunch rush and it was sure to be filled with cops eager to either condemn my lack of vision or congratulate me. I didn’t want to hear it. My high school volleyball coach already told me I was an idiot and that was bad enough.

I circled the block and went in the kitchen entrance. Mario the head cook nodded to me and yelled for Rodney. Rodney rushed in through the swinging doors and stopped short when he saw me.

“Man oh man. You look bad,” he said.

“Thanks. I love you, too.”

“You wearing makeup?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes, really, I am wearing makeup. This is what I look like with makeup applied.”

“Damn, that’s something.” Rodney leaned forward to get a closer look.

“Alright, that’s enough. Is Aaron here?”

“You know you owe him big.”

“So I’ve been told repeatedly. Is he here?”

Rodney grabbed up a couple orders and went out the door. Aaron came back through with a platter filled with empty dishes and glasses.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” I watched Aaron shove the dishes into the washer and restock Mario’s supply of clean ones. “You busy?”

“Not bad,” he said.