Coke with a Twist (A Mercy Watts short) (3 page)

“Not one damn thing,” she said.
 

We sat silently for a few minutes, listening to the myriad of conversations around us. I wondered if anyone else could feel what was coming from Becky. She knew plenty about GHB.

“I have to go,” she said so quietly I nearly didn’t hear her.
 

“Can I talk to you again? It might be a great help.”
 

Becky stood up. “Sure.”

I sat there for a moment with my second mocha, feeling bloated and sick. I didn’t want to know these private things about Lara or Becky. I didn’t want to know anything about anybody. I got up and headed back to my truck. The homeless guy was still there with his box. No surprise.
 

“How much for the cat?” I asked.

“He’s free to a good home. I wouldn’t mind a donation though,” he said.

Of course, a donation.

“Here’s a twenty.” I reached for the kitten, but he stopped me.
 

“Take the box. Easier to carry,” he said, eyeing my mocha.
 

I handed it to him and took the box.

On the way home, I stopped at Target and bought cat supplies. The kitten started hacking and spewed more phlegm all over his box. He smelled horrible too, but there was nothing I could do about it. I had the ABC at eight and no vets were open anyway. I set up his stuff in the bathroom, showed him the litter pan a dozen times and said a prayer that he’d use it. From the look of him, he’d be in rigor by the time I got home.
 

The bar was a study in boredom that night. Byers didn’t show and neither did Pete. When I got home, the kitten, skanky as ever, was alive and sleeping on my bed. I thought the comforter might have to be burned. On the upside, he’d used the pan. After much debate I decided to sleep in my bed. The beer and cigarette smell in my hair blocked out most of his stench and I slept well.
 

The next morning I made a vet appointment and cleaned my bathroom in an effort to avoid calling my cousin Chuck. He was the detective in charge on Lara Haven’s case and I needed an update. Chuck was my cousin by marriage. His mom married my Uncle Rupert. Since we’re not blood related, he thinks we should date. The thought makes me want to scrub my skin raw with a loofah. He wasn’t above blackmail and dealing with him was better left to Dad or Morty. Since neither of them were answering my texts, I was out of options. I had to call. First, I cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed. It was 11:30 and if I called then he would ask for lunch. Not going to happen. It was either that or clean the fridge. I had half the condiments on my counter when the phone rang. It was Chuck. Just my luck.

“Hey Mercy. It’s been a long time,” he said.

“Not long enough,”

“Don’t be like that. I hear you’re helping out with the Haven case. Got anything for me?”

“Nothing you don’t already know. I am curious about Byers though. Have you shown Lara Haven a photo of him yet?” I asked.

“No need. She knows him,” he told me.
 

“What? Dad didn’t tell me that.”

“He doesn’t know. We interviewed her again yesterday. Couldn’t get much out of her before. And now the Havens are getting nervous.”

“About what?” I asked.

“About how we don’t have a suspect in custody yet. I’m surprised they haven’t been crawling up your dad’s tailpipe.”

“You could’ve told me this earlier.”

“Yeah, I always try to keep you up to date,” he said.
 

“How does she know Byers?”

“Forget it.”

“You’d tell Dad.” I hated using the Dad card, but sometimes it was a necessity.
 

“Maybe and maybe not.”

“Come on.”

“Well, it depends,” he said.

“On what?”

“Dinner tonight?” Chuck asked with his smoothest voice.

“Does Dad date you for information?”

“Not lately. So?”

“Just tell me. You know you want to,” I said.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t care whether you know or not.” He’d lost the smooth voice.

“Then it won’t hurt to tell me.”
 

He paused and thought about it. I could hear him cracking his knuckles in the background. “Byers dumped his girl for Lara, but she wasn’t interested. Been chasing her for a few months.”

“Are you telling me that you didn’t know this until this last interview? What happened to interviewing friends and family? You asleep at the wheel?”

“Of course we knew. Couldn’t get Lara to confirm until yesterday though. Doctors had her pretty doped up. Byers is a strong possibility for the GHB.”

I gave the phone a couple of quick raps on the breakfast bar.

“Ow. That hurt my ear.”

“He’s not a possible. He’s the one,” I said.

“Could be,” Chuck said.

“Who’s the girlfriend?”

He rustled some papers and mumbled, “I have it here someplace.”

“Becky Strattman?” I suggested.

“How’d you know?”

“We had a talk.”

“Anything I should know?” It was Chuck’s turn to squirm.

“Forget it.”

“Mercy!”

I gave a quick “catch you later” and hung up. Becky Strattman, little miss I-don’t-know-anything-about-Lara-Haven, my ass. If Byers dumped her to go after Haven there was no way she didn’t know it. They moved in the same circles and people talk. Maybe she was embarrassed to be dumped in favor of a girl who wouldn’t give Byers the time of day. I would be.
 

I thumbed through the file Dad gave me and came up with the witness list from the party. Becky wasn’t on it. I called Becky a couple of times and left messages. Next I called Pete’s contact. I quizzed her about the sorority house. She told me Saturday was the fall formal. Since the house would be empty, that’d be an excellent time to go rifling through underwear drawers. If Becky knew where Byers was, the evidence would be in her room.

I told Pete’s friend that I needed to get into the sorority house. I don’t know if it was my charm, Pete’s, or the thrill of doing something bad, but she agreed to help. She’d turn off the alarm and let me in through the back fire escape. We planned for seven o’clock, when the girls would be at the formal dinner. By the time we got off the phone, she was breathless.

The rest of the week was a slow go. I had three twelve-hour shifts in St. James ER serving up cough medicine and painkillers. Why couldn’t things be as exciting as they were on TV? Compared to work, my new cat was scintillating. I took the skanky cat to the vet and he had everything, an upper respiratory tract infection, ear mites, an ear infection, kennel cough, and worms. I came home with a huge bill, an armload of medications, and no good method of giving them. Skanky cat had energy when it came to avoiding pills and I had the scratches to prove it. I did get to see Pete at the bar a couple of times. He was dead on his feet. He suggested Betadine for my scratches and maybe a mercy killing.
     

I battled with Skanky a couple of times on Saturday morning. He still hadn’t cleaned himself and wouldn’t let me near him with water. I fielded calls from Mom, Dad, and worst of all, Chuck. He didn’t have anything new and just wanted to bother me. At five, I put on my good girl duds and headed out.
 

The sorority exit was propped open as promised. A brunette leaned against the hall wall trying to look casual. She was pretty and sleek with limbs too long for her body. She was my opposite. I didn’t know if that was bad or good. Hopefully, Pete wasn’t trying something new on for size. She gave me a wave, whispered “2B,” and went around the corner. I found 2B unlocked, courtesy of the brunette, I supposed. Good thing. I hadn’t thought how I’d get in without a key. It was a nice room, no flounces or pastels, instead studious and sincere. It was a single with a bathroom attached. I started in there and found nothing but tons of makeup and every painkiller on the over-the-counter market. Stuck in the back behind the Tylenol was a prescription bottle with the label peeled off. The pills looked like Zoloft, but meds often look alike. I’d served enough to know.
 

I slipped one in my pocket. Then I went through her drawers, easing my hands under her neatly folded undies and sweaters categorized by color. Becky would’ve made Martha Stewart proud. I found nothing there or in her desk. She was an English major with no written material of her own, other than research papers and comparative essays. She didn’t have a diary or journal that I could find. Her laptop was missing. She did have a collection of photo albums from childhood to college, all labeled with dates and names. Byers made up one entire album.
 

After her drawers and desk, I started on her bed. She had rolling storage bins under there. More sweaters. She kept her shoes in rows under the foot of her bed. They were probably alphabetized, so I was careful not to move them. I felt through two dozen pairs of pumps and loafers and found nothing in the toes. I was lying on my stomach with my head under Becky’s bed when a voice came through the door. “Dinner’s over.”
 

I bonked my head on the frame and started scooting back out when I noticed one more pair I hadn’t checked. Stripper heels, not Becky’s style, and they were out of my reach. I scooted from under the bed and straightened up her coverlet. I could hear cars pulling up into the parking lot. I didn’t have much time, but I hated to leave without going through everything. I pulled Becky’s bed out from the wall and grabbed the shoes. Right one clear. Left one had a baggy stuffed in the toe. There were half a dozen white pills dotted with blue inside. I took one and replaced the shoes and bed.

I listened at the door before I opened it. I heard voices, but they weren’t on the same floor. I peeked out and saw the brunette call to someone down the main staircase. The brunette heard the door and glanced back at me. I must have looked panicked because she pointed to a door marked emergency stairs and made a chopping motion with her left hand. Heels tap-danced up the main stairs. I ran to the door, jerked it open, and closed myself in.
 

It was black as my bra in there. I searched for the light switch. Before I found it, I realized I shouldn’t turn it on. I felt around, found the stairs, and went down one flight to the second floor. Plenty of people there, so I kept going until I got to the basement. No voices. The door was stiff, but I got it open with a couple hard shoves. Light came in through small windows level with the parking lot. I picked my way through trunks and luggage. At the back was a door with a rusty-hinged lock. I found a length of metal next to the ancient furnace and used it to pry off the hinge in seconds. You got to love that security.
 

At home, I called Pete and left a message. Then I e-mailed his friend and told her that she might want to check out the basement door. It was convenient, but I didn’t want any Ted Bundy wannabe’s getting in. That left me with little to do until Pete called back. I gave the skanky cat his meds and went to bed.
 

Pete called at eight in the morning and woke me up. I was incoherent for the first ten minutes of our conversation, but Pete didn’t notice. He told me about his night’s best catch in the ER, multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. Then I asked him if he knew anybody who could analyze some drugs discreetly. He said he’d ask around.
 

Two hours later, Pete called and told me to meet a guy named Paul outside the university biological sciences building. Paul showed up ten minutes late and he looked more likely to swallow my pills than analyze them, but what did I have to lose? I couldn’t give them to Chuck and face questions about where they came from.
 

Paul was better than he looked and called with results that night. “They’re Zoloft and GHB. Both good quality. You want 'em back?”

“I guess so. Can you give them to Pete?”

“Sure thing. Pete said you might be able to do me a favor if I came back quick with this.”

“Yeah. What is it?” I wished Pete had mentioned this earlier.

“I was wondering if you could check out my girl for me. She says she’s never done time but you never know.”

I gave him Morty’s number and instructions to tell Morty that I would pay.

“You’re absolutely sure about the GHB?” I asked.

“No doubt at all. I’m going to be a pharmacist.”

I thanked him and walked away feeling nervous about having my next prescription filled. If Paul could be a pharmacist, where was the cutoff? He did sound sure about the GHB though. If Becky admitted that she used it with Byers, it would be some nice circumstantial evidence against him. I had to give Chuck the information, but I decided to try to get an admission out of Becky myself first. I left a message for her saying that I knew about her and the GHB. Becky didn’t call back before my next shift at the ABC. I left home with some new scratches from the skanky cat.

That night the Monday night crowd was back and it was a rowdy one. Some athletic team won something and the celebration was on. I was half-soaked in Bud by ten when Pete called to say he’d try to be there at twelve. He said to wait. I hated to stay at the ABC any longer than necessary, but who knew when I’d see Pete again. He was the only reason I stayed. I figured Byers was long gone, maybe skiing in Europe as rapists have done before him.