In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (21 page)

“Are you going to start your investigation?” asked John.
 

“Explain why this is my problem.”
 

John nodded to Phelong and Gerry. “You know the answer to that.”
 

“They’ll get backup.”
 

“Would you rather spend the day going over your cousin’s bride book?”
 

“Good point,” I said.
 

“I thought so.”
 

I led the way into the formal garden. Oliver and the other coaches had herded the parents toward the carriage house. He caught my eye and jogged back.
 

“The boys are back from running,” he said. “We have them in the training room. What should we do? I heard you’re in charge.”
 

How did this happen? Seriously. How?
 

“That’s the word on the street. Taylor’s with them?” I asked.
 

Oliver sighed. “He’s there. Poor kid. His mother’s the reason he’s here and he knows it. Losing her will be a serious blow in more ways than one.”
 

“How so?”
 

“Cherie was a single mother. Taylor’s dad died a few years ago and he didn’t leave them much. She worked three jobs to pay for travel teams, pitching coaches, equipment. It’s not cheap at this level.”
 

“So they were strapped. Were the Lions here on scholarship?” I asked.
 

“We don’t have a scholarship that I know of.”
 

We both looked at John and he remained blank. He wasn’t giving anything up. Maybe I could get more out of Leslie.
 

“What else do you know about Cherie? She didn’t seem very popular.”
 

“Really? The boys love her. The team is devoted. She bakes, hosts sleepovers, all that stuff.”
 

“How do you know that?” I asked.
 

“The Lions aren’t a well-to-do team and the other teams know it. There was some razzing, typical boy stuff. The one thing the Lions had was Cherie. She talked them into major league games for free and got pros to come out to talk with them. She got things for the Lions that the others didn’t get, even with their money. Her boys bragged about it.”
 

“Maybe that’s why the other teams’ parents weren’t crazy about her.”
 

Oliver shrugged and glanced at the love garden. “They could’ve put the effort in. It certainly wasn’t a reason to kill her.”
 

“Someone had a reason,” I said. “Baseball is a good place to start. Was Taylor in the lead for the prize?”
 

Oliver’s eyebrows shot up under his cap. “You think they killed her over the prize?”
 

“I don’t think anything yet. Was he in the lead?”
 

“He and Enrique were neck and neck. Enrique might’ve had a slight advantage.”
 

“Why?”
 

“The kid’s an old soul. Very calm and purposeful.” Oliver grinned. “Taylor’s still a kid. Focused one minute. Spastic the next.”
 

“Let me guess which one you were,” I said. “Spastic?”
 

“All the way.”
 

“Can you think of anyone who would want Cherie dead?”

“Like I said, I thought she was popular. She was with her team.”
 

One of the other coaches yelled, “Oliver! What’s the holdup?”

“Be right there!” Oliver yelled back and then asked me, “What should I do with Taylor?”
 

“What would you normally do now?”
 

“Feed them and take them to the fields.”
 

I rubbed my eyes. “Okay. Feed them and I’ll be there in a minute to tell Taylor.”
 

Oliver put an arm around me and drew me close. His warm breath blew against my cheek. He smelled like fresh cut grass and Listerine. The combo was oddly pleasant, but it made me miss Chuck’s scent of beer and wintergreen gum. “I can tell him.”
 

“It’s okay,” I said. “I already told Lane so what’s one more shattered kid today.”
 

He stepped back. “I’ll do it. I’ve known Taylor for a couple years from different camps. It’d be better coming from me.”
 

Oh thank god!

“If you think it’s best,” I said.
 

“I do.”
 

“Okay.”
 

Oliver took off for the carriage house and Tiny came up. “What now?”
 

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ve never been in charge before.”

A bunch of honking erupted in the distance beyond the ball fields. There must be another entrance for service vehicles. John’s lip twitched at the sound and I stared at him for a second. I was beginning to think his facial muscles were incapable of moving à la Botox, but he didn’t seem like the type. The honking continued, more and more insistent. John actually frowned. Shocking. Phelong and Gerry looked like a couple of hamsters trying to escape a cage, and Leslie ran his hands through his long grey hair repeatedly. Tiny was looking at his feet. Hmm. Interesting.
 

“Tiny?”

“Uh huh?” He snuck a quick peek at me.

Now that was a look of abject guilt.
 

“Who did you call?” I asked. “My dad?”
 

“He’s out of town on the Costilla stuff,” he said, still staring at those ginormous feet.
 

“Uncle Morty? Why would you bother? He’s already here.”

John crossed his arms as the horn went to one long blare.
 

“Your mom. I have to give updates,” said Tiny.
 

Groan.
 

“Did you get any useful info? How’s Lester? Have the police caught anyone yet?”

“Nothing yet. Lester’s the same.”

“So who’s at the gate?” I could only think of a few candidates who’d be desperate to get at a crime scene.

Leslie walked out of the love garden. “I can answer that. It’s Dr. Watts. I’d recognize that horn anywhere.”
 

“Watts? Really? That’s a coincidence. Who is he?”

“
She
is the closest thing we have to a medical examiner,” said Leslie. All the muscles in his face were tight and he barely moved his lips.
 

“Not a friend then?” I asked.

“Dr. Watts has many friends.”
 

But you’re not one of them.

Leslie nodded to John. “Open it. She’ll start ramming the fence in a minute.”

“You say that like it’s happened before,” I said.
 

“It has,” said John before he returned to the kitchen with Tiny to check on Lane and Anthony. The honking stopped immediately and Leslie did a sort of bracing yourself shake.
 

A couple of minutes later an old sage green Morris Minor drove in with an older lady behind the wheel. She had a shock of spiky silver hair standing straight up and touching the roof of the car.
 

She was driving at least fifty and screeched to a halt in the parking lot next the police cruiser. She got out, hip-checked the door shut, put her hands on her hips and scanned the scene. She wore baggy green scrubs and a lab coat that looked like it’d been purchased in the seventies. Huge collar. She whipped a black stethoscope off her neck and stuffed it in her pocket in the manner of someone who always knew exactly what she was doing. I was intimidated even at a distance.
 

“Wow,” I said.
 

“You have no idea,” said Leslie.

Dr. Watts’ eyes settled on me and she nodded as she walked into the garden.

“Let’s go,” said Leslie and we met her before she reached the fountain.
 

“Well, it was only a matter of time, eh Leslie?” she said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Leslie without his usual charm.
 

Dr. Watts made a sneezing noise in the back of her throat. “You’ve got a body, don’t you?”
 

Leslie’s cheek twitched. “Yes.”
 

“Who’s dead?”
 

“Who called you?” he asked.
 

“Tommy Watts. We have what you might call a relationship.”
 

 
I gasped and she turned to me. “At last we meet, Miss Marilyn.”
 

“Are you…” I couldn’t say the word fan out loud. Instinctively, I knew it wasn’t right. The doctor didn’t fit the profile of my fans.
 

“A fan?” she chuckled. “No. I’ve never been a fan of anything.” Her eyes flicked a glance at Leslie, who did a micro flinch. If I hadn’t really been looking, I wouldn’t have seen it.
 

“May I introduce Dr. Watts? Doctor, this is Mercy Watts,” said Leslie.

“Are we related?” I asked.

She smiled as she looked me over. Dr. Watts was in her seventies. She wore no makeup, but her face had the soft pleasing lines of a woman who’d aged into beauty. “Ace never mentioned me then. Stands to reason. I’m the biggest skeleton in that man’s closet.”
 

Ace? That was my grandpa’s call sign from when he was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam.
 

“Do you know my grandpa?” I asked.
 

She made the sneezing noise again. “Only in the biblical sense. Dorothy Watts, your ex-grandmother.”
 

Biblical? Ew.
 

“Did you say…grandmother?”
 

“I’m Ace’s first wife. The one they don’t talk about. You could’ve been my blood had he not dumped me for the luscious Janine.” She leaned in and her eyes roved over my face. “You wouldn’t be a looker, but you would be a doctor.”
 

I think she just insulted me.

“I’m a nurse,” I said.
 

“I know. Take me to your body.”
 

“It’s not my body.”
 

“You think it belongs to Keystone and Cop over there. I don’t think so. Sheriff Greer is up in St. Louis for another two days. His wife is having a hysterectomy and a bladder sling. We’re not bothering the man.”

“We’re supposed to call Springfield,” said Phelong aka Keystone.
 

“Forget it. We’re not passing this off to Springfield like we can’t handle it,” said Dr. Watts.
 

Gerry aka Cop fiddled with his jacket zipper. “We can’t handle it. We don’t have a crime scene unit and you’re retired.”
 

“You’re retired?” I asked.
 

“Technically. I’m the volunteer medical examiner. I like to keep my hand in for fun.”
 

Fun?

“We have to call Springfield,” I said.
 

“Are you questioning my abilities, my own almost granddaughter?”
 

“No, but I don’t have any lift cards on me. Do you?”
 

She jerked a thumb at Gerry and Phelong. “They’ve got the full kit. They just don’t want to use it without Greer. It’s time to put on your big girl panties, boys, and glove up.”
 

The boys didn’t move.
 

Dr. Watts rolled her eyes at me and said, “Gerry, you go get the kit. Phelong, you’re with me. Hop to it.”
 

“But Springfield,” said Gerry.
 

“You want to tell them that we’re incompetent boobs?”
 

“No.” Gerry didn’t sound sure about that.
 

“Go get the kit. We’ll have this wrapped up before Greer gets back.”
 

“But who’s the detective? I ticket illegal campers and Phelong handles speeders. There’s never even been a murder around here.”
 

“Wrong. Hal Jackson. 1993,” said Dr. Watts. “Shotgun blast to the stomach. Solved it in six hours.”
 

“That was like twenty years ago.”
 

“Twenty-two and we handled it. We didn’t call in Springfield. Go get the kit.”
 

 
Gerry reluctantly went back to his cruiser. Phelong watched longingly.
 

“Phelong, go get the guest list from John. Mercy, show me the body.”
 

I led her to the fountain and stopped at Cherie’s feet.
 

“Tell me what you know,” ordered Dr. Watts.
 

“It’s Cherie Marin, mid-forties, manually strangled, the rape is fake,” I said.
 

“Very good. Now, Leslie, go get my bag. It’s in the backseat. I’ve got to get a liver temp ASAP.”