In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (24 page)

She emphasized the ‘my’
quite strongly and Flincher’s faded green eyes settled on me. Now I know what a mouse feels like when the cat spots him.
 

“Yours,” he said.
 

“Mine,” said Dr. Watts, watching him with intensity.
 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”
 

“Do.” She waved at Phelong and Gerry. “Come on, you two.”
 

They stepped back again. “Why? What? What? Why?” they asked, rapid fire.
 

“She has to go in the bag. It’s not a one-person job.”
 

“Oh, no. Not me,” said Gerry.
 

“What about…him?” asked Phelong with a head bob at Flincher.
 

“I’m too old to be moving bodies,” said Flincher.
 

No kidding. You look like you’re made of tinder.
 

“And my assistant has the day off.”
 

Dr. Watts tossed gloves at Phelong and Gerry. They bounced off their chests and fell on the gravel.
 

“I can’t,” said Phelong. “I have a condition.”
 

“Cowardice?” asked Leslie.
 

“Yeah, sure. I’m not touching her. I’m not doing it.”
 

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll do it, you wussies.”
 

Dr. Watts gave me clean gloves and Leslie took some, too. He didn’t hesitate to pick up Cherie by the shoulders, despite the fact that she wasn’t completely in rigor and her head lolled a bit. It was unpleasant for me and I’d seen plenty of bodies. Curious that it didn’t bother a spa owner one bit.
 

I took one of Cherie’s feet and Dr. Watts the other one. We got Cherie in the bag and zipped it up quickly. The three of us lifted her onto the gurney and ratcheted it up to waist height.
 

While we were doing that, the smell got considerably stronger and my nose got runny. Something brushed against my back and Dr. Watts yelled, “Flincher!”
 

I bumped into the gurney and spun around. Flincher was up on me, six inches away. He looked even worse close up, and the smell was unbearable. Gag.
 

Dr. Watts dragged me away and pushed me behind her. “It’s time you get going, Flincher.”
 

“Yes. I’ll be seeing you later, Miss…”

“Watts,” I said.
 

“Ah yes, so she said.” He turned to Phelong and Gerry. “Who will be pushing?”
 

Neither moved. No surprise there.
 

“I’ll do it.” Leslie cracked his knuckles and stretched, revealing a taut belly with a greying treasure trail. He caught me looking, winked, and pushed the gurney out of the love garden in front of Flincher as it began to drizzle.
 

Phelong sniffed his uniform sleeve. “Is that going to come out?”
 

“I use OxiClean,” said Dr. Watts. “Go help Leslie.”
 

Phelong and Gerry reluctantly followed, their feet kicking up the gravel.
 

“Was that really possum?” I asked.
 

She waited until the cops were out of earshot and then said, “Partially.”

“It smelled like decomp. What is he? I’ve met plenty of weirdos but he’s beyond weird.”
 

“Take a guess.”
 

“Some sort of predator. Has he killed anyone?” I asked.
 

“They couldn’t prove it in court,” said Dr. Watts.
 

“Who was it?”
 

“His parents. Murder-suicide. But nobody really believed that theory.”
 

Leslie had the gurney at the back of the hearse about to put Cherie in and I had a wave of guilt for subjecting that woman to Flincher.
 

“He won’t do anything to her,” Dr. Watts said quickly. “I’ll make sure.”
 

“Otherwise…”
 

She shrugged. “Nobody knows for sure what he’s up to.”
 

“How old was he when the parents died?” I asked.
 

“Seventeen.”
 

“Before you’re time here then.”
 

“Right, but he’s only fifty-eight,” she said.
 

“Holy crap. That’s fifty-eight? What happened to him?”
 

“I don’t know, but there are some theories floating around.”

“Like what? He was cursed?”
 

“That’s one.” She smiled at me and packed up her equipment.
 

I gathered up the cops’ kit and asked, “How does he stay in business?”
 

“He’s very cheap and the only mortician for fifty miles.”
 

“Still.”
 

“People around here are just getting by, and nothing’s been proven.”
 

“They said that about Robert Durst.”
 

“Yes, they did.” She gave me her phone. “Put yourself in. I’ll call you when I finish the autopsy.”
 

I put myself in Dr. Watts’ phone as ‘Mercy the ex-granddaughter’ and dropped it in her lab coat pocket. Leslie, Phelong, and Gerry came back and she ordered the cops to document the rock garden and tape everything off before searching the fence line. Tiny took charge like he knew what he was doing and I slipped away as Dr. Watts went down her long to do list.

The kitchen door closed behind me and I leaned back against it, heaving a big sigh. Aaron was bustling around the La Cornue stove, tossing herbs in the different pots and somehow directing the staff without saying more than three words together. It smelled like Thanksgiving, complete with pumpkin pie. That weirdo was an evil genius. I loved Thanksgiving food best of all. Stuffing! How could I not eat stuffing? Easy. I didn’t deserve stuffing. There. Problem solved.

One of the cooks made me a latte without my asking and I thanked him before taking a heavenly sip and thinking over what to do next.

Aaron gave a few more minimalist orders and came over to stand silently in front of me.
 

“What?” I asked after scraping the last of the foam out of my mug.
 

“I’m ready,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
 

“So now you’re helping me instead of force-feeding me.”
 

“Huh?”
 

I gave him my mug. “Let’s find John and get the security data from last night. Maybe we’ll get lucky and our killer keyed himself out at 1:50 and when confronted will confess in a river of tears,” I said.
 

“Ya think?”
 

“No, but I always hope.” I tapped one of the cooks on the shoulder and asked where John’s office was. He gave me a set of directions I had no hope of following. To be fair, he lost me after the second right at the first set of armor and I stopped listening. Aaron appeared to be following it just fine or at least he was facing the general direction of the cook while he talked so I texted Chuck. “Scary mortician. He likes me in a bad way. Don’t you want to come back?”
 

I waited and got the usual silence. Maybe I should get Flincher to attack me. That might spur Chuck into action. I pondered it for a moment. I was pretty sure I could take Flincher in a fair fight or even an unfair one, but him touching me was totally out. I’d have to come up with something else. Non-gross peril. Chuck was a detective. He couldn’t resist a good mystery, plus the camera loved him. I tried again. “Big case. Possible serial killer mortician. Woman strangled at exclusive castle. Competitive baseball. Very newsworthy.”
 

Nothing.
 

The cook finished and Aaron faced me, waiting without a word. It would’ve been unnerving if I hadn’t been so used to it.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

“Uh huh.”
 

Aaron led the way out and we went through a maze of corridors. We turned at some suits of armor and not others. How could he tell the difference? I had no idea. Eventually, we passed the great hall and ran smack into Robin and Deanna from the Grizzlies. A wave of flowery perfume washed over us and instantly took me back to high school, a place where certain girls wore so much perfume that it cleared a path through the halls for them. That wasn’t me. Remembering deodorant during freshman year was a challenge, a fact that Miss Perkins, the gym teacher, felt compelled to point out. Daily.
 

“Miss Watts!” Robin grabbed my arm before we could race away. “I heard you’re a detective.”
 

“Er…not exactly,” I said, trying to loosen her grip. Robin was wearing Miss Perkins’ favorite fuchsia lipstick and, you guessed it, I forgot deodorant and I might’ve had vomit in my hair.

“Don’t you want to interview us?” asked Deanna, wrinkling her nose and breathing in my face. Lots of mouthwash, but it didn’t quite cover the sour alcohol smell.

I sighed and gave in. “You heard what happened then.”
 

The women got solemn. It wasn’t grief for Cherie certainly, but something else.
 

“Yes. Coach Jakes told us. How did they get in?” asked Robin, fiddling with her big diamond earrings. Did she sleep in those things?

“Do you think the murderer’s still here?” asked Deanna.
 

Ah. They think they’re in danger.

“They?” I asked.
 

“Whoever did it.”
 

“Of course. I’ll be interviewing everyone as soon as I talk to John.” I went to pass them, but Robin let go of my arm and stepped in front of me.
 

“I know the time of death,” she said.
 

2:02 or thereabouts.
 

She clasped her hands over her chest and quivered with excitement. “3:15 am.”
 

“What?” I spat out.
 

“But that’s not—” Aaron grunted when I elbowed him.
 

“I heard it happen,” said Robin. “Of course I didn’t know Cherie was being murdered, but I heard it. I would’ve helped her if I’d known. I hope you believe me.”
 

The jury’s still out on that one.
 

“Of course. What did you hear?” I asked.
 

“The shot. I heard a gunshot at 3:15. I just thought someone was hunting. Something’s probably in season out here.”
 

Who hunts in the middle of the night?

“You heard a gunshot?” I asked. “You’re certain.”
 

“I’m certain.”
 

“Why were you awake?”
 

Robin checked her phone for messages while saying, “I don’t know. I don’t usually wake up in the middle of the night, but I was awake. Oh. Maybe there was more than one gunshot. Our window was open. It was so stuffy last night. Maybe the first shot woke me up. I looked at the clock. Then there was a second shot.” She pumped her fist. “Yes. That’s it.”
 

“You are so
CSI
,” said Deanna with a discreet burp.
 

“Miami or Las Vegas cast?”
 

“Miami, of course.”
 

“Thanks.”
 

I waved at them. “Hello. Ladies.”
 

“Do you need something else?” asked Robin.
 

“Where were you at 2:02 am?”
 

“Asleep,” they both said and Deanna gave Robin a questioning glance.
 

“What about your husband?” I asked Robin.
 

“Him, too.”
 

Deanna put her hands on her hips. “Come on. Just tell her. She’s going to find out anyway.”
 

“Well…” I said.
 

Robin wrapped her arms around her slim waist. “You won’t tell anyone what I say, will you?”
 

“I doubt it’s as much of a secret as you think. Tim has a drinking problem?”
 

“No. Absolutely not. He’s just been stressed lately and sometimes he has one too many.”
 

I counted five too many last night.
 

“So you weren’t sleeping,” I said.
 

“No, I was, but Tim got sick. He vomited for a couple of hours,” said Robin. “I’d just gotten to sleep when the gunshot woke me. It was a rough night.”

The door to the office opened and John watched us silently.
 

“How well did you know Cherie?” I asked them.
 

“Not at all really,” said Deanna. “Our boys aren’t in the same school division. We’re Class 5 and her son’s Class 3.”