Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (11 page)

“I don’t work for either of them. Things just happen. Ever heard of being in the right place at the right time?”
 

“Is this the right place?”
 

“For skiing. Who’s your victim? I’m happy to help, but you have to tell me who we’re talking about,” I said.
 

“Rory Dushane.”
 

I gasped. I couldn’t help it. Dad would be ashamed of my lack of control.
 

“So you do know him,” said Carey, smiling.
 

“Barely.”
 

Think of something. Lie. Lie. Lie.

“How do you know him?”
 

Pete stepped forward. “A lot of guys know Mercy because of that website. It’s not her fault.”

Thank you.

“I’m sure,” said Carey. “How do you know Rory Dushane?”
 

“I met him last night. Briefly.”
 

“Who is this guy?” asked Pete.

Carey touched a couple of buttons on his phone and held out a picture that I recognized from the Open Mind Medicinals site.
 

“I remember him,” said Pete. “He was at Aprés last night.”
 

“You met?” asked Carey.
 

I could see his mind working. Guy hits on girl. Boyfriend kills him. Whatever. Try again.
 

“No,” said Pete. “I saw him in the bar. That hair stands out.”
 

Carey wasn’t put off. “Did you know he was hitting on your girlfriend?”
 

“He wasn’t hitting on me,” I said. “I ran into him when I left the bar. He’s a fan.”
 

That’s right, a fan. That works.

“A fan of what?”
 

“Me. The whole Marilyn thing. What happened to him?”
 

“Let’s go down to the station. We’ll talk there,” said Carey, reaching for my arm.
 

I stepped back. “Let’s not. I barely knew Rory Dushane and I had nothing to do with whatever happened to him. If you want to talk to me, we can do it right here.”
 

Carey gritted his teeth. I guess he wasn’t used to hearing no. I think most people just go along with the cops. Authority figures and all that. Being Tommy Watts’s daughter gave me a different perspective and I wasn’t going anywhere unless arrested. Authority didn’t mean much to me.
 

“When did you last see him?” asked Carey.

“I didn’t check the time, but it was just dark. Probably around six, and no, I never saw him again after that.”
 

“She was with me all night,” said Pete.
 

“Did you lock her in?” asked Carey, getting more frustrated. We were such good suspects. Damnit.
 

Calvin laughed. “If you’re suggesting that Mercy could sneak out without us knowing, you’re dead wrong. The pug goes crazy every time the door opens. We would’ve known.”
 

That Detective Carey bought, since he had fresh bite marks on his ankle. He thanked me with a hint of graciousness. I was happy to hear it. I like cops as a general rule. I just wasn’t going to be pushed around.
 

They left and we went inside. Pete and his parents formed a half circle. They looked like my parents when they knew I’d done something wrong, but couldn’t quite put their finger on what it was.
 

I put my hands up. “I don’t know anything about an attempted murder and I’ll be right back.” I ran out the door and caught up to the cops at the elevator. I held the door.
 

“I know. I know,” said Carey. “You’re not going with us.”
 

“Look,” I said,” I wasn’t completely honest back there.”
 

“Really? That’s refreshing.”
 

I needed information and decided to go with one of Dad’s techniques, honesty. Nothing sucks people in like honesty.
 

“I’m a little more involved in my dad’s business than I let on.”
 

“How involved?”
 

“I’m what you call free labor. Dad finagles me into doing things that he’d rather not pay for, which is how that website happened. I was collecting a debt for services rendered.”
 

They all three smiled. Everybody understands pushy parents.
 

“Do you have information for us?” asked Sullivan.
 

“Rory’s a nice guy, but he did hit on me.”
 

They nodded sagely.
 

“I declined and he said he was going to find a girl to hook up with. I didn’t see him again.”
 

“Thank you,” said Carey. “We’ll check it out.”
 

“Can you tell me what happened? I am my father’s daughter. Curiosity’s part of the package.”
 

“He was stabbed in the neck with a ski pole.”
 

“And he’s alive?”

“Barely. He’s in a coma. EMTs think that the cold may have slowed the bleeding.”
 

“So he was outside at the lift? What time did it happen?” I asked.
 

“Because of the cold we haven’t pinned anything down.” Carey gave me his card. “You look like you know your way—”
 

“Nope,” I cut him off. “I’m not an agent of the police. Just a nosy girl that happens to hear things.” I let go of the door and caught a glimpse of a smile crossing Carey’s lips as they closed. Little did he know I was more than nosy. I was on a mission.
 

I stood with my hand on the doorknob.

“It’s not Mercy’s fault.” Pete’s voice came through.
 

“That’s exactly right,” said Nancy. “It’s yours. You brought her here.”

A door slammed and I turned the knob, quietly as possible, but Wallace heard and hurled herself at me. I scooped her up and tucked her yapping body under my arm. Pete and Calvin stood in the living room, facing each other but looking at me. Me, the tart with the leopard bra who gets questioned by the police on a regular basis and apparently has ties to organized crime. So much for being liked.
 

“Sorry,” I said.

“I’m confused,” said Calvin. “Why is there a website?”
 

“Because she looks like Marilyn Monroe, Dad.”
 

“So what. The woman’s been dead for fifty years.”
 

“There are active fan clubs. People are obsessed with Marilyn.”

Calvin looked at me bewildered. “But Mercy’s not Marilyn.”
 

“Dad, you’re just not like other people.”
 

“I don’t have to be like other people to know this is weird. And who are the Fibonaccis?”

He doesn’t know. Hooray!

“A Mafia family,” said Pete.

Damnit!

“Why did that detective think that Mercy’s connected to them?”
 

“He shouldn’t. She’s not.”
 

Well…

“Mercy, have you met these Mafia people?” asked Calvin.

Nancy’s bedroom door banged open and she stalked into the living room. She was dressed out for skiing, complete with a knitted neck warmer that matched Wallace’s hoodie. “Don’t say anything, Mercy. You don’t have to.”

“But—”
 

“But nothing. Mercy has nothing to do with those people or this murder thing. We’re going skiing. That’s what we’re here for.” She stomped over, took Wallace, and pointed to my bedroom. “Get your jacket. The lifts are running.”
 

Pete started for me and Nancy’s finger swung from my direction to his. “Not you. You stay here and think about what you’ve done.”
 

What just happened?
 

I obediently got my jacket on and the rest of my gear, and we left Pete there, holding a snarling pug and scowling at a hockey game. This vacation was getting weirder all the time. I didn’t have the oil. Yet. Rory was in a coma. And weirdest of all, Pete’s parents liked me and not him.
 

We went down to our ski lockers and booted up. Nancy was attached to my side the whole time. She patted me and said, “We won’t say another word about it.”
 

Fine with me, but how was I going to get Keegan’s oil with Nancy as my shadow? We carried our skis out into swirling snow. I edged to the right toward the American Flyer lift aka the crime scene. Maybe I could get a look.
 

“We don’t want the Flyer. Look at all the police. That’s where it happened,” said Nancy.
 

“The lift is running,” I said. “I need to start on greens. It’s been a while since I skied.”

“Are you sure?”
 

“Absolutely.” My mind flitted through what I remembered about Copper’s runs. I could
accidentally
make a wrong turn, get down to the crime scene before Nancy and Calvin, and chat up the crime scene techs. Where was Rory staying? He didn’t have the oil on him when we met. It must be there. The cops would search the room, but so what, the oil wasn’t illegal in Colorado. They’d have no reason to bag it. I just had to find out where Rory was staying. Copper was small, but still too big to go building by building figuring it out.
 

We clomped past the ski racks and up onto the path to the lift, and dropped our skis. While Calvin and Nancy clipped in, I texted 911 to Spidermonkey. He got back immediately and I sent him Rory’s name and told him I needed him to find where he was staying asap. He informed me that rush jobs were extra. Fantastic. As if I wasn’t working double shifts to pay him already. I agreed and asked him to dig into Rory’s history. Spidermonkey didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. He’d know more about the stabbing and Rory’s condition than I did in about two minutes.
 

“Are you ready?” asked Nancy over her shoulder.
 

I clipped in and said yes. The American Flyer was the right choice in lifts that morning. There was a tiny line and the other lift, the American Eagle, was flooded. I guess people were squeamish about the police presence and the crime scene tent set up next to the lift building with its reams of Police Line tape cordoning off the area. I couldn’t wait to get over there. Rory had been attacked in such an unlikely place. It was freezing last night. What would cause him to go there in the first place?

We slid down one of the lines behind a four pack of snowboarders, who were talking about the murder. I got all tingly when they said murder. Hopefully, they didn’t know something I didn’t and Rory hadn’t died since I talked to the cops. The lift guy greeted the snowboarders with a sunny hello and scanned their tickets. The lift’s alarm buzzer went off and the lift halted silently. The snowboarders turned right and I got a load of the hold-up. Some newbies had trouble getting on. That wasn’t unusual, but these guys were. They’d fallen in a dogpile, all arms and legs going every which way. It was a brisk twelve degrees and they were wearing jeans. Nobody wears jeans to ski. The poor lift guys had to drag them off to the side because they were tangled up and clearly not getting up under their own power. One of the lift guys took a pole to the face before they got them off to the side.
 

Nancy leaned over to me. “That’s the worst I’ve ever seen.”
 

“Total disaster,” said Calvin.
 

“Can you imagine what they’ll be like getting off?” I shook my head. Poor bastards. Lifts weren’t for everybody. Clearly.
 

The lift started up again and we rounded the turn. The dogpile group edged back to get in line again. The lift guys were casting looks of horror at each other. It wasn’t their day. One said, “Let’s split them up.”
 

Not with us. Not with us.

He turned to us. “How good are you?”
 

The three of us shook our heads.
 

“Terrible,” said Calvin.

“I need lessons,” said Nancy.
 

Then I spoke. Oh, how I wish I hadn’t. “You don’t want me. I’m a disaster in the making.”
 

The largest of the dogpile guys turned. “Mercy?”
 

Oh my god. Noooo! It’s not possible!

“Look, guys. It’s Mercy.”
 

Ah crap!

“Do you know them?” asked Nancy.

How do I say no when the answer is clearly yes.
 

“Hell yeah, she knows us,” said my uncle Morty, the only morbidly obese skier to ever be seen at Copper.
 

“Hey,” said Rodney, Uncle Morty’s Dungeons and Dragons buddy and part owner in Kronos, our neighborhood burger joint. “Mercy’ll take us. She’s skied all over the world.”

“She’s my partner,” said Aaron and he pulled a Ding Dong out of his pocket.
 

“What did he say?” asked Nancy.
 

Everyone looked at me.
Groan.
I couldn’t say Aaron wasn’t my partner, but I so wanted to. He stood there stuffing an entire snackcake in his mouth and looking completely out of place. To be honest, Aaron always looked out of place, out of decade actually, in his stone-washed jeans and Cosby sweater, not to mention the wraparound Oakley sunglasses instead of goggles like normal people have.