Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (25 page)

“If you can’t pronounce the ingredients, it’s not real bread.”
 

“I want it anyway. Please, Mom.”
 

“You’ll get colitis. Do you want colitis?”

“I’m not going to get colitis.” I had no idea what colitis was and I didn’t care.
 

“Have some seeduction bread?”

And that was the end of that. I never did get Wonder Bread out of Mom. She had no sympathy when it came to food. It was healthy or else. She put that seeduction brick-like loaf in my lunch box until I started making pasta for myself. I had the heaviest lunch box in all of Whitmore Academy. I used to bean people with that stuff when the lunch monitor wasn’t looking. It left a welt. When I started babysitting I used to go to the market and buy Wonder Bread myself. I stashed it in my sock drawer like other kids hide pot. Wonder Bread was the illegal drug of my childhood, but using it for French toast? I didn’t see how it would work. As an adult, I recognized it was gummy and strange. Not great for soaking up egg. Myrtle and Millicent loved French toast. When their cook was away, they made it with challah bread. So eggy and delicious.
 

Nancy plopped a slice of bread in a mixture that wasn’t anything like The Girls’ concoction. For one thing it was clear. For another it was oddly loose. Not like any egg I’d ever seen.
 

I’m so afraid to ask.

“Um… are you using egg whites?”
 

“Egg white substitute. It’s healthier.”
 

Gack.
 

“Oh.” I tried to think of something else to say. I really did, but with substitute anything it was hopeless.
 

Nancy popped that piece of saturated white bread in the oil and a fresh plume of oily smoke rose out of the pan. It was a wonder the fire alarm didn’t go off.
 

I looked around the kitchen and didn’t see any syrup. If Nancy made the syrup I was seriously considering jumping off the balcony. Hospital food would be better and Nancy might just add blueberries that she’d been storing in her purse for six months or use genetically modified corn syrup that had been banned in thirty-three countries.
 

“Can I go buy some syrup?” I asked.
 

“Already got it.” She pointed to a small pot on a back burner.

I was afraid to look under the lid. Anything could be in there.
 

“What kind is it?”
 

“Monadnock Sugarhouse Grade B.”
 

My mouth fell open. That was Millicent and Myrtle’s favorite. It was the Cadillac of syrups. Maybe I was hallucinating.
 

“Did you say Monadnock Sugarhouse Grade B?”
 

Nancy smiled at me. “Aaron said you would like it.”
 

“He’s right, but where did you get it? They’re mail order only.”
 

“Aaron brought a couple of quarts.”
 

I could’ve kissed that little weirdo. If he didn’t smell like crab and hot dogs, that is. Monadnock could make anything palatable. I could eat a dirty gym sock with that stuff. Heaven.
 

“Mercy,” called Pete from the bedroom. “Phone.”
 

I ran in, mentally kicking myself for not taking it with me. If Pete was looking at my caller ID it could be— Pete was sitting on the bed holding my phone. “Who is Cullum Dushane?”
 

“Um.”
 

“Mercy?”
 

“A guy.”
 

Smooth.

“Wasn’t that guy who got stabbed named Dushane?”
 

“I think so,” I said.
 

“So is this one of his relatives?” asked Pete. I could see the pieces coming together in his head. I so didn’t want that to happen.
 

“Could be.” I plucked my phone out of his hand.
 

“Why would they call you?”
 

“I really don’t know.” I trotted out of the bedroom and Pete’s feet hit the floor behind me. Oh, crap! I dashed for the bathroom, the only safe place.
 

“Mercy. I want to talk about this,” said Pete behind me.

I don’t.

I went into the bathroom, but I wasn’t fast enough or alert enough. If I’d been situationally aware, I would’ve heard the clicking of tiny toenails in hot pursuit. I turned to close the door and Wallace squeezed through the gap. Only the tile saved my poor ankles. She slid around on the tile, trying to get purchase on the grout lines. I jumped in the tub a second before she got her paws under her.
 

“Ha, you little vermin!”
 

Bark.
 

“I beat you.”

Bark.
 

“Mercy,” said Pete outside the door. “Who are you talking to?”
 

“Wallace.”
 

Bark. Bark.

“Can I come in?”
 

“I’m pooping.”
 

Did I just say that out loud?

“O…kay.”
 

I guess I did.
 

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I said.
 

“I’ll be here,” said Pete.

“Great.”
 

It was not great. I’d have to lie to Pete, something I didn’t like doing. I preferred omission. Wallace jumped up against the side of the tub, her nails scratching away.
 

“Quiet,” I said. “I’m trying to think.”
 

Bark. Bark.

“Yeah. That helps.” I grabbed a towel and wrapped Wallace in it. Her snout was so flat, I couldn’t clamp it shut and ended up sticking one of my socks between her jaws. She liked it. Must’ve been a good substitute for my ankle.
 

I called Mr. Dushane back while sitting on the toilet and holding a slobbering pug. Not one of my finest moments, if my future stalkers could’ve seen me, they wouldn’t bother.
 

“Hello,” said a tired male voice.

“Mr. Dushane, this is Mercy Watts returning your call,” I said.
 

He paused for a moment and I heard him take a raspy breath. “Yes, Miss Watts. I was returning your call.”

“I’m so sorry about Rory. I met him the night it happened. He was charming and kind. How is he?”
 

“The same. Have you talked to the police?” he asked, sounding more pained by the minute.

“I have several times.”
 

“They don’t know about the deal?”
 

“No. I wouldn’t reveal that. Keegan is in bad shape,” I said.
 

“Yes, he is.” He paused. “Did you get what you need?”
 

“I didn’t, but I’d like to ask you some questions, if I may.”
 

“Questions?”
 

“Did Cecile tell you who I am?”

“Yes. You have quite a reputation. Are you looking into what happened to my son?” he asked. I swear I could hear him straightening up in his chair.
 

“I am. I liked Rory and I hate what happened. If I can help, I will. Are you at the hospital? We should talk in person.”
 

“I’m driving to Copper right now. I have to check out the damage to the condo. They say it was arson. Did you know that?” he asked.
 

“Detective Carey told me. When would you like to meet?” I asked.
 

“How about an hour? The condo won’t take long.”

“The Belgian Bean.”
 

“Perfect.”
 

I hung up. Wallace had soaked through my sock and drool was soaking into my pajama bottom. Cats never drool. This is why among other reasons that I am a cat person.
 

“Well, Wallace, I think we’re going on another walk.”
 

She dropped the sock with a wet splat.
 

Bark.
 

“Mercy?” asked Pete. “Are you okay in there?”
 

I flushed the toilet and opened the door. Pete stood there holding a mug of steaming coffee and affecting a looking of intense suspicion that I hadn’t seen since I went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras during nursing school. Dad had dropped by my dorm the morning I returned and couldn’t quite figure out why I smelled like beer and jambalaya. He never did find out. My idea of using cash for everything, even the hotel, worked. Uncle Morty wasn’t able to track us. It was my one triumph and I savored it. I figured it would be safe to tell the parents what we did when I was about forty-five.

“What?” I asked, innocently.

“You took your phone in the bathroom.”
 

“I do that.”
 

“Since when?

Drawing a blank.
 

Kera came up behind Pete. “I take my phone everywhere.”
 

“See. People do that. It’s not weird,” I said.
 

“I’m not saying it’s weird for everyone, but it’s weird for you,” said Pete.
 

Sometimes you have to sprinkle a little truth with your lies. “I called Mr. Dushane back.”
 

“In the bathroom, while you were pooping.”
 

I take that back. Truth is bad.
 

“Beforehand,” I said.
 

Kera began wringing her hands. It seemed like such an old lady thing to do, but I guess it’s universal no matter the age. “How’s Rory?”

“No change, I’m afraid.”

“That’s bad, isn’t it?”
 

It ain’t good.
 

“Not necessarily. I don’t know the specifics of Rory’s case.”

“What did Mr. Dushane want to talk to you about?” asked Pete, still intensely suspicious.
 

“The cops told him I met Rory the night it happened. He wanted to know how Rory was, how he acted, that kind of thing.”
 

“But you barely talked to him.”
 

“His son is in a coma. He needs to hear about him. He’ll take anything. It’s not unusual,” I said.
 

Kera nodded. “He asked me so many questions. He wanted to know everything. What he ate, when we had dinner, and was he happy. Stuff like that.”
 

Thank you, Kera.

“Oh,” said Pete, “I guess that’s what people do.”
 

“People do all kinds of things from screaming to going catatonic. There’s no predicting pain.”
 

“I thought you were a doctor,” said Kera.
 

“My patients aren’t typically victims of crime,” said Pete.

“Just nature,” I said.

Nancy waved her spatula at me over Pete’s shoulder. “Breakfast is ready.”
 

We sat down and ate the rubberiest French toast of my life. The excellent syrup made it possible to get down, but not exactly texturally pleasant. Afterward, I suggested Pete do the dishes while Nancy relaxed and I walked Wallace. I didn’t wait for an answer. I stood on the bed to escape Wallace’s snapping jaws, and threw on some jeans and a sweater. I jumped into my pee boots before she got me and nabbed the leash on the way out of the door.
 

“Wait,” said Nancy. “It’s too cold for my little girl.”
 

She pried Wallace’s jaws off my boot. She didn’t seem to think that was odd at all. Then put a thick red turtleneck on Wallace’s squat body and set her on the floor. Wallace ran headlong into the front door, leaving a nose print on the wood. Then she went batshit crazy, yapping at the door instead of me. It was a nice change but still weird.
 

“Just let her go, Nancy,” said Calvin, digging into another piece of French toast.
 

“Her little paws will freeze.” Nancy got a set of tiny red booties out of her purse and Wallace went extra nuts.
 

Calvin rolled his eyes at me and went back to his square of rubber. Nancy was down on her knees wrestling with a snarling Wallace. “Can you help me?”
 

I wanted to say no, since I knew it would involve biting, but since I was using Wallace to get out of the condo, I had to. It took ten minutes, three bites, a piece of turkey jerky to get those ridiculous boots on.
 

Nancy was the only one happy at the end of the operation. Although Wallace didn’t break the skin. I now had some nice teeth marks decorating my hands.
 

“Isn’t that cute?” Nancy clasped her hands. “You match.”
 

Holy crap we did. I never imagined I’d be wearing matching clothes with a dog until I was ninety. I guess I’m just a fast burner as Dad would say. Pete smirked at me from the dishwasher and Kera looked plainly horrified.
 

“We’re adorable,” I said, grabbing my coat.

Wallace squatted on my pee-free boot. “Ah! Gotta go!”

I scooped her up and ran out the door. “Don’t pee. Don’t pee.”
 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal none other than Uncle Morty and Aaron. Uncle Morty narrowed his eyes at me. Did I just exude guilt or what?
 

“Where’re you going?” he asked.
 

“Get out. Dog’s gonna pee!” I yelled in a panic.
 

That got him moving. Uncle Morty doesn’t do pee or poop for that matter. When I was a baby, he used to babysit me every once in a while. Mom didn’t find out until years later that he paid Mrs. Pereyra, his neighbor, to come over and change my diapers.
 

We exchanged places and I punched the button for the ground floor. The doors started to close and Aaron asked, “What’s that smell?”
 

“Egg white substitute,” I said.
 

My last image of Aaron was a look of horror. If I really wanted to freak him out, I’d tell him about the slimy turkey that came out of her luggage. I set Wallace down and clipped on her leash. I stood as far from her as possible without letting go.
 

“You know what? You’re almost getting useful,” I said to the dog eyeing my clean boot.