In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (11 page)

“Huge opportunity,” said Nicole. “The winner is always picked up by the majors. Always.”
 

I glanced at Quinn. He couldn’t have been less interested in baseball or his prospects.
 

“You look different,” he said to me.
 

“She lost weight,” said Nicole with an approving smile.
 

“Why?” Quinn asked.
 

I don’t know.
 

“I went on a diet,” I said.
 

“Why?”
 

“Quinn,” said Nicole. “She just did.”

Everyone’s eyes were on me, searching up and down my form, looking for the differences. I wanted to melt into the ground and disappear.

Leslie took my elbow. “A chill wind is blowing in. I have hot drinks waiting inside. Shall we go in?”
 

I smiled at him and he turned me toward the door. I went toward it with Pick, but nobody followed. When I glanced back, the baseball parents were glaring at the Escalades rolling up. Only Quinn was starting after me. His mother snagged his arm and shook her head. His broad shoulders slumped and I winked at him, just to bother her. I could tell she thought there was a possibility that I wanted Quinn to follow me. Like I’d go after a senior in high school. Gross.
 

Leslie grabbed the long iron door handle and put everything he had into opening the door that Morty had whipped open. I raised an eyebrow at Leslie and he said, “Sometimes it sticks.” At the word ‘sticks’ the door jerked closed and nearly yanked him off his feet. He then used two hands and heaved the door open. It gave out a screeching nails-on-the-chalkboard sound and we both winced.

“There we go,” said Leslie.
 

I frowned at him and crossed my arms. “I’ve never seen a door stick like that before.”
 

“There are a lot of unique aspects to Cairngorms Castle.”
 

“So I’ve heard,” I said.
 

Leslie waved me in. “Reception is to the left. John is waiting for you.”
 

“Thank you.”
 

“Anytime.” He meant it. I was almost sure or maybe he was just charming me like he did everyone else.

I walked out of the cool morning air into the surprisingly warm interior of the great hall. The ceiling mimicked the cathedral ceilings I’d seen in Europe, only done in dark wood instead of stone. Lots of graceful arches and interlocking beams. The stone floor was dotted with dark red Turkish carpets and the walls were covered in enormous tapestries and paintings of 17
th
century gentry.
 

To the right was an ornate staircase zigzagging up the multiple floors in carved splendor. I went left through an archway into reception. That room wasn’t on Dad’s tour and it should’ve been. It was a library, two stories high, floor to ceiling books and golden oak paneling.
 

I bounced over a super thick rug to the desk, a chest-high counter that matched the woodwork. A man stood behind it, wearing a dark blue suit and zero expression. John was bland as Leslie was stunning. His dark hair was parted on the left and smoothed back from his average face. If I had to describe him to someone, I don’t know what I would say. He wasn’t anything in particular, but something felt off about him. Before John saw me he shot a glance into the air and waved something away. I didn’t see anything.
 

“Welcome, Miss Watts,” John said in a flat voice.
 

“What was that?” I asked.
 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 

I put my elbows on the desk. “You waved something away.”
 

“Miss Watts, you must be seeing things,” he said.
 

“I’m not the one seeing things.”
 

“Of course. The guest is always right.” John pulled out a ledger and I leaned in to take a closer look. He snuck a peek at me, raising an oddly slim eyebrow, looking for something, probably surgical scars or expert makeup, which wasn't there, I have to say. I have my mother's face and all that comes with it. I grimaced and obligingly tilted my head to the side so he could check out my jawline. My skin was smooth and unblemished, but I could tell from his expression that he was not buying it. John himself probably had some work done. His nose was too small to be believed. You only get that from a scalpel. I'd never seen a man so indistinct. He had absolutely no defining features. His face sort of disappeared. If I closed my eyes I couldn't remember what he looked like. He was young. He was old. He was handsome. He was plain. He was John and it was creepy weird.
 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing.”
 

“Clearly that is untrue.”
 

“Just wondering where I’ve seen you before,” I said.
 

“Nowhere. You've never seen me,” said John with total confidence and I was sure he was right, but only because I'd never remember him if I had.
 

“You seem pretty sure about that.”
 

He smiled and even that was bland. “I would remember you.”
 

“I suppose so.”
 

“That doesn't please you?”
 

“Not hardly.”
 

We looked at each other for a second and I got the strangest feeling. Deja vu. Had this happened before? Had I stood across from John at some other time and had this conversation? Something flickered on his smooth features, a reaction but one that was tightly controlled. He saw that I saw it and quickly spun the ledger around on the desk.
 

“Sign here.”

“I guess there’s no point in asking you who you really are.”
 

“I’m John.”
 

“And…”

“I’m John.”
 

“Right.”
 

John leafed through his brand new but made to look old ledger. The Castle was old school. No computers in sight. I didn't even see a phone. A neat stack of brochures sat on the edge of the desk, printed on expensive vellum. I opened the thick trifold. Inside contained what I feared. There were no TVs, phones, or movies at the Castle. What there was was relaxation, happiness, comfort, and excellent conversation or so they promised. Who this excellent conversation was going to be with wasn't so clear. I knew me. It wasn't coming from me.
 

“There you are,” he said, checking something in the ledger.

“Has the rest of my group checked in?” I asked.
 

“Yes. They’ve gone up to their rooms.”
 

“Including Morton Van Der Hoof?”
 

“Mr. Van Der Hoof has gone to his tower.”
 

“Like Quasimodo.” I smiled, breaking out the charm that melted the pants off a few men.
 

It didn’t melt John’s anything. If I hadn’t been standing right in front of him, I would’ve thought he didn’t see me and men always see me, for better or worse.
 

“Yes,” he said.
 

“Um…okay. Where’s my room?” I asked.
 

“We’ve put you in the South tower.”
 

I was in a tower, too? It was okay for Uncle Quasimodo, but who was I? Mary, Queen of Scots? Off with her head. After the last couple of months I’d had, a tower sounded appropriate but less than inviting, a little too Rapunzel.
 

Oh, I get it. Lock Mercy in the tower. No doubt this was Dad's idea. He was full of ideas, full of ideas for me, that is.

“Let me guess. My tower room is on the top floor, isolated, small, has few windows, high and non-accessible.”

John’s face contained zero interest, but he asked, “How did you know that?”

“Because I know my father. I'm not on vacation. I'm a having a small stint in jail.”

“I don't understand what you mean.”

He totally understood what I meant. I could tell. I could smell it through the indifference.

“The Castle is the ultimate destination,” said John. “We have everything you could possibly need or desire.”

Twelve heads of lettuce? Chuck. A memory-deleting thingy?

“Except for TVs, phones, or escape routes,” I said.
 

He plucked the brochure out of my hand, neatly folded it, and placed it back in the holder. “Why would you ever need any of that?”

“I can think of a million reasons why I need it,” I said.

“After 20 minutes here you won't want any of those things, least of all a TV. This weekend has been specially designed by your mother to make it perfectly comfortable in every perfect way.”

“Comfort is a matter of opinion.”
 

“Not here.” John stared at me and he looked like he wanted to have an expression, but was holding it back. He leaned down and rummaged behind the desk and came up with a silver key attached to a large crystal dangling from a gold chain. The key was elegant, but big and bulky, not made to fit into a pocket.

“Shall I show you to your room?” asked John.

“I think I'll find my own way.” I dropped the key in my purse. It was instantly five pounds heavier.
 

“I think you won't,” said John. “The Castle is bigger than you think.”

That was saying something since it looked huge.

“I’ll chance it.”

John gave me a keycard and explained that it would swipe me in and out of my room.

“A key and a keycard?” I asked.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Alrighty.”

 
He took a castle business card from under the desk and wrote something on it. “This is your personal code.”
 

“Oh for crying out loud.” I threw up my hands as the Steel Vipers crew came in, oohing and aahing over the interior.
 

“This beats the Motel Six,” said Bill.
 

“This beats the Hyatt,” said Nicole, extending her fingers and admiring her nail art.
 

Cory waved to John. “We’re the Vipers, checking in for the camp. We sent the rest of our boys out to the carriage house.”
 

“Very good,” said John. Then he refocused on me. “All doors lock automatically at midnight for security. Your code will get you in and out of the building, if necessary. Memorize the code and flush the card when you get in your room.”
 

“Seriously?”
 

“Yes. And keep your keycard on your person at all times. We chipped it,” said John.
 

“Like a credit card?” I asked.
 

“Like a tracking system. Your father wants you surveilled.”
 

I paled and got queasy. “You’re going to have cameras on me.”
 

“No cameras, except at the fence line, gates, and certain areas. We give our guests their privacy.”
 

“Except for me.” I glared, but he didn’t react.
 

“You’re a special case.” He gave me my card and did an impression of smiling. He hadn’t mastered the expression yet. It was more like queasy.

Cory joined me at the desk and winked. “I’ll say she’s special.”
 

Nicole gave me the stink eye from the wingback chair she’d plopped down in.
 

Calm down, woman. It’s a reflex. He doesn’t mean it. I can tell.
 

I scooted away and looked at my card. Oh dear lord. Memorize that? Good luck, Mercy. This was no simple four-digit debit card code. My security code had letters, upper and lower case, numbers and flipping punctuation marks. Groan.
 

So I would not be leaving the building after midnight. No problem. Where would I go? I stuffed the card in my pocket as laughter erupted outside. Nicole sneered and I went to the bank of windows inset into the thick bookshelves. Through the leaded glass, I spied the Escalades unloading. Smiling people in white baseball jerseys with gold piping got out. The shirts proclaimed them to be the MVP Grizzlies and they looked like MVPs, every one of them. I recognized the look, self-confidence mixed with entitlement. It came from success. I grew up with that look in the form of a charming redhead. The world told them they were special and they believed it. The rules didn’t apply to the Grizzlies and they’d be surprised if anyone thought they should.
 

Nicole came up beside me. “Look at them. They think they have it all sewn up.”
 

A blond boy with messy hair got out with a smaller boy with brown hair and flashing dark eyes.
 

“Enrique?” I asked.
 

Nicole grumbled. “Yes.”
 

The blond said something to Enrique and both boys started looking around. Enrique shrugged and the blond walked off looking for something.