In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (26 page)

“No,” I said. “Why would I be?”
 

“You’ll be too busy for your sea salt scrub today. I’d make myself scarce.”
 

“Oh really. Why?”
 

“Your cousins are awake and have just ordered breakfast.”
 

“Right.”
 

I went to leave, but John’s hand darted out and grabbed my wrist. “Miss Watts, I want this done quickly.”
 

“I get it.”
 

He tugged me down closer to him so that we were nose to nose. “Do you?”
 

“I get that you didn’t move to nowhere Missouri because you wanted to be noticed.”
 

“Excellent deduction. If cameras show up outside our gate, we will be…displeased.” John let go, but my heart was pounding. There was a threat in there somewhere. He didn’t just want privacy. It was more than that. Much more.

Aaron led me back to the copper pot kitchen where we found Lane still in the staff dining room cuddled up with Pick and on the phone, crying.
 

Anthony sat at the table with his arms around Taylor, who was practically howling with grief. I didn’t know a boy could sound like that. His friend, James, sat on the fireplace surround, pale and shaking.
 

I hesitated before I went through the door. It was so personal. So raw. I didn’t know how to intrude to ask my questions.
 

Anthony looked up, his teeth bared in a grimace of pain. It was so visceral I had to remind myself that he was a suspect. He’d fought with Cherie at the gas station. “Yes,” he managed to force out.
 

“I’m so sorry. I have to ask you a few questions,” I said, regretting every word.
 

“You?”
 

“Leslie and John have asked me to investigate on their behalf.”

“The cops were here.”
 

“Yes. They’re out gathering evidence now,” I said. “I’m trying to get a picture of where everyone was at 2:02 this morning.”
 

Taylor’s howling came to a slow shuddering end and he looked at me with streaming eyes. “Where’s my mom?”
 

Flincher appeared in my mind and I shoved him right back out.
 

“She’s at the local funeral home.”
 

He jolted to his feet. “I don’t want her there. Her funeral has to be at home.”
 

Anthony put his head in his hands and shook once. I came over and took Taylor by the shoulders. Sometimes you need to be touched. I learned that when David disappeared. Taylor gazed down at me—he was quite a bit taller—and then fell into my arms. “I have to take her home.”
 

I rubbed his back. “I know and you will. I promise.”
 

“Why does she have to be there?” he asked between soft sobs.
 

“For the investigation,” I said.
 

He jerked back. “Are they doing something to her?”
 

I squeezed his shoulders. “It won’t take long.”
 

“I don’t want them to do anything to her. What are they doing?”
 

I took a slow breath, feeling a tear slip down my own cheek. “There has to be an autopsy in the case of a suspicious death.”
 

He got stock still. “Suspicious death?”
 

“Didn’t Coach Jakes tell you?” I asked.
 

“I did,” Oliver said behind me.
 

He came over and gave Taylor a mug of hot chocolate that I recognized as Aaron-made. It had a distinct super chocolate smell and was so thick a spoon could’ve stood straight up in it. Taylor sat and stared down into the mug and a muscle quivered in his tan cheek. “You didn’t say what happened to her.”
 

Oliver sat down with the boy and placed a big hand on his back. “Because I don’t know and I’m not sure you should ever know.”
 

Lane put her phone away and pulled a quilt around her shoulders. “I want to know. I keep thinking she was…you know.”
 

“She wasn’t,” I said.
 

Both kids looked at me with doubt and fear radiating off of them.
 

“I’m sure, but the doctor will confirm shortly.”
 

Lane began to cry again. This time in relief that her mother hadn’t been violated.
 

“I’m sorry, but I do need to ask you a few questions,” I said.
 

“Now?” Oliver’s eyes grew hard.
 

Anthony stood up and walked to the window. “Let’s get it over with.”
 

“Where were you all at 2:02 a.m.?” I asked.
 

“In bed,” Anthony said. “Alone. That doesn’t help, I guess.”
 

“It’s just a fact and they do help. What about you, Taylor?”
 

The boy glanced at Oliver.
 

“It’s fine,” said his coach. “I don’t care what you were up to, just tell her.”
 

“Quinn stole some of his dad’s whiskey. We got up after you went to bed and went up into the attic to drink it,” said Taylor.
 

“Who was there? All of you?” I asked.
 

Taylor thought about it. “No. Not everybody. The Grizzlies were too good for us. They had their own bottle. That’s how they are. The Vipers were there and my team.”
 

“How big was that bottle?” asked Oliver.
 

“Pretty big. Quinn said his dad got it at Costco. The Grizzlies had more than us.”
 

“So you were drunk,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “None of you are going to remember who was where. Great.”
 

A blush lit up Taylor’s cheeks.
 

“What time did you start drinking?”
 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe eleven.”
 

Oliver nodded. “I went to bed at eleven fifteen.”
 

“All the coaches went to bed by then?” I asked.
 

“They were in bed before I got back from the fire pit. It was a long day.”
 

So any of the Grizzlies or the coaches could’ve slipped out
after 11:15.
 

“Was everyone present this morning when you got up?” I asked Oliver.
 

He thought about it for a second and then nodded. “Yes. All the boys and my coaches were there when we got them up at five.”

“I assume you didn’t hear or see anything unusual?” I asked them.
 

They all shook their heads, but Lane got out her phone and fiddled with it.
 

Interesting.
 

“Lane?”
 

Her head jerked up, but she avoided my eyes.
 

“Where were you at 2:02 this morning?” I asked.
 

“In bed, of course,” she said.
 

Taylor frowned. “Didn’t you notice Mom was gone?”
 

“I was asleep, Taylor.” She began to cry again. “It’s not my fault.”
 

Anthony knelt by her side. “Nobody thinks it’s your fault.”
 

“Absolutely not,” I said.
 

I got Lane’s version of the timeline and Lane wasn’t being truthful. She never met my eyes and cried whenever I pushed her to be specific. Lane’s story was simple. She was in bed when her mother came up to their room. Cherie got in bed and went to sleep immediately and when Lane woke up that morning her mother was gone. She didn’t think anything of it. Cherie was an early riser. Lane thought she’d gone down for coffee.

This smells like boy.
 

“Your mother was out of the castle before midnight when the lockdown happened. Can you think of anything that would get her to go outside?”
 

Lane’s lip trembled. She had a pretty good idea, but she wasn’t going to tell me. At least, not until I backed her into a corner, and I
would
back her into a corner. I darted a knowing glance at her and she ducked her head, burrowing down into the quilt.
 

“Do you have the key to your room on you?” I asked Lane and she nodded. “Can I have it?”
 

Lane gave me the key without looking up.
 

Yeah, girl. If you don’t look at me, I won’t know that you’ve got something to hide. Puhlease.
 

“What are you going to do?” asked Taylor, wiping his cheeks dry.
 

“I’m going to search the room and see if anything turns up.”
 

“Like what? My mom didn’t do anything bad.”
 

“I know, but maybe someone threatened her. Did she have a laptop?”
 

Taylor gave me his mother’s password for her computer and her email password. I was briefly taken aback. If Cherie gave that info to her kids, she had nothing to hide or she thought she’d hidden it so well that her kids wouldn’t find it even with the passwords.
 

“How good was your mom with technology?” I asked.
 

Anthony gave a little laugh. “Terrible. I’m bad and she was worse than me. She told us her passwords because she could never remember them.”

So it’s nothing to hide.
 

“She told you everything then?”
 

A shadow passed over Anthony’s face. “Not everything.”
 

“How about how she paid for this trip?”
 

The kids’ both frowned and Anthony said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
 

“I heard you arguing at the gas station yesterday.”
 

Anthony picked at a jagged fingernail. “Oh, that was you behind the rack.”
 

“I was heating up a burrito. What were you arguing about?”
 

“This place,” Anthony gestured out the window, “this camp. We couldn’t afford it. That money should’ve been spent on personal coaching. Taylor needed that, not this.”
 

“What about the prize?” I asked.
 

He scoffed, “The prize? You mean the one they give out to the shiniest pitcher, not the most talented.”
 

“Shiniest?”
 

“That Enrique, he’s had the best of everything. New uniforms every year, every tournament, and the best specialized coaching money can buy. He makes a good story. Poor kid from Ecuador gets adopted by wealthy family and they turn him into a winner. That kid’s been buffed until he gleams. We shouldn’t have bothered with this place.”
 

“I have a chance,” said Taylor, bowing his head. “Mom believed I could get it.”

Anthony instantly turned bright red. “I’m sorry, boy. You shouldn’t have just a chance. You should win hands down, but that junker will take it because he’s the story. You’re just another poor white kid.”
 

“Enrique’s got a rifle.”
 

“I’m not saying he can’t throw, but you’re better and more consistent.”
 

Taylor stood up and walked out of the room, saying over his shoulder, “I don’t care who wins anymore. I just don’t give a fuck.”

Anthony watched him go. “His mother cared. Cherie would’ve done anything to help him. It would…break her heart to see him give up.”
 

“Mom just got killed, Grandpa,” said Lane, standing up and following her brother. “Who cares about stupid baseball? It’s just a game.”
 

She left and Anthony said, “Just a game? Baseball’s never been just a game to this family.”
 

I patted his shoulder. “Maybe that was the problem.”