In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (37 page)

“Not exactly.” I attempted to straighten up and failed.
 

“Does it have to do with the investigation?”
 

“I guess it does.” I told him about Uncle Morty’s food for info deal.
 

“So you don’t normally eat?” Oliver asked.
 

Normally? Has the last two months been normal? Hmm. No.

“That’s hard to say. I’ve been on a…diet,” I said. “What’s up?”
 

“I wanted to see how the investigation is going. The boys are distracted. They think there’s a murderer on the loose here.”
 

“There is,” I said.
 

That stopped him in his tracks and he sat down opposite me. “You really think whoever did it is still here?”
 

“Without a doubt.”
 

Oliver ran a hand over his morning stubble. “I think we have to cancel the camp. I can’t keep the boys here with this going on. I assumed…”
 

“That someone broke into the castle grounds and strangled one of the moms randomly?” I asked.
 

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”
 

I laughed. “It’s easier to think it was some stranger than someone you know.”
 

“And it is someone I know,” he said, softly.
 

We had a moment of silence that Aaron filled with pumpkin pie and dollops of rich whipped cream. I said no, but he persuaded me with putting in a good word with Uncle Morty. I barely managed to stuff the slender piece in my gullet without barfing. He didn’t make me eat the decorative crust with pastry leaves and pumpkins. They were a marvel. How Aaron’s stumpy little hands formed those tiny perfect images in the dough was a mystery.
 

“So,” I said after several groans, “how is Taylor doing?”
 

“Not well. He came down to practice for a while, but he didn’t get on the field.”
 

“Understandable.”
 

Oliver nodded, but he was tense and fiddled with his fork.
 

“Can he still take the prize?” asked Tiny. “He needs that scholarship.”

“He does,” said Oliver. “But I don’t know. We’ve never faced anything like this before. There’s always been a clear winner. This year it was a dead heat before his mom got killed.”

“It could go either way,” I said.
 

“Before it happened, yeah, but now Taylor can’t perform. The kid’s destroyed.”
 

Tiny glanced at me and I nodded. “That’s a pretty strong motive.”
 

Oliver’s broad shoulders twitched. “No. Nobody would do that.”
 

“It’s happened before. Think about that cheerleader mom in Texas,” I said. “If Taylor can’t compete, Enrique takes the prize by default.”
 

He shook his head. “These people aren’t like that. It’s not win at all costs. Robin and Tim want Enrique to win because he deserves it. You almost want to give it to him after what the kid’s been through.”
 

“What’s he been through?”
 

“He was adopted out of an orphanage in Ecuador.” Oliver went on to tell me how Robin had met Enrique through her church group six years ago. He’d been seriously ill with malaria and needed medical help the orphanage couldn’t provide. Robin and Tim paid for the treatment and eventually adopted him. He still had brothers and sisters in Ecuador. Oliver thought that Robin and Tim were supporting them in some way.
 

“This sounds like a movie plot,” I said. “Poverty-stricken kid is saved by well-to-do family and goes on to rock whatever sport.”
 

Oliver smiled. “It is a Cinderella story. Enrique would probably be dead without them. I’d hate to think you’d suspect them.”
 

“I don’t suspect Robin or any of the women really. Their hands are too small.”
 

Oliver grimaced. “He strangled her with his bare hands?”
 

“He wore gloves but yes. I overheard Cherie arguing with a man the night of the murder before we all got to the fire pit for s’mores. Any idea who that was?” I asked.
 

“I have no idea.” He looked into my eyes. “It wasn’t me.”
 

“I didn’t think it was. You were at the carriage house. I suppose you could’ve run ahead and beat me there, but you weren’t winded. The argument was quite heated.”
 

“That’s him then.”
 

“Not necessarily but I’d sure like to know who it was.”
 

“I can ask around,” said Oliver.
 

“Please do. If you get a weird vibe from anyone, let me know,” I said.
 

“I’m not sure I’d know a weird vibe if it was sitting right in front of me.”
 

I laughed and barely held back a seriously unladylike belch that was bubbling away in my chest. “You would, trust me.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a woman in the sweat lodge with Cherie?” he asked.
 

“Definitely.”
 

“I heard from one of the cops that she was pushed and hit her head on a rock. A woman could’ve done that.”
 

I drummed my fingertips on the table just like my dad. He said it helped him think and it helped me, too. “You’re right. That could’ve been a woman and it was much earlier.
 

“How do you know?”
 

“Autopsy. The head wound bled—”

Oliver stood up. “I’ll take your word for it. Dinner tonight? Smells like Aaron made Thanksgiving.”
 

“I know. I just ate it.” I put my hand over my mouth and did a mock vomit.

He laughed. “You can watch me eat.”

And my suspects will all be in one room. Sweet.

“Your cousins will want you there.”
 

I groaned. “Those three.”
 

“What’s wrong with your cousins?” he asked.
 

“Nothing, I suppose. On the other hand, everything.”
 

“Everything is wrong with your beautiful red-headed cousins?”
 

Bridget sashayed in, carrying a heap of files. “Our ears are burning.”
 

They were, too. Bright pink and glowing. My cousins were like Beetlejuice, say their names three times and they showed up out of nowhere. Then they taped your legs together and poured lemonade on your head if it was available. I would say that was kid stuff, but it’d happened as recently as Jilly’s college graduation last year after she remembered that I graduated with honors and she didn’t. There’s always plenty of lemonade at graduations and I had just shaved my legs. I will never forgive that one. Never.
 

None of the Troublesome Trio carried any duct tape so I relaxed. “I was just wondering where you were.”
 

“Completing our mission, of course,” said Sorcha, smiling at Oliver but speaking to me.
 

“Your mission?” I asked.
 

“Interviewing the staff.” She squeezed in next to Oliver. “We interviewed you, didn’t we?”
 

“You did. I was very well interviewed.” He smiled, looking rather rakish despite the baseball attire.
 

“We’re all done,” said Jilly. “Where do you want it?”
 

“It?”
 

“The stuff.”
 

“You have stuff?”
 

Bridget plunked down her files and spread them out on the table like a fan. She pointed to each one in turn. “Kitchen staff. Housekeeping. Stables. Spa. Baseball. And reception. That’s everybody.”
 

“Wow,” said Tiny.
 

“Wow is right.” I opened the kitchen staff folder. Neatly written on yellow legal paper was each staff member’s name, their whereabouts at the time of the murder, and a short section on their relationship to the victim. “This is impressive. How did you do this so quickly?”
 

“Mom’s a party planner,” said Jilly as if that explained it. She placed a three-foot-long roll of heavy paper on the table. “And here’s the map.”
 

“You made a map? You’re kidding.”
 

“Of course we made a map. This whole castle is a crime scene. You need a map.” She rolled out the map and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t awesome. It looked like a copy of the original architectural plan of the property, showing the castle and its grounds. My detail-oriented cousins had color-coded the staff. The kitchen staff was red for instance. There was a red dot marking where every member of the kitchen staff was at the time of the murder and when the body was found. It was the same with each section of staff. They went above and beyond labeling the rooms of all the guests.
 

I poured over the dots and the different sections of the castle. Nobody admitted being anywhere near the rock garden or the love garden. Most of the staff was off the property overnight anyway, but there was a multi-colored line leading from the staff parking lot through the gardens to split off to different entrances.
 

“What’s this?” I asked.
 

Jilly beamed. “My idea. Those are the routes the staff took to get into the building this morning.” She pointed to tiny blocks on the lot. “Here are their names and arrival times. We cross-checked with John.”
 

Holy crap!

“You rock, Jilly. All three of you rock. Dad will be seriously impressed.”
 

My cousins grinned like crazy, popping out the Watts dimples and looking ready for more. Oliver was staring and I didn’t blame him. The Troublesome Trio were seriously shiny. It was hard for me to stop looking at the happiness glow.
 

I forced my attention down to the map and traced the parking lot paths. “So nobody went into the love garden?”

“That’s what they say,” said Sorcha.
 

“Do you believe them?” I asked.
 

She tipped her chin down and became seriously adorable. I did that all the time, but I’d never gotten a view of it before. No wonder it was so effective when I was interviewing men. Oliver was glazed over.
 

“Do you really want my opinion?” she asked.
 

“Of course.”
 

“You trust me?”
 

I considered it. “I do. What do you think?”
 

All three of my cousins nodded their heads.
 

“The staff knows nothing,” said Bridget.
 

“But…” said Jilly.
 

“But?”
 

Sorcha leaned over the table. “They’re afraid of John and Leslie.”

“And the castle,” said Bridget.
 

“Seriously?” That’s what I said, but I wasn’t surprised. Something was off about those two in a huge way and the castle was pretty unsettling.
 

“Oh, yeah. Weird things are always happening like the armor falling over or the pots being rearranged in the kitchens. The Smoking Room changed color over night.”
 

I wrinkled my nose. “What do you mean?”
 

“It was green when staff left on a Tuesday and it was blue the next morning.”
 

“Somebody painted it.”
 

The Troublesome Trio shook their pretty heads in unison. “Nobody painted. It didn’t even smell like fresh paint,” said Jilly. “It was just blue.”

“That’s…pretty strange,” I said.
 

“You want strange?” asked Sorcha. “There were gunshots last night and it’s not the first time. Laurie the head housekeeper said that John and Leslie always act like nothing happened, but she can tell they know all about it.”
 

Jilly elbowed Sorcha. “We don’t care about any other gunshots. The ones last night had nothing to do with the mystery we’re working on.”
 

I was intrigued. They were my cousins. Not stupid girls by a long shot but always more interested in purses than police work. “How do you know?”
 

“You said she was strangled and the gunshots were later,” said Sorcha.
 

“It is a separate issue,” I said. “So why’s the staff afraid of John and Leslie exactly?”
 

My cousins took a long time to tell me that the staff wouldn’t say anything about their employers except that they paid very well. The staff fidgeted when questioned about the security measures and they all had to pass background checks before being hired. You’d have to be an idiot not to think that was weird for a job at a spa. The staff thought John and Leslie were afraid of something.