In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (47 page)

“He is.”
 

“Exactly how did you turn into Leslie?” I asked.

Voices erupted through the panel again. “What the hell are we waiting for?” yelled a man. I couldn’t tell who it was. Leslie went to the panel, pushed a button, and it creaked open. The shouting ceased instantly as light flooded into the passage.
 

“That is so cool,” said Jilly.
 

“This is the perfect place for a murder mystery caper,” said Bridget.
 

Caper? My cousins are so weird.

Leslie crooked a finger at me and swung the panel open. Pick leapt into the library followed by us, squinting at the light.
 

“Mercy! What were you doing in there?” asked Sorcha, cuddled up on the sofa with Oliver.
 

“It’s a shortcut,” I said. “I see we’re all here.”
 

“Why are we here?” Bill’s face was red to match his Cardinals cap. He’d been the one yelling.
 

Dr. Watts came in through the arched library doors. “To discover who killed Cherie, of course.”
 

Everyone went silent.
 

“Please,” I said. “Take a seat.”
 

Nobody moved. Nicole and Cory stood by the windows overlooking part of the formal garden. They’d changed into matching attire and Nicole’s hair was curled back into its helmet shape, but she’d ripped off her nails and left them ragged. They saw me, and Cory began rubbing his crew cut furiously.
 

Bill adjusted his cap and checked his Fitbit, walking in place to keep his heart rate up. He looked like the only one who slept well, thanks to his breathing machine. Robin and Tim stood at the library table where Sorcha’s map was spread out. Robin twisted her earring and Tim rubbed his watermelon belly. Deanna was hovering at a small liquor cabinet, eyeing the decanters. Grandpa Anthony, Oliver, and my cousins were the only ones who were seated on the green leather sofas. Anthony’s eyes were baggy and showed red rims. “You still don’t know who did it?” he asked hoarsely.
 

“I will in a minute.”
 

John walked in carrying a silver tray with wine glasses and two bottles of Nuits-Saint-Georges Premier Cru, the good stuff. No Boulogne Rouge for our little experiment. “Mercy said sit.”
 

That’s all it took. My suspects dropped into seats with a quickness, such was the power of John’s intensity. He set the tray next to the map, uncorked a bottle and poured a generous glug in each of the glasses.

Nicole accepted her glass saying, “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
 

“Even so,” said Leslie, taking a glass himself. “There’s no reason we can’t be civilized about this.”
 

“Hand it over,” said Dr. Watts. She did the expert swirl and sniff before taking a sip. “Not cheaping out on us. I like it.”
 

“No, Dr. Watts, I haven’t served you cheap wine.”
 

“Good, because I’m busy.”
 

Deanna downed her glass and said, “What exactly are you going to do?”
 

“Run some tests to determine the murderer,” said Dr. Watts.
 

Robin’s hand shook slightly. “Tests on us?”
 

“Who else? The murderer is in this room.”
 

Robin’s wine sloshed and dripped onto her white capri pants. “Dammit.”
 

John handed her a napkin and took the glass. There wasn’t an expression on his face, but I could tell that to him spilling a Premier Cru was a greater crime than murder.
 

Dr. Watts took another sip, made a small humming sound of pleasure, and put the glass on a bookshelf. She clapped her hands once. “Who’s going to help with my equipment?”
 

“That’ll be me,” I said before anyone could offer.
 

I went out into the hall and nearly screamed. Flincher stood by the door with his bony fingers steepled.
 

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
 

“Good question,” said Dr. Watts. “He insisted on coming.”
 

“Yes,” said Flincher. “I wanted to see Miss Watts at work.”
 

Nobody in history has ever made ‘at work’ sound so creepy.
 

“Yeah, well, great.” I closed the library door behind Dr. Watts and looked at the stack of equipment Dr. Watts had bungee corded to a dollie. “What did you bring?”
 

“Everything portable.”
 

“Got any luminol?”
 

“Always. What do you have in mind?” she asked.
 

“I want you to tell them that you’ve got conclusive fingerprint evidence off of these.” I pulled the half-burnt gloves out of my pocket. Dr. Watts took the baggie and shook her head. “I can’t get fingerprints out of these. It’s impossible.”
 

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. You have your magic spray.” I grinned at her.
 

“How stupid do you think they are?”
 

“They’re not stupid at all, but Robin and Deanna watch
CSI
. Maybe the others do, too. The
CSI
effect could help us out here. None of our suspects are scientists. How do they know that the technology they see on TV isn’t real? They carry around amazing technology in their back pockets. Doesn’t
CSI
have a magic spray that illuminates pretty much anything at any time?”
 

Dr. Watts scowled. “I hate that show. I never carried a gun or interrogated a suspect.”
 

“Now’s your chance. It’s funny when you think about it.”
 

“No, it’s not.”
 

“Fine,” I said, suppressing a grin. “Let’s just go in there, you talk about the unique characteristics of the hands that were in these gloves, and we’ll see what happens.”
 

Dr. Watts held up the baggie. “I might get some DNA out of these. Sweat, skin cells. They were in a fire though.”
 

“Yes,” I said. “DNA is good. People love DNA. Tell them you got samples and sent them to Springfield. They’ll have the results within an hour.”
 

“It’s not that fast,” she said.
 

“Lie. Lying works. My dad does it all the time.”
 

“This isn’t what my profession does, but I can lie with the best of them.”
 

I turned to Flincher, who’d crept up on me and was stinking so bad I got nauseous. “And you?”
 

“Me?” he asked.
 

“I want you in there, creeping around and looking at them. You know, what you usually do.”
 

“Why?” asked Dr. Watts.
 

“Because he scares people. I want you hitting them with your science and him being him.”
 

She grabbed her dollie. “That is a winning combination. Your father will be proud.”
 

I fluffed my hair. “Scheming is a family trait.”
 

Phelong and Gerry ambled up carrying their fingerprinting kit.
 

“Perfect. We’ll fingerprint them, too.”
 

“Who?” asked Phelong.
 

“Our suspects,” I said.
 

“We have suspects?” asked Gerry.
 

“Yes, we do and with any luck we’ll have a murderer in a minute. Grab that dollie.”
 

We went back in. I was pleased to see the wine glasses were empty and there was plenty of fidgeting going on.
 

“What took so long?” demanded Bill.
 

“This isn’t
CSI: Miami
,” said Dr. Watts. “Proper science takes time.”
 

Nice one, doctor.
 

“Who’s first?” I asked.

“For what?” asked Tim, taking Robin’s shaking hand.

 
Dr. Watts directed Phelong to take the dollie to the table. I rolled up Sorcha’s map and gave it to her. She whispered to me, “This is so cool.”
 

Er…okay.
 

I helped Dr. Watts unpack her autopsy equipment. We obviously weren’t going to need a rib spreader, but everyone’s eyes were trained on that thing. There was some serious frowning going on, and I suppressed a smile. The frowning got worse when Flincher started circling the room. He’d look at everyone’s hands, make a phlegmy noise, and move on. Gross and effective. The men’s brows shown with sweat and Nicole cleared her throat every couple of minutes. The only problem was that they all looked guilty and not just a little bit. They looked super guilty and they all didn’t do it. It only takes one to strangle.
 

“Here.” Dr. Watts gave Gerry the cord to a portable scanner and he plugged it in. It was a regular HP scanner, but everyone shifted in their seats. Dr. Watts opened a fat metal packing case and pulled out a can of luminol. She tossed it in the air, caught it like a juggler without looking, and popped off the top, aiming the nozzle at the suspects in a broad sweep. “Who’s first?”
 

They froze. Phelong and Gerry retreated to the door and appeared just as nervous as my suspects. I hadn’t told them anything about the plan and it was working out for me. The cops were clueless and it made them fearful. My suspects were watching them. If the cops were scared, they should be, too.
 

“It won’t hurt.” Dr. Watts lifted one shoulder. “Not much anyway. A little stinging.”
 

Nicole jolted to her feet and pointed at me. “She did it.”
 

“Me?” I asked. “What’s my motive?”
 

She wagged her finger. “You…you…I don’t know, but you did it. Confess.”
 

“I confess you’re an idiot. I never met Cherie before this weekend whereas you knew her well, didn’t you?”
 

Nicole gasped. “I didn’t. No, no. You snuck out. The front desk guy told me. He said you used your code in the middle of the night and you did it.”
 

“Mercy is cleared,” said Dr. Watts.

“By who?” asked Bill.

“By me. Tell them how it happened, Mercy.”
 

I ticked off the series of events. I got nice and detailed about the brutality and the times. Their windows all overlooked the rock garden and they knew it.

“So you were in your room during love garden part. So what?” Bill pointed at me. “You could’ve been the one in the rock garden.”
 

I yawned. “Drinking with my cousins and Aaron.”
 

“Maybe your family faked the video time and John went along with it.”
 

John stared at Bill and the big man swallowed hard, but he wasn’t backing down. “They’re your family. They’d lie. I heard you say that your father knows Leslie and John.”
 

“We wouldn’t lie and alter evidence,” exclaimed Sorcha, waking up and taking her attention off Oliver. “That’s a crime. Accessory after the fact.”
 

“Well, maybe she wasn’t that drunk,” said Robin. “Maybe she was faking. They probably have her all wrong on the news. She could be a sick lunatic that strangles women.”
 

“No, she isn’t,” said Dr. Watts. “Would you like to see why?”
 

The women crossed their arms.
 

“Yes, I would,” said Deanna. “She looks like the type.”
 

Hey now. Slut I can see, but crazed murderer? Come on.

Bill stood up. “She’s trying to pin it on us and you’re helping her. She killed those kids’ mother. Their only parent left.”
 

Anthony stood up and, without a word, sucker punched Bill in his gut. “I’m left, you smelly bag of cat barf.”
 

Bill keeled over and gagged on the floor. Everyone jumped up and started yelling about evidence and justice and me, of course. Pick pranced around, barking and growling, nearly pulling me off my feet.
 

He snapped at Bill, and Anthony yelled while hitching up his jeans, “Get up and I’ll punch you again, asshole!”
 

John walked over, real casual, and put Anthony back in his seat with minimum effort. “You,” he nudged the groaning Bill, “shut up. Mercy’s cleared.”
 

“I don’t believe it,” said Cory, rubbing his head so hard it was jerking the skin up and down on his forehead. “She knows everything about what happened.”

Dr. Watts pulled out the autopsy photos of Cherie’s neck. Anthony buried his face in his hands. “She was such a good woman.”
 

Nicole shot him a look of hate. “No, she wasn’t. She was the bitch who killed my brother.”