In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (49 page)

Cory didn’t answer.
 

“Did you?” She dropped his head to the carpet with a thump and pummeled him with clenched fists. Nobody made a move to stop her. She could beat him bloody as far as I was concerned.
 

Phelong ran in with Dr. Watts’ medical bag, an old school black leather one. She opened it slowly and began organizing her equipment on a sterile pad in no hurry. Phelong thought about it for a moment and pulled a screaming Nicole off her husband and got a fist in the throat for his trouble. Gerry grabbed her and it took the two of them to control her.
 

I stood up and Dr. Watts ripped open an alcohol wipe. “You’re not done.”
 

“We got him,” I said, pointing at the sobbing Cory. “He confessed.”
 

She got out an extra-large syringe and loaded it with saline. “Did you attack Cherie in the rock garden?” she asked Cory.
 

He stared at the needle as Dr. Watts tapped the barrel.
 

“This is morphine,” she said with a wink at me. “You want it?”
 

“Yes,” he said.
 

She used the wipe on his thigh. “Did you attack her in the rock garden?”
 

“No. I don’t know who did that. I couldn’t sleep. I saw Cherie out there and I went down to talk to her. I wasn’t going to hurt her. I swear I didn’t plan to hurt her.”
 

“You stopped to get a pair of gloves,” I said.
 

Cory averted his eyes. “I thought it was cold out.”
 

“Yeah, right.”
 

Dr. Watts shoved the needle into Cory’s rump, none to gently. “He wasn’t in the rock garden. Get back on task.”
 

I groaned and texted Chuck. “Caught murderer. Pick almost shot BTW.”

Nothing. I wanted to shatter my uncooperative phone against the wall and stomp on it, but everyone was watching to see what I’d do next. I couldn’t be acting like a brat when, as Dr. Watts pointed out, I had a job to do. So I just stood there until Pick came over to give me a slurp on the knee and then clamped his slobbery jaws on my leg. Just what I needed. Slobber. It might not be over, but I was so done.
 

Chapter Twenty-One

AARON PUSHED THROUGH the crowd and pressed a mug of hot chocolate into my hands. “You earned it.”
 

No. That kid’s still dead in New Orleans. Cherie’s dead.
 

“Okay.” I managed to get down a sip for Aaron’s benefit and then felt lightheadedness come over me. Sugar rush. I’d almost forgotten how that felt. The sense of well-being, of straight up joy.
 

I pulled out my phone and called Uncle Morty.
 

“Whaddaya want? My ass hurts,” he said.

Joy over.
 

“Answers, please,” I said, leaning on the wall’s dark paneling.
 

“You gonna change my dressing soon? I think it’s wet.”
 

Ew.

“Of course I will. I solved the murder by the way.”

If I expected congratulations, I was sorely disappointed.
 

“Whaddya want? A freaking trophy? It’s your damn job. I need some pain killers,” he yelled.
 

I rolled my eyes at Dr. Watts and she grinned at me, waving the saline bottle.

“That can be arranged. What have you got on Enrique?” I asked.
 

Robin dashed forward. “What was that? What about Enrique?”
 

Bill grabbed her and pulled her back.

“You’re gonna like this.” Uncle Morty cleared his phlegmy throat, groused about his butt, and complained about his book being longer than expected. Anything to draw out the suspense. I commiserated because I was supposed to, not because I gave a rat’s ass.
 

“You don’t care. You don’t even read my work,” he said in a petulant tone. He sounded like he was my wife and I forgot our anniversary.
 

“Er…of course I care.”
 

“Wouldn’t hurt you to show it.”
 

What the…oh right…Mom and Dad are busy and not telling you you’re a special special boy. So needy. Groan.
 

“I do care.” I went on to name important plot points from the last book and soothed the savage writer.
 

“All right then,” he said.
 

I was afraid to ask, but I had to. Everyone was looking at me and it wasn’t over. Not yet. “So do you have anything on the adoption?”
 

Robin wriggled out of Bill’s grasp and tried to snatch my phone out of my hands. “Give me that.”
 

I smacked her, a good crack across the jowls that snapped her head back. It was instinct, a good one as it turned out.
 

Uncle Morty said something I couldn’t make out over Robin’s freak-out.

“What?”
 

“It’s freaking fake.”
 

“Fake?” I asked.
 

Robin was stunned for a second, but her eyes refocused and she lunged at me. Dr. Watts stuck out a foot and tripped her. She went down with a screech and Bill grabbed her again before she could come at me a second time.
 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
 

“Get that phone!” she yelled.
 

Leslie stepped in front of her and in an ultra-soothing voice said, “Her uncle knows. Getting the phone won’t stop it.”
 

Robin bit her lip and then went into the ugly cry. “Don’t listen to him. Don’t. Don’t.”
 

What have you done, woman?
 

“Uncle Morty?” I asked.
 

“Gonna pay attention to me now, eh?”
 

“Sorry. We’ve got a couple of situations here. What did you say?”
 

He did the phlegmy throat thing again and then told me the secret Robin had been so desperate to hide. The adoption was illegal, obtained through some serious money changing hands. Enrique had been in the Hope Refuge Orphanage, not Mission of Hope. At first I didn’t get it. So what? It was an orphanage. He was an orphan. But there was a difference, a big difference. There were five kids in Enrique’s family. He was the oldest. His siblings had been in Mission of Hope because they were younger. That was Morty’s first clue. The separation. Mission of Hope was for kids fifteen and under. Hope Refuge was for kids sixteen and up. Robin and Tim had adopted Enrique four years ago and his birth certificate said he was eighteen. If so, why was he in Hope Refuge? Were they too full for him? Uncle Morty didn’t buy it. He found the siblings’ birth certificates. At the time of Enrique’s adoption, they were fourteen, ten, nine, and four. If you believed Enrique’s birth certificate, he and his sister, Maria, were born two months apart.
 

“Oliver,” I called out.

He came into the doorway and I caught a glimpse of Tiny sitting on the floor doing some deep breathing. “Yeah?”

“What’s the cutoff for the prize?” I asked.
 

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked.

“What’s the age cutoff?”
 

“It’s for high school seniors,” he said, his brow wrinkling under his baseball cap.
 

Sorcha’s eyes went wide and she tugged on his sleeve. “Of course. But you can’t be twenty-eight and win, right?”
 

“No. Nineteen is the age cutoff. Oh.” His eyes went to Robin, who began shaking. “How old is Enrique?”
 

“Twenty,” I said.
 

“He’s not eligible then.”
 

My cousins jumped up and down. “We did it! We did it! Mystery solved.”
 

Bill stared at them. “Enrique’s eighteen. I sent in his package. His birth certificate says eighteen.”
 

“It’s fake,” I said. “Tim and Robin faked it to make him eligible.”
 

“You don’t understand,” said Robin between her sobs.
 

“Oh, I understand. You saw the dollar signs.”
 

“No. It wasn’t for us. It was for them.”
 

“Them?” asked Dr. Watts.

“Enrique’s brothers and sisters. We couldn’t get them out. The government was pissed that we got Enrique. They didn’t care that he would’ve died. They just cared that he left the country. Inez has craniofacial deformities. She needs surgery. Her brain isn’t growing properly. The bribes we need to get Inez out are a lot more, and we don’t have it. If Enrique gets a major league contract, he’ll have the money and he can help her.”
 

“There has to be another way,” I said. “What about Doctors Without Borders or the World Health Organization?”
 

“Don’t you think we tried? We tried everything!”

“Hey!” yelled Uncle Morty.
 

“What?” I said, tearing my eyes from the sobbing Robin.
 

“They did try. I got the trail. They’re broke, living paycheck to paycheck. Enrique’s their only chance to help that kid.”
 

I glared at Robin. “She could sell her earrings.”
 

“They’re fake. I sold the real ones to pay for the camp,” said Robin and Deanna gasped before throwing back the last of her wine.
 

“Yeah, well, something tells me that this lie isn’t recent. They changed his birth certificate when they brought him to the States,” I said. “Did you know about the prize back then?”
 

Leslie gave Robin his handkerchief and she lustily blew her nose. “We didn’t know that Enrique had talent. He was half dead. How would we know? We only wanted to save him. Ask Tim.”
 

We all looked around and Tim was the only one missing.

“Where is he?” asked Robin, shoving Bill off her. His cap went flying.
 

“I haven’t seen him since the library,” said Leslie.
 

“Anybody see him leave?” I asked.
 

The answer was no.

Robin paled and her eyes darted around, searching.

“Parker,” I said, slapping my forehead. “Of course.”

“What?” asked Tiny, coming out of the armory and wiping the sweat off his face.
 

“Taylor and most of the boys were drinking that night. Everyone except Parker. He was drinking with Lane.”
 

“So?” asked Dr. Watts.

Cory smacked her leg. “It still hurts. Can I get some more of that?”
 

“Sure. It’s saline.” She stood up and dropped the hypo in her sharps container. “What’s any of this got to do with Cherie’s murder?”
 

“Because Cherie figured out Enrique’s real age in January when she was in Ecuador,” I said. “She told Lane the prize was in the bag and that’s why.”
 

Robin went still, very deer in the headlights.
 

“She threatened Tim that night, didn’t she?” I asked.
 

“No. No. He didn’t do anything.” She pointed at Cory. “He did it. He confessed.”
 

“I take it back!” yelled Cory.
 

Jilly popped him in the head just like my dad was known to do. “No backsies.”
 

Cory tried to crawl away and Pick dashed over to bark in his face.

“Shouldn’t someone cuff him?” asked Bridget.

“Pick’s got it,” I said as the poodle showed all his large white teeth and snarled in Cory’s face.

As we watched Pick’s prison guard act, Robin tried to slip away, but Tiny snagged her arm. “You didn’t answer Mercy’s question.”
 

She sucked in her lips.
 

“She doesn’t have to. I overheard the fight in the sweat lodge. That’s when Cherie told Tim that he’d have to pull Enrique from the competition or she’d tell, right?”
 

Robin didn’t answer. I didn’t really expect her to.

“Tim told you and one of you told Parker,” I said quietly.
 

“Parker?” asked Sorcha.
 

“Enrique’s brother,” said Oliver.
 

Leslie’s jaw quivered. “His catcher.”
 

“Yes,” I said. “And catchers take care of their pitchers.”
 

“They do. Where’s Parker?” Leslie asked.

Robin began frantically texting and ran back down the hall toward the library.
 

“Where’s she going?” asked Dr. Watts.
 

“She figured it out,” I said, feeling a bit sick. “Motive and opportunity.”