In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (53 page)

“We’re running this interview,” said White.
 

“This interview is over.”
 

“We’re not done.”
 

“Are you going to arrest her?”
 

“We haven’t decided yet.”
 

“Decide now. And remember she just saved a sixteen-year-old girl’s life. She broke her ankle in the process and she’s got claw marks on her face.”
 

“I do?” I asked, touching a bandage on my cheek.
 

Dr. Watts shushed me.
 

“Mercy is stunningly beautiful. She photographs like a freaking dream and she gives good interview.”
 

No, I don’t. No interviews.

“We’ll interview, too,” said White, but he sounded less sure by the second.

 
“I’m not talking about local. You want to explain to Nancy Grace, FOX, and whoever else why you arrested Mercy? You who bungled the takedown at that meth lab last year. What’s that toddler got? Burns over sixty percent of her body. I’m sure Nancy’ll be interested in that.”
 

White swallowed hard. “Are you threatening us?”
 

“I’m giving you the facts. If you question them, go talk to Anthony Marin and the rest of the guests. Go talk to Lane. Mercy did good. Ain’t nobody gonna think otherwise. Least of all the media.”
 

They left. They didn’t say another word. I told Emmett to test my hands. He peeled off my gloves and swabbed me, saying it was pointless. At least he did it. That was the point. He asked for my autograph and I signed his glove. I hoped the detectives didn’t see it. They’d make his life hell.
 

Silver shook my hand again. “Proud to know you. Don’t you worry. I got it all covered.” He nodded to Dr. Watts. “Dinner tomorrow?”

“Are you cooking?” she asked.
 

“You think I’m eating your cooking again?”
 

She made her sneezing noise. “I make good tacos.”
 

“That’s all you make.” Silver gave Dr. Watts a kiss on the cheek and left, muttering about women that couldn’t cook.

“Alright now. You go back to sleep,” said Uncle Morty. “I need a beer.”
 

“Actually,” I said. “I think I’d like that x-ray now.”
 

“Why?” asked Dr. Watts. “What about your burger?”

“Eating can wait. You need the x-ray to cast the ankle.”
 

“Yes, but you’d have to go to Flinchers. When you’re ready we’ll drive over to Avery, they’ve got a decent clinic.”
 

“After today, Flincher doesn’t worry me.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and winced when my temp cast touched the floor. No matter. Time to see what answer Flincher had to give me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

DR. WATTS PULLED up in front of the castle behind Flincher’s hearse in her Morris Minor. “Your chariot awaits, my girl.”
 

I hopped over and peered into the backseat. It was minuscule and I had to lie down back there.
 

“What about Phelong and Gerry’s car?”
 

“You don’t like my Morris?” She glowered at me.
 

“No, no. I love it. I’m just not sure I’ll fit.”
 

She snorted and got out. “You’re fine.” She opened the passenger door and flipped up the seat. It was a good thing I lost all that weight or I would never have gotten in. As it was, my spine will never be the same.
 

“See,” said Dr. Watts. “You fit just fine.”
 

“Do you have any Oxy on you?” I asked.
 

“How much pain are you in?”
 

A lot more now.
 

“I put too much weight on the foot.”
 

She got a pill out of her purse and gave it to me with a bottle of water. I didn’t ask what it was and I didn’t care. She covered me with a wool army blanket that smelled like feet and was about to slam the door when a picnic basket got in the way.
 

Aaron leaned in. “You hungry?”
 

“Oh my god, yes.”
 

He put the basket on the floor and served up a herb-roasted turkey sandwich on parmesan focaccia, little bread ball things that had caponata inside, balsamic-roasted carrots, and a sippy cup of Chianti.

Aaron put the straw to my lips. “Good for what ails you.”
 

“I just took a painkiller.”
 

Dr. Watts got in the Morris and made her sneezing noise. “Please. Wine’s good for you.”
 

“You’re not supposed to mix painkillers with alcohol.”
 

“I’m a doctor. Are you questioning my know-how?”
 

“Er…”
 

“Drink it and eat that sandwich before I do. It smells better than sex feels.”
 

Ew.
 

I decided to drink the wine because she was a doctor and I wanted to. Aaron got in the front seat, gave Dr. Watts a vanilla latte, and filled the Morris with the smell of hot dogs.
 

“Wait,” I said. “What about Tiny? I hope you didn’t make him get in with Flincher.”
 

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Dr. Watts. “Tiny’s staying here.”
 

“Why?”
 

She didn’t look at me. “He doesn’t fit in this car.”
 

I protested, but she put the Morris in gear with a bit of grinding that masked my voice. So I settled back and ate on the way to the funeral home, which isn’t something people normally do. I didn’t care that I was going to one of the creepiest places on Earth. I ate. Food. I’d forgotten about food in the last two months, the way it feels to eat something exceptional, to smell it, and not to feel a bit guilty in the process.
 

“So you’re eating again,” said Dr. Watts, pulling into Flincher’s garage after what felt like thirty seconds.
 

Can’t talk. Eating.
 

“Uh-huh.”
 

“So it’s over. Your mother will be pleased, not to mention all visually-oriented males.”
 

“Huh?” I swallowed the last caponata ball. So good. “What’s over?”
 

“The punishing.”
 

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

Dr. Watts turned in her seat to look at me. “You were punishing yourself for New Orleans and now it’s over.”
 

“I had to eat lettuce.” I said.
 

“And now you don’t.”
 

She and Aaron got me out. It wasn’t easy. Between the Chianti, the pills, and the calories, I was feeling no pain. I leaned on Aaron. “I don’t remember why I thought I needed so much lettuce.”
 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Dr. Watts. “You balanced the scales on the Black river. You did it in the worst way possible, but you did it. That’s the important thing.”
 

Flincher pulled up beside us in the hearse. He got out and I felt instantly sober. It was a good thing, too. I doubted Flincher did anything for free and his information would cost me.
 

“Ladies,” said Flincher. “Shall we?”
 

“
We
aren’t doing anything,” said Dr. Watts and she got out her key. “You’re going to keep your distance.”
 

“Am I?” He steepled his fingers and leveled his gaze at me. The whites of his eyes were yellow and he looked jaundiced in general.
 

“You should see a doctor,” I said.
 

“I see her all the time.”
 

Dr. Watts gave me a cane and turned me to the stairs. “Ignore him.”
 

I hopped up the steps and we went a different way than the way Flincher had taken me the last time. There was an elevator, a small one just big enough for a gurney and one person. We rode down to Dr. Watts’ area. Cherie wasn’t on the slab anymore. I breathed in the clean air after the stench of Flincher’s possum and whatever else.
 

Dr. Watts led me to a small radiology suite that included digital mammography and ultrasound. “Why do you need all this?” I asked.
 

“I do all the mammography around these parts,” she said, helping me up on the table.
 

“Women come to the funeral home where you do autopsies to get their mammograms? Are you serious?”
 

“It’s better than driving hours to do it.”

I glanced back at the autopsy suite. “If you say so.”
 

“I do. Lie down. This will only take a second.”
 

Dr. Watts removed my temp cast and did my x-rays, maneuvering my ankle around in painful ways, but the break was clean and she had me hop out to the lab section and sit in her office chair.

“Is there anything you don’t do?” I asked.
 

“Colonoscopy. That’s where I draw the line.” She got out her supplies. “What color do you want?”
 

“You have colors? How many of these do you do a year?” I asked.
 

“Five or six. What’ll it be? Pink, purple, green, neon green, or black? I had orange, but the Jasper twins used it all up.”
 

“Purple.”
 

“Good choice.” She casted my ankle with expert hands and put on the outer layer of bright purple before saying, “An hour before putting weight on it.”
 

“I know,” I said, glancing at Aaron who was examining her bandage scissors. “What are you doing?”
 

“These would be good for cutting bacon.”
 

“No, they’re not. I tried it,” said Dr. Watts. “Do you want some tea, Mercy?”
 

I shifted in my chair and tried to look like I wasn’t up to something. “I’d love some, but do you have a kitchen?”
 

“Down the street at Mrs. Mahoney’s house. I can’t keep anything in here, except bottled water. It’s a pain but there’s Flincher to consider,” she said.
 

Perfect.

“It’s a long way. Do you mind?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Not at all. Alicia has MS and I like to check on her a couple of times a day anyway.”

 
I smiled. “Do you have peppermint?”
 

“Is your stomach upset?”
 

“A little,” I said. “I’m not used to so much food anymore.”
 

“Alicia has peppermint and every other flavor that exists.” She got up, ordered Aaron to watch me, and left by the elevator.
 

“You’re not sick,” said Aaron, not bothering to look at me.
 

“How do you know?”
 

“My food makes you better.”
 

Dammit.
 

I pretended to burp. “You know what. I think you’re right. Can you tell her that I’d like Sleepytime instead? If I have to be here for an hour, I’d like to snooze through it.”
 

Aaron didn’t move and I had to get rid of him quickly or Dr. Watts would come back before I could talk to Flincher.
 

“What are you waiting for?” I asked.
 

“You sure?”
 

“Of course. Go on. Sleepytime, if she has it, or chamomile.”
 

Aaron gave me my cane, a bone saw, and the bandage scissors. “Five minutes. Don’t eat anything.”

Oh crap. He knows. How does he always know?
 

“I’ll be fine.” I waved the cane.
 

Aaron went out the door to the elevator and a scant ten seconds later Abacus Flincher, town ghoul, came in carrying an ancient blue tackle box. “I thought they’d never leave.”
 

My stomach went into a complicated sailor knot. Being alone with Flincher was worse than I expected. His smell was unspeakable in the enclosed area and the harsh lighting made him look like he was on death’s doorstep, knocking.
 

I sat up straight and raised an eyebrow. “Exactly what answer do you have for me?”
 

“The only one you can’t get for yourself.”
 

“And that is?”
 

“The identity of a certain individual who may or may not be fertilizing Mrs. Mahoney’s begonias.”
 

I shuddered. Not my finest moment, but I couldn’t help it. I knew he’d done away with the body from the woods. Hearing him say it made it real, too real.
 

“Ah, and what will it cost me? I might as well tell you that I’m not eating or drinking anything.”