In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (57 page)

I said I would and she left after telling the cops to behave themselves. The minute she was gone, they hustled Tiny and Aaron out of the room and glared at me. They tried to get John and Leslie to leave, but they didn’t know who they were dealing with. Neither innkeeper could be moved, citing their loyalty to my father.
 

“Well, Miss Watts,” said White, “tell us what you did or didn’t do.”
 

I glanced at John and Leslie’s placid faces. I owed them. There had been an assassin at the fence with my name in his brain and they took care of it.
 

“I shot them both,” I said.

White and Logsdon didn’t believe me, not for a minute, but they had no choice. Everyone, including people who didn’t actually see Cory get shot, said I did it. They even claimed that he was coming at me, yelling threats and whatnot. As for Tim’s death, they thought the ranger shot him. Silver was a competition skeet shooter and he’d roughed up a few campers in the past, and threatened a poacher with a .22. They couldn’t believe little old me could’ve shot Tim in the back of the neck so perfectly. I pointed out with umbrage that I had recently shot a gang member in the face, but they were undeterred. They’d decided what happened and didn’t want to be confused with facts. I
had
killed someone and there was no reason to believe I couldn’t do it again. It was a fact they weren’t interested in.
 

I didn’t waver from my story and, of course, Lane and Silver backed me up. I doubted Lane knew what happened since she was about to be murdered at the time, but it was nice to have her vote.
 

“So are you going to arrest me or what?” I asked.

White gritted his teeth so hard I could hear it. That guy was going to need some dental work in the near future.
 

“You can go,” said Logsdon. “But you have to be available for further questioning.”
 

I shrugged. “I’ll be in St. Louis if you need me.”
 

“Gentleman,” said Leslie, indicating the door.
 

White and Logsdon left and Leslie closed the door behind them. “So what tipped the balance in our favor?”
 

“John killed Alphonso Nunez to protect me. I never would’ve thought he’d be so sentimental,” I said with a raised eyebrow at John.
 

“He attempted to breach our property,” he said.
 

“To kill me.”
 

“I assume.”
 

“How did you know he wasn’t here for one of you?” I asked. ,

Leslie picked up my breakfast tray. “Tommy gave us a dossier of known associates of the Costillas.”
 

“And Flincher just agreed to incinerate him. No questions asked.”
 

“He was well paid,” said John, pointing at the lump under my covers. “I’ll have the evidence now.”
 

“Did you erase that video of me drunk?” I asked.
 

“Yes.”
 

I sneered at him. “Why do I doubt that?”
 

John gave nothing away. “I couldn’t say. The evidence, Miss Watts.”
 

Here’s hoping that video never surfaces.

“I’ll have to trust you.” I handed over Flincher’s packet and grabbed John’s wrist, “Thank you.”
 

He stopped and looked down at me, the tiniest expression flickered in his eyes, making him almost human. “Anytime.”
 

John left and Leslie stood there with my tray for a moment. “Thank you, Miss Watts. It was illuminating.”
 

“I thought it was messy. Where do you get illuminating?” I asked.
 

He smiled, charming as always. “Let’s just say things are clearer now.”

“Fine with me. Bye, Shaun. I’ll miss you.”
 

“I will definitely miss you, Miss Watts.” Leslie turned to leave, but I said, “Hey, what about my money?”
 

He laughed and adjusted his vest. “I thought you’d forgotten our little bet.”
 

“Hand it over, bub.”
 

Leslie peeled four fifties off a large wad of bills and gave them to me. “Good luck, Miss Watts.”
 

“With what?” I asked, tucking the bills in my pocket.
 

“Nothing in particular. You just need luck in general.” Leslie winked at me and left, leaving the smell of his cologne lingering in the air along with the stink of White and Logsdon’s nervous perspiration. I finished packing and was about to call Tiny for help getting out to the limo when my door flung open without a knock.
 

The Troublesome Trio marched in with full makeup and four-inch heels.
 

“You,” said Bridget.
 

“Can I help you?” I asked, backing up.
 

“You could’ve, but you didn’t.” Jilly admired yet another fresh manicure on her long fingers.
 

I backed up further. “Help you with what?”
 

“The truth,” spat Sorcha. “You lied to me.”

“What? When?”
 

Pick, who’d been sleeping on my bed, rolled over and gave out a half-hearted bark.
 

“Quiet, you,” said Bridget, glaring at the poodle who in a fit of extreme bravery buried his nose under his paws. “This weekend was so perfect. Everything I could’ve asked for.”
 

Jilly waved her hand at me. “And it ended up like this.”
 

I looked down at my cast. They were mad that I broke my ankle? What the hell? It’s my ankle.
 

“Look I’m sorry we have to leave early, but Les—”

Sorcha put her hand in my face. “You said it was a mystery for us to solve. Together.”
 

“Er…”
 

They crowded in around me, a triumvirate of angry redheads. Jilly poked me with her sharp nails. “It wasn’t a game.”
 

“I never said it was.”
 

“You said it was a murder mystery,” said Sorcha. “I was there.”
 

“I told you Cherie got strangled in the love garden.”
You freaking nut.
 

“You didn’t say it was for real,” yelled Bridget.
 

I backed up and bumped into the wall, rattling the artwork. “I thought it was implied.”
 

“You let us think that it was one of those murder mystery theatre things,” said Sorcha. “And you sent us out to interview murderers. We could’ve been killed and chopped up into little tiny pieces.”
 

“You actually thought that everyone at the castle was putting on a show for you?” I asked.
 

“We didn’t think there was a real murder,” said Jilly.
 

“I told you there was. Weren’t you paying attention? Everyone was freaked out.” I said.

“We thought the crying was part of it,” said Jilly.
 

Bridget rolled her eyes. “And here I was saying you did such a good job making this elaborate game for us to play together like real cousins.”

I crossed my arms. “We are real cousins.”
 

“Oliver thinks I’m an idiot,” said Sorcha, bursting into tears.
 

Well, if the shoe fits.

“You lied to get us to do your dirty work,” said Sorcha.
 

“You wanted to help.”
 

“Because we thought it wasn’t real. Because you lied.”
 

That’s when they pounced. I didn’t have a chance to scream. I never do.

At least they used pretty duct tape. The green and blue went really well with my purple cast. I was trussed up good with alternating stripes before my cousins tossed me in the closet.
 

Jilly took her hand off my mouth and I said, “You can’t leave me here.”

“We can and we will,” said Sorcha. “You need time to think about what you’ve done. Two hours should do it.”
 

I struggled with my bonds. They’d gotten very good. My hands were duct taped together and then to my waist. “Two hours. What happens in two hours?”
 

“The maids will come to clean your room and let you out. By that time you should be very sorry.”
 

“I’m very sorry right now,” I yelled. “I’m sorry you’re…”
 

Don’t say it.
 

“Idiots that think that I would fake a murder for fun. This wasn’t fun. I have a broken ankle and claw marks on my face.”
 

“That’s all you. Going around involving yourself in things that aren’t your business,” said Jilly, holding up a hand. “Oh, I chipped a nail.”
 

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I involved you in Cherie’s murder. It wasn’t intentional.”
 

That sounded pretty sincere.
 

“You’re not sorry,” said Bridget.
 

I guess not.

“You’d do it again if it helped solve the crime. You’re just like Uncle Tommy.”
 

“That’s a low blow. Dad goes looking for crime. Crime comes to me,” I said.
 

My cousins looked at each other.
 

“She needs some serious self-reflection,” said Jilly. “We could tell the maids not to come until noon.”
 

“No, no. I’m self-reflecting like crazy. I am like my father and I’m going to work on that. Please let me out,” I begged.
 

“No,” said Sorcha, bursting into tears and buckets of snot. “You’ve ruined my chance with Oliver and you must pay.”
 

“He’ll get over it. I’ll take the blame. I’ll tell him that it’s all my fault.”
 

“And you’ll do it after the maids come.”
 

“No! This is not happening. You think Uncle Morty isn’t going to notice that I don’t get in the limo.”
 

Bridget smiled wickedly down at me. “He’s staying to finish his book.”
 

“Okay. What about Tiny and Aaron?”
 

“Aaron is staying to teach Leslie how to make that gross andouillette stuff.”
 

Jilly looked at her phone. “Terrance is here. Time to go.”
 

“What about Tiny and Terrance?”
 

Sorcha blew her nose, using about twenty tissues, then she reached down and patted my shoulder. “We’ll lie. We can be very convincing. It runs in the family.”
 

“We’ll say you don’t feel well. That you want to stay until you’re better and you’re sending us on ahead,” said Bridget.
 

 
“They won’t believe you,” I said.
 

“Yes, they will,” said Jilly. “We look honest.”

Dammed if they didn’t. Nobody looked more innocent than my cousins.
 

“Okay. Fine. What about Lester? He’s going to die. The Girls and my parents want me home. They’re going to notice when I don’t show up.”
 

The Troublesome Trio shrugged.
 

“You’ll only be a few hours behind us,” said Jilly.
 

“They can’t really blame us,” said Bridget.

“Yes, they can. I do.” I tried to wiggle out of the closet, fell over, and bonked my head on the hardwood.
 

Bridget propped me up against the back of the closet. “Once you’re done regretting your actions this weekend, you should have plenty of time to plan my bachelorette party. Here’s a hint. We can have strippers, but they have to be classy like in
Magic Mike
.”
 

“I think we should go to Vegas,” said Jilly.
 

I kicked the wall and pain rocketed up my leg. “I’m not planning your party after this! Not in a million years would I do that!”