A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red (27 page)

She flushed. “That’s not abnormal.”
 

“No, it’s not. I’m trying to get a fix on her. Was there drinking involved?”
 

“She wasn’t a drinker that I’m aware of.”
 

“Was she that night?” I sounded like a defense attorney and I hated myself for it.

“I don’t know,” she said.
 

“What did Faith tell you about it?”
 

Peaches fidgeted and flexed her fingers. I sat up straight. “She didn’t tell you anything.”
 

“No. She cried and wouldn’t say a single thing about it.”
 

“Did you take her to campus security?”
 

“She’d already been when her roommate came up and asked me to talk to her.”
 

“Anne Marie? What did she say?” I asked.
 

“That Faith wouldn’t stop crying long enough to pack, and she needed help with her.”
 

“She was packing to go home for Christmas?”

Peaches leaned forward and lowered her voice. “No. She withdrew from school. That’s how I know it’s true. Faith was a straight A student. Gifted. She was working on dual degrees in physics and engineering.”
 

Whoa. What was a girl like that doing at Christopher’s frat, dressed up like a French maid? Physics and engineering. If she was as smart as Peaches thought, Faith would be able to figure out how to spike that cupcake with the bacteria.
 

“Maybe she transferred,” I said.
 

“No. She didn’t. I asked.”

So Faith lost a lot, including her school. I assumed her parents knew. That wouldn’t be fun to deal with, even if they handled it well. Faith was a good candidate for revenge. I would be, if I were her.
 

“What do you think she was doing with Christopher Berry?”
 

“I heard he’s good-looking.” Peaches looked off into the distance past my head. “Girls do stupid things when it comes to a good-looking guy.”
 

I wanted to say something comforting. But there was no way I wouldn’t come off as self-serving or flippant. That would be terribly insensitive. Peaches had endured an assault. I was sure of it. I would’ve reached out to her, if I could’ve thought of a way to do it.

“You’re right. We’ve all done stupid things for guys that weren’t worth it.”
 

The line of her mouth changed from grim to bemused. “I doubt you can say that personally.”
 

“Nobody’s immune,” I said.
 

“You’re Tommy Watts’s daughter.”
 

“That doesn’t stop me from being an idiot. Ask him. He’d be happy to tell you all the stupid stuff I’ve done.”
 

She brightened up at the thought of my famous father not being my biggest fan. It didn’t cheer me up, but I’m not the one who needed it. We chatted for a few more minutes until my phone started buzzing in my purse. I thanked her and asked her to call me, if she thought of anything else. She wouldn’t. She believed Faith because of her own experience, but she didn’t have any real knowledge of Faith’s situation. She did describe her as distraught about leaving school. There was something there. I just had to find out why Faith withdrew and didn’t transfer instead. First, I had to find Faith.

Chapter Eighteen

I SHIELDED MY eyes from the bright sunlight coming down through the branches of the live oak above me and squinted at my phone. “Damn.” Dad had texted the bad news. The kids’ memories of the day they got sick were spotty at best. They couldn’t even remember being in Christopher’s room, much less eating a cupcake. Dad said I’d have to do better. Thanks for the tip, Dad.

After that, I decided snarkiness from my father wasn’t enough to round out my day so I called Uncle Morty.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he bellowed after picking up on the first ring.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“I’m doing my thing.”
 

“Apparently not.”
 

“Hey,” said Uncle Morty. “I got obligations to my fans.”
 

“You don’t go to Comic-Cons as you, the author. You go as Morty the super nerd.”
 

Click. He hung up on me. It couldn’t be the super nerd comment. In his world, that was a compliment or maybe it was super geek that was a compliment.
 

Ah crap. Now I have to apologize to the super whatever.
 

Morty’s phone went to voicemail. This was serious. I was running up a big bill and Morty did love my payments. I wasn’t going to pay him if he didn’t actually help. I tried three more times before I broke down and called Pete. He answered all breathless. I didn’t like the sound of that. I’d seen the pictures of the girls in costume at Comic-Cons. They made my bikini shots look tame. Plus, those girls carried swords. I couldn’t compete with swords and skin.
 

“What are you doing?” I asked.
 

“I just got my bicep signed.”
 

Seriously?
 

“Oh…um…by who.”
 

Be calm. It’s Pete. He wouldn’t do anything.
 

“Lt. Uhura. She rocks hard. I can’t believe it. You know what? I’m an idiot. I’ll have to wash it off. Damnit. I should’ve had her sign my shirt.”

“Lt. Uhura?”
 

“From Star Trek. You know, the communications officer.”
 

“But she’s like seventy,” I said. Visions of Pete hooking up with Halle Berry as Catwoman spun into dust.
 

“Eighty-two, but she still has it.”
 

“I don’t know what to say to that. Congrats, I guess.”
 

“Thanks. I’m going to see if she’ll sign my shirt. It’s the one you bought me. You don’t care, do you?” he asked in a rush.
 

“Go for it.”
 

“There she is. I gotta go. Oh my god. Zena, Warrior Princess!”
 

“Wait!” I yelled, but he hung up, off to chase down Lt. Uhura or Zena. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Should I be relieved that he wasn’t cozying up to hot girls painted green and wearing costumes made of thongs, or should I be worried that he was more interested in an octogenarian? I googled Zena and came up with a hot woman in her forties. Not feeling better.
 

I tried Uncle Morty again. Voicemail. So I broke down and called Aaron. I had to be desperate to call Aaron. He wasn’t a talker and not particularly useful, except by accident. But there was a first time for everything.
 

“Hey, Aaron,” I said.
 

“Yeah.”
 

“I called Uncle Morty a super nerd and now he won’t answer his phone. Can you tell him I’m going to contact Spidermonkey if he doesn’t speak to me?”
 

Aaron didn’t really answer. There was more of a mumble and then the clamor of the convention center. Lots of happiness. I only hoped my boyfriend wasn’t getting too happy. Hopefully, Aaron was looking for Uncle Morty. If the threat of hiring his archenemy didn’t get him on the stick, I didn’t know what would. I would hire Spidermonkey, if necessary, but I really didn’t want to distract him from the Klinefeld mission he was on. Plus, he was more expensive than Uncle Morty.
 

“Double,” Uncle Morty bellowed into the phone.
 

I sighed. Of course, this would cost me. “Fine. What’ve you got?”
 

He did a bunch of grumbling about calling him a nerd when clearly he was a geek. Someone had outed him and he was being besieged by fans. I made all the right sympathetic noises, although it was very hard to imagine fans fawning over a man so crabby and difficult that he’d been blacklisted by every pizza joint in delivery distance.
 

“What’ve you got for that?” he asked.
 

“Huh?” I must’ve faded out after the tenth description of a fan costumed as one of his sword-wielding dragon killers.
 

“Triple!”
 

“Double is as high as I go. Chuck gave me Spidermonkey’s number.”
 

“He wouldn’t.”
 

“He did.”
 

“Alright, you pain in the ass. You at Sheila’s?” he asked.
 

I stretched out on the grass. “Tulane, looking into Christopher.” I told him the whole sordid business, Faith and all.
 

“What do you think you’re doing? We don’t need more suspects. You’re supposed to be narrowing it down.”
 

“I had to check out Christopher. It was his room that got destroyed.”
 

“That’s just swell. So now you’ve got this Faith, Grayson, Sheila, and Mrs. Schwartz.”
 

“Mrs. Schwartz? What the heck does she have to do with it?” I asked.
 

“Not my job to find out. But she called Donatella’s school on the day of the Tulio murders.” Uncle Morty chuckled and then said, “Have fun with that.”
 

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. You’re screwed. There are too many clues in this room.” He said the last sentence in a strange singsong voice.
 

“Thanks. Wait a minute. I know that line.”
 

He laughed and I remembered why I liked my father’s odd best friend. He watched movies with me that didn’t include gore.
 

“
Murder on the Orient Express
. Did I get it?”
 

“Yes and you don’t even like mysteries.”
 

“I like that one and you’re right. There are too many suspects and too many clues.”
 

“What do you think Miss Poirot?”
 

“First of all, I’m not nearly so fussy.”
 

Uncle Morty snorted.
 

“And if I were Poirot, I’d have already figured it out.” I heard footsteps and my eyes popped open to find Derek walking toward me.
 

“Poirot?”
 

I told Uncle Morty I’d follow up on Faith and go from there. He’d rather have had me interrogate the lovelorn Sheila, but since I was on Tulane already I decided to stick to my plan. Uncle Morty didn’t believe that college freshman, despite her rumored IQ, orchestrated a complicated poisoning. I had my doubts, too, but you never know.
 

Derek helped me up. “If you’re Poirot, then that makes me Hastings.”
 

“If he wasn’t in
Murder on the Orient Express
I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I brushed off my backside. “Where’s the campus police?”
 

He pointed the way and I trotted along beside him, trying to keep up with his longer strides. “Slow down and tell me about Grayson.”
 

“Sorry. On TV, you’re not so...”
 

“The word you’re looking for is short. It’s not a character flaw, shortness,” I said with a grin.
 

He laughed and told me about Grayson Harris. He was well-known and disliked most everywhere for general oddness. Some thought he was bi-polar. Others favored ADD or Asperger’s. Grayson was known to have a huge crush on Faith Farrell and he followed her around. They were lab partners in three different classes. He was the only one who could keep up with her, but she wasn’t interested in Grayson for anything more than science and he knew it.
 

Derek had talked to dorm people, two professors, and a teaching assistant. Faith and Grayson weren’t very popular. I could see it in Grayson’s case. He was odd on the face of it, but Faith? What did she do?
 

“I don’t know,” said Derek. “Nobody knew her well and they didn’t want to. She kinda sounded like a know-it-all, but they weren’t specific.”
 

“Did they know about the rape charge?” I asked.
 

“I think so, but I couldn’t get them to say anything about it.”
 

“Alright. Let’s go find someone who definitely knows what happened to Faith.”
 

“Who?”
 

“Whoever she made her report to.” I smiled and headed off in the direction of the campus police.