A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red (28 page)

Sgt. Wellow wasn’t impressed. He knew exactly who I was and didn’t care for me.
 

“You should’ve reported it to us,” he said, puffing up in his cushy desk chair.
 

“It didn’t occur to me.” I didn’t try the big eyes. I didn’t dare.
 

“And now you’re here, thinking you’re a big shot, coming down to solve our crimes for us. No, thank you.”
 

“I don’t care who solves it as long as it gets solved.” I wiggled on the hard plastic seat Wellow had offered me, not the soft fabric one three feet away in his small, badly lit office.
 

“Are you implying that we won’t solve it?” he asked.
 

Derek blanched, looking like he was ready to run out of the room. I patted his knee and said, “Not at all. I apologize. I should’ve called you. I already knew Truesdale and that’s why I thought of him.”
 

“How do you know Truesdale?”

I told him about Donatella’s house and Christopher’s room. He leaned back in his creaking chair and whistled. “You’re not here to make trouble for that boy?”
 

The cop likes Christopher. Interesting.
 

“Christopher? No. I’m supposed to find out who poisoned his brother and sister. I ran across the rape. Faith Farrell is as good a suspect as any.”
 

“That girl wouldn’t poison anybody. I doubt she’s had an original idea in her whole life.”
 

“She’s supposed to be very smart.”
 

He made a face at me. “Just because you’re in the physics program doesn’t mean you’re smart.”
 

Yeah. It kinda does.
 

“How do you think she got in the program?” I asked.
 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. Miss Farrell is book smart, but she’s not creative smart, if you get my drift.”
 

“She can learn anything, but she can’t make anything up.”
 

His hand made a pistol and he fired it at me. “Bingo.”
 

“If Miss Farrell can’t make anything up, how come you think she’s making up the rape? I asked and heard a quick intake of breath from Derek beside me.
 

A slow, almost sensual smile crossed Wellow’s craggy face. “I don’t think
she’s
making it up.”
 

I bit my lip, mulling it over for a second, before I said, “When Miss Farrell reported the rape, was she alone?”
 

“This is a police investigation. All information is confidential.”
 

What investigation?

“Since when is the identity of the person you arrived with confidential? I’m not asking what you or they said. I’m here for the Berry family. I want to help Christopher.”
 

Well…sort of.
 

“Her father came with her,” said Wellow. “That’s all I’m saying.”
 

“Did you like him?” I asked.
 

“Miss Watts, you are persistent. I’ll give you that.”
 

You’ve given me way more than that.

“Your personal impression isn’t private. Did you like the man or not?”
 

Wellow let out sigh of exasperation. I get that a lot. “No, I didn’t like the lord on high coming down to tell me my business. Happy?”
 

“Thrilled,” I said. “Has the name Grayson Harris come across your desk?”
 

Wellow blinked in surprise. “That’s a change of topic, no transition.”
 

“I ran into him and he was rather odd about Miss Farrell.”

“The kid’s got issues,” he said.
 

“I got the impression he’s some sort of genius.”
 

Wellow rocked forward in his chair. “We’ve got plenty of geniuses around here. Most of them don’t have a lick of sense.”
 

“Like Grayson Harris.”
 

“He’s a good example, but if you’re thinking he had something to do with Miss Farrell’s supposed rape, think again. He thinks he’s in love with her as much as he knows about love, that is. He wouldn’t hurt her.”
 

“Would he hurt someone he thought hurt her?” I asked.

“A nose wipe like that? Forget it. All he’d do is follow her around. He was always places he shouldn’t have been.”

“If Grayson was always following her, did you question him about the night it happened?

“I didn’t need to ask him, because it didn’t happen. Case closed.”
 

Derek whispered under his breath, “Oh, shit.”
 

Wellow focused on Derek for the first time. “What have you got to do with this?”
 

“Um,” muttered Derek.
 

“He’s my assistant,” I said.
 

“So the world-famous Mercy Watts needs a pimply college kid to help her investigate,” said Wellow.
 

Derek flushed to the roots of his spiky blond hair and so did I. What an ass.
 

“He gets the job done,” I said.
 

“Desperate, huh?”
 

Oh, it is on, old man.
 

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” I asked sweetly to cover up my desire to smack the crap out of him.
 

“What do you have in mind, Miss Watts?” he asked with plenty of smug on his face.
 

“I solve the rape and poisoning before you and it’s dinner at Irene’s.”
 

“You know about Irene’s?” Surprise replaced the smug.
 

“My mother’s a native. What about it? Up for the challenge?”
 

“What do I get?” asked Wellow.
 

“What do you want?”
 

Don’t say anything gross.

He steepled his fingers. “I’ll take Irene’s. My wife’s heard the soft shell crab is to die for.”
 

“I wouldn’t know.”
 

“You’ve never been there then.”
 

“I hate crab,” I said with a shudder.
 

Wellow grinned over his bitten-to-the-quick fingernails. “Me, too. Let’s make it interesting. The loser pays for dinner at Irene’s and has to eat a crab.”
 

I leaned forward and spat out, “Make it two.”
 

What the…

Wellow stuck out his hand. “Done.”
 

We shook on it and I tried to look extremely confident, which I wasn’t. What the hell was I thinking? I’d rather chop off a useless pinky toe than eat two crabs. Two! I took it from one to two, like a kamikaze moron.
 

“Anything else I can’t do for you?” asked Wellow.
 

“We’re good,” I said. “I hope you have a lot of space on your credit card, because I love wine pairing.”
 

A flash of fear went through Wellow’s eyes. Ah! The bastard.
 

I laughed and couldn’t resist taking it further. “Can’t you tell? I’m a luxury few can afford.”
 

“Um…well.”
 

“I look forward to meeting your wife. I bet she likes pairing, too. Irene’s has an extensive wine list and their wait staff has excellent, if expensive, taste.”
 

“She…um…”
 

“We better be going now. People to see, crimes to solve, you know. Bye now.” I stood up and flounced out.
 

We left the campus police station and blinked hard at the glaring light outside. The temperature had gone up ten degrees and I fanned myself with my hand.
 

“What’s next?’ asked Derek.
 

“We need to find Faith and get her story. That’ll be my job,” I said.
 

“Do I have a job?” he asked.
 

“I want you to go back—”

“Hey, Mercy,” called out an all too familiar voice.
 

No. Seriously. No.
 

“Whatcha doing in the cop shop?”
 

There was Stevie, out in broad daylight, leaning on a fire hydrant and holding a drippy mess of an ice cream cone.
 

I went over with Derek in tow. “What are you doing here?”
 

“I’m gonna help you.”
 

“You’re going to help me? Did Chuck put you up to this?”
 

“Nah. He’s still asleep on the floor.”
 

I stared at Stevie in all his goofy, clueless splendor. “How did you find me?”

“Pretty impressive, huh?” He grinned at me and took a huge slurp of his ice cream.

“You used to take finals in classes you didn’t have because you wandered into the wrong room. There is no way you found me on your own.”
 

“Yeah, I did. Chuck installed an app on your phone.” He held up Chuck’s phone. “And I tracked you with it.”
 

My mouth fell open. I never pegged Chuck as the stalker type and I knew stalkers. “I can’t believe it. What a jerk. And you’re no better. Where’s my privacy?”
 

“You don’t need privacy. We’re family,” he said.
 

“No, we’re not.”
 

“Well, you’re Chuck’s family.”
 

“His mother is my ex-aunt.”
 

He nodded sagely. “Family. He’s looking out for you. Like always.”
 

“He doesn’t look out for me. He bothers me, the big sleazebag.”
 

“You like it.”
 

“I will punch you in the face.”
 

Stevie laughed as if I was joking and looked at Derek. “Hey, man. How you doing?”
 

“Hi,” said Derek, looking thoroughly confused. Who could blame him?

“Stevie,” I said, “you can’t be out in public. You know that.”
 

“I went out with you last night,” he said after more slurping.
 

I lowered my voice. “Chuck was there. The Costillas wouldn’t take you out with a cop right there. Come on.”
 

“Who’s the Costillas?” asked Derek.
 

“Just some brothers that wanna kill me,” said Stevie, casual, like people say that all the time.
 

“People want to kill you? For real?”
 

“You see I stole some—”

“Stevie!” I hissed.
 

“Huh?”
 

“You can’t be telling people that.” I dragged him over to a tree and shoved him into the shade as if that would protect him from prying eyes. “You have to stay at the house or just disappear before Chuck takes you back to St. Louis.”
 

“Nah. I’m having a good time. New Orleans rocks. There’s a haunted pub crawl tonight. I say we do that,” said Stevie.
 

“You’re going to get killed on my watch,” I said, slapping my forehead.
 

“I’m good.”
 

“No, you’re not. You’ve never ever been good.”
 

Derek held up his hand. “So you two are friends and you’re a detective and he’s a…” The knowledge took root in Derek’s eyes, “a criminal.”
 

I often forgot that normal people didn’t know criminals as a general rule. Just another clue that I wasn’t normal. I knew lots of criminals, ranging from Blankenship, the mass murderer, to the criminally stupid, Stevie.
 

“We’re not exactly friends. Our parents are friends,” I said.