A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red (40 page)

Leo snorted. “You are such a loser.”
 

“I didn’t have to make myself barf, did I?” Avery crossed his skinny arms. “My mom was right. Don’t eat stuff if you don’t know where it came from.”
 

“Tree-hugger.”
 

“Barfer.”
 

I put my hands over my ears. “Quiet! I have to think.”

“About what?” asked Leo.

“Who tried to kill you, for one.”
 

Toby flung open the front door as the third ambulance rolled up with a squad car right behind it. He held a thin blond girl, wearing a push-up bra and a skintight tee, by the arm.
 

“I didn’t
do
anything,” she protested.
 

I peeled Toby’s fingers off her arm. They left pale marks in her thin skin. “I know you didn’t, but you know who did.”
 

“No, I don’t. I just deliver for Gardenway,” she said.
 

“What’s Gardenway?” I asked.
 

“Grocery store,” said Toby.
 

“Yeah,” she said. “They give me stuff to deliver and I deliver it. That’s it. I don’t know anything about any poison.”
 

The EMTs raced up the stairs with a gurney and I pointed at Davis. He’d eaten one and a half cupcakes and had been the last to vomit. They were assessing him when the cops came through the door, looking bored and sweaty, each with a good thirty extra pounds to carry up those long steps.
 

“What’s going on here?” asked the first one, so red faced he looked worse than Davis.
 

I told him and he acted like I was nuts, complete with sputtering.
 

“You’re telling me that somebody spiked their cookies?”
 

“Cupcakes.”

“So they got some bad pastry,” he said.
 

“Call Cortier,” I said. “This is her case.”
 

He snorted. “Cortier. That woman.”
 

“Yes.” I gritted my teeth. “That woman. The detective. The one that outranks you.”
 

His partner, less corpulent but a wheezer, put up his hand. “Yeah, Jones. You know her. She’s a good one.”
 

Jones snorted again and I wondered what that meant. Either she wasn’t a good cop, or she couldn’t be, because she was a woman. I got the feeling it was the latter.
 

“Just call her,” I said. “Tell her Mercy Watts is here. It’s about the Farrell case.”
 

“Oh, yeah. I’ll call her,” said Jones. “I’ll tell her some tranny wants her to investigate some poisoned cookies.”
 

“Cupcakes.”
 

His partner put up his hand again. “Did you say Watts?”
 

Derek walked over and stood behind me. “Yeah, as in Tommy Watts.”
 

“Who the hell is Tommy Watts?” asked Jones. “It’s time for lunch, Moe. Do we have a crime here or what?”
 

“Yes,” I said. “Poisoning is a crime.”
 

The EMTs laid Davis on their gurney and the woman said, “Six cases of bacterial meningitis in the same household and they all ate the same cupcakes? Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.”
 

“What does that mean?’ asked Jones.
 

“It means, do your job, Jones. Donuts can wait. We’ve got six kids that need spinal taps here. You better find out why,” she said, opening the door.
 

Davis’s head popped up. “Spinal tap. Nobody said anything about a spinal tap.”
 

She gently pushed his head back down. “It’ll be fine, baby. Just a little poke.”
 

“With a needle?”
 

“It ain’t with a garden hose. You’ll live.” She rolled her eyes and looked around at the rest of the guys. “Who’s next?”
 

Nobody moved.

“Come on,” she said. “You may as well admit you ate one of them cupcakes. A screaming headache is on the way.”
 

Leo’s shoulders slumped and he raised his hand. While I was being surprised by Leo, the delivery girl made a break for it by running into the TV room. I chased her through the first floor and caught her by the back door, trying to unlock the deadbolt.
 

“Where do you think you’re going?’ I asked, grabbing her by the arm.
 

“Back to work.”
 

“Cops need to talk to you.”
 

“I don’t know anything.”
 

“Sure you do,” I said.
 

She shook her head as Jones’s partner came in the room. “Who’s this?”
 

I filled him in and then said, “She’s lying.”
 

“I am not. I do deliver for Gardenway,” she said.
 

“That I believe. But this delivery wasn’t for Gardenway.”
 

Moe crossed his arms and smiled. “Who was it for?”
 

“Somebody who wanted to punish this fraternity and she knows who,” I said.
 

She shook her head so hard, I’m surprised she didn’t give herself a concussion. “No, I really don’t.”
 

“Who gave you the cupcakes?”
 

“Nobody.”
 

I crossed the room to Moe and leaned on his arm, giving our reluctant witness the stink eye that I’d learned from Aunt Miriam. I must’ve learned it quite well, because she backed up and bumped into the door. “Isn’t it a crime to withhold evidence, Moe?”

He nodded. “Obstruction. This could be a murder investigation, so the penalties could be severe.”
 

She paled. “I…I…”

“You what?” I asked.
 

She let out a ragged breath. “There was a guy waiting outside the store. He had these cupcakes and he paid me to deliver them. I didn’t know he’d done anything to them.”
 

I took her by her shaking shoulders. “What exactly did he say?”
 

“Nothing. He paid me twenty bucks. I needed the money.”
 

“That’s fine. Did he say anything about the frat?” I asked.
 

“Not really.”
 

“Not really, or he didn’t say anything?”
 

She frowned. “Just something about a reward.”
 

I gripped her tighter. “A reward for what? It’s important.”
 

“Ouch. You’re hurting me.”
 

“Think. What did he say?” I asked, not loosening my grip.
 

“Um…a reward for good behavior.” She nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”
 

Good behavior? Who rewards goodness with meningitis and a side order of death?

“Are you sure he said
good
behavior?” I asked.
 

“Um…yeah. You don’t give cupcakes for bad stuff.”
 

“What did he say? Close your eyes and picture the conversation. Picture his face. What did he look like?” I asked.

“I didn’t really see his face. He had on this fedora and a raincoat, but he was older with dark hair.”
 

“Now think about what he said.”
 

Her eyes opened. “It wasn’t good. He just said behavior. That’s weird.”

I looked at Moe. He nodded and took his radio off his belt. “This 781. We need Cortier over at Tulane ASAP.”
 

I hugged Vanessa. “Thank you.”
 

“You’re welcome. Is it that big a deal?”
 

“It’s a huge deal.” I urged her to the front of the house to wait for Cortier with the rest of the guys. I had to think. It was Faith Farrell’s father at Gardenway with his poisoned cupcakes. But this wasn’t the first time. I ran after Vanessa and caught her in the TV room.
 

“Have you delivered here before?” I asked.
 

“Huh?’
 

“Cupcakes. Have you ever delivered cupcakes here before?”
 

“Yeah, but it was just one.”
 

Yes! Eat crab, Wellow!

“Who did you give it to, and who gave it to you?” I asked.
 

“You know what? I think it was the same guy, but he had on different stuff. I didn’t think about it before. He gave me a twenty then, too.”
 

“Who got the cupcake?”
 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was supposed to leave it in a room as a surprise for his son.”
 

“Which room?” asked Moe.
 

“Second floor. I don’t remember exactly which room,” said Vanessa. “Is that bad?”
 

“It’s okay. Go on to the entryway. I’m sure the detective will be here any second to take your statement.”
 

Moe and I stood there, quietly looking at the cupcakes of death in the Ziploc bags marked, “Do not eat. Poisoned.”
 

“Do you know who did it?” asked Moe.
 

“Donald Farrell. He thinks one of the guys raped his daughter and got her pregnant,” I said, my mind spinning.
 

“Did the kid do it?”
 

“No on the rape. She was pregnant, I think. He may have been the father. I didn’t get that far.”
 

“That’s pretty far. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your dad like? He’s kind of a legend around these parts. The Gator Bait case, but I guess you know all about that.”
 

“Not really. He never mentioned it,” I said. “What was it about?”
 

“Guy murdered his wife’s lover. He brought the body down here and fed it to the gators. Then the psycho started killing the lover’s family one-by-one. They knew about the affair. Gator bait. He was fishing with their parts.”
 

“A nasty case of revenge.”
 

“Yep. We had people going missing all over the city. Can’t believe your father never told you about it. That was a huge case,” he said.
 

One-by-one.

“Miss Watts? You alright? You didn’t eat one of those cupcakes, did you?”

“He was getting revenge on the people who wronged him? The Gator Bait guy, I mean,” I said.
 

“Yeah. Crazy. He blamed the lover’s sister for introducing his wife to the guy. Crazy connections like that.”
 

“Anybody who he thought caused the affair?”
 

“Yeah. What are you thinking?”
 

“Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.”
 

“Huh?”
 

“Hamlet’s about revenge and how revenge is inadequate sometimes.”
 

“You lost me.”
 

“Farrell tried to kill Christopher, failed, and now he’s out of reach. That’s inadequate. More punishment is needed.”
 

“Who’s Christopher?” Moe asked.
 

“The supposed rapist. Today Farrell tried to take his revenge on Christopher’s frat. This is where Farrell thinks his daughter was harmed, so it’s their fault.”
 

“Oh, I get it. This Farrell needed more revenge, so he poisoned these kids. I’ll call it in. We’ll pick up Farrell.”
 

“He’s not done,” I said.
 

“What do you mean, not done?”
 

“These guys wronged his daughter, but they’re not the only ones.” I dug around in my purse and came up with the scrap of paper with Anne Marie’s cellphone number on it. She didn’t answer. Oh, no.
 

“He’ll go after his daughter’s roommate.” I gave Moe her room number and I kept calling.
 

Anne Marie, answer the damn phone.
 

Moe grabbed my shoulder. “I’m going over there. The school is getting her schedule. We’ll find her.”
 

I nodded and he left the room, yelling for Jones.
 

Revenge. Is a little ever enough?
 

“Derek!”
 

He ran in, out of breath. “What’s wrong?”
 

“We’ve got a problem.” I dialed Wellow’s number. No answer.
 

“What should I do?” he asked.
 

“Keep calling this number and tell Wellow that Farrell is going to try to kill him.” I shoved my phone at him.
 

“What about me?” asked Stevie.