A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red (51 page)

He clapped me on the back. “That’s my girl. You have it. Damned if you don’t.”

“I’m not going to see Blankenship again. Forget it,” I said. “Never again.”

“Fine.” Dad pulled a rectangular gold box out of his pocket. “You can deliver this for me.”
 

“Bissinger’s lollypops? For who?”
 

Please say Shelley the guard, not a psycho inmate.

“Greta. I arrested her for murder when you were about ten. Anyway, I bring her treats from time to time, but since I’m going to—”
 

“Nope. Not going to do it. You’re just trying to suck me in.”
 

Dad put the box in my hands. “She lives for these treats. You have the time.”
 

“Do we really care if a murderer is happy?” I asked.
 

Dad’s face hardened and his eyes went all glittery. “I do. It wasn’t her fault.”
 

“You arrested the woman.”
 

“It was my job, not my choice. You owe me, Mercy. You owe Chuck.”
 

I groaned. “Dad, come on. I just killed someone that was attacking me. Can’t I get a pass for that?”
 

“Greta likes me. You don’t know how much that counts for.”
 

“You mean Blankenship likes me. It’s not about Greta. It’s about him.”
 

“It’s about twenty-six people at Tulio. I never lost sight of that. You shouldn’t either.”
 

“I’d like to lose sight of it in a huge way.”
 

“Later,” he said, handing me his car keys. “Do what you think is right, not what you think is easy.”
 

Groan.

He stood up, gathered his stuff, and walked out the door in his easy relaxed way, like he hadn’t just ordered his daughter to visit a mass murderer. Two of them most likely. I dashed after him and called out, “He’s not going to tell me anything.”
 

“We’ll see.” Dad boarded the plane, leaving me to decide what was right. I had no idea, except that it was never what I wanted to do, so I found Dad’s car in the parking lot and input the name of Hunt in the GPS. It would be a long drive in wicked weather for nothing. I was too tired and sad to be clever and Blankenship had nothing to do but rest and plot. Not a fair contest at all.

Shelley, the guard, was waiting for me at the visitor entrance. Apparently, there was no doubt I’d do as Dad asked and it irritated me.
 

“I thought I told you never to come back,” said Shelley.
 

“My father had other ideas,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m here for Greta, whoever she is.”
 

A faded wispy brow went up. “Greta?”
 

I showed her my box of lollies. “I’ve got these.”
 

Shelley nodded like she doubted my story and brought me into the waiting area. I expected to see Blankenship’s parents there, shattered and desperate. There was plenty of shattered and desperate in that small room, but it was coming from the other Berrys. Ken and Stacy were sitting in the Blankenships’ spot as far from each other as possible. They wore their Rams paraphernalia, but it now was wrinkled and stained, and their faces were seriously pinched. It took a second before they looked up. Their eyes held no recognition. What a relief. I didn’t want to talk to them. Being in the same room was bad enough after what they put Donatella through.
 

“Harve,” said Shelley. “She’s ready.”
 

Harve wasn’t behind the glass this time. He sat in a chair next to the door, keeping a wary eye on the other Berrys. I guess he expected trouble between them and me.

Harve nodded at me, stood up, and clipped his key ring off his belt.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Why’s this chick going in?” Ken grabbed me by the arm and I turned to look at him full in the face. Then he knew me and sweat beaded up on the bridge of his big nose. “Watts.”
 

“You remember me. How gratifying. Now let go.”
 

Ken dropped my arm. “They said nobody could go in.”

“I guess I’m nobody.” I turned back to Harve. “Ready when you are.”
 

“I’m always ready.” He laughed and started to unlock the door. But Stacy jumped in front of me and Harve put his hand on his baton.
 

“Please,” she said. “We didn’t do anything. We didn’t. You know that.”
 

“I know you’re scumbags. You set your own family up to be murdered and then tried to take Donatella’s kids right after her husband died. I know exactly who you are.”
 

“No, we didn’t. We thought
she
did it,” said Ken. “They’re talking about charging us with murder. Are you going to see him, that guy, that Blankenship?”
 

I sidestepped Stacy. “Harve, it’s been a long day. Can you maybe whack these nutbags?”
 

“My pleasure.” Harve slid his baton out of its holster.
 

Stacy clung to my sleeve, sobbing. “Please. He won’t see us. Get him to say he doesn’t know us. We didn’t do anything.”
 

“You’re out of your head, if you think I’ll help you,” I said, peeling her sticky hands off my sleeve.
 

“Please, Miss Watts,” said Ken, now crying himself. “He has to deny it. Our lawyer said so. Tell him we could go to the death chamber.”
 

“Yes, but he’d like that, wouldn’t he?” I looked at their stunned faces as they understood the truth of my words. Harve unlocked the door and I walked into the last place I wanted to be.
 

After another search, I followed Shelley through an unfamiliar part of Hunt. It was more relaxed somehow with few nurses about and guards sporting smiles.
 

“Where are we going?” I asked.
 

“To see Greta,” said Shelley.
 

“Not in the fishbowl?”
 

She laughed. “No fishbowl for Greta. You can see her in her room.” Just then she stopped in front of a thick metal door with a single bar securing it. I wasn’t comforted.
 

“Um…you don’t have to do anything first?”
 

“Greta’s not violent.” Shelley knocked on the door. “Greta, you have a visitor.”
 

No answer.
 

“Do me a favor. Talk to her a little. Tommy would normally have been here a few days ago, and she’s having a bad time.”
 

“Define bad time,” I said.
 

“You’ll see. Your dad is her only visitor and he talks to her.”
 

I swallowed. “What do I say? What does she like to hear?”
 

“Honestly, I have no idea, but just talk. Tell her what you’ve been up to,” she said.
 

“I killed a guy yesterday,” I said.
 

“Maybe skip that.”
 

“Do you talk to her?”
 

“When I have the time. She’s a good listener and it perks her up.”
 

“I don’t know about this. I’m just supposed to give her this box,” I said.
 

Shelley patted my shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. She won’t hurt you. She only hurts herself.” She lifted the heavy bar and started to heave the door open, but I put my hand on her forearm. “What did she do?”
 

“She killed her children. Cough syrup.”
 

A child killer. My day sucks.
 

“Why does my dad visit her?” I asked.
 

“Because she’s crazy. It was postpartum psychosis. Very severe, but they convicted her anyway.” Shelley’s voice went hard. “Your father blamed the husband.”

“And you?”
 

She nodded stiffly. “He’s walking free. I heard he has more kids now. Don’t mention that to her.”
 

“Don’t worry.”
 

Shelley pulled open the door and I stepped into a narrow room with white walls and no decoration. Greta was curled up in the corner on the metal framed bed that was bolted to the floor. She had faded blond hair streaked with grey. I couldn’t see her face because her arm was up over it like a shield. There was an IV line in her wrist and, from the look of it, she’d pulled it out many times. There were odd scars and nail marks all over her skin. She was terribly thin to the point of emaciation. I looked back at Shelley and she sighed before shutting me in Greta’s hell.

“Hi, Greta. I’m Mercy, Tommy’s daughter. I brought you your lollies.”
 

No reply, so I talked. At first, it was awkward, but then it smoothed out and became easy. I told her about Dad’s catfish bet with Cortier and how he was heading to New Orleans. Then I took a chance and told her why I’d been there. I told her about Abrielle and Colton. She peeked at me over her arm and I saw keen interest in her brown eyes, so I told her the whole tale, except the shooting a guy in the face part. I told her about Chuck and Pete and me. I told Greta, a woman who was certifiably insane, what I would never tell anyone else. The words just tumbled out of me until I had nothing left, leaving me feeling loose and light.
 

“I’m sorry,” I said, putting the little gold box next to her on the sheets. “I shouldn’t have told you all that.” I knocked on the door and I heard the bar being lifted.

“Tommy’s daughter,” said a hoarse voice and I turned back.
 

“Yes?”
 

“Forgiveness is divine, if you can get it. You can.”
 

I bit my lip and scanned her scars. “And you can’t?”
 

“I asked. God said no.” Her arm went over her eyes again and she was gone. Why did I feel so comforted in such an awful place? Her crime, the most terrible crime, was there in the room the whole time. I felt it like a living creature between us. But remorse was there, too. She should ask again. God was known to change his mind.
 

The door creaked open and I walked out.
 

“How was it?” asked Shelley.

“I don’t know.”
 

She nodded. “It’s weird in there like stepping into another existence. Will you come again? She talked to you, didn’t she?”
 

“She did. Can I see Blankenship?” I asked, suddenly very sure of what I had to do.
 

“He’s all ready for you.”
 

I got a little chill, fear coming in to roost. “In the fishbowl? Already? How did you know?”
 

“Tommy said that Greta would do the trick.” She smiled.
 

“How does he always know?” I asked. “It really pisses me off.”
 

“He knows you.”
 

I found Blankenship in the fishbowl exactly the way I found him before, trussed up, bolted to the floor and completely devoid of interest in me.
 

“Surprised to see me?” I asked.
 

Nothing. I got a blank stare. He was so bland with every hair in place and not a hint of stubble, a creepy type of perfection.
 

I sat in the chair provided for me and fluffed my hair. It helps me to think sometimes. “Well, I’m surprised. I solved the poisoning, in case you’re interested. Donatella Berry’s out of trouble and the other Berrys are firmly in.”
 

Nothing glimmered in his eyes, but he said, “
You
solved it?”
 

“I did. What? You thought I was too girly?”
 

“I thought you were too stupid.” He waited to see if I was hurt. I wasn’t. People thought I was stupid all the time. It came with the face.
 

“Nope, not stupid. Clever actually.” I leaned over the table and flicked my tongue out over my heavily-glossed lips.

He sat up a little straighter, as straight as he could with his heavy shackles, and stared at my lips and then my chest. “Still think I had a partner?”