A Bad Day for Mercy (14 page)

Chip dug Stella’s phone out of her purse and started poking at it. “Damn, Stella, he’s called you like twenty times. Are you goin’ out with him or is it just a hook-up type thing?”

Chip stared at her with sudden interest. “Is that your boyfriend, Stella? Mom’s never mentioned him. I didn’t know you were … you know.”

Stella rolled her eyes. “Dating? Yeah, now and then I get down to the Red Robin for the senior citizen plate with some old geezer’s just got his Social Security check.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that, only that it’s just. Well, you know, you being a widow and all, I thought there was some sort of grace period or something.”

“It’s been four years, Chip!” Stella was secretly relieved. The family fiction that she and Gracellen seemed to have evolved between them was that Stella’s accumulation of rage, acquired over thirty years of being mistreated and disrespected and smacked around, spurring Stella to deliver a deadly blow to her husband Ollie’s head with a wrench, had been no more than a momentary leave-taking of her senses. Of course Gracie was relieved and overjoyed when Stella was released from custody and the case thrown out, but Stella figured it was just too hard for her sister to come to terms with the fact that she’d moved across the country and left Stella back in Missouri to be knocked around.

Stella, with her newish wealth of knowledge about domestic violence and its perpetrators and victims, could have reassured Gracie that there was nothing to be done until the day that Stella woke up ready to take care of business herself. Ready was ready, and one day early was still too early. That’s why Stella waited for her clients to come to her, even in situations where she knew women were living with abuse. Sure, she occasionally made a stealth visit in the most urgent cases, like when Stew Walters nearly drowned on a solo fishing trip in the county supervisor’s trout pond after he’d landed his wife, Gia, in the hospital with her third concussion in two years—but in general, you had to wait until a lady was ready before you began discussing ways you might straighten out her man.

It was funny. Stella could speak bold and plain with any woman who sat in her living room telling her tales of woe, and she could talk to Gracie for hours at a time about nothing at all, but there were still subjects that she and her sister couldn’t touch.

Maybe she ought to do something about that.

“You know,” she said, suddenly inspired, “when we get this mess figured out, maybe we should talk about getting your dad and stepmom out for a visit. How about this summer, we’ll have us a weekend down at the lake, you come down and bring Natalya—like a family reunion!”

“That’d be nice, I guess,” Chip said dubiously. “I mean, Dad and I … you know, we’re not close.”

“That can be fixed,” Stella said with conviction. She had been estranged from Noelle a while back, but they were closer than ever now. “Blood ties are—and even nonblood ties, what you got with your stepmom, for instance, or even me, and I know I haven’t been the best about keeping up—well, what I’m trying to say is, family’s family, and we ought to all work a little harder to stick together.”

“Can I come? Down to the lake?” Todd asked sleepily.

“Well, yeah,” Stella said, unable to stop herself from reaching over and giving his too-long hair a good ruffling. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re family, too.”

Chapter Twelve

Back at the Papadakis-Markovic home, the plastic flowers in the window boxes swayed gently in the breeze. Stella’s stomach was growling, a reminder that she’d had nothing to eat but SweeTarts and a bag of Cheez-Its and a couple of Cliff Bars in the last however many hours, but otherwise she was feeling considerably more optimistic than she had earlier in the day. She desperately needed a nap, but if she didn’t get something to eat first, her stomach was liable to keep her awake.

Natalya waited in the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee, which she immediately set to pouring. Chip had called ahead to share the results of the last few hours of suspect visiting and teenager retrieving, and when Natalya saw Todd, she squealed with delight and folded him into one of her bone-crushing hugs. “Luka is in bathroom, will be out in moment. He will be so happy to have young friend for visit!”

Stella was mildly disappointed that there were no snacks on offer with the coffee as they all assembled around the kitchen table, which, only hours earlier, had been the scene of the dismembering.

“So we got Todd back, got your little problem more or less disposed of, your ear’s not sliced off, and your girlfriend’s no longer, uh … committed elsewhere—what do you say we call your folks and tell them to stop worrying, and then we can all get some lunch and Todd and I’ll head back home?”

Natalya, who had been passing a little pink china milk jug, froze, a horrified expression on her face. “Stella, we need your help. There is matter of Topher Manetta. I am thinking while you are gone, is maybe Topher who kill, he is wondering now, where is body of Benton? If Topher wants poke this on Chip, he is expecting police to come find body.”

Stella, who’d been plenty confused several times already on this trip, found herself sinking further into a surreal sense that she was several steps behind. “Uh, who’s this Manetta?”

Chip interrupted hastily, darting a glance in Stella’s direction. “Now Natalya, that’s ridiculous. Just because a couple of guys drift apart don’t mean there’s any murderous feelings involved.” Evidently he was taking Stella’s minilesson on jealousy to heart. “It’s like I always tell you, men and women process things differently.”

“Chip is explain to me about Mars and Venus,” Natalya confided to Stella. “Is theory that the man and the woman—”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” Stella said, trying to keep her skepticism to herself. Years ago, she’d belonged to a ladies’ reading circle at church. They’d read that dratted Mars and Venus book, as well as Dr. Laura’s
Proper Care & Feeding of Marriage
. Stella was not the least bit impressed; she figured all those folks writing about relationships ought to have tried marrying Ollie for a while before they started dishing out advice. “But I still don’t know who Manetta is.”

“He was Benton’s best friend.”

“And business partner,” Chip added. “The one we were talking about. With the ManTees.”

“They have misunderstanding, this is while ago, they divide up company.”

“You’re saying that Manetta might have held a grudge against Parch? Friends going into business together, doesn’t work out, something like that?” This was a new wrinkle, one that had gotten buried under the earlier firestorm of jealousy, and one that might bear looking into.

“Oh, yes,” Natalya said. “I never trust that Topher. He is … what is word?” There followed a torrent of Russian.

Chip looked at Stella and shrugged. “Can’t help you there. I’m thinking of taking Russian classes, so if we have kids we can raise ’em up bilingual, but half the time I don’t have a clue what she’s saying.”

“He is man you can not be trusted,” Natalya said with exasperation. “Man with scheming.”

Chip shrugged, as he opened one little yellow packet after another and dumped sweetener into his coffee. Stella had a memory of him at the age of eleven, pouring sugar into his iced tea—the boy had had a terrible sweet tooth. “Natalya, Stella’s awful busy. It was nice of her to try to figure out who killed Parch, but now she’s got Todd back, she probably needs to get back to her own life. You know she’s got her store to run, the sewing machines and such.”

Despite herself, Stella felt torn. Chip and Natalya, as efficiently and dispassionately as they’d conducted the body disposal, did not seem like they would hold up well under vigorous questioning, should the police come knocking. And the only way to ensure that they didn’t end up taking the fall for the man’s death was to find out who
had
killed Parch. All of which was arguably not her concern, except …

Well, there was that little speech she’d just given about family. Chip wasn’t the most impressive specimen of humanity she’d ever come across, but he mattered to Gracellen, and that meant he mattered to Stella, too. As for Natalya—well, it seemed plain that Chip was determined to marry her right into the family as well, after all the legalities—which would be considerable, given the twin challenges of her dicey citizenship situation plus the fact she would be unable to physically produce the man she wished to be estranged from—were sorted out. Then Natalya would be family too, if a particularly confusing stripe of family—a stepniece-in-law, or some such.

The long and short of it was that Stella had just got done reminding Todd that family was family, and even if he had wandered into the other room and was playing video games and not listening, Stella made it a point not to lie to the kid, whenever possible.

Besides, she
was
already all the way up here. Sure, tomorrow was her birthday, and she would miss spending it with Noelle and Chrissy and Tucker and Sherilee and a variety of other friends and well-wishers. On the other hand, the backflips her heart did every time a new text or call came in from BJ—and
not
from Sheriff Goat Jones—had convinced her that she was in a seriously confused state over her romantic life, and a few more days away from home was probably a better treatment for that particular complaint than the type of obsessing one usually got into when one was mere miles from the source of the confusion.

So all in all, pursuing this thing just a little further might not be the worst idea ever. Providing, of course, she didn’t faint from hunger. “Maybe we could, you know, talk through the problem, brainstorm a little,” she said. “Over
lunch
.”

Unfortunately, Natalya didn’t seem to be picking up on her need for sustenance. Also, the milk jug held skim milk, which to Stella’s way of thinking was an insult to a perfectly good cup of coffee. “Stella, you can maybe visit Topher, tell him back himself off? Or maybe you threat him good? With maybe some hurt him for prove we are serious?”

“Hang on there a minute, sister,” Stella said. “Just a little while ago we were thinking this was all the doing of your, uh, cosmetic surgeon. We’ve barely got Doug checked off the list and you want to go full-bore on to the next suspect? I think we might want to have a bite to eat first, do a little further considering and thinking.”

Natalya didn’t look entirely convinced, but a clattering down the hall got her attention and she jumped up, clasping her hands.

“Oh, there he is! My little Luka!”

The boy who lumbered into the room was hardly little—he was a gangly six feet, with overlong arms and legs and bony elbows. He was in the middle of a yawn, but when he closed his mouth and gave everyone a halfhearted grimace, the sort teens reserve for the presence of visitors, Stella had a revelation.

The boy, with his longish brown hair and expressive eyes and generous features, was the spitting, if slightly taller, image of Todd. Whoever had snatched Todd thought they were getting Luka.

“Oh well now, that explains it,” she said, standing and shaking hands with the young man. “Very pleased to meet you, Luka.”

“It’s, ah, Luke, actually,” he mumbled in surprisingly good English, his voice squeaking just a little. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“This is Mrs. Hardesty, Chip’s aunt. Stella, this is my son, Luke, he is make me call him by American name. But at home he is Luka. I make egg, yes? And nice ham.”

“I don’t want anything, Mom.”

Stella couldn’t help resenting that the boy was turning down the snack she had been hoping for, and she was considering asking if she might have it instead when Natalya called into the living room. “Todd, Todd! Come here please.”

Todd shuffled in from the guest room; clearly he’d been napping, as his hair stuck straight up on one side. When he saw Luke, his posture underwent an instant but subtle realignment wherein his swagger got swaggerier and his slouch slouchier. “Yerm,” he mumbled.

“Say hello,” Natalya and Stella said in perfect unison, and then they stared at each other openmouthed for a brief second and burst into laughter.

“And stand up straight,” Stella added.

“And put shirt in pants.”

The boys rolled their eyes as though controlled by the same invisible hand, and Stella figured that Todd’s day, at any rate, had just gotten a little brighter.

*   *   *

There was a diner
within walking distance where they made omelets with four eggs and a buttery sheen. Bacon sizzled in the deep fryer and toast given a quick spin on the grill rounded out a meal that, Stella had to admit, had been worth waiting for. For her part, Natalya nibbled the underdone curly edges of her bacon and left the rest, and ignored her toast entirely, but she drank at least a gallon of coffee. With the boys at a neighboring table, shoveling in great stacks of pancakes and multiple cups of hot chocolate, conversation was kept to bland topics that did not include any crimes considered or actually committed—though the boys ignored the adults entirely, checking their phones and texting furiously, occasionally exchanging a few words or showing each other the tiny screens.

That reminded Stella that she’d switched her own ringer off, and she took her phone out of her purse and squinted at the screen.

BJ had evidently given up after the handful of texts and gone back to old-fashioned calling. There were six missed calls, four from BJ, one from Chrissy, and one from her friend Dotty Edwards.

“I wonder if you’ll excuse me a moment,” she said, getting up from the table and sucking in her stomach, which was pleasantly full of brunch. “I’ve got a couple of calls I need to return.”

Outside, she stood under the diner’s striped awning, enjoying the sun. First she tried Chrissy at the shop.

“You are not going to believe what-all I’ve seen in the last couple of days,” she said without preamble when Chrissy answered.

“Well, it better be good, because I been pickin’ up after them paper piecers and I’m just about clear outta patience.”

“Oh … it’s Saturday, isn’t it.”

“Damn right it is,” Chrissy said moodily. “That bein’ the day you swore up and down you wouldn’t make me run that damn class by myself.”