A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (35 page)

I did a mental bout of cussing, grabbed my purse, and pulled out my new, very loud phone. “Hello.”

“It’s me. Where are you?” It sounded like Uncle Morty chewing something big and wet.

“Who is this?”

“Who do you think?”

Aunt Miriam gave me the evil eye and motioned to the door. I got off my knees and walked out. The hall was filled with more mourners and I threaded my way to the door, trying not to get felt up or scorched by coffee.

“Uncle Morty?”

“Duh. Where are you?”

“Funeral home picking out the casket,” I said. “What do you want?”

“You should’ve checked out Wilson Novelties,” he said.

“We covered that. Where are you?”

“Lincoln. Where do you think?”

“That was fast,” I said.

“Only for old ladies,” said Uncle Morty.

“You didn’t have Aaron with you. Never mind. What’ve you got?”

“Gavin signed the guest book. The clerk remembers he wrote down something out of it. It made the guy uncomfortable.”

“What’d he write down?”

“Shit. I don’t know. Probably a name and address. I spent the last hour going through the book. My eyes are killing me. These people have terrible handwriting.”

“Any bells go off?”

“None, except Lee, but we already knew he bought a present for Sample here.”

“Anybody else?”

“Listen to a few names for me and see if you recognize any of them. Leslie Baum, Corey Hampton, Jason Moore, Beth Simpson, Ali Musat, Jefferson Bell, Shelley Peterson, Emily Robere, Elian Katz and Rob Clemens.”

“They don’t sound familiar to me,” I said.

“Those are all the names from Gavin’s page and the one before. Those are the ones he would’ve naturally seen. Christ. I’m going to have to look up every one of these bastards.”

“Better you than me.” I hung up, walked back towards the coffin room and there he was, Emil Roberts, peeking at me from around a corner.

Christ. What a dickhead.

Without thinking, I pivoted and went for him. I’d had enough. You can follow me to Kronos. You can follow me home, to the grocery store, to my parents’ house, but you cannot follow me to a funeral home.

“Look, you little creep. Get the freak off me. If I lay eyes on you again, I’m going to kick your balls into your throat. You got that?”

Roberts nodded with his mouth open and cappuccino slopping down his shirt. I turned from him and walked as fast as I could towards the coffin showroom. I spotted blue eye shadow girl on the way. Unfortunately, she spotted me too and did an about-face. I followed her into Remembrance Three and zigzagged through mourners and past the casket, the Eternity Gold. Nice choice. Pictures were grouped on the casket along with a ton of flowers. Mr. Altemueller was making a bundle off this event.

A large wooden easel sat at the foot of the casket. I was in arm’s length of blue eye shadow girl and I reached out to grab her arm, when I saw the picture propped up on the easel. Rebecca Sample. It was the shot I’d seen in the Reverend Coleman’s office. Rebecca Sample smiling with her long, blond hair draped over her shoulder and looking like nothing could possibly be wrong. The children that had surrounded her had been carefully edited out. Rebecca was alone in that picture, life size, but taken out of her life. The hole in my stomach returned. I hadn’t missed it.

Blue eye shadow girl disappeared from Remembrance Three and mourners crowded me taking their turns at the casket. I got turned around and headed to where the lid was up. An old woman steadied herself with my arm and said what a shame it was. I tried to pull away from her, but found myself boxed in. I hadn’t known Rebecca in life and I didn’t want to know her in death. When you haven’t got life to remember, death is all you’ve got. I was able to forget Rebecca while I investigated Gavin’s murder, but if I saw her, she’d be there right alongside him forever. Gavin was enough.

Too late. There she was, lying in a box. Expensive and pretty as it was, it couldn’t compare to Rebecca herself. She didn’t photograph well. Rebecca was a beauty in person. The mortician hadn’t caked makeup on her. She looked fresh and rested. A high-necked pink blouse covered her bruised neck and brought out the subtle blush of her cheeks. The crack on her head must’ve been in the back because there were no marks on her face.

“Charlotte wanted Rebecca in her wedding dress, but they couldn’t get the blood out,” said a woman behind me.

“Ellie, do we have to talk about that now?” asked a man.

“I’m just saying.”

“Just saying what? God, I have to get out of here.”

“Earl, Earl? Where are you going?”

I turned away from Rebecca and followed Ellie and Earl through the crowd. The sea of mourners parted for them. I guess it was Earl’s distress that did it. His hand was over his face and Ellie was soon crying. They stopped at some rosewood sofas in Remembrance One. I passed them and went out the door into the hall. A line blocked my way. People were cued up to sign the guest book. A man bent over the book crying, his hands gripping either side of the desk and tears dripped down his nose. It was Lee Holtmeyer. I watched as Reverend Coleman rubbed his back and whispered in his ear. He straightened up, wiped his nose on a tissue and signed the book. He walked towards me with the reverend’s arm around his waist.

“Excuse me,” said Lee, his voice barely audible. I felt like he was looking through my head when he said it.

“I’m so sorry, Lee,” I said.

“Excuse us, Detective Watts. We have to go in,” said the reverend.

They brushed past me and I stood for a moment face-to-face with Lee’s brother, Darrell. He glared at me and started to speak, but blue eye shadow girl came out of Remembrance One and did another about-face.

Not so fast, sister.

I chased her down. I wasn’t going back into Remembrance Three no matter what.

“We need that price list now,” I said.

She muttered some excuses, but I held her arm and she relented. We walked into the hall, down the ramp into the showroom. Aunt Miriam started quizzing her on each casket, price, paint quality, availability. She talked and talked. The girl listened and would’ve agreed to anything just to escape Aunt Miriam. I knew the feeling. Blue eye shadow girl pulled out some paperwork from behind the Eternity Gold and asked Aunt Miriam to sign the order. Lee Holtmeyer popped into my head, him signing the guest book. Morty said Lee’s name was in the Wilson Novelties book. He signed it. He was there. Lee was in Lincoln and he lied about it.

“Oh my God. Aunt Miriam. Oh my God.”

“Mercy Watts, have some decorum and respect. I’m trying to negotiate here.”

“But Aunt Miriam…”

“Please be quiet. It’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“No. I’m telling you it cannot wait.”

“Mercy, please.”

“Fine.” I pulled out my phone.

“Mercy, how many times do I have to tell you?” Aunt Miriam made a chopping motion towards the door. I glared at her and walked out. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the hall was even more packed. I pushed through to Remembrance Two and gave up. I dialed Chuck’s desk. It killed me to do it, but Dad was still out. Chuck, as sleazy as he was, was a great cop.

Somebody answered the phone, but I couldn’t make out what he said. “Chuck. Chuck. Is that you? I’m looking for Detective Watts.”

I couldn’t make out a word. My phone was useless in there. No one would be able to hear me and I’d never make it to the front door. The exit in Remembrance Two was worse than the hall. I rotated and spotted an unmarked door. At the very least it led out of the crush, so I took it. It was a storage room packed with extra chairs, baseball equipment, broken podiums and, ick, more caskets. They should keep that door locked. Lucky for me it also had an exit. The red sign glowed behind a stack of chairs. I pulled on them and they fell over on a red casket creating a huge gash in the lid.

 
Great, just great. Wait, it wasn’t my fault. They should’ve kept that door locked plus it’s red. Who gets buried in red? Prostitutes and adulterers maybe.

I pushed on the metal bar on the exit door and sunlight blinded me. I hadn’t realized how dim it was inside. I leaned my hip on the door, thrusting it open further, and propped it open with a dented brass ashtray.

I hit redial on my phone.

“Detective Clancy.”

“Detective Clancy? Isn’t this Watts’s desk?”

“Yeah it is. Can I help you?”

“No. I need Watts right now,” I said. “It’s an emergency.”

“Tell me who you are and what the emergency is. Then I’ll get him.”

“Mercy Watts. It’s about the Sample Flouder case. Get him now!”

“So which case do you want to talk to him about, Sample or Flouder?”

“Oh my god! They’re the same case.”

“Okay. Okay. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

The door screeched open and I slipped behind another stack of chairs. The door closed and I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. I shifted sideways and peeked around the chairs. Darrell. Of course. Big brother come to fix the problem once again.

Darrell’s eyes slid around the storage room and settled on the exit door to my left. “God damn it.”

The baseball bats were across the room. I’d never get to them. Darrell came closer. If he went all the way to the door, he’d see me. I held my breath.

I’m not here. I got away. Go back.

He kept walking; slow, deliberate steps. He was at the door.

“Mercy!” Chuck’s voice came out of my phone.

Darrell’s head snapped to the left. Our eyes met. I grabbed the chairs and toppled them over on him. He yelled as he went down and I heard the metallic clunk of the gun hitting the concrete floor. The chairs settled. They covered Darrell completely, except for his gun hand which was empty and still. I put my hand to my ear and realized my phone wasn’t in it anymore. Like Darrell’s gun it had disappeared in the avalanche of chairs. It also blocked the way to the door into Remembrance Two. I’d have to climb over caskets to get to it.

“Ah crap.”

That was the last thing I said. White starbursts filled my vision and my hands were on either side of my head trying to press out the pain. I was on the floor, my cheek against the cold concrete. I think I was rolling back and forth from the pain, an involuntary movement I’d seen patients make after a severe injury.

Someone touched me. He didn’t speak or at least I didn’t hear anything. He grabbed my arm and pulled it away from my head and started dragging me. The starbursts got brighter and became streaked with red. Through the pain, I knew I was in big trouble. What did Dad say? Never let yourself be taken to the second location. I was going to the second location. I slid over a hump and something snagged my dress. He pulled my arm so hard, I thought it would come out of its socket. Something went through my dress and cut into me. A hot, burning pain went down my back slicing skin from muscle. It was one more pain in a nightmare and worse, I was now outside. Outside. Away from people. The second location.

My arm dropped and I thought he left. My hand went back to my head and then he kicked me, not hard, not the first time. But there wasn’t just one kick, but a half dozen in my ribs and the small of my back. The pain rivaled the pain in my head, but I couldn’t do anything to protect myself. I couldn’t move my hands from my head -- that pain was paramount.

One more kick, a big one, sent me off the edge of something. The fall was short, but it felt like forever. Long enough for me to think, “At least he’s not kicking me anymore.” Then I hit the ground. Apparently, the body can only take so much pain because it didn’t hurt and it should’ve. I could feel sharp rocks under my face and chest. I’d landed sunny-side down. My hands were still at my head, my elbows digging into the ground. My stomach heaved. It wasn’t forceful or even uncomfortable. Warm liquid spilled over my lips and pooled under my cheek, but nothing happened. No more pulling or kicking. The pain didn’t subside or increase, and I began to cope with it. I felt my face and realized that my eyes were closed so I opened them. The pain powered through my head like Aaron through a crab cake. My vision went in and out with starbursts and red streaks going through, but I could see. I was outside on a gravel border about three feet from the funeral home lawn. Beyond the lawn was a stand of trees. I was alone. When I realized I could hear I listened for footsteps and there weren’t any. He was gone and I had a chance.

I rolled back over on my back and looked at the sky, pale blue with fluffy clouds floating past at a good clip. I took a deep breath and forced myself onto my left side. The building was in reach of my fingertips. I cocked my head back. The edge of the parking lot was twenty feet away. The other way was a small porch, the one I’d been kicked off. I couldn’t go that way. He’d come back and that’s the way he’d come. I could crawl out onto the lawn and hope a mourner would spot me when they got in their car. Of course, the guy wouldn’t have a hard time spotting me either, but he’d have to drag me back in a visible area. I could make for the parking lot. I’d be blocked by the cars, but easier to hear. Then again, if he came back, he could drag me into a car and that’d be the end of me.