Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (36 page)

“I’m going to search you.” I started through his pockets. Right side had a wallet and keys.
 

One of the shop guys, wearing a Copper Mountain sweatshirt ran up. “What happened? Should I call an ambulance? What’s wrong with that dog?”

“For once, absolutely nothing.” I pulled a more interesting object out of Victor’s other pocket and dangled it by my index finger. “Call the police.”
 

He muttered, “Oh shit,” when he got a load of the shiny new handgun I held up. The guy whipped his phone out and started yelling into it about a gun at Copper.

“What were you planning to do with this, Victor?” I asked, holding it in front of his gasping face. “Oh look, a bullet in the chamber and no safety. Were you going to shoot me?” I took his hand, flattened it on the brick walk, and put a knee on it. He gasped and struggled. “I’ll break your hand, you weasly piece of crap. What were you planning to do?”
 

“Nothing,” he gasped.
 

“Right. You drag me off into an alley and nothing.” I dropped some more pressure on his hand and felt the bones slip to the side, trying to escape the pressure. “What do you want? The cops won’t get here fast enough for this hand.”
 

He screeched, “You’ve got the stuff.”
 

I eased up. “What stuff?”
 

“Mickey’s stuff.”
 

“You idiot, I don’t have it,” I said.
 

“What stuff?” asked the Copper guy.

“Mind your business.” I kept my knee firmly on Victor’s hand, while I ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber. The loose round popped out, landing in a snow drift next to the walk. I scooped it up and put it back into the magazine. Waste not, want not. “Victor, were you seriously going to hold a loaded gun to my head just in case I did have it?”
 

He was breathing more easily now and able to focus on my face. “You have to have it.”
 

“And yet I don’t.”
 

“You met with Rory Dushane that night. You have to have it,” he said, his tone desperate.

“How bad does Mickey need this stuff?”
 

“The band can’t get back together without it. Mickey’d never be able to handle the stress, much less tour. I have to get it. It’s my job.”
 

I rocked back on my heels and put a hand out to Fergus. He helped me to my feet, which was harder than I like to admit. I outweighed little Fergus and my muscles were seriously tight.
 

“Stay there,” I said. “Do not get up.”
 

“Could you maybe get that dog off me?” asked Victor in the nicest voice I ever heard come out of him.
 

“No.”
 

Wallace had lost her grip on Victor’s flesh, but she had ahold of his pant leg and was shaking it like a dead rat.
 

“The cops are almost here,” said the Copper guy. “Should I do something?”
 

“Just watch him,” I said. “Victor, hear me now. I don’t have the stuff. Whoever attacked Rory took it.”
 

He snarled, “That could be you.” So much for Mr. Nice Guy.
 

“This is about Rory?” asked Copper guy.
 

I looked at him. “I have a gun. Be quiet.”
 

“Sorry.”
 

“Victor,” I said, “I have an alibi and whoever took Mickey’s oil wanted to hurt him. That’s not me. What’s your alibi?”
 

“I was asleep when Rory got stabbed,” said Victor.
 

“Alone?”
 

“With Marta.”
 

“Who’s Marta?” I asked.
 

“One of Wade’s girls. He was busy with Jessie, so I got her,” he said.
 

I’d met a lot of disgusting men. Some in the ER. Some in the course of one of Dad’s investigations. Most recently I witnessed a naked freak-out that got seven million hits on YouTube and I thought that was a low point, but Victor, he made me feel slimy and sad. Insane nudity couldn’t compete.

“You are a bad person.” I know that’s weak, but it’s all I had. “I’m going to the Bean.”
 

“You can’t leave,” said the Copper guy. “What’ll the cops say?”
 

“It’s fifty feet away. I need to sit and drink caffeine. It’s not often that I start the day with a murder attempt,” I said.

“I wasn’t going to kill you,” said Victor.
 

I held up the gun. “Oh, yeah. This is a brand-new piece. Bought for the occasion, I’m guessing. So you don’t have a ton of experience with guns and you had it loaded and ready to fire. What did you think would happen?”
 

“I thought I’d get you to tell me the truth.”
 

“I’m telling you the truth now. You’re going to jail.” I patted Fergus on the shoulder. “You rock. Thanks for being here.”
 

“I didn’t help,” said Fergus.
 

“If Wallace and I hadn’t taken him down, you would have,” I said.
 

Fergus puffed up. “Yes, I believe I would have.” He looked at the taser. “I like this. I should get one.”
 

“I highly recommend it.” I pointed a finger at Wallace. “That’s enough.”
 

The stink dog paused and then resumed shaking Victor’s pant leg.
 

I sighed. “Waffle.”
 

Bark.

I groaned as I leaned over to pick up her leash and I didn’t even care who heard me. I dropped Victor’s handgun on his chest and pocketed the clip. Wallace and I resumed our hobble to the Belgian Bean. The whole thing took about six minutes, although it seemed longer. Sirens were wailing in the distance, but coming in fast. I saw the first squad car by the bridge opening as I reached for the Belgian Bean’s door handle. It swung open and I limped in.
 

Stephen called out from the counter. “Sorry, Mercy. You can’t bring her in here.”
 

“I’ll give you fifty bucks,” I said.
 

“Never mind.”
 

Wallace and I went past a table of cooing moms having their morning shots of espresso. Everybody loves a pug.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I said.
 

“Not at all,” they said in chorus. “She’s adorable.”
 

“I mind,” said a gruff voice from the other side of the dining room. My shoulders slumped. Just when I thought the morning couldn’t get any worse, I spotted Uncle Morty sitting at the table with his laptop and a stack of paperwork. He looked ready to rant again. I so wasn’t in the mood.
 

“Sir,” said Stephen, “if the dog bothers you— ”

“Sit down,” bellowed Uncle Morty.
 

I unzipped my jacket. “Wallace doesn’t bother him. I do.”
 

Stephen gave Uncle Morty a fearful look that I understood too well and booked it back to the kitchen. I looked around and found the place mostly empty.
 

“She ain’t here,” said Uncle Morty.
 

“Who?” I asked with big eyes.
 

“Nina Symoan. She called you this morning, didn’t she?”

“Are you tracking me now?”
 

“It’s a dirty job,” he said.
 

“And you love dirt,” I said.
 

“It ain’t all I love. Sit down.”
 

I didn’t have much choice. It was either leave or sit. I had to wait for Nina and I was under no illusions that Uncle Morty wouldn’t come to any table I chose. In my current condition and for the first time in history I couldn’t outrun my blubbery adversary.
 

I eased into the chair opposite him. “Fine. What do you want?”
 

“First, what did he want?” he asked.

“He?”

Uncle Morty inclined his head toward the window. I looked out and saw four cops gathered around Victor.
 

“Oh my god. You saw the whole thing and you didn’t come to help me?”
 

“Oh, stop your bellyaching, you’re alright,” he said.
 

I set Wallace on my lap and she spun around three times until she got me trampled just right and then curled up in her donut. “He had a loaded gun.”
 

“You took care of him. You’re Tommy’s baby girl. I knew you’d be okay.”
 

“You’re out of your gourd,” I said. “He could’ve killed me.”
 

Uncle Morty blew a big raspberry. “Not likely. What’d he want?”

“He thought I had the cannabis oil meant for Mickey.”
 

“Idiot. That it? What else you get out of him?”
 

“Nothing. God, I need a latte.” I waved at Stephen and he nodded.
 

“Nothing? What the hell is that? What about his alibis for Rory, for Nina’s attack, and the god damn hot tub?”
 

Stephen brought me a huge latte with a heap of foam on top. He grinned. “I know what you like. Aaron’s making you some crazy good waffles.”
 

“Aaron’s here?”
 

Why’d I even ask? Of course he was there. Where else would he be?

“Yep. He got in about thirty minutes ago. That little guy’s amazing.”

I smiled. Aaron was a safe subject.

“Beat it,” said Uncle Morty and Stephen literally ran back to the counter.
 

Darn it.

“Do you have to be so rude?” I asked and sipped my latte. Oh sweet caffeine, how I love thee.
 

“It works. We need to talk,” he said.
 

“I had enough of your talking last night. Thanks very much. Let’s just sit here and pretend we don’t know each other,” I said.
 

“Fat chance. I watched that video.”

I peered at him over the foam and tried to judge what his reaction to a four-year-old boy having what I could imagine was a severe seizure, but my uncle showed nothing.
 

“Did you call Mom and Dad?” I asked finally.
 

“No.”
 

“Are you going to call Mom and Dad?”
 

“No.”
 

“What are you going to do?”
 

“I’m going to help you, you moron.”
 

Hallelujah. Wait. Help could mean anything.
 

“What does your help entail exactly?” I asked.

“We’re going to find out where the hell that oil is and take it to that little boy.” He slid a stack of eight by tens across the table to me. “Take a look at these. I took them off one of them DBD fan sites.”
 

My phone buzzed and it was Nina texting that she was running late. I wasn’t sure if I was happy about that or irritated to be left with Uncle Morty with no excuse on the way.
 

“Late, huh?” he asked. “More time for us.”
 

Swell.

Uncle Morty pushed a black rectangle across the table. “Take a closer look.”
 

I popped the jeweler’s magnifying glass open and bent over the top photo. “What do you expect me to see?”
 

“Dunno.”
 

The Belgian Bean’s door jingled and I glanced up to see a rumpled Detective Carey walk in. No tie and a blue dress shirt that looked like he’d gotten it out of the laundry basket. I was so used to seeing him in his tidy cowboy jacket and vest, he looked all wrong to me. Where the heck was his hat?

Detective Carey saw me and shook his head. Poor guy. This was probably the busiest week of his career. I didn’t imagine that the ski resorts and surrounding small towns had a ton of violent crime.
 

He pulled up a chair and dropped into it as if his legs couldn’t hold him up for one more minute. “Miss Watts, my doctor is going to up my blood pressure medicine if you don’t get out of Copper soon.”
 

“You’ll miss me,” I said.

Bark.

I scratched Wallace’s head as she peeked over the tabletop. “And my little dog, too.”

“If you have anymore incidents planned for today please let me know what the schedule is. I’d like to plan for lunch,” he said.
 

“Oh, there’s a plan. It’s just not mine.”
 

Detective Carey got out his phone and poised his thumbs above the keyboard. “Let’s have it.”
 

“Starting with?” I asked, using my big eyes.

“Are you trying to bother me?”

“Maybe a little.”
 

“Consider me bothered. I don’t think I’ve slept since you entered the state. Tell me about Victor Mooting.”

I gave him the blow-by-blow. It didn’t take long, but the kindly detective’s shoulders sagged.
 

“I’m going to have to charge him with attempted murder,” he said.
 

“Damn straight you will,” said Uncle Morty. “It’s a wonder she’s alive.”
 

Detective Carey gave him a withering look and Uncle Morty burst out in a belly laugh. “She’s a pain in the ass, ain’t she?”
 

“I don’t disagree. Miss Watts, I need you to come in and make a formal statement,” said Detective Carey.
 

“Now? I’m meeting with Nina Symoan in a bit,” I said.

“About what?”
 

“I don’t know. She asked for the meeting, but I plan on asking plenty of questions.”
 

“Alright then,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You can come in later this afternoon. I need that clip you took off of Mr. Mooting.”
 

I handed it over and he told me that he was taking Fergus in for his statement, so I wouldn’t have my shadow watching my back.
 

“She ain’t gonna be alone,” said Uncle Morty.
 

Awesome. More special time with the angry uncle. Good times.
 

“One more thing,” said Detective Carey. “Mooting says he had nothing to do with the other attempts on your life. What do you think about that?”