From Bad to Wurst (23 page)

“Says you.”

“Did she explain to you about her supplier?”

“Exorbitant shipping costs. What a crock. She wants to keep the stuff all to herself and freeze me out.”

“She's telling you the truth. Have you mailed a package recently? Prices are through the roof. Even for teeny-tiny items.”

“
Pfffft
.”

I glanced across the table at Arlin and Stretch. “Tell her, guys.”

“She's right,” admitted Arlin. “In the last ten years, the base price to mail a package cross country has quadrupled, and international fees have skyrocketed.”

Stretch nodded. “The company's had to funnel a lot more money into our department just to meet basic operating costs.”

Wendell slanted his mouth at an irritated angle. “It's a real kick in the pants when your fastest-growing department is shipping. We're getting killed on both ends, paying premium prices for what we receive and losing revenue dollars for what we ship out, because that's one of the big perks with doing business with Newton. We've always offered free shipping. Although if prices continue to rise, we might have to rethink our business model.”

I trained my gaze on Wendell. “The increase in your budget pays for more than just shipping.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I'm pretty sure it pays for luxuries you had no idea you were funding.” I lasered a look across the table. “Isn't that right, Stretch?”

He stared at me, dumbstruck. “What?”

“Wasn't some of that shipping budget spent on ice sculptures and caviar and shrimp cocktail and a chocolate fountain for dipping strawberries?”

His complexion turned ashen. Wendell arched his brows. “You wanna tell me what she's talking about, Stretch? Because I think she just announced that I was the one who paid for your anniversary bash.” His gaze darkened. “Did I?”

“Hell, no,” choked Stretch. “I'd sooner cut off my right hand than cheat the company. You know that, Wendell.”

Otis canted his head toward the boss. “Seeing as how Stretch is a southpaw, a statement like that doesn't hold much water, does it?”

Wendell gestured toward Arlin. “You're the one who works with him eight hours a day. You have anything to add to the conversation?”

“Sure do. I've been working with Stretch for most of my life, and I can say, without exception, that he's honest as the day is long.”

“See there?” reasoned Stretch. “Arlin can vouch for me. We go back—”

Arlin raised his forefinger in the air. “Except…I've been wondering about this one curiosity for a few years now. Stretch and me have compared our paychecks. We make the same amount of money right down to the penny. So how come the wife and me are riding around in a Dodge Dart, and him and Verna are driving a Lexus?”

“For cripes sake, we didn't buy the thing,” sputtered Stretch. “We're leasing it—for medical reasons. Verna's chiropractor said a luxury car would lessen her back problems, so we made the sacrifice.”

“Some sacrifice,” quipped Arlin. “What about the addition you built onto your house? Was that a medical necessity too? You had that done during the recession, when no one could afford to do anything.”

“And that's exactly why the builder offered me such a great deal,” said Stretch. “He needed the work. You can't believe the favor I did by hiring him.”

“You're right,” Arlin wisecracked. “I can't.”

Wendell fiddled with his silverware. “Did you have to rent the venue for your anniversary bash or do you have an actual country club membership?”

“We signed up in the worst of the recession, when they were bleeding members, so they practically paid us to join. You wouldn't believe the money we've saved, especially on their all-you-can-eat weekend buffets where the grandkids eat for free.”

“What's the head count on the grandkids now?” asked Gilbert.

“An even dozen, with number thirteen due in a couple of months.”

“How come you're the only person who ever seems to run across these great deals?” asked Otis.

“It's not me, it's Verna. That woman can sniff out bargains like a bloodhound. She says you've gotta read the fine print to find the deals, so that's what she does.”

“Considering the size of your paycheck, seems to me she's not bad at squeezing blood from a turnip either,” mocked Arlin.

Wendell shifted his gaze to me. “Would you mind explaining how Stretch ended up in your crosshairs?”

In the distance I heard the wail of sirens and knew that help would be arriving any minute, which emboldened me to answer Wendell's question.

“Sure. It was after I saw the video.”

“What video?”

“The one that Dad accidentally filmed at the Hippodrom when he thought his camcorder was turned off. The powering on and off thing is kind of a chronic problem with him, so we find a lot of surprises on his tapes—dirt, rocks, pavement, shoes—but this time the surprise footage showed Stretch emptying Maisie's liquid nicotine into Zola's beer stein in vivid color, with enhanced digital sound. Who knew, huh?”

“That's a lie,” cried Stretch. “You're trying to frame me. Offering me up as the sacrificial lamb. You doctored the tape or photoshopped the images or—”

“Feel free to mention that to Kriminaloberkommissar Horn when he arrives.” I checked my watch. “Which should be any minute now.”

A hush fell over the table for a stunned moment before everyone started talking at once.

“You really killed that woman?” Otis croaked.

“You're so screwed up, man,” said Wendell,

“I knew there was some funny business going on all these years,” insisted Arlin. “I just knew it.”

“You've really stepped in it now, Stretch,” warned Gilbert. “Stuck in a German prison for the rest of your life? Good luck trying to pick
those
locks.”

Stretch boosted himself to his feet with such force that he knocked over his chair, which crashed to the floor with a resounding thud. “Do you know who that redhead was? She told me on our walk over to the Hippodrom tent that she was an accountant. But not just any accountant—she was the accountant who was going to conduct our next company audit! Do you think my books would have passed muster with her? Did you hear her predictions? She never missed. She would have found me out—ruined me. It would've been all over. You couldn't have hired a normal CPA?” he yelled at Wendell. “You had to hire an accountant with a minor in psychic ability?”

“So you admit killing her?” accused Wendell.

Air steamed from Stretch's nostrils like fire from a dragon. His eyes grew skittish. His chest heaved. Gasping for breath, he leaped over his chair and grabbed the closest thing he could get his hands on: Nana.

Yanking her out of her chair, he pulled her against him, braced his forearm across her collarbone, and grabbed a steak knife from the table. Eyes wild, spittle gathering at the corner of his mouth, he poised the tip of the knife at her throat. “Don't anyone move.”

My knees went gimpy. My mouth went dry. He wouldn't hurt Nana. He
couldn't
hurt Nana. Where were the police?

I threw my hands up as if surrendering. “Just take it easy, Stretch. No one's moving. Everyone's cool. My grandmother's done nothing to you, so I'm asking you to put the knife down and let her go.”

He shook his head. “You people don't know what my life's been like.” His voice was high-pitched, desperate. “Nothing was ever good enough for Verna. She couldn't settle for what everyone else had.
Nooo
. She had to have bigger. Better. Brighter. Faster. Nothing but the best made her happy, and if she wasn't happy, she made my life a living hell, so I had to keep her happy. I
had
to.”

“By robbing my company blind?” yelled Wendell.

“You never missed what I took,” Stretch fired back. “And you never had the family I've had to support. The kids. The grandkids. If those kids of mine had found good jobs, I might've been able to cut back, but what are they doing? Working at fast food joints. Working at big box stores. Minimum wages with no health insurance or benefits. So guess who pays for all their doctors' appointments? Grampa. Do you know how many ear infections kids get every year? And the eye doctor. And the dentist. I'm gonna have to put braces on every one of them because they don't share one straight tooth among them. They're the most snaggle-toothed brood God ever put on this green earth. And then there was the anniversary party. Do you know how much it costs to have live lobster flown in from Maine? And here's the kicker: Midwesterners don't even like lobster!”

“Excuse me, young man,” Nana said politely through stiffened lips. “I'll write you a check for a thousand dollars if you'll poke your knife someplace other than my neck. I don't want no blood gettin' on my new sweatshirt if your hand slips.”

He replied by tightening his grip on the knife. His eyes grew darker, more crazed.

“How about a million?” asked Nana. “My checkbook's right there in my handbag.”

“Here's what I want,” he said in a menacing voice. “I want a helicopter to get me out of here. Right now. And no tricks or my hand might just slip.”

“Don't you need no money?” asked Nana. “You're gonna need cash once you get to wherever you wanna go.”

Stretch hesitated as he considered her suggestion. “Yeah, good idea. I want, like, a hundred thousand dollars in euros.” He nodded to me. “Go ahead. Make the call to Horn. Tell him my demands.”

I tried Etienne again. Where was he? The sirens had stopped. Shouldn't he be here by now? Unless…the sirens had been heading to another emergency. Uh-oh.

“I'd ask for more money,” Bernice snuffled. “A hundred thousand is small potatoes. It won't last you a month, especially going into the holiday season. Do you have any idea what a good ski resort in Bavaria will cost you during Christmas?”

“Ask for half a million,” Dick Teig called across the floor. “That way you won't have to pinch your pennies so much.”

“It'll take longer to collect half a million,” said Osmond. “I bet he doesn't want to wait that long.”

“Don't forget to ask for clean underwear,” said Margi. “Being on the lam is no excuse to ignore basic hygiene.”

“And a toothbrush and floss,” shouted Helen. “Ignore your teeth and they'll go away.”

“And pajamas,” said Lucille. “You don't want to embarrass yourself if a fire breaks out at your hotel. Unless you hide out in a nudist colony, in which case no one will probably notice.”

Etienne still didn't answer. I waved my phone at Stretch. “I—uh…I'm having a little trouble with my phone.”

Nana waggled her eyebrows at me and darted her eyes all around her sockets.

Omigod.
She was trying to send me a message.

She parted her lips slightly. Pressed her tongue to each corner of her mouth
.
Wriggled her nose. Crossed her eyes.

“What about food?” asked George. “Could be a long helicopter ride to where you're going. You might want to ask for a few snacks.”

Stretch mulled this over. He trained his crazed eyes on me. “Ask for snacks—maybe some of those hundred-calorie bags of cookies and crackers or something.”

Nana wriggled her nose again and rolled her eyes. What was she telling me? She was going to sneeze? Her eyes itched?
Wha
t
? And then she cracked a mischievous smile, and I knew exactly what she was going to do.

She was going to take him out.

She hadn't earned a brown belt in tae kwon do for nothing.

“You want to request any snacks?” Stretch asked Nana.

“I'm fond of them marshmallow Peeps, but they're hard to find outta season. How come you're askin'?”

“Because you're coming with me. You're my insurance policy, Grandma. From now on, you and I are joined at the hip. So wherever I go, you go. If anyone attempts to hurt me, I hurt you first.”

Boos. Hissing. Jeering.

“Dickhead,” yelled Maisie Barnes. “Why don't you pick on someone your own size?”

It had probably escaped Maisie's notice that Nana was the only person in the room who
was
his size.

“If you wanna stay healthy, young man, you better let me go now,” Nana said calmly.

This was it. She was going to stomp down on his instep, spin around, and deliver a roundhouse kick to his jaw. I held my breath and waited for her to strike.

“Is that a threat?” snickered Stretch.

“You bet.”

He laughed. “If you think an old woman like you can actually hurt someone like me, you better readjust your thinking, Granny.”

Uh-oh, she hated being called Granny. So maybe this was it. She'd stomp on his instep, spin around, and land a tornado kick to his gut.

“Are you gonna let me go?”

“No.”

“You'll be sorry.”

“I'm quaking in my boots.”

“Don't say I didn't give you no warnin'.”

This
had
to be it! She was going to stomp on his instep, spin around, hammer his chest with a reverse side kick, and knock him to the floor.

My heartbeat thundered in my eardrums as I waited for her to strike. I held my breath and waited…and waited…

So how come she wasn't doing anything? What was
wrong
with her? Why wasn't she taking him out?

She gave a loud suck on her uppers. “Truth is, young man, I got a secret of my own to share.”

“You might as well spit it out,” encouraged Stretch. “It's the last chance you'll ever have to share anything with your friends.”

“Okay. I'm apologizin' to everyone in the group on account of I been hidin' the truth. You know when I told you I wasn't contagious?” She heaved a guilty sigh. “I lied.”