I was up at five in the morning and at The Café by five thirty.
"Merry!" Nels Larson called out from a table with fifteen old men surrounded by four dozen empty coffee cups. "Come join us!"
Nels had helped me out with a case last summer, and I'd learned that old dudes came here every morning to discuss what old men in Iowa think most about—the weather, the news, and why a cup of coffee isn't twenty-five cents anymore.
I joined the group, who nodded to acknowledge me. A lot of these guys were farmers, as was evidenced by their overalls and muddy boots. Nels was one of the few who lived in town and was always happy to bend someone's ear. He looked happy to see me.
A teenaged boy with a crew cut I saw once in a 1954 edition of Life Magazine gave me a mug, and I took a drink. I didn't like coffee, but asking for tea in this place with this particular group of men was just asking to be called a Commie.
"What are you up to these days?" Nels asked over the muffled droning of male voices. The other men had lost interest in me and had begun to discuss the nuances of open sores on pigs.
"I was just driving by and saw you in here." I smiled sweetly. "Thought I'd say hello since it's been a while."
The old guy smiled. "Well, it's always good to have someone new. I've been having coffee with these old farts for forty years now." He handed me the Who's There Tribune. "Especially a mystery woman."
Who Is Merry Wrath? The headline hit me like a truck. For someone who prizes her privacy, this was like walking downtown naked. The byline was, of course, Medea Jones.
I scanned the short article in horror. The photo of me grinning like an idiot must've come from my sister-in-law Ronni. How did Medea know to find one of two people in town who absolutely hated me?
Is she dangerous? Is she from Iowa? Is she really a woman?
"Oh, for crying out loud!" I gasped. "Seriously?"
Nels laughed. "I know you're a woman. I assume you're not dangerous. But I have to admit, I don't know much more than that."
I tossed the paper on the table in disgust. "Don't ever give this kid an interview. Promise?"
"I swear," he said solemnly.
I forced the story from my mind and tried to relax with small talk. We chatted for a few moments about the weather (an important topic in Iowa) before I got to the point.
"These guys are farmers, huh?" I asked innocently. "Is there anything new on the farming scene? Some big secret the seed companies don't want anyone to know about?"
Nels looked at me strangely.
I quickly added, "My family were farmers. My grandma, Adelaide Wrath, had a huge farm just outside of town. I really miss hearing her talk about it."
He smiled grandly. "I should've known, with your name being Wrath! So you're waxing nostalgic about soybeans and all that."
I nodded. "I even detasseled in the summers."
If you grew up in Iowa, you knew about detasseling. You may not have done it, but you definitely knew someone who had. Basically, the seed companies hired you to work for three weeks in July, seven days a week for twelve hours each day. You walked between two rows of corn and pulled the tassels off so the corn didn't cross-pollinate. And you hoped you'd get whips—which were the equivalent of a flower bud—and not fully opened tassels. I did it for two summers and hated it.
Nels rubbed his clean-shaven chin. "I'm not sure, but I heard there's a new fertilizer out there. Hold on." He tapped on the shoulder of the man next to him, a very large bearded man wearing a John Deere cap. So little skin showed between his hair, his bushy eyebrows, mustache, and beard that he resembled a bear.
"Hey, Erskine, what were you saying the other day about that new fertilizer?"
Erskine turned to us. I assumed he was sizing me up but couldn't tell because I couldn't see his eyes.
"Not a fertilizer," he grunted. "New corn seed. Genetically engineered to grow twice as big in half the time and acts as its own pesticide."
Now that was interesting. Maybe not to anyone outside of Iowa, but here it would be revolutionary.
"No kidding?" Nels whistled. "When did that come out?"
"It isn't out," Erskine grumped. "I'm the only test farm in the country. Got one acre of the stuff now."
Only one in the country? This guy was making my case for me.
"Yeah?" Nels asked. "How's it going so far?"
"Works like they said," Erskine said before turning back to the other men, who'd moved on from pig sores to whether it was wise to castrate said pigs because of the considerable oozing.
"That would change the industry." I tried to sound impressed and stem my gag reflex simultaneously.
Nels nodded. "Erskine has tested a lot of experimental stuff over the years."
"Isn't that risky?" I whispered.
"No." Nels smiled. "He's loaded. Hit the lottery five years back. He doesn't even need to farm anymore."
"Then why does he do it?" I asked.
Nels leaned in close and lowered his voice. "Between you and me, I think he likes the thrill of the unknown." He leaned back and then gave a startled look out the window. "Hey, does that little gal have pink hair?"
Medea Jones was storming toward the door—a woman on a mission.
"Merry Wrath!" the journalist snapped as she came to a stop next to me.
"Excuse me," I said to Nels. "I need to take this outside." And possibly kick her butt.
"See you around!" I heard him say as I grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her out to the parking lot. Once I was sure we couldn't be seen by the guys inside, I gave her my most intimidating glare.
"What's wrong with you?" I was beyond angry.
She seemed to sense that and paled, just for a moment. I wondered if anyone had ever asked her that before.
"You saw my byline." Her voice wavered for just a second.
"The whole town has seen it by now." I narrowed my eyes. "And to answer your questions, yes, I'm a native Whovian, and yes, I'm a woman."
Whovian was the term those of us from Who's There used to describe ourselves. It's a terrible nickname and often gets us confused with a certain Dr. Seuss story. But it was better than the one other suggestion brought up at a town council meeting—a Thereian.
Medea stood her ground. "The people have a right to know!"
For a brief moment I thought about kidnapping her and turning her over to the Cult of NicoDerm for a sacrifice. She was probably a legit virgin.
"What do you want?" I asked in an iron tone.
"My story," she snapped. "I know you had something to do with that murder. And I'm going to get to the bottom of it if it kills me."
I briefly considered hiring Hilly to do just that, vacation be damned.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I said. "How can you have any insight into what happened in my yard?"
Medea pushed her glasses up. "I have my sources, and I don't have to tell you who they are."
Rex might have other ideas about that.
"For your information, I had nothing to do with the deceased. Ask the police."
"Oh, sure," she sneered. "Like your husband would tell me anything that might incriminate you!"
I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not a suspect. Did it occur to you that someone dumped the woman in my yard to confuse the police?"
Oops. I didn't mean to give away the fact that Anna Beth Trident might have been killed elsewhere. Maybe this kid wouldn't notice.
"Aha!" She pulled a notebook from her messenger bag. "Detective Ferguson's wife says dead woman killed somewhere else!"
Great. I wondered if I could distract her by talking about castrating hogs with open sores.
"I didn't say that," I lied because I kind of did. "I just suggested it. Seriously, my husband doesn't talk about cases at home."
"Then why were you at the station yesterday?"
Thinking quickly, I said, "Dropping off his lunch. Are you following me?"
"And who's the brunette amazon staying at your house?" Medea went on. "Is she the killer?"
I hoped not.
"This is harassment, you know," I said. "You can't follow me everywhere and scream questions at me." Actually, she could. I just wanted to warn her off.
"It's a free country." She sniffed haughtily. "We're in a public place."
I envisioned Medea Jones in a dumpster. It made me smile.
"Look, kid, there's no story when it comes to me. Why don't you look somewhere else?"
For a split second, there was a crack in her angry façade. A single moment of doubt crossed her face before the angry mask reappeared.
"You are my story until I tell you otherwise!" she said before turning on her heel and racing across the lot to a brand new Mercedes.
So that's how it was. Entitled little rich girl wants to jump to the top of the ladder without paying her dues. And she was going to do anything to destroy me to get there.
As I drove home, a germ of an idea popped into my mind. I think I knew how to deal with Medea Jones. But first, I had to take a nap before my Girl Scout meeting.
* * *
Hilly was sitting on my porch a few hours later when I opened the door.
"Hey!" She jumped to her feet. She did that a lot. "I couldn't wait! I've been here two hours. I think I scared the mailman. Did you know your Hitler cat growls at him through the window? When's the meeting? Where are we going?"
"Back to my house," I said, worried that she'd hit my Pop-Tart stash and was overly sugared up. You might think there isn't enough sugar in them, but coat them in brown sugar and dip them in liquid chocolate… "We always meet there when school's out for the summer or holidays."
Kelly pulled up as we were walking in, and I introduced my best friend to my colleague.
"It's nice to meet you!" Kelly said with a smile.
My best friend since elementary school, Kelly was the organized, responsible yin to my disorganized, irresponsible yang. She'd been the first person I turned to when I'd decided to come home for good. And it was her idea to start the Girl Scout troop.
Besides being a nurse at the local hospital, Kelly Albers and her husband, Robert, had a little girl named Finn, after me and my real name. The toddler rarely came to meetings, so I was surprised to see her holding on to her mother's leg, grinning at me.
"It's a miniature person." Hilly jumped backwards.
I introduced the little girl, who took her thumb out of her mouth to hold out her hand to the assassin. Hilly cautiously took it, dropping it immediately and wiping her hand on her shorts.
I guessed she didn't like little kids.
Kelly did not seem to mind. At least, she didn't say anything. Probably giving Hilly the benefit of the doubt. I expected nothing less.
It didn't matter anyway because we were swarmed by ten little girls who'd somehow managed to arrive all at once. Lauren went for Finn, lifting the toddler into her arms, and began carrying her inside. The Kaitlyns led us into the house.
I had four Kaitlyns in my troop. All with last names beginning with the letter M. And after all this time, I still couldn't tell them apart. They didn't seem to mind one bit. Kelly knew who they were, and that always seemed fine. At least, I thought she did. I'd never really asked her.
Ava, Inez, Hannah, and Caterina followed Lauren, still bearing the toddler, inside. Betty followed me, staring at Hilly as if to glean the nature of her unexplained appearance. Precocious and marginally dangerous, Betty was on the fast track to becoming a spy. Her obsession with all things dark and lethal and her absolute fearlessness made me think she'd be staging coupes by age sixteen.
"Who are you?" Betty asked at last.
Hilly cocked her head to one side. "Hilly Vinton. And you are?"
"Betty."
"Betty who?"
"Let's just stick with first names for now."
Hilly turned to me. "Oh, I like this kid."
"Girls," I announced, my hand in the air, giving the quiet sign, and the girls sat in a circle on the floor. "I'd like to introduce a former colleague of mine—Hilly Vinton."
The girls perked up in their chairs. They'd found out I'd been CIA and figured out that by "former colleague," I meant here's another spy.
"Hello," Hilly said easily. "I'm on vacation. I've never been on vacation before."
Ava's eyes grew round. "And you came here?"
"Yes." Hilly looked confused. "Why? Should I have gone somewhere else?"
"If I could go anywhere on my first vacay," Ava said, "I'd go to the insurance capitol of the world—Hartfield, Connecticut."
"Insurance?" Hilly asked.
I cleared my throat. "Ava has big plans to be CEO of a national insurance agency someday."
"Well…" Hilly paused. "That's specific."
Inez raised her hand. "I'd go to London to see MI6."
Hilly waved her off. "I've been. Super boring. You should check out the Mossad in Tel Aviv, Israel. Much more interesting, and they give free Krav Maga lessons."
"Not me," Lauren said. "I'd go to Africa to see lions. I like animals."
"We want to go to a horse rescue ranch in California!" announced one of the Kaitlyns, apparently designated by the others.
Caterina and Hannah looked like they were about to speak, but Betty interrupted.
"I used to think I'd go to the Basque region or Catalan," the girl mused. "But now I think I'd like to visit one of the banana republics."
"Isn't that a store?" Hannah asked. "My mom said she used to go there in the 1980s."
Ava, who thought she knew everything, interjected, "No, it's where they sell bananas. Why would you want to go there?"
Betty rolled her eyes. "I saw it on Wikipedia. The CIA did stuff there, like a thousand years ago."
"They don't call them banana republics anymore," Hilly said. "But there are some very interesting guerilla movements down there now."
"They have gorillas in South America?" Lauren's eyes grew wide as she considered changing her earlier answer.
"Duh," Inez said. "Gorillas like bananas."
"Guerillas, not gorillas." Betty shook her head. "They're some kind of group. Like the Basque separatists."
Betty was really into revolutionary movements. It was kind of scary how devoted she was to the idea.
"Why would you want to go there?" Hannah asked. "Do they have a Disney World?"
"Or Six Flags?" Caterina asked. "I like Six Flags."
"It's all jungle," Betty said patiently. "Lots of mud and mosquitos and guns."
Hilly's eyes grew wide. "This is what they do in Girl Scouts? I wish I'd joined as a kid."
"Believe me," I answered. "Our troop is far from ordinary."
"That's because Mrs. Wrath is a spy," one of the Kaitlyns said. It was the first time any of them actually acknowledged the fact out loud in a meeting.
The room went quiet. Kelly thought this would be an excellent time for the girls to introduce themselves.
Ava stood up. She was the leader of the troop, mostly by force of will. "My name is Ava. I'm ten and like arts, crafts, and insurance."
Hannah, my peacemaker, stood up as Ava sat. "I'm Hannah," the girl said with a friendly smile. "You seem nice, and I like you."
"Caterina," was all the dark-haired little girl said. She was my quiet one.
"I'm Inez," the next girl announced. "And I'm hungry. We'd better have a good snack."
Woe be it to anyone who didn't feed my troop. Snack time was sacred, and fortunately Kelly always handled that. Mostly because I used to only bring Oreos. I guess that got old. Not to me, but someone complained.
The first Kaitlyn stood. "I'm Kaitlyn, and so are these three. We like horses." She sat down to appreciative applause by the other three, who made no effort to stand. Apparently the one Kaitlyn was enough.
Lauren did not stand because Finn had fallen asleep in her lap. "I'm Lauren. I like animals. Do you work out? You look like you work out."
Hilly nodded. "I do. Do you?"
The redhead shook her head. "No. My mom says exercise is for people who don't have lives."
Hilly cocked her head to one side. "I think your mom is right."
Betty stood up last. Crossing her arms over her chest, she asked, "Just how exactly are you Mrs. Wrath's collie?"
"Colleague," I corrected. "It's a co-worker."
Hilly opened her mouth to answer, but I cut her off. "That's enough of the introductions."
"We have a right to know." Betty stayed upright. "It's called the Freedom of Something Something Act."
I struggled not to roll my eyes. "Freedom of Information Act. I know."
"If she worked with Mrs. Wrath," Lauren said quietly from the floor, "she must be a spy. Maybe it's classified."
A hush fell over the girls as they considered this new intel.
"Anyway," I said, "Hilly is joining us today as my guest."
"I never was a Girl Scout." Hilly sat down between Kaitlyns two and three, causing a tear in the space-time continuum. "You guys will have to help me. What are you working on today?"
"Knots," Ava announced. "We work on them from time to time. It's kind of important."
"Knots? With rope?" Hilly asked hopefully.
Lauren asked, "Are you good with knots? Cuz I suck at them."
"I'm very good with knots." Hilly grinned. "Let me show you a few I use in my work."
Uh-oh…
"Merry." Kelly pulled me aside and whispered as Hilly, in only two moves, showed the girls a noose. "What exactly did your friend do at the CIA?"
"Can I get a volunteer?" Hilly asked. Every hand went up, and Hilly selected one of the Kaitlyns.
The little girl walked over, and Hilly placed the noose around her neck.
"Merry?" Kelly asked again.
"The great thing about this particular knot," Hilly said as she slid the knot around the little girl's neck, "is that it's adjustable. Meaning it can fit anyone!"
The girls broke out in applause.
"Who," my co-leader asked, "is she?"
"Thank you!" Hilly waved the girls off. "Now, did you know there are three other ways you can make a similar knot that will have the same results? Come over here and bring your rope."
The girls swarmed, and Hilly went to work. Lauren put the sleeping Finn on the couch and joined in.
"Merry!"
"Oh. Right. Sorry." To be honest, I didn't know about the other three ways to create a noose and kind of wanted to observe. "What was the question?"
"What kind of work did Hilly do for the CIA?"
I looked at the woman who'd been my best friend since elementary school. "She takes out targets."
Kelly narrowed her eyes. "And what are those targets exactly?" She already knew the answer. Why was she asking?
"Um, people?"
"She's an assassin?" Kelly hissed.
I shook my head. "Of course not. The CIA doesn't have assassins because that would be illegal."
Kelly, who was used to my quirks, rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know that. But that's what she is, right?"
"Yes." I was kind of tired of denying it.
"You," she said evenly, "brought an assassin…to a Girl Scout meeting…to teach the girls how to make nooses."
"No! I mean, I brought her here, yes. But I forgot we were working on knots. So it's actually kind of your fault."
"How is this my fault?" my co-leader asked quietly as she watched Hilly move on to garrotes.
"Um, because you picked the activity?" It was true. Kelly even brought licorice for the snack so the girls could tie knots in them too.
I changed my strategy. "Well, it's educational."
"How is tying a noose that will strangle you until dead educational?"
"Well…" I thought about it. "What if there's an apocalypse and we return to a Wild West kind of lifestyle and we need to form a lynch mob?"
"Why would Girl Scouts ever form a lynch mob?"
Fortunately, I had an answer for this. "In the original Girl Scout handbook, they taught you how to stop a runaway horse and tie up a crook with only three inches of rope!" Ha! Take that!
"How many runaway horses are there in town?"
"You never know," I said. "We've had runaway chickens, ducks, and one piglet. It's only a matter of time before we have runaway horses. Which would be very dangerous, and our girls could help."
Kelly didn't say anything. She never took her eyes off Hilly. After all the years I'd talked to the kids about stuff like this, why should it bother her that Hilly was here? It wasn't like she was going to hurt the girls or anything. She'd never do that. At least, I didn't think so.
I made a mental note to make her swear she wouldn't hurt the kids.
"And then they thought I was former Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton," Hilly was saying.
"Hillary Clinton? She doesn't look anything like Hillary Clinton!" Kelly hissed.
"I know that. It's just one of Hilly's quirks."
My best friend sighed. "I am not comforted knowing that a trained assassin has quirks."
"Trained assassin?" Betty asked. She was standing next to us all of a sudden.
"I'm talking about a book I read," I said quickly. "It's about an assassin who has quirks."
"What kind of quirks?" the kid asked.
"Oh. Well, all kinds. Like eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches."
Betty levelled her gaze. "Hilly is an assassin for the CIA, isn't she?"
I shook my head. "No! She isn't! The CIA doesn't have assassins!"
The girl looked at me for a moment, as if sizing me for a dunce cap. "Okay. I'll keep your secret. But it'll cost ya."
"Are you blackmailing me?"
The girl responded by folding her arms over her chest in the iconic, universal symbol of not budging. "I want some of those chloroform wipes. Bart told me about them."
Kelly shook her head and walked over to the couch, where she picked up her sleeping daughter.
I told her to put her in my bedroom, since Hilly had the guest room.
"Your brother stole one from me and sold it to Stewie, who used it on me!" I was protective of my chloroform wipes, something I'd taken off a bad guy last month and used on Riley.
"Two wipes." Betty held up two fingers. "And I get to ask Hilly to show us how to kill a man with one punch."
"That's a lot for your silence," I said. "What do you need with chloroform wipes, anyway?"
She shrugged. "To use on my brother. Duh. Now, do we have a deal or what?"
I shook hands. What choice did I have? "But you did not get those from me. Got it? And you can't tell the other girls."
"Guess what?" Lauren shouted from the center of the huddle. "Hilly's going to teach us how to kill a man with one punch!"
"I want to renegotiate the terms," Betty said before I made her join the others.
That kid was too smart for her own good. Maybe I could distract her before she made new demands.
Kelly returned from my room in time to see Hilly pointing out the soft, vulnerable spots on Hannah.
"Snack time!" she erupted.
The girls hesitated. They were finally going to learn something cool. But on the other hand, it was snack time. In the end, their tummies won out.
"Hilly," Kelly said as the girls handed out the licorice and juice boxes. "I know you're new to this, but do you mind not teaching the girls how to kill things?"
The assassin stared off into space for a moment, her head cocked to one side. "Okay. It's a deal." Then she joined the girls.
"She had to think about that?" Kelly asked.
"Hey, what's up with you?" I pressed. Kelly wasn't usually so prickly.
She rubbed her face. "I've been working back-to-back shifts for the last three days. Two of the other nurses moved to Bladdersly. I'm beat."
"We lost nurses to that hellhole?"
Bladdersly was our biggest football rival. The town was like a rundown version of Who's There, and the residents were either stupid, depressed, or perpetually cranky. Probably because their football team, the Raging Bladders, sucked.
"I'm sorry," Kelly said. "I haven't been very nice to your friend." That's when I noticed the dark circles under her eyes.
"Why don't you go take a nap with Finn?" I said. "I promise, no more weird stuff. We'll go out in the yard and play games or something for the rest of the meeting."
"Deal!" Kelly said before turning and running down the hallway, closing the door behind her.
I waited until the kids and Hilly were done eating before announcing game time. Unfortunately, the girls filed out my kitchen door into the backyard instead of the front yard before I could stop them.
"Whoa! Crime scene tape!" Ava shrieked as the girls ran over to the spot where Anna Beth's body was found.
Oops. I should've taken that down.
"Who died here?" Lauren asked.
"Did you kill them?" Betty turned to Hilly expectantly.
I held my hands up. "I was just playing with crime tape," I lied.
"Looks legit to me," Betty insisted. "There's even an impression in the grass where the body was."
The girls gasped as they crowded around.
Hilly grinned. "These girls are awesome!"
I thought about Kelly in the bedroom. Did something like this qualify as too weird?
"How come there's no blood?" Inez asked.
"Because"—Ava rolled her eyes—"the forensics team cleaned it up."
That turned into a heated discussion on whether you could clean blood out of grass. One of the Kaitlyns was winning with her theory of using a toothbrush, when Hilly joined them.
"Did you know," she said, "that when you die, your blood stops pumping and eventually drains to whichever side is facing down?"
She lay down and faked a rather impressive death by kukri sword using a curved branch. "Then the blood simply drains downward and pools in my back!"
The girls applauded. Yeah, this was totally normal. All we needed now was someone to come charging through those bushes and scream how inappropriate this all was and…
"Merry Wrath!" Medea burst through the hedges.
Too late.