I don’t know when the Sentinel bought the printer photocopier combo that Tank showed me how to use, but I’d seen Smart cars that were smaller and they made less noise, too. I did get the hang of that monster and printed out all the articles on the murder, break-ins, and the arsons back then and the recent ones, too. I copied the photos and tried calling Uncle Morty for a third time. I knew he was distracted, but this was getting ridiculous. One minute it was all about getting to Greece and the next he was mooning over pictures and not getting my info. I had to know about Bertram Stott. That guy fit the profile so hard, murderer, teenager then, and in town when Tank’s fires happened. But I needed to place him in St. Seb in 1965. The cops weren’t going to help me, especially since I’d have to show them the connections that said a local killed Maggie. Stratton wasn’t stupid. She’d know the old chief would’ve seen it, if he’d been doing his job instead of drinking his ass off.
To be fair, I guess my idea that it was a couple of teenaged boys wasn’t a lock. They could conceivably be unconnected and back then people didn’t think kids did serious crimes. Arson wasn’t connected to serial killers like it was now. That wasn’t the old chief’s fault.
“You know what I didn’t look at?” I asked, mostly to myself.
“I’m afraid to ask.” Tank looked up from labeling my articles.
“Really?”
“My Great Aunt Patsy lives in Shady Glen.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Well, we don’t know it’s Stott and he is pretty sick.”
“That’s the only thing keeping me from taking her home tonight.”
“Would she go?”
“It’d be a fight. All her friends are there. It’s perpetual coffee klatch. She loves it.”
“She’s probably fine.”
“Probably.” Tank was not convinced.
“Ten years and no bodies. I think she’s fine,” I said.
“Would you leave your Aunt Miriam in there?”
I pictured Aunt Miriam and her lethal purse with the brick inside. “Yes. He’d be in more danger than her.”
“I thought you said she was a nun.”
“Yes, but a dangerous one. You want to hear what I didn’t look up or not?”
He grimaced, but I told him anyway.
“Dead or missing pets,” I said.
“Now?”
“Then. Serial killers sometimes start with animals. The state stats wouldn’t keep track of that and nothing popped out in the articles I read. Nothing in the town meeting.”
“Who said anything about a serial killer?” asked Tank, stepping back like I was contagious.
“Oh, well, there might be a reason to think that,” I said.
“Because Bertram killed that woman in Tennessee? That’s only one.”
That we know of.
“Because we have arson, a dead nun with some kind of disturbing abuse to the body, and a good amount of planning.” And her medal in a serial killer graveyard, but we won’t talk about that.
“This just keeps getting worse.”
“It usually does,” I said. “Can you look that up? I’d like to get out of here. Anything from Lefty?”
Tank checked his phone. “Heading back now. He pulled six people out of ditches and plowed half of downtown. Irene is never getting rid of that Gator.”
I laughed. “I guess not.”
“When will you get that information on Bertram Stott?”
I glanced at my phone in case I missed something. “I should’ve had it already. Usually, he’s lightning fast.”
“Maybe he can’t find anything,” said Tank.
“Oh, he’ll find something. There is no way that guy stalked women, killed one, and never ever committed another crime. That just isn’t a thing that happens.”
He tucked my photocopies in a folder and said, “I should stop talking to you.”
“It’s not me,” I said.
“You’re like a harbinger of doom. I was happy this morning. Nothing but this storm was happening. Our last crime was a purse snatching at Walmart and Mallory was making Italian beef for dinner. My favorite. Now I don’t have an appetite or Tylenol PM in the house. I think I need both.”
“But you have the exclusive.”
“Exclusives don’t put a guy like me to sleep at night.” His phone buzzed and he said, “Lefty found another person stuck in the Frick’s parking lot. It’ll be a little longer. You want to look for dead animals?”
“I really don’t,” I said. “How about more tea?”
“Done.”
We took my research upstairs and my phone went off. Destiny’s Child blared out of my phone, bouncing off the walls as I scrambled to mute it. “Wishin’ you the best, pray that you are blessed.”
“What was that?” asked Tank.
“My mom, I hope,” I said.
“You hope?”
“Sometimes my dad uses her phone so I’ll answer.”
We went back to Tank’s desk and he refilled our mugs before popping them into the microwave. “You don’t like your dad? He’s a pretty amazing dude.”
“He’s amazing alright.”
Tank grinned at me. “Not easy to live up to him, I guess.”
“And even harder, if you don’t try.”
“Are you telling me that you haven’t been trying?”
I sat down and kicked my feet up on his desk. “I have not. I’ve been trying to be left alone. It hasn’t worked out for me.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“It was inevitable that I would be sitting here with you, I guess. I’ve been going to crime scenes since I was a baby,” I said.
Tank tilted his head to the side and I could see that he was trying to work out how that happened.
I laughed and said, “My mom was getting her hair done and Dad had me, which was rare. There was some murder and he took me to the scene in a backpack.”
“He adapts and overcomes,” said Tank. “Your dad’s a character.”
“It wasn’t even a kid backpack. He stuffed me in a hiking pack and zipped me in. There’s a picture of me looking around with blood spatter in the background and Dad taking pictures.”
“Nobody stopped him?”
“Are you kidding? Tommy Watts? Not gonna happen,” I said with a snort.
“So you aren’t going to call—”
My phone went off again and against my better judgement, I swiped the green button.
“Don’t panic!” said Mom.
“What?”
“I said not to panic.” She went on to lecture me for a minute about panic. I don’t know about anyone else, but if someone says not to panic, it totally means there is something to panic about. Don’t panic is the sister of calm down. Each has the opposite effect and both pissed me off.
“Mom, for God’s sake!” I said, trying not to yell and failing a bit. “Just tell me what happened.”
“We can’t get there. We’re snowed in.” Mom was slurring hard. The more she talked the worse it got.
“What happened?”
“Your father is talking to John, but he says there’s no way.”
Breathe. Do not yell at the mother.
“Mom, can you hear me?” I asked.
“Of course, I can hear you. I’m talking to you. Now call Fats and take her truck. I’m sure you can make it.”
“Make it where?”
Mom took a breath and said, “On second thought, have Fats drive. She’s good in a crisis.”
I’m not?
Tank dropped a tea bag in my mug and sat down behind his desk, checking his computer. “44 is still shutdown.”
I nodded. “Mom, listen, I’m in St. Sebastian.”
“What in the world are you doing out there?” she asked.
“Um…wineries.”
“In the winter?” Her voice went high and I imagined her on the edge of tears. “You have to get back.”
“Give Dad the phone.”
“He’s out. Nobody’s there, Mercy. I can’t call Aunt Miriam. She can’t go out in this weather. She’s old. She could break a hip.”
So not Aunt Miriam. Can’t be Grandad and Grandma. Oh, no.
“Is it Uncle Morty?” I asked.
“Aren’t you listening?” asked Mom.
“You didn’t tell me, Mom. You’re panicking.”
She went quiet and I could hear her taking a calming breath.
“It’s Morty. They’ve taken him to the hospital, but they won’t tell us anything. We’re not actually family.”
Say he wasn’t at the gym.
“Mercy, he was at a gym. What was he doing at a gym?”
Dammit.
“Did he have a heart attack?” My heart wasn’t in my throat. I felt like it wasn’t anywhere in my body.
“I don’t know. He was on a treadmill and he went down. They called me because I’m his emergency contact. Why would he be on a treadmill?”
“Well…”
“Mercy?”
“He’s upset that Nikki’s living the high life with hot guys and he’s fat,” I said. “I told him not to do it.”
“You knew about this?”
And so did Dad.
“I did, Mom. I tried to talk to him, but he’s freaking out.”
“And you left him? You know he’s a big baby,” said Mom. “What are we going to do? His mother and brother can’t get there. The airport’s shut down.”
“What about Chuck?” I asked.
“He’s working.”
“Screw that!”
“Mercy!” exclaimed Mom.
“We’re not doing Dad all over again. This is more important than work.”
“What are you doing in St. Seb then? Hanging out with the ghosts, I suppose.”
“I’m trying to get Uncle Morty to Greece.”
“I don’t see how,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Is he at SLU?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Okay. That’s good. You call Chuck and tell him to go.”
“Mercy, we don’t know what case he’s on,” said Mom.
I balled up my fists and said, “I don’t give a crap if it’s the Kennedy assassination. Tell Chuck to go. I’m calling Pete. He’s always at work.”
“Chuck won’t like that,” said Mom.
“Not important.”
Mom agreed and I hung up. I told Tank what happened and called Pete. He didn’t answer, but he was in the hospital, so I had him paged. Tank made me more tea, even though I’d barely touched the mug I had, and called Lefty who was still MIA.
After a few tense minutes, my phone played the Scrubs theme song.
“Hello? Pete?” I said all squeaky and weird.
“What happened? Are you okay?” asked my old boyfriend, Pete, in his super calm way.
“I need a favor. I’ll watch Wallace,” I said.
“Is it your dad? You know he threatened to shoot me once.”
“What? No. It’s Uncle Morty.”
“That’s worse.”
“Worse than a shooting?”
“I might survive a shooting,” said Pete.
“I don’t know what to say to that, except that Uncle Morty had a heart attack and I’m in St. Seb and Mom is at Cairngorms Castle. I don’t know what to do. We’re snowed in.” I sucked in a breath.
“When did they bring him in?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“I’ll call you right back.”
I hung up and practiced my calming breaths. They were so not working.
“So is this uncle your guy with the information?” asked Tank.
“He is.” I started crying like a big wuss while texting Mom that Pete was on it. “And I’m here. I’m supposed to be there.”
“It sounds like he wanted you here.”
“He did, but he’s crazy. This crime is fifty years old.”
Tank nodded. “I’ve been wondering what the rush is.”
I told him about Uncle Morty stinking up the plane and being put on the No Fly List. And Nikki. And hot guys in Greece. I blubbered the whole time. It wasn’t pretty and I already smelled like vomit.
Tank put a blanket over my shoulders and then sat down, getting very quiet.
“And there you go. That’s why I’m here and I have to sleep in a haunted mansion tonight. I don’t need that. She already talked to me.”
“It really is a serial killer,” said Tank, handing me a box of tissues.
I blew my nose six times. I could’ve gone a seventh, but it was getting embarrassing. “Sorry I left out the medal before.”
“We might really have a serial killer living at Shady Glen.”
“Maybe,” I said as Pete’s theme played again. I answered with “Is he alive?”
Uncle Morty was alive and angry that the gym called my mother. He’d had what Pete called a cardiac event that caused a panic attack that made him pass out while running on the treadmill. He was stable, but they were keeping him sedated—probably more for the anger than anything else—and were running a ton of tests. Pete thought he’d be okay, but his lifestyle of concentrated sitting had to change and his cholesterol was through the roof. Next was looking at a blockage at the heart, which Pete thought he had and would require a stent.
“Thank you so much, Pete,” I said before blowing my nose the seventh time. It was unavoidable.
“You are taking Wallace. Honestly, I think you should take her twice.”
“What did he do?”
“He’s out of it.”
“And?”
“He may have threatened to wipe my degrees and board certification,” said Pete.
“Why?” I asked.
“He thinks I dumped you. Did you tell him that?”
I had to smile. Uncle Morty was alright. Making unreasonable threats and demands was his normal state. “No. He knows I’m the scumbag on that score.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would.”
Pete laughed. “If you insist. I have to go, but I’ll check on him after he gets out of the cath lab.”
I thanked Pete again and told him to tell his mother I was her new pug sitter. Tank stood up and said it was time to get started on the next day’s edition. His staff of three had sent in their stories and he had to do the layout.
“Will I be in the way?” I asked.
“Not at all.” He started in on his layout and my phone rang. Predictably, It was Dad. Unpredictably, he was incredibly upset. I did my best to calm him down with Pete’s assessment.
“I didn’t take you seriously,” he said. “I was thinking about the FBI and getting our life back. I’m an asshole.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“No comforting word, huh? That’s fine,” said Dad. “I don’t deserve them.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said, “and it’s not mine. I told him not to run.”
“He’s losing his woman. I know how scary that is.”
“It’s not because he’s fat. Nikki didn’t care.”
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t get there.”
“Is Chuck going?” I asked.
Chuck was going. He left the scene of a murder suicide, handing it off to Nazir, and was currently making his way across the city at five miles an hour. That almost made me cry again. He wasn’t my dad. It wasn’t going to be my mom’s life all over again for me.
“Are you up to helping me?” I asked.
“Did you get to the police station before the storm hit?” asked Dad.
I told him what happened and that cheered him up. Me being a blockhead always did.
“Well, you’re ass out there. You’ll have to get to the paper tomorrow.”
“I’m there.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I heard Dad straighten up. Tommy Watts was now awake and on fire. He came to the same conclusions I did without seeing the map or the pictures. It was like he could see it, like he knew it on instinct. I could say two words and he’d finish the sentence. It would’ve been annoying if it hadn’t been so damn impressive.
“So,” Dad said, assuming his lecturer voice. “What is bothering you about this?”
“Everything,” I said.
“Be specific.”
“Simple strangulation and what Desmond Shipley said.”
“We need to know a little more about Shipley,” said Dad. “But Morty’s out obviously.”
“I’ve got an idea about that.”
“Good. Handle it.”
I’d never had Dad trust me to handle something like that. He usually wanted details and to tell me I was wrong and possibly an idiot. “Okay. I will. I know a guy.”
“I figured. You don’t always use Morty.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. Get him or her on Bertram Stott, too. I have a feeling about him.”
“What do you think about the abuse thing?” I asked.
Dad had a theory. It was one that had occurred to me, but I did my best not to think about it. The killer had visited the body. We knew that from the brush being moved, but that wasn’t all. Dad thought that he, or they, might have been practicing on the body. He thought they’d been testing different types of killing.
“That’s really horrible,” I said. “I can’t…we can’t tell anyone that. Myrtle and Millicent or Aunt Miriam. They couldn’t take it. I can barely take it and I didn’t know her.”
“It is horrible, but don’t think about how you feel. Think about what it tells us,” he said in a very gentle tone, the one I hadn’t heard since David disappeared.
“They’re young. Inexperienced. No conscience, for sure.”
“Right. And they had time to do it. Not a lot of obligations.”
“And they didn’t know her,” I said.
“Not that. Knowing her doesn’t mean they couldn’t carve her up. Either she didn’t mean anything to them or they were punishing her.”
“Punishing her? She was dead, I hope.”
“She was dead from the time she disappeared.”
“Why do you think that?” I could tell Dad was smiling and, for once, it was nice.
“The same reason you do. You’ve got skills, Mercy. Instincts,” said Dad. “Go ahead. Tell me why.”
I told him that I thought she’d been taken at the asylum on her way to the bus stop for her meeting with the bishop.
“So?” said Dad.
“So that’s impulsive and high risk. Who kidnaps a nun in broad daylight where it’s easy for someone to hear or walk by? You’d have to restrain and silence a full-grown woman and have the equipment to do it. That says plan. Maggie lived at the convent. It’s super quiet and isolated. Only women and it’s not well-lit even now. If I wanted to kidnap Maggie and make sure I got away with it, I’d take her there. I think something happened. One of our guys reacted and he got lucky.”
“Only one of our guys was in the parking lot?” asked Dad.
“Two makes it a plan. There was no plan.”
“You are my kid.”
“Did you doubt it at some point?” I asked. “Mom won’t be thrilled with that.”
“I didn’t doubt your paternity. You always seemed to be your mom’s kid and I was incidental.”
“You weren’t around a lot.”
“I know and I’m sorry about that,” said Dad.
Time to change the conversation.
“So what’s up with that ‘simple strangulation’ comment?” I asked.
“It happened after the crime had been supposedly solved, right?”
“Yes.”
“Take it apart. Separate simple and strangulation,” he said.
I thought about that. Strangulation was easy. It was what it was. Simple. Now that was just plain odd. “I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“Think, Mercy. What do people mean when they say simple? What’s simple?”
“Um…easy. Over. It’s over. Nothing to get fussed up about.”
“That’s my girl,” said Dad. “Mr. Barney Scheer was told to stand down. So he had to make that sound reasonable. Simple. Easy. No big deal. Just like the whole small time crime thing.”
“Do you think he really believed Father Dominic did it?”
“Probably not but believing gets easier over time. People tend to take suicide as an admission of guilt and you said the crime rate went off a cliff. There certainly weren’t any other murders. That all backs up the story.”
“I don’t think Father Dominic killed himself,” I said.
“Neither do I. It’s too convenient and he was a priest. Damnation is a pretty strong deterrent.”
The door to Tank’s office banged open and a snow beast walked in. “Ready to go?” Lefty asked.
“That’s my ride, Dad. I have to go.”
“Mercy, thanks for calling me.”
Er…I didn’t.
“Sure. Thanks for helping.”
“You never asked me for help before.”
“Well…I…”
“I know. Talk to you later.” Dad hung up and I was left confused. What did he know? That he was a huge pain in the ass? He was pretty chill if that was it.
Tank got out of his chair and tried to persuade Lefty to peel off some layers to warm up. It was a no-go and Lefty didn’t need to warm up. He was running on hot adrenaline and plenty of it.
“Gotta get back and refuel. Gas station is closing and I expect to get more calls.” Lefty waved at me. “Suit up! Irene is making steak and Guinness pie.”
“Aren’t you a bed and breakfast?” I asked, going over to pick up my barf scarf.
“Restaurants are all closed. Besides, Irene has a new recipe. She likes guinea pigs other than just me.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“It will be,” said Lefty. “What about you, Tank? Need a ride?”
“Thanks, but I’m working on the morning edition for a while longer.”
“It’s pretty bad out and getting worse.”
“I’ve got the Jimmy. I can get through anything,” said Tank. “Mercy, is there anything else you want me to look into besides the animal thing?”
“Animal thing?” asked Lefty.
“We’ve got a problem, my friend, and I’m not just whistling Dixie here.”
“With that old murder?”
“Mercy can fill you in,” said Tank. “Is there anything else?”
I wound the barf scarf over the mostly clean scarf and considered. It was a can of worms and I’d already opened a barrel full.
“I can see there is,” he said. “Please don’t say rape or child molestation.”
“What the hell has been happening here?” asked Lefty.
“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s actually unrelated to Sister Maggie.”
“Well, normally I’d say we’re not a haven for crime, but given what I now know, I won’t. Lay it on me,” said Tank.
I told him I was interested in a plane crash that happened in the eighties and wanted any articles he might have on it.
“A plane crash?” asked Lefty. “Are you sure you have the right town? We’re not exactly Lockerbie, Scotland.”
“It was a small plane with just two people on board and it did go down around here,” I said.
“Oh, right. There’s a pretty little memorial out near the Westin Dairy.”
“That’s the one,” I said.
“It was an accident?” asked Tank.
“Cause undetermined.”
“How do you keep coming up with these old crimes?” asked Tank.
“My great-grandparents were on board.”
The men went quiet and helped me on with my boots, gloves, and hat. Tank took the earmuffs and opened them up. “You asked Will for the police report?”
“That would’ve been destroyed in the flood along with everything else,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll find those articles for you. Now, Lefty, don’t forget to tell Mercy the rules. She’s had a hell of an afternoon with you nearly killing her and whatnot. The last thing she needs is to have Miss Elizabeth taking an interest in her.”
“No problem.”
“What do you mean by ‘take an interest’?” I asked.
“Talking to you. Being what she considers helpful. Or, you know, other stuff,” said Lefty.
“Other stuff?”
“As long as she doesn’t talk to you, you’re all good,” said Tank.
“Um…what if she does?” I asked.
“Then you’d be interesting. You don’t want to be interesting.” He popped on the earmuffs and pushed me out the door into the storm.
Crap on a cracker. I’m interesting.