A Sin and a Shame (A Mercy Watts Short) by A.W. Hartoin

Author:A.W. Hartoin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, mystery detective, mystery cozy, mystery woman sleuth
Publisher: A.W. Hartoin

Scene Four

ST. STEPHEN'S WAS in upscale Sunset Hills, and it had been all over the news in the past year. A school shooting had given it notoriety and a closed door policy. I needed help to get on campus. I had a few options like calling my dad, but then he'd want to know what I was up to. If I couldn't figure out why Lorraine had done it, I'd rather not let him know that I'd tried. I decided to call Uncle Morty. He was my dad’s best friend and not a blood relative, but Mom said that Morty was the family we choose. It was easy to understand if you only saw Morty on paper: best-selling fantasy writer, world-class hacker, what’s not to like? I’ll tell you what. Uncle Morty was also a world-class grump who often smelled like onion pizza instead of deodorant.

His computer skills were without rival, and he worked with Dad on a regular basis. But when I had to help Dad with a case, Morty charged me. A lot. There was no family discount. Not for me, anyway. Since I wanted Uncle Morty to keep this a secret from Dad, it would cost extra. I checked my bank balance and sucked it up.

Morty picked up on the first ring, which meant he wasn’t home, a rarer occurrence than nose hair trimming.

“Hi,” I said cheerfully, despite my need for narcotics. “It’s me.”

“Me who?” he growled.

“Who do you think? Mercy,” I said.

“What do you want?”

Charming.

“A little help.”

“It’ll cost you. I’m a busy man,” he said.

I snorted. “You’re not working. I can tell.”

“The hell you can.”

“You’re not home, and you only work at home,” I said.

“I could be home.”

“What are you doing?”

“Eating.”

“I’ll be right over.”

I hung up before he could protest. If Morty wasn't home and he was eating, he had to be at Kronos. A couple of his Dungeons and Dragons buddies owned it, and it was the closest thing he had to a hangout. Unfortunately, Dad was known to be there as was half the St. Louis Police Department. Rodney and Aaron, the buddies, had the bright idea to open a restaurant dedicated to Star Trek. Their joint was seriously weird, but also seriously successful. Rodney added police and firefighter memorabilia and Kronos became their joint, packed with first responders and those in the know. Aaron was the best cook ever. I guess he was really a chef, considering the kind of food he could produce, but that mantle didn’t really fit the tubby little oddball.

When I got there, Kronos was between the lunch and dinner rush. There were a couple of paramedics at the bar, and Uncle Morty sat in a booth in the back beneath a display of vintage fire hoses.

Morty sipped a root beer float and scowled when he saw me.

“Dammit,” he said. “Can’t a man eat in peace?”

“If you wanted peace, you should’ve stayed home,” I said, sliding in the booth opposite him.

“You saying you wouldn’t have showed up there?”

I laughed and waved to Aaron behind the twenty-five-foot walnut bar.

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