A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries) by A.W. Hartoin Read Free Book Online Page B

and laid the front down. The door revealed an open space for wine and other bottles, but Mom used it for her old cookbooks.
    “There you are, you little bitch,” he said.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    Morty held up a slender wine bottle with a wooden cork. He rubbed the dust off the label with his jacket, smacked his lips, and closed the cabinet.
    “Just what the doctor ordered.”
    “Wine?” I asked.
    “Not just wine. It’s the peach stuff Tommy ordered from Germany a couple of years ago. I knew he was holding out on me. Bastard said there wasn’t any left.”
    Imagine that.
    “Let’s have a glass and toast to Gavin, God bless him.”
    “Maybe we should wait for Dad.”
    Morty ignored me and walked into the kitchen. I followed and sat down while he filled a couple of juice glasses with a flourish. He handed one to me. “Here’s to Gavin. A good man gone to his reward.”
    “I didn’t know you were religious,” I said.
    “I ain’t, but Gavin was, so bottoms up.”
    He drained his glass, and I sniffed mine. It smelled too good to drink. A hundred ripe peaches smelled like they were squashed in there. The scent filled the kitchen and breathing it was enough to get me tipsy.
    “Sit down Mercy, and let’s us have a talk,” said Morty.
    Great, just what I wanted.
    “You tell Tommy yet?”
    “Tell him what?”
    “That Gavin was murdered.” Morty poured a second glass.
    “That was quick. How’d you know?”
    “Sources.”
    “You must know Dr. Grace,” I said.
    “Don’t know the man from Adam. You told Tommy?”
    “Not yet. I just got back from the morgue. Seriously, how’d you know?”
    Morty took off his glasses and wiped them on a dish towel. He poured another glass of wine and sipped it.
    “You might as well wait till he gets back. No use working him up when he can’t do anything on that damn boat anyway.”
    “Fine with me,” I said.
    “Meanwhile, we better get moving on this thing.”
    We?
    “Dixie upstairs?” he asked.
    “Yeah. Why?”
    “See if you can get the keys out of her, so we can check out the house before the Keystone Cops.”
    “Pass.”
    “Get the keys,” he said.
    “Let the cops handle it. It’s their job for heaven sake.”
    “You want to let the cops handle Gavin’s murder?” Uncle Morty banged his glass on the table.
    I didn’t, but I couldn’t stand having Uncle Morty dogging my every footstep either. No keys for him. I’d check out the house by myself.
    “I don’t know,” I said.
    “Tommy will kick our asses, if we don’t move on this.”
    Before I could think of a reasonable answer, the doorbell rang. What luck! Morty shot me an irritated look as I left the kitchen. I went down the hall into the receiving room. On the other side of my parents’ enormous front door were two tiny figures. They could only be the Bled sisters, Millicent and Myrtle. They were nieces of Josiah Bled and lived down the street in another of his creations. Millicent and Myrtle were also my godmothers. Once when I was ten, they told me Josiah didn’t design the pantry to stay cold, but caused it all the same.
    Josiah’s mistress disappeared in 1921. It was a big news story at the time since Bernice Collins was rumored to be a former prostitute, and Josiah was heir to the Bled Brewery fortune. Josiah was never charged with any crime, but his nieces told me he killed her in the pantry hence the constant cold. My parents have Millicent and Myrtle to thank for most of my childhood nightmares.
    One of the sisters rapped on the stained glass. I ran my fingers through my hair, pinched my cheeks, and attempted to straighten my damp shirt. It was hopeless.
    I unlocked the door and opened it to find two tiny elderly ladies clutching enormous handbags, umbrellas, and casserole dishes.
    “Mercy dearest, we heard and came as soon as we could,” they said.
    “What did you hear?”
    “About Mr. Flouder, of course. Sweet man, such a shame,” said Millicent.
    Both she and Myrtle waited in