Read Touch and Go (A Mercy Watts Short) for Free Online Page B

suspect. Who knew? Larry put on a good show.  
    The next morning I picked up my parents at the airport. I told them about Claire. Mom got teary-eyed over Claire’s misfortune and Dad got red-faced over my giving her the transcription. He got over it when he saw Claire’s work and hired her. I went home to dog vomit on the bathroom rug and Pick snoring in my bed. Before I girded up my loins to clean up the vomit, the doorbell rang. It was Claire, dressed in head-to-toe black. She was, I suppose, in mourning.
    “Hi, Claire. Come in.”
    “No thanks. I was wondering if you’d like to go to lunch?” she said.
    “Sure.” Anything to delay the vomit. “Where do you want to go?”
    “Whatever you would like is fine.”
    “I know what I would like. I want to know what you want.”
    She ducked her head and smiled. “Arby’s.”
    “Arby’s? Really?”
    “Don’t you want Arby’s?” she said with a worry line appearing between her well-plucked brows.
    “Oh I do, but I didn’t think it was your style.”
    “Maybe I need a new style.”
    “I warn you. I might lick the cheese off the wrapper.”
    “Me, too,” she said.
    We went arm in arm down the stairs into the frigid St. Louis air to hunt for faux cheddar cheese and a good man. We’d recognize the cheese when we saw it.

    The End

    <><><>

    Mercy's adventures continue,  
    whether she likes it or not, in

    Nowhere Fast
    A Mercy Watts Short

    Seven o’clock in the morning on a Saturday and my doorbell was ringing like a woodpecker wanted in. I looked out for a second time: no one. That could only mean one thing: Sister Miriam, my great-aunt. She was the only person I knew who was short enough not to be seen through a peephole and insistent enough to keep trying.  
    “I know you’re home, Mercy. Do you know the Hortons?”
    I groaned and opened the door. Aunt Miriam charged in like she was in danger of me slamming the door in her face. She stalked around my living room and attached kitchen as fast as her little legs would carry her. She was probably looking for dirt. Luckily, I went on a cleaning binge after watching Hoarders and the place was spotless. No fault to find.  
    Still, she kept going, circling like a black hawk. Aunt Miriam was in her full nun’s habit, something she did when she wanted to intimidate people and by people I meant me. Aunt Miriam wasn’t a mean person, but in her habit, she was more terrifying than a dark alley on the north side of St. Louis.  
    “How are you, dear?” she said.
    “Just fine, Sister.” Aunt Miriam didn’t like it when I called her Sister. She preferred Aunt, in private. But if she could pull out the habit at seven o’clock in the morning, I could pull out Sister.
    “That’s Aunt Miriam to you. Did I wake you?”
    She knew full well she did. My PJ’s and ratted hair were a dead giveaway. Besides, who in their right mind got up early on a Saturday?  
    “No, Aunt Miriam.”  
    She ignored the sarcasm in my voice and got to the point. “I was just at your father’s.”
    Poor dad.
    “He said I should come see you.”
    Silent groan. “What for?”
    “I’m not asking much. Just a token really, a trifle.”
    Now we’re quoting Ursula, the Sea Witch. Aunt Miriam was a great fan of The Little Mermaid , Disney style. It would’ve made more sense if she’d quoted The Exorcist . She scared people on a regular basis.
    “Why didn’t Dad do it?”
    “He says he’s up to his eyeballs in a case right now.”
    I knew my father wasn’t up to his eyeballs. He’d been on the golf course five times that week. My father was a private detective and he’d rather be sniffing out a suspect than playing golf any day. He wasn’t interested in what Aunt Miriam was selling and decided to pass it along. I wasn’t a detective. I was a nurse, but being raised by a detective made me qualified for some scut work.  
    “He always says he’s busy. What’s the problem?”
    “So, do you remember the Horton