A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red Read Online Free

Sydwich and gulped his tea to cool down the spicy giardiniera. “Where’s your loyalty? I raised you better than that.”  
    Dad didn’t do much raising to be honest. He was an up-and-coming homicide detective when I was young and worked as much as possible. Sometimes more. Most of my raising was left to Mom and my godmothers, Myrtle and Millicent Bled. Dad filled the role of pain in the butt. He still did, eyeing me while he unwrapped his second Sydwich, having lost all the charm he used on suspects.  
      I chewed slowly, just to bother him, and then said, “Fine. What’s wrong with Ameche?”  
    “Haven’t you been watching the news at all?”  
    “No. I’ve been avoiding it like herpes.”  
    Dad started on his second Sydwich and then pondered me. “The incident at Tulio really bothered you?”  
    “Of course. I’m not a fangirl for murder. And I wouldn’t call it an incident. It was horrific.”  
    He reached over and pulled me close. His forehead touched mine and a lock of his red hair brushed my forehead. It was tender and comforting, not like Dad at all.  
    “Just tell me. I can’t take the suspense,” I said.  
    “I’m sorry you have to be involved.”
    I jerked back. “I don’t.”  
    “You do, I’m afraid. You met Ameche’s sister, Donatella?”  
    “No. Why?”  
    “Her husband and his entire immediate family were killed at Tulio.” Dad’s voice was soft and steady, no ups or downs. They were just words that couldn’t hurt me, but somehow still did.  
    My sandwich stopped halfway to my mouth and Dad pushed it back down to the paper. “Mercy?”  
    “There were kids in there,” I said.  
    “Two nephews and a niece.”  
    “Oh my god. Have you talked to Ameche?”
    “He called me this morning. There’s an issue with Donatella and he needs our help, your help specifically.”  
    “My help? What for?” I asked, my throat dry and scratchy.
    Dad pushed my sandwich closer. “I’ll tell you. Eat up.”  
    “I’m not hungry anymore.”  
    He nodded and told me about Donatella Ameche Berry and Tulio. Donatella was Ameche’s older sister. She was married and lived in New Orleans. Friday, the night of the murders, was her in-laws 40 th wedding anniversary. The family was celebrating at Tulio. Donatella’s husband, Rob, flew in on Thursday to spend some extra time with his family and Donatella was supposed to fly in after the kids got out of school on Friday. Their flight was at five. Donatella pulled the kids out early and managed to get on an earlier flight so they wouldn’t have to go straight to Tulio from the airport. That change in plans saved her kids’ lives. They became violently ill on the plane and an ambulance met them on the tarmac. They made it to the hospital in time and were diagnosed with a form of bacterial meningitis that would’ve killed them in flight, had Donatella stuck to the original schedule. As it was, she and the kids were at the hospital when the shooting at Tulio took place. Once the kids were out of immediate danger, Rob went to the restaurant to tell the family what had happened. He was there in time for dessert and for Kent Blankenship to open fire.
    Dad wrapped my hands around my iced tea and insisted I take a drink. It was hard to get a sip down, my throat was so dry.  
    “They’re all dead?” I choked out.  
    “Yes. All of the Berrys that were there. They had the misfortune to be seated in the center of the restaurant because of the size of the table. Line of fire.”  
    “That might be the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”  
    “I’m not done,” said Dad.
    I looked up into his blue eyes. They were so much like Aunt Miriam’s, but without the critical appraisal for once. “Donatella’s kids?”  
    “Still alive. Still in the ICU.”  
    “So…”
    “There are surviving Berrys, the ones not invited to the anniversary dinner, and they think Donatella hired Blankenship to kill her husband and his family.”