In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) by A.W. Hartoin Page A

I’ve taken steps.”
    Oh, no. Not steps. Steps is bad.
    “What steps?” I asked.  
    “Don’t worry about it. You’re not to leave the estate for any reason for the next four days. The property is secure. John and Leslie will be watching.”  
    “Swell,” I said. “This’ll be fun. So you’re saying no bodyguards.”
    “Nope.”  
    “What about Aaron? Isn’t he going to be dogging my every step?” I asked. The good thing about Aaron was the food. Besides bothering me, he owned a restaurant, Kronos, and was the best cook ever. I’d been avoiding him since New Orleans in case he tried to feed me.  
    “Aaron’s got other things to do. You want him watching you get a manicure?”
    “I have to get a manicure? What about the Shut-ins? Am I allowed to go there?”
    “Absolutely not.” Dad squeezed my shoulder. “You don’t need to go anywhere. You’re going to be girly. They have a spa. Do that.”  
    I rolled my eyes. “Four days?”  
    “Four days.”  
    The chauffeur opened the limo’s back door and I gave in to the inevitable. At least the inevitable until I managed to jump out. I sighed as Sorcha aka Weepy peeked out. Her long red hair brushed the floor and she tossed it back over her shoulder. “Mercy, what’s taking so long? Let’s go.”
    Dad gave me a thumbs up. Great. The last time he did that was at my eighth grade graduation a second after I got my diploma. He gave me the thumbs up and I proceeded to fall down the stage stairs, flashing everyone my polka-dotted panties and giving myself a fat lip. I won’t even discuss the time before that. Dad’s thumbs up were a harbinger of doom. My doom, specifically.  
    “Thanks, Dad,” I said.  
    “No problem.”  
    Not for you.  
    I got in the limo and doom was right. Sitting in the forward seat between my cousins, Bridget and Jilly, was Uncle Morty. No one in the history of the world has ever looked more out of place. I would say that he looked miserable, but he always looked like that. Think grumpy old toad. In comparison, my duct tape wielding cousins were lovely. They all had the Watts red hair and skinniness like my dad, except on them it was swan-like elegance.  
    I sat on the backseat with Sorcha. Pick jumped in behind me, spun around three times, and laid on the floor.  
    “Why on earth are you here?” I asked.  
    Uncle Morty snorted. “‘Cause you’re gonna try to jump out of this freaking limo.”  
    Ah crap!
    Bridget and Jilly stared at him with wrinkled noses, but he didn’t smell any different than usual, pizza, cigars, and Irish Spring soap.  
    “I’m not going to jump out,” I said with a good amount of astonishment.  
    “I know. ‘Cause I’m here in this freaking ridiculous limo.”
    Jilly ran her fingers over the suede roof liner. “Our mom made sure to get a good one.”  
    “A good what?” growled Uncle Morty.  
    “Limo, of course. There are different levels, you know.”  
    He stared at her in a way that made me think that Jilly was going to show up in his next novel as a sniveling twit soon to be killed off.  
    “You wouldn’t want to go in one of those limos they rent out for proms. They can’t ever get the vomit smell out.” Jilly shuddered. “We totally deserve a good limo.”  
    Sorcha rolled her eyes. “You think you deserve a limo for a trip to Kroger.”  
    Jilly tilted her head and showed off her two-carat diamond earrings. “But it would be hard to park.”  
    “Un. Freaking. Believable,” said Uncle Morty and he belched. It smelled like pickled eggs. We all leaned back and Pick put his snout under his paws.
    Bridget smiled brightly. “Morty’s just here for the ride. He’s not going on our special weekend.” She sounded sure, but her eyes were worried.
    “Ya damn skippy,” said Uncle Morty.
    My cousins all smiled at me with a look I’d never seen them have before. Something like a cry for help.  
    “Why didn’t Dad just come?” I asked and the Troublesome