Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) by A.W. Hartoin Page A

idea, but he’s still tough as nails. He once beat up his brother over who got the last burrito.”  
    “When was that?”  
    “Last year.”  
    Spitball rubbed his chin. “I punched a guy over cheddar cheese once. It was worth it.”  
    Spitball and I laughed, but Mauro looked confused. I guess he didn’t have a lot of contact with crazy Vietnam vets.
    “Does your grandpa go to reunions?”  
    “Hell, no. He wants to forget.”  
    Spitball nodded slowly. “You’re sure about this whole murder thing?”  
    “Pretty sure.”
    “Well, Mauro will do whatever you want. We’ll keep that girl safe.” Spitball threw the broken regs in a backpack and went out the back door.  
    “I need a drink,” I said, going out the front door into the waiting area where someone—probably Graeme, but I wasn’t saying that out loud—tried to kill Lucia.  
    “You should go to your room first.” Mauro gave me an odd smile. Was he hinting that he’d like to come with or what? He kept looking at me and for a second I almost considered it.  
    Remember Pete. Remember Pete.
    “I’d like to, but I better just get a drink,” I said.  
    Marcella walked in and said, “Oh, wow.”  
    “What?” I asked.
    She pointed at a mirror hanging behind one of the tubs where divers rinsed their masks and snorkels. I went over and shrieked. I actually shrieked out loud, not in my head or anything, but a big shriek. Something terrible had happened to me. My hair had gone bat shit crazy. It was all piled on top of my head. I don’t know how it got up there or stayed for that matter. It was frizzy electrified straw. My face wasn’t any better. I had big red lines between my brows, giving me the world’s worst angry eyes. And there was a mask ring around the upper half of my face and for some reason my nose was pushed to the right.  
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” I yelled at Mauro.  
    “I said you should go to your room. You have to fix that, if you can.” Mauro got thoughtful. “What did you think I was doing?”  
    “I thought you were hitting on me.”  
    He lifted his upper lip in distaste. “No.”  
    “That happens, you know. Men hit on me all the time,” I said.  
    “Not today they won’t.”  
    Marcella had her hands over her mouth and her body shook so much that she had to brace herself against the wall. I put my crooked, red nose in the air and stomped out.

    I trotted back to the room as far off the regular paths as possible, hoping no one would see me. But the person I really didn’t want to see me, Mauro, had already seen me, so I don’t know why I bothered. I went around the back of the last bungalow and saw Aunt Tenne jogging down our stairs. I’ve never seen her   run anywhere in my entire life. She was singing and wearing a flowing green sarong. She looked down the main path and then hung a right in between two buildings. The coast was clear. I sprinted for the stairs and jumped in the pail to rinse my feet. Then Mom came out of nowhere.  
    “Mercy, have you seen Tenne? I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”  
    “Mom, why didn’t you tell me I look like…like this?”  
    “Oh, you’re fine. Where’s your aunt?”  
    “I’m not fine. I look like someone attacked me with perm solution and something’s wrong with my nose.”  
    “Your nose looks the same as it always does,” said Mom.
    “No, it doesn’t.” I thought for a second. “It doesn’t, does it? OMG.”  
    Mom rolled her eyes. “Where’s Tenne?”  
    “I think she went snorkeling,” I lied. Whatever Aunt Tenne was up to, it was her private business. Not that Mom would agree. The word privacy wasn’t in her language.  
    “Are you sure? Did she look okay? Was she crying or anything like that?” Mom wrung her hands and looked around like Aunt Tenne might drop out of a palm tree.  
    “Why would she be crying on vacation?”  
    “No reason.” Mom tucked her sleek blond hair behind her ears.
    Fine. Don’t