Merry Wrath - Book 1
On the Best Funny Cozy Mystery Novels list - Shepherd.com
When CIA agent Merry Wrath is "accidently" outed, she's forced into early retirement, changes her appearance, and moves where no one will ever find her—Iowa. Instead of black bag drops in Bangkok, she now spends her time leading a young Girl Scout troop. But Merry's new simple life turns not-so-simple when an enemy agent shows up dead at scout camp. Suddenly Merry is forced to deal with her former life in order to preserve her future one.
It doesn't help matters that the CIA sends in her former, sexy handler to investigate…or that the hot new neighbor across the street turns out to be the local detective in charge of her case. And when Merry is forced to take on a roommate in the voluptuous form of a turned KGB agent/bimbo, things become trickier than wet work in Waukegan or cookie sales in the spring. Nothing in the CIA or Girl Scouts' training manuals has prepared her for what comes next…
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Chapter 1
It’s not every day you find Al Qaeda’s number four operative dead in a Girl Scout camp in Iowa.
The body was twisted unnaturally in the spider web element of the course that consisted of a large wood frame crisscrossed with elastic bungee cords. Sadly, it was my troop’s favorite thing to do at camp. Now I had to disappoint them. I hated disappointing them.
A man hung there, in what had been his twenties, of Middle Eastern descent. The neck was clearly broken before he was placed in the ropes at Camp Singing Bird. He looked surprised to find himself here. I’m sure the irony would be lost on him that in death, he really was surrounded by seventy-two virgins. Did it matter that they were grade schoolers, I wondered? Maybe that was just splitting hairs.
I would’ve been surprised too, had I not been through this kind of thing before. But I’d seen this stuff in Syria and Uzbekistan – not in the placid, wooded hills of eastern Iowa.
And my second grade troop was due at any minute. I was pretty sure I couldn’t pass this off as something adorable – like I had with the bats in Tinder Trails Cabin or the mice in the latrines. Troop Leader’s Helpful Hint #1 – if your Girl Scouts freak out upon meeting a bat/mouse/wolf spider for the first time – tell them it’s just a baby bat/mouse/wolf spider. Little girls are suckers for that and soon what was scary is ‘adorbs!’ – whatever that means.
I bent to take his pulse, just to make sure. Yup. He was dead. His glassy eyes were opened wide and his mouth hung open. Dammit. I need this like I needed wet work in the slums of Rio.
The sounds of giggles and singing came from the trees just around the corner. Any minute the fourteen, seven and eight year old girls who called me their leader would appear. I was pretty sure I couldn’t convince them that this dead terrorist was a cute, dead baby terrorist. I pulled the parachute I was going to use for games later out of my backpack and threw it over the spider web.
“Mrs. Wrath!” The girls squealed in unison before tackling me in a sticky, group hug. Kelly, my co-leader, smirked at me. She could get away with smirking at me because she’s known me since we were six-year old scouts.
“Girls,” I gently pushed them away. “How many times do I need to tell you – it’s Ms. Wrath. I’m not married.” Of course, I knew the answer to this question. Ad infinitum. Meaning, they’d always call me Mrs. Any woman over the age of twenty-one in Iowa was ‘Mrs.’ Clearly it was me who didn’t get it.
“Mrs. Wrath?” The third Katelynn asked. Or was it the Kaitlin the Fourth? They all looked the same to me. And each one of them spelled their name a completely different way. Spy work had not prepared me for that.
“It’s Ms. Wrath, Katelynn.” I said with a smile. Leader Helpful Hint #2 – when talking to little girls, always smile. They cry if you don’t. I’m not kidding. You don’t know real terror until you’ve stared at the watery eyes and rubbery bottom lip of a cute kid.
The second grader looked confused for a moment, which was to be expected. “Okay. Mrs. Wrath?” She asked again.
I sighed. “Yes, Katelynn?”
“Why is the parachute over the spider web? And why is it all lumpy?”
Kelly squinted at the parachute, eyebrows knit together. She’d probably figure it out, being a nurse and all.
“The spider web is out of commission, girls.” I announced, stepping between them and the dead man.
A chorus of complaints came from the little girls and I held up my right hand in the universal Girl Scout symbol for silence. They quieted down immediately. I once again, really wished I’d known about this trick when I was surrounded by Farc rebels in Colombia.
“Head on over to the Peanut Butter Pass – I think you’re old enough for that one now.” I said in a nice save worthy of someone of my caliber.
“YAY!” The girls exploded in shrieks and raced off to that element, leaving me in the dust.
Kelly narrowed her eyes. “They aren’t old enough for the Peanut Butter Pass.”
“You’d better get after them before they start scaling the rope, then. I’ll be there in a minute.” I shoved her in the direction of the squealing herd before she could respond. “We can’t leave them alone for a minute, you know.”
Kelly gave me a weird look, but took off after the troop. I turned back to the dead man in the parachute. It kind of looked like he was cocooned in the web – as if a giant spider had caught him, poisoned and wrapped him to save for later. If only that was what had really happened.
With a heavy sigh, I took out my cell phone to call the ranger. This was going to suck. You think the CIA is bad with paperwork? Langley has NOTHING on the Girl Scouts of America when it comes to filling out forms and accident reports in triplicate. Nothing.
My name is Fionnaghuala Merrygold Wrath Czrygy. And I’m a Girl Scout leader. Well, I used to be a covert operative in the CIA – a career that has remarkably prepared me well to lead Troop 0348 (and yes, you have to have a zero at the beginning – it’s very important for some reason that no one can explain). I was a CIA officer, that is, until I was unceremoniously and allegedly mistakenly outed by the Vice President of the United States’ Chief of Staff.
That’s right. I was outed. My name and photo were leaked to The New York Times ‘inadvertently.’ This is a fancy way to say that the Vice President was pissed off at my father, who was the head of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, because he didn’t back the Veep’s re-election campaign (a fact even more curious because the VP was a Republican and my dad was a Democrat). So, my name got leaked and the chief of staff took the fall and was fired the next day just before going to prison (and of course, pardoned later by the President).
I, however, was not in a cozy corner office in the White House with a nice view like he was when my name and face were broadcast live worldwide. I happened to be in Chechnya where - to my surprise – the rebels in the bar I frequented had internet and were devoted followers of the New York Times’ online edition (they also read Cosmo but that’s a story for another day). It took me forty-two hours, two gunfights, a strange encounter with an armed chicken, calling in fifteen favors that I’d been saving and a rather dicey drive to Estonia in the back of a jeep with no shocks to get out of that mess.
Back in DC, I testified before Congress, got a nice fat check from my boss at the CIA, along with a nice short letter explaining why I couldn’t work there anymore, and just like that, I was out of a job and internationally infamous.
It was Dad’s idea for me to change my appearance, use my middle name, take on my mother’s maiden name and move to my hometown in Iowa. Dad’s name was Czrygy. So brunette, brown-eyed Finella (the true pronunciation of my name) Czrygy became blonde, blue-eyed Merry Wrath.
The sheriff and a few deputies arrived at Camp half an hour after I’d called. I’d managed to get my troop back to the cabins, staunching their protests with promises that Kelly would make them endless S’mores in the middle of the day – something that would probably bite me in the ass later. The ranger – Bob Williamson – sat with me as we waited. He wasn’t very happy to find a dead man tangled in his newly refurbished ropes course. That meant a lot of paperwork for him too.
“Huh.” The sheriff said as he poked the dead body with his finger. He stood up and tried to tug his belt up over his beer belly with little success.
“So, what happened here?” He asked Bob.
I tried not to roll my eyes. We’d already told the sheriff that I’d been the one to find the body. But this old, redneck sheriff was only interested in what a man had to say.
Bob pointed at me. “Ask her. She found it.”
I once again, told the sheriff about how I’d found the body. I once again suggested that they comb the camp for whoever did this. And once again, the sheriff looked to Bob for answers.
“Is that right?” He asked.
“Yes.” I said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my troop to get back to.” I left before I could see their responses. If the sheriff was going to write me off, I was done with him. Besides, this wasn’t my problem anymore. I could care less what happened to the dead guy. I was off the clock permanently these days.
Back at our campsite, fourteen girls were bouncing off the walls after mainlining a LOT of sugar. Kelly gave me a glare that said I owed her big time.
With the possibility of a murderer running around camp, I decided our trip was over. Kelly and I packed up and called the other moms to help us carpool the thirty minute drive back home. The girls were too keyed up to even notice it was over until we arrived in my driveway. But by then, they had parents there ready to wrangle them into waiting cars.
Kelly and I watched as the last girl was picked up and let out a very visible breath.
“So, what the hell was that all about?” Kelly said as she led the way into my little house. Once inside, my friend and co-leader helped herself to a glass of wine and sat at my tiny breakfast bar.
“Dead guy.” I muttered as I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We had tons of the stuff left over since we’d cut the camping trip short. Little girls love peanutbutter. I had to admit, they really had something there.
Kelly nodded, “Yeah, I got that part. But why was there a dead guy?”
I shrugged, my mouth glued shut with peanut butter. “Don’t know.” Only it came out like, “nnnt no,” due to the aforementioned peanut butter. I really shouldn’t talk with my mouth full.
“You don’t think it’s a little odd that you retire from the CIA and a dead Middle Easterner shows up at Girl Scout Camp the same weekend you are there?” Kelly crossed her arms. I should never have told her in that drunken haze about my past. She waited. I’d have no chance to stall with another bite of sandwich.
I swallowed, “Yes. I think it’s odd. But it might just be a coincidence.” That was a lie. There was no way it was a coincidence. I mean seriously, Al Quaeda’s Number Four? In Iowa? And me being former CIA? Not a chance.
Kelly studied me. “Are you going to be alright?”
I nodded. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” After all, I’d handled things like this before, on my own, and in a Third World country. No sweat. And this wasn’t my problem anyway. Let the authorities take care of it. I didn’t do that anymore.
Kelly drained her glass and walked to the door. She paused and looked around my little, beige living room.
“When are you going to get some drapes?” She asked looking at the sheets I’d had hung in the windows. They had Dora the Explorer on them because I got them on sale. It had really seemed like a good idea at the time. I’d always thought Dora was undercover CIA, recruiting kids to be double agents.
I shrugged. “Soon? I just moved in, remember.”
She laughed, “Yeah, one year ago. It’s time you had drapes.” And with that, she was gone.
I leaned against the door and looked around my house. She was right. I didn’t have any drapes. I had very little furniture. After being recruited by the CIA right out of college, I’d never really had a place with things like furniture and curtains. I kept a very sparse apartment in DC but spent most of my time in dingy hotel rooms and safe houses all over the world.
When I was ‘retired,’ I moved back to the small city my dad grew up in and bought the first house I looked at. This house. The realtor told me it was something called a ‘craftsman.’ It was small and quiet and had a nice little fenced in yard in back. I bought a little car to put in the little, attached garage. I bought groceries and paid the utilities. But furnishing it was completely out of my wheelhouse.
Instead, there was a green couch in the living room that I’d bought at a consignment store on impulse. A flat screen tv sat on the floor. The kitchen had a built-in breakfast bar so I didn’t think I really needed a table and chairs. I did buy an expensive queen-sized bed with a mattress made of something called ‘memoryfoam.’ Years of sleeping on floors and crappy mattresses got old quickly when I finally stayed in a five star hotel in DC while visiting Mom and Dad.
I knew I needed furniture and drapes and stuff. I just didn’t know how to do it. Do you just go to a store and ask for drapes? Do you need measurements? Where do you measure from? And should they be beige like the walls and carpet or green like the couch?
Every time I thought about these things, I needed to go and lay down. But today was the day. Today, I’d think about getting drapes. I wandered over to the large, picture window and started examining it. Which is when I noticed the moving van across the street.
Huh. I didn’t know my crazy old lady cougar neighbor had moved out. A U-Haul was backed up into her driveway and men were unloading furniture. There was a lot of it too – tables, chairs, a desk, various lamps of various sizes, rugs, you name it – they had it. Must be a family or something.
I found myself strangely fascinated watching this whole bizarre process. For a brief second, I ran into my bedroom and got a pen and pad of paper. I needed to take notes on this. Maybe I could learn something.
Oooh! A potted tree! I liked that idea! I should do that. I made note of the various stuff with great glee. The desk and desk chair was nice. I just used a laptop so I worked on the couch or in bed. But maybe it was time I put together an office.
Not that I had anything to do in it. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t need one. The settlement from the Agency would take care of me for at least the next ten years. The only thing I had was the Girl Scout troop that met every other week. Huh. I wondered if that was weird. Maybe I should have a job or a hobby or something. It seemed to be what normal people who hadn’t previously been CIA operatives did.
A car pulled up in front of crazy old lady cougar neighbor’s house, but didn’t pull into the driveway. I drew back into the shadows behind Dora and her monkey (who was clearly her case officer), and realized that curtains really might be a good idea after all. I’d have to get on it. But first I needed to check out the new people. Slouching behind the cover of the sheets, it kind of felt like the old days, spying on that politician in Spain or that drug runner in Colombia.
Whoever was in the car across the street wasn’t in a hurry to step out. When I’d first moved into the neighborhood, I noticed people mowing their lawns, walking their kids to school or walking their dogs, just doing normal things. Until day two. That’s when I first saw her.
The woman had to be in her seventies, with bleached blonde hair up in a ponytail and a ton of makeup on. It was sixty-five degrees and she was out mowing her lawn. In a bikini. I watched open-mouthed as she worked her way up and down the lawn, smiling and waving at any men who were out and about. She did not wave at the women. I also noticed that about halfway through the yard, she let both shoulder straps ‘accidentally’ fall to her elbows.
She was in pretty good shape for an old lady. But the saggy skin and varicose veins were enough to make me want to go back undercover. For the first few weeks, I was fascinated. After a month, I wanted to burn the image from my brain. Forever. It was worse than some of the things I’d seen in the field. And that’s saying something.
The black SUV with tinted windows finally moved forward up into the driveway. This was it – the big reveal. I slid back even further into the Dora sheet-curtain. The driver side door opened and a man, maybe in his early thirties, stepped out. He stretched for a moment, then looked at the house.
Oh yeah, and he was GORGEOUS. Short, black hair, athletic build, handsome, boy-next-door face and lean muscles in all the right places. He wore a fitted, black t-shirt and blue jeans. Was this my new neighbor? If so, the view just got a lot better.
I stared as he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. He reached in and pulled out a large duffle bag. Slinging it oh-so-casually over his shoulder, he closed the door to the SUV and went into the house. His house. My new neighbor’s and the possibly future Mr. Wrath’s house.
The doorbell rang and I jumped backward, tripping over my own feet and crashing into the green couch. What the hell? How did I miss someone coming to my own door? That was just bad spycraft, retired or not. I stumbled across the living room and looked out the window next to the door. Oh, my God.
“Hello Riley,” I said as I opened the door, trying to act as if it was totally normal that my previous boss and handler was standing on my doorstep.
“Hey Wrath.” Riley smiled lopsidedly. He was a very attractive man in his late thirties, with wavy, blonde hair and deep blue eyes. I always thought he looked more like a surfer than a CIA case manager. I motioned for him to enter and after a quick look around, followed him into my house.
He was standing in the entryway, staring at my living room. “Did you just move in here?” Riley frowned. “I thought I’d had this address for a while, but maybe I’m wrong.” He knew he wasn’t wrong. Riley was a notorious fact checker. He double-checked everything before he did anything. We called him “Nerd OCD Boy” behind his back.
I scowled, “No. I just haven’t gotten around to decorating yet.” Riley pissed me off. He always did. Even when he wasn’t speaking, he usually irritated me. Still, he was a good guy to have in your corner when the chips were down and the Russians were fully armed outside your door.
Riley shrugged. He just stood there, looking at me. Oh right. This was one of those host thingies I had no experience with. I rarely had guests in my tenement in La Paz or yurt in Mongolia.
“Come into the kitchen. Can I get you some coffee?” I didn’t really have coffee. Never touched the stuff. I was more of a tea drinker. Ninety-percent of the world drank tea – well, at least the places I’d been stationed in did. So I drank tea.
Riley followed me into the kitchen and climbed up on one of the breakfast bar stools. “Nothing for me, thanks.” He grinned at me and I felt my hackles rise. “Although I must admit – it is interesting to see you being so…” He waved his arms around, “domestic.”
“Fuck you, Riley. What are you doing here.” I asked as I got out the bottle of wine Kelly had opened earlier and poured myself a glass. CIA case officers never checked up on retirees. Something was up.
“Dead Ahmed.” He answered. “Found in your neighborhood. What’s up with that?”
Riley never messed around. He always got right to the point. Of course he’d notice a dead terrorist showing up where I was in Iowa. Any good employee of “The Company” would.
“Oh right,” I said, looking off into space as if I just remembered the dead Al Queda operative at Girl Scout Camp. “Him.”
Riley nodded, “Right. Him. Ahmed Maloof. Why was he there?”
I shrugged, “Don’t know and don’t care. Not my problem. Not anymore, at least.” I took a gulp of wine and pointed at him. “I don’t work for you guys. I’m retired. Remember?”
Riley smiled his easy, surfer smile. He really was cute, if you liked that California golden boy look, that is. “You can’t be surprised I’m here, Finn.” He said.
“Actually, I am.” That wasn’t entirely true. It was only a matter of time before he or someone like him showed up. “I had nothing to do with it. And don’t call me Finn. I’m Merry now.”
I started working with Riley ten years ago. Our first assignment together was in China. I’d thought he was cute back then. But then I discovered that Riley was a serial lady-killer. I think I found him in bed with women more than a dozen times. The attraction wore thin after that.
My former boss held my gaze for a moment. He was reading me. Trying to figure me out. Riley had the reputation of being a sort of mind reader. He was very good at it.
“Actually,” he said slowly. “We think you did have something to do with it. I’ve been sent to investigate.”
I slapped the breakfast bar hard, “Are you serious? You think I was involved? Why in the hell would I do that? I got kicked out of Langley. Or did you forget that?”
“I didn’t forget that, Finn.” Riley answered, ignoring my request for him to call me Merry. “And personally, I don’t think you killed Ahmed. But I do think there’s a connection.”
“There’s no connection, Riley. I’ve been out of the agency for a year now. And I haven’t worked the Middle East in a long, long time. I barely knew the guy.” Uh oh. I’d slipped up there. Maybe I should quit with the wine.
Riley grinned, “That’s right. You barely knew him. But you did know him. And that makes you a person of interest.”
Dammit! You make one mistake with a terrorist years ago and nobody lets you forget it, ever! How the hell was I supposed to know my driver in Kabul was Ahmed’s brother? The Kabul Office should’ve known that before they hired him. Anyway, I was a professional, and I was retired. Enough of this crap.
“You need to leave now, Riley, before I get mad and get my ice pick. Remember how good I am with an icepick?” My voice dripped with fury. And the ice pick thing was just thrown in to aggravate him. I was hell on Earth with an ice pick, and he’d once seen the results of my work. I was also good with a shotgun, throwing knives and once did this thing with a didgeridoo that would probably be classified as a serious violation of the Geneva Convention – but that’s another story for another time.
Riley rose to his feet, placing his hands defensively in front of him. “Fine. I’ll go.” He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a blank piece of paper with a phone number on it. A local number. Damn it.
“I’ll be staying at the Radisson. Call me when you want to talk like a normal person.” He set the slip of paper on the breakfast bar, before heading for the front door. He turned in the doorway and looked at me.
“You know, Finn, you really should get some drapes.” Then with the flash of his oh-too-white smile, he left, closing the door behind him.
Perfect.