TEN
Mercy was shoved into the mud and lost her breath as Truman’s bulk crashed on top of her.
“Leighton! It’s Chief Daly! Hold your fire!”
Her right ear rang from his shout. “Get off me,” she muttered. She’d landed on her stomach and tasted dirt. She elbowed him in the gut. “Get off!”
“Keep your head down,” he snapped. “Leighton? It’s Chief Daly!” he hollered again.
“Chief?” came a male voice from the house.
Mercy raised her head, trying to find a human to match to the voice.
“That’s right. Are you going to fire again?”
“Who’s with you?”
“Another officer.”
Mercy raised a brow but figured it was close enough to the truth.
“Sorry about that,” said the voice from the house. “I shot in the air, you know. Wasn’t shootin’ at you.”
“I figured,” answered Truman. He got off Mercy’s back.
She pushed to her knees and surveyed her clothes. Shit. Her knees, her thighs, and the lower half of her jacket were dripping with muddy water. At least the gravel had protected her chest and arms. Truman offered her a hand. She gave him a dark look and accepted. “Did you know he’d fire at us?” she asked as she wiped at her knees with a soaked glove.
“I didn’t know he wouldn’t.”
Same difference.
“And it was just a warning shot.”
She stopped swiping and stared at him.
He met her gaze and shrugged. “Different rules out here.”
He was right. At one time she’d known the rules. Had she been in the city for too long?
“Sorry about the mud.” He pulled a package of tissues out of his coat pocket and handed it to her.
She shook her head at the plastic package on her palm. “I don’t think these will cut it.”
“We’ll get a towel from Leighton. He’ll feel bad that you got muddy.”
He sounded sincere, and she stole a look at his face to see if he was making fun of her. He wasn’t. Concern shone in his brown eyes. She eyed the rest of him. Other than a little mud on his boots, he’d managed to avoid the filthy water.
“Glad I could break your fall,” she said.
“I appreciate it.” He grinned, and the last grain of her annoyance with him shattered. Police Chief Truman Daly had a smile to stop traffic. He probably breaks hearts right and left with that smile. The tall man had been serious and reserved since she’d met him, which was understandable because of his uncle’s death. But out here in the rainy woods surrounding Leighton’s property, he’d relaxed, even though someone had fired a gun less than a minute ago.
“Chief? You comin’ in?” Leighton called.
“On our way.”
“You sure he’s safe?” Mercy asked.
“He already said he wasn’t shooting at us.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m trusting you.”
“Good idea.” They continued their cautious wading to Leighton’s home. The house didn’t have a front porch. It had a small set of concrete stairs that led up to a larger concrete block in front of the door, which listed to the right. Leighton Underwood stood in the open doorway, his shotgun pointed away and tucked under one arm. It took Mercy a long second to recognize it as a peaceful pose. In Portland, seeing this stance in a doorway would have sent her in the opposite direction.
“My glasses busted.” Leighton squinted at them. He was tall and proud looking, with a thick mane of white hair that’d receded several inches from his forehead. As Mercy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the man studied her from head to toe. His name wasn’t familiar to her. Even if he knew her parents, he probably didn’t remember her.
“Can we come in, Leighton?” Truman asked.
“Who’s this? You said another officer. Unless you hired a woman yesterday, I’m pretty certain there’s no women on the Eagle’s Nest force.” Skepticism filled his lined face.
“I’m with the FBI,” Mercy said. “We’re investigating the death of your neighbor, Ned Fahey.”
Leighton’s chin rose. “I heard that asshole got himself killed.”
“Now, Leighton—” Truman started.
“Any chance I could borrow a towel?” Mercy asked. “I fell in the mud when your gun went off.”
He squinted at her pants. “Of course. Come in. I apologize again for that, but I couldn’t see who was here. All I saw was those big black rigs you drove. And you know what that means.” He stood to the side and waved them into the home. “Don’t worry about your muddy boots. Stay on the hard floor and I’ll mop it up later.”
Mercy stepped inside and was overwhelmed by the odor of ground beef and onions. Her stomach rumbled. She followed the “hard floor” directly to the right and into a kitchen. No food was cooking on the stove. “What did our black vehicles mean to you?”
Leighton bustled past her and set his gun in a corner. He opened a closet door and pulled out a tan towel. She thanked him as he handed it to her. Its nap was nearly gone and it was mostly mesh, but she was grateful.
“You know what those trucks can mean. The feds,” he whispered. “They all drive around in those big black SUVs. Usually in a caravan of sorts.” He cackled. “I guess I was partially right, since you’re a fed.”
“Call me Mercy, please.” She rubbed at her coat, turning the tan towel dark with dirty water. “Why would you expect the federal government to show up at your house? And would you shoot first if it was the government?”
Leighton rubbed at his bristly chin. “Well, I guess shooting first wouldn’t be the smartest way to say hello. But I’ve been on edge lately. I’ve missed some payments on the mortgage and I’ve been getting those calls.”
“Those would be from your mortgage company, not the government. I don’t think the government sees your mortgage as their problem yet.”
“How far behind are you?” Truman asked quietly. “Do you need a small loan? Just until things are right again?”
Mercy looked at him in surprise. Would the police chief open his own pockets?
“I don’t need another loan,” snapped Leighton. “Got enough.”
“Did you know the town has a short-term emergency fund for problems just like this?” Truman added.
Hope appeared on Leighton’s face and then vanished just as rapidly. “I’m not in the city limits.”
“I’d call you an honorary resident. You spend money in Eagle’s Nest, right? I’ll put in a good word with the town treasurer for you.”
The older man seemed to shrink. “I don’t want to lose my house. Had to pay some medical bills and fell behind.”
Truman clapped him on the shoulder. “Happens to everyone. That’s why we set up the fund. Now . . . you’re one of the closest neighbors to Ned Fahey. Did you notice anything unusual over the weekend?”
Mercy admired the way Truman had addressed Leighton’s problem without making a big issue out of it and moved on as if making town loans was a daily part of his job. Maybe it was. She wondered how this mystery emergency fund was paid for.
“I can’t see Ned’s property from here. It’s at least a half mile away. Our properties are divided by a small stream that runs off the Cascades, but during the summer it turns into a dry wash. This fall when it started flowing again, it went a different way. It moved at least a hundred yards into my lower field. Ned said according to the land deeds, that meant he owned half my field. I don’t think so.” If steam could come out of human ears, a dense cloud would be surrounding Leighton’s head.
“That doesn’t sound very fair,” Mercy sympathized. Land was precious to the residents, and they guarded it fiercely. It didn’t excuse Leighton for firing when he’d thought they were government agents coming to seize his property, but it gave her a little more insight into what made him tick. “So you’re saying you haven’t been close enough to Ned’s property—his actual property—to see if anything happened over there.”
“Nope.”
“Hear any shots recently?” Truman asked.
“I always hear shots. But it could be coming from the McCloud or Hackett places. Hard to tell the direction sometimes.”
Mercy studied the older man. Would he kill Ned Fahey to get his hundred yards of property back? He seemed honest enough, but she was reserving judgment.
“Did you order a new pair of glasses?” asked Truman. “I don’t want you shooting someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Yep. Went into Bend last week. They should be ready tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Mercy. She frowned. “Do you have a ride to the eye doctor?”
“What for?” Leighton looked confused.
“Can you see well enough to drive?”
“I’ve been driving that road to Bend for fifty years. I could do it with my eyes shut.”
Mercy decided this wasn’t her problem. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas about who would hurt Ned Fahey? I assume you know about Jefferson Biggs and Enoch Finch. We’re looking for a common denominator in all three deaths.”
Leighton scratched one ear. “Ned was always pissing people off. He liked to wave his ax around a little too much. I called him Injun Ned one time and I thought he was going to take my scalp for it.”
Mercy bit the inside of her cheek.
“But he was pretty harmless. Kept to himself. He talked about being prepared for the end of the world all the time. I can only handle so much of that, you know. It was like a religion to him. He claimed he could last for months without relying on a grocery store or the county service for his heat.” Sorrow crossed his face. “I guess all that work was for nothin’ now.”
“Did you know how many guns he had?” asked Mercy.
Leighton gave her an odd look. “What’s it matter? A man has a right to own all the guns he wants. Never saw the point of owning more than five or so . . . I mean, you can only fire one at a time.” Concentration narrowed his brows. “I think I’ve probably seen him with three different guns over the years. He preferred his ax.”
That statement didn’t match what Mercy suspected Ned owned. But the ax description was consistent.
She and Truman thanked Leighton for his time, and she handed him the wet towel. “Thank you for the towel.”
“I’m sorry I scared you into the mud.” He apologized with a small, gentlemanly bow.
Outside she asked Truman his opinion.
The chief walked another ten feet before replying, clearly organizing his thoughts. “I don’t know if we learned anything from him or not. The change in property lines because of the creek is interesting, but I don’t think it’s a motive for murder.”
“I agree.” Mercy waited for a moment, but he appeared to be done talking. “Is there really a town fund for personal emergencies?”
Truman winced. “Not really. But I’ll do what I can to keep him in his home. That’s how it starts, you know.”
“How what starts?”
“A lot of the antigovernment attitudes. It’s like a line of dominoes. Usually the first domino is tipped over by having their home foreclosed on. Something personal happened . . . either they got ill and racked up huge medical bills or they lost their job and couldn’t find another. They have to choose whether to feed their kids or pay the mortgage. Guess which is going to come first?”
Mercy knew he was right. She’d seen it happen over and over.
“Suddenly the home that’s been in their family for decades is ripped out from under them and their credit rating is destroyed. They need a place to live. They need a job and they need their pride restored. It’s a lot easier to stop the dominoes before they start tipping. If all Leighton needs is a bit of cash to tide him over, then we’ll make it happen.”
“Maybe he’s a gambler.” Mercy played the devil’s advocate. “Maybe he spends all his money on porn.”
“You can find every kind of porn for free on the Internet these days,” Truman replied dryly. “A guy who pays for it isn’t very bright, but I know what you’re saying. I’ll sit down and talk with Leighton to get an idea of how deep he’s in debt and why there’s a problem. Ina Smythe used to be the one who handled the logistics of our ‘private fund.’ I took it over because I didn’t think people wanted to talk to nineteen-year-old Lucas about their problems.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Mercy had always been partially terrified of Mrs. Smythe, but she suspected her teenage perspective of the woman as a tyrant hadn’t been very accurate. She wondered what else she’d been wrong about.
Truman shrugged. “People are willing to tell me stuff.”
Her opinion of the police chief was slowly coming together. He had a strong sense of honor about his residents. He was a listener. He wore his authority well and didn’t seem to need to feed his ego. All positive things in Mercy’s book. “Eddie is going to the Enoch Finch scene after he picks up the rental,” Mercy said. “Can we go back to your uncle’s home now? I’d like to see it in the daylight.”
The chief looked at his watch. “It’s time for lunch. You take time for lunch, don’t you?” He looked sideways at her.
Mercy knew the most convenient places to eat would be smack in the center of Eagle’s Nest. “I have something in my bag to tide me over. If you want to stop and grab something, I can meet you at the house.”
Truman stopped and turned toward her. She halted, meeting the chief’s brown gaze. A subtle challenge shone in his eyes. “Now, if you want to find out what’s going on around here, one of the best things you can do is be seen. Let people know the FBI is searching for a murderer. And I think it’s important for this town to see that the FBI isn’t a stiff fed hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and a dark suit. I think putting a personal face on the FBI will go a long way in getting some cooperation. You look approachable. You’re polite, and most of the men will think you’re harmless.”
“Harmless?” Mercy snapped.
“I didn’t say they’d be right.” Truman flashed another showstopping grin. “I know you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t the best at what you do, but getting people to lower their defenses can only help us. If you’d rather sit in your vehicle and eat one of those high-protein bars made of powdered meat and daisies, go ahead.”
The challenge still glinted in his eyes.
Dammit. He was right.
Who would recognize her next?