ELEVEN
Truman picked the busiest restaurant for lunch.
If Special Agent Kilpatrick wanted to keep secrets from him, he’d make her squirm a bit. Her pride had flashed when he’d said the men in town would see her as harmless, but it was true and it’d work in her favor. He saw her waver for a moment, fighting her need to stay anonymous and wanting to do the best thing for her investigation. He’d known he’d win. In less than a day, he’d learned she was dedicated to her job.
He held open the diner door for her and removed his hat. Mercy stepped in and immediately moved to one side as she scanned the restaurant. Her hood was still up.
The diner was nearly empty.
Disappointment washed over Truman. One of these times someone was going to recognize Mercy Kilpatrick and he wanted to be there when it happened. If only to see her scramble. He grinned. Why am I so looking forward to it?
Usually he didn’t relish another person’s discomfort, but Mercy was playing a game with him, and he was due for a score. She slowly lowered her hood as he pointed at the last booth. “Have a seat. I need to say hello to a few people first.” She nodded and strode away. Truman took his time greeting two old-timers who were nursing their bottomless cups of coffee. Neither of them asked about the woman who’d come in with him. He stopped and greeted a mother he didn’t recognize with two small children. He gave each of the boys a police badge sticker and learned the mother lived on Oak Street. She was flirty, with big smiles and artificial laughter. He saw her gaze shoot to his left hand. He checked hers. No ring. He silently sighed, tousled the boys’ heads, and politely broke away.
Mercy studied the menu, her profile to him as he walked down the aisle. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, she was still quite striking. Her jawline was sharp and her nose turned up the slightest bit. Nothing about her said FBI agent.
Until she turned her questioning stare on you.
Her mind seemed to be constantly analyzing and processing data. She didn’t waste words, Truman had happily noted. He hated nothing worse than people who spoke to hear themselves talk or people who tried to cover up that they were slackers by using an avalanche of words. More words did not mean more intelligence.
He slid into the booth. “The burger is excellent. Mushrooms and Swiss.”
Mercy nodded, not lifting her gaze from the menu. “Not much of a burger fan, but thanks. How’s the enchilada salad?”
“I have no idea.”
“How you doing, Chief?” Their waitress appeared.
“Great. Thanks, Sara. Your kids staying out of trouble?”
“So far they’ve only broken the refrigerator door this week, but we’re barely through Tuesday. You want the usual?”
“Yes. Mercy?”
Mercy looked at the waitress. “Coffee with heavy cream and the enchilada salad, please. No cheese.”
“The toppings are mostly cheese,” said Sara. “You want extra olives and salsa?”
“Sounds great.”
Sara vanished, and he swore Mercy exhaled in relief. Or maybe he imagined it. A vibration came from her purse on the booth bench. She grabbed her phone out of her bag and studied the screen. “Autopsy results on Ned Fahey.”
“What’s it say?” He waited impatiently while she opened the e-mail and scrolled. A narrow groove appeared between her eyebrows as she focused on the tiny print.
“Know that, know that, know that . . . ,” she muttered.
“Anything new?”
“Here we go. Time of death is estimated to be between midnight Saturday and six a.m. Sunday.” Her face softened. “He had some of the worst arthritis in his back and knees that Dr. Lockhart has ever seen. Poor guy. No wonder everyone said he was crabby. He was in constant pain.”
“The gunshot wound is still the cause of death, right?”
“Yes. Have we heard if they found the bullet? The county evidence team was supposed to search.”
“No one’s told me.”
“I’ll e-mail Jeff and ask.”
“Jeff?”
“The SSRA in Bend.”
Her temporary boss.
Mercy looked up from her phone, satisfaction in her gaze. “Now we can focus on that time period. That’s a big help.”
“Hello, Chief Daly, I hope you’re having a good day.”
Truman looked up to find Barbara Johnson’s round face beaming at him. The retired high school teacher was one of his favorite residents. Probably because she was always positive and upbeat. Being around her always lifted his spirits. “I am, Barbara. Can I intro—”
“Mercy Kilpatrick?” Astonishment rang in Barbara’s tone. Mercy was out of her seat and hugging the woman before Truman could blink.
The women pulled apart and stared at each other before laughing and hugging again. Barbara wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, girl. It’s so good to see you! I’ve thought about you so many times over the years.” They pulled apart again and Barbara looked Mercy up and down. “You look fantastic. City life agrees with you.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Call me Barbara now. You’re not a child anymore.” She looked at Truman. “Mercy was one of my star pupils. I always knew she’d go far.”
Mercy wiped at her own eyes. “Thank you, Mrs.—Barbara,” she said awkwardly. “You don’t know how much that means to me. You were a rock I could lean on, and I always could talk to you.”
“Where have you been? Why haven’t you come back to visit before now?” the woman asked. “I see your parents all the time, but they never talk about you.”
Mercy glanced at Truman and guilt flashed in her eyes. “It’s a long story. Can we meet at another time to talk? I’m working right now.”
“I’m sure the police chief won’t—”
“Can we please save it for later, Barbara? I’d love to catch up with you,” Mercy said quickly. “We’re tight on time.” She shot a pleading glance at Truman.
He was tempted to invite the kind woman to join them, simply to see how Mercy reacted. “She’s right, Barbara. We need to eat and run.”
Disappointment flooded Barbara’s face, and Truman’s heart twisted at the unfamiliar sight. “All right.” She shook a finger at Mercy. “You better not leave town without paying me a visit. I’ll hunt you down if you do.”
“I promise,” Mercy agreed.
The woman left after a few more words, and Mercy slid back into the booth as Sara appeared with their food. Truman silently added ketchup and mustard to his burger, swirling it around on the bun. He put the burger back together and took a bite, slowly chewing. He waited through a full minute of silence while Mercy attacked her salad, her gaze firmly on her food. He finally spoke.
“So . . . Special Agent Kilpatrick. I think you have something to tell me.”
Mercy swallowed a large corn chip and it scratched its way down her esophagus. She coughed and grabbed her glass of water. Truman took a bite of burger and calmly watched her as he chewed.
How much does he know?
She mentally raced through explanations, discarding most of them as she poked at her salad.
Stick to the truth. Doesn’t have to be the whole truth.
“I grew up in Eagle’s Nest, but I haven’t lived here since I was eighteen.” She risked a look at him, meeting his gaze. Truman showed no surprise. He was proving to have a solid poker face.
He took another bite of burger, and ketchup dripped onto his plate. His gaze didn’t leave her eyes. One of his brows rose. And?
“I had an argument with my parents.” She shrugged. “Teen stuff, you know. Boundaries. Life philosophies. Seeing how far I could push.” She stabbed at her salad a few more times, no longer hungry. “Anyway, I haven’t had a reason to come back.”
“But you’ve been in touch with your parents.”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“E-mail? Christmas cards?”
“None of us have tried anything.”
“But you’ve got four siblings. You talk to them, right?”
Mercy blanched. “You knew?”
“I put it together after Toby Cox said you looked like Kaylie Kilpatrick. I thought maybe you were her mother who took off years ago, but Ina Smythe set me straight.”
Mercy set down her fork as a black haze tunneled her vision. “What else did Mrs. Smythe tell you?”
“She couldn’t remember why you left town.”
Good.
“Why didn’t you immediately tell me you were from Eagle’s Nest?” His brows narrowed as he took a drink from his soda. “Were you trying to get the job done and get out before anyone noticed you?”
“Something like that.” Mercy sat perfectly still, fighting her body’s need to dash out the door. “This isn’t my favorite place.”
Truman nodded, seeming to accept that, but Mercy could tell he knew there was more to the story. He wasn’t going to pry it out of her. Yet.
“Your boss know you’re from here?”
“My boss in Portland does. She must have told the SSRA in Bend, because he mentioned it.”
“Is that why they sent you? They thought you’d have some insight into this community?”
Mercy paused. Could that be the reason? “I’d just cleared some cases off my desk. I was due for a new assignment.”
“And Peterson? Why’d they send him? There’s no way that agent has any roots on this side of the Cascades.”
“He worked on one of the cases I just closed. We work well together.”
“Anything else I should know?” Truman asked. He dropped his gaze and focused on cleaning up the ketchup with a fry.
“No.”
“Good.”
Silence hung over the table for a few minutes as Mercy tackled her salad again. For a small-town diner, it served an excellent salsa.
“How you doin’, Chief?” A gravelly voice interrupted their meal.
Mercy looked up and caught her breath. Joziah Bevins. Her memory of the man merged with the older man in front of her. The lines in his face had tripled, his hair had thinned and whitened, and there was a new stoop to his shoulders. He’s old!
Has my father aged the same way?
My mother?
Her throat thickened and she blinked rapidly.
“Hey, Joziah. Just catching some lunch,” said Truman.
Joziah turned his attention to Mercy, and his smile slowly faded. Recognition fluttered and then faded in his eyes.
“This is Mercy Kilpatrick. She’s with the Portland FBI office.”
Recognition caught flame. “Well. Mercy Kilpatrick. It’s been a long time. I hadn’t heard you were with the FBI. You’ve really outgrown our little town, haven’t you?” Curiosity and caution shone in his gaze.
She expected him to pat her on the head and call her a good little woman. If he told her to show her pretty smile, she’d stomp on his toes.
He’d said both things to her before, but she’d never had the desire to stomp on his toes. Of course, back then she’d believed that type of comment was acceptable.
Funny how she’d changed.
“Nice to see you again, Joziah.” Her mouth felt odd saying his name; he was still Mr. Bevins in her brain. Or “that asshole Bevins.” She heard the words in her father’s voice.
“Been out to see your parents?” Joziah asked.
Why is that the first thing anyone asks? “Not yet. I just got here.”
He nodded, wheels and gears spinning behind his eyes. He glanced at Truman and back at her. “Working on the murders?”
“We’ve asked the FBI for some support,” said Truman. “They have a lot more resources than Eagle’s Nest or county.”
“I was very sorry to hear about your uncle,” Joziah said to Truman. “He was a part of the community for a long time.”
“Thank you, Joziah.”
Bevins said his farewells and took a seat at the diner’s counter, placing his cowboy hat on the seat next to him.
Mercy had held her breath the whole time. When she was a child, Joziah had scared the crap out of her. Nothing had changed.
“Jesus,” said Truman. “I thought you were going to puke.”
Mercy stared at him. “What?”
“When you first looked at him, you turned slightly green. I take it there’s some history there? Not everyone gets a big hug like Barbara Johnson?”
“He and my father don’t like each other. I grew up learning to avoid him.”
“You’re an adult now. I think you can make your own decisions about people. I assume he and your father butted heads over some things?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Joziah Bevins is a popular man around town. Your father commands respect too.”
“It’s always been that way.”
“Should I have not introduced you?”
“You had to say something.”
“I could have left off your last name and the FBI part. That seems disrespectful, though. Would you prefer I do that from here on out?”
Mercy glared at him. “I’m not hiding from anyone.”
Truman grinned. “Oh yeah? Coulda fooled me.”