EIGHTEEN
Mercy hauled her small suitcase up the wooden stairs of Sandy’s Bed & Breakfast. No ADA ramp in sight. To Mercy this would always be the old Norwood house. A house she’d avoided while growing up because old man Norwood and his wife were seriously creepy. The huge house had been straight out of a horror film with its three stories, turrets, peeling paint, and failing gingerbread trim. Now it shone with cheerful colors in the style of a Victorian painted lady, and the architectural details had been lovingly restored.
Someone had sunk a lot of money and elbow grease into the house.
Eddie opened the door with the oval lead glass and Mercy followed, feeling slightly grumpy.
Bed-and-breakfasts weren’t her thing. Too personal. She’d prefer an anonymous hotel with four plain walls where the staff didn’t know her name and she didn’t have to share a breakfast table with strangers.
“Smell that?” Eddie whispered. “Now I’m hungry again.”
She inhaled, and the odor of fresh-baked cookies flooded her senses. Her stomach rumbled.
Dammit.
“Hello, hello! I’m so glad you’re here!” A tall, slender woman with long, red hair came through a swinging door behind a small reception desk. She wiped her hands on her white apron and gave them a genuine smile. Flour dusted her T-shirt. She reminded Mercy of a hostess on a TV cooking show. “Nice to see you again, Agent Peterson.” She nodded at Eddie. “I have your rooms ready for you.” She held out a hand to Mercy.
Mercy took it. “I’m Mercy.” The cookie odor hovered around the woman, and Mercy couldn’t help but return her smile.
“You don’t know how relieved we are to be here,” said Eddie. “Do I smell cookies?” he asked hopefully.
“I’m always happy to have law enforcement staying in my place,” Sandy said. “It always feels a little safer. And the cookies have just a few more minutes. Once you’re settled into your rooms, you’ll find a plate of cookies right over there on that table. They’ll be there every afternoon. And there’s always fresh coffee.”
“I’m in heaven,” Eddie muttered. “Are you single?”
“No,” Sandy said firmly with a flash of dimples. “You’re young enough to be my son.”
“Adoption works too.”
“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
Mercy fought to control her eye roll. “It smells great. Which way to the rooms?”
Sandy led her upstairs to a pleasant room with an attached bath. Mercy peeked in the bathroom. Eddie was right: it had a newly tiled big-ass shower. As Sandy took Eddie to his room, Mercy jogged back downstairs and out the door to get her water and food stash out of the back of the Tahoe. She slammed the rear door of the Tahoe shut, and a white pickup caught her eye as it parked at the post office across the street. A man stepped out and walked around the back of the truck, his profile to her.
She caught her breath.
She knew the walk and the tilt of his head. Even the style of cap was familiar.
His jeans were faded and loose, and heavy work boots were on his feet.
Dad.
He walked in the door of the post office and vanished.
Mercy couldn’t move, her bag gripped in her hand.
Does he know I’m in town?
No doubt. Gossip travels fast, and she’d bumped into too many familiar faces.
He looked older. His hair was white instead of salt and pepper. His shoulders were more stooped. He was still thin. No aging beer paunch for him. He took his health too seriously to allow it.
She took two steps in the direction of the ancient Ford truck, unsurprised that her father had kept it running all these years. He didn’t buy anything new. He’d drive the truck until it could no longer be repaired.
What will I say to him?
She stopped. Unable to take another step as fear coiled in her stomach.
Hey, Dad. Remember me?
What if he didn’t acknowledge her? Like Levi hadn’t?
I can’t deal with this right now.
She turned around and blindly walked up the steps to Sandy’s, barely able to lift her feet, drowning in a need to connect with the rest of her family.
Pearl.
Pearl would talk to her. And Mercy could ask her about Jennifer Sanders. A work interview.
Yes, that’s what it will be.
Eddie had offered to come with her, but Mercy turned him down. Concern had flashed in his eyes when he realized she was headed to see a sister she hadn’t spoken with in fifteen years.
She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want him to smooth the way for her.
It was something she had to do on her own.
She’d thought about asking Truman Daly to meet her there. The Sanders case belonged to his department, and he had the right to know that Mercy was contacting a witness. But she talked herself out of calling him, knowing she’d update him later. She didn’t want any observers if Pearl slammed the door in her face.
Those brown eyes of his saw too much.
She knew Truman was trying to figure her out, and she wasn’t ready for it. Eddie and her coworkers saw what she wanted them to see. A hard-working but slightly unsocial agent. But Truman had seen her reaction to his uncle’s home and her encounters with Joziah Bevins and David Aguirre.
She wasn’t ready to let him see more. Especially a reunion with her estranged sister.
The driveway to her sister’s small ranch home was long. Mercy had checked to see if the home was still owned by Rick Turner, Pearl’s husband, and wasn’t surprised to see that Pearl’s name wasn’t on the public record as a co-owner. It was the mind-set she expected from her family. Men own the property; women lean on the men.
As they work their fingers off to take care of their home and family.
Pearl had been her first sibling to get married. Mercy had been awestruck by her sister in her white wedding dress. Pearl and Rick had seemed mature and worldly to Mercy’s twelve-year-old eyes. Now, knowing her sister had been only eighteen when she married made Mercy want to cry. Pearl had gotten pregnant immediately.
At thirty-three Mercy still didn’t feel ready for kids.
The outside of the home was well kept. But as she stepped out of the car, she was hit by the recognizable stench of pigs. Mercy had raised a few pigs while growing up, but apparently Rick had a lot. The barn and pens were set far back from the home, but even with the lack of wind, the odor spread. What was it like during the summer heat?
Does Pearl know her home stinks?
As a teen Pearl had been fascinated with fashion and makeup. Knowing that she was now married to a pig farmer made Mercy’s heart hurt. But someone had to raise pigs. Pigs were an important source of protein and fat and great for barter. Her father would view the pigs as riches. If meat was no longer available at the grocery store, Rick would be a wealthy and popular man.
Mercy would have preferred sheep.
She spotted a high fence around a garden to one side of the home. Judging by the amount of lush greens growing, the fence did its job to keep out the deer. She couldn’t see any neighboring farms and remembered that Rick’s father had gifted the couple ten acres of his land when they’d married. Pearl had been ecstatic over planning and decorating the home they’d built. At one time Mercy had been wildly jealous of her sister’s independence; now she saw a prison. Did her sister have any regrets?
Mercy swallowed, studying the small front porch. A good-size corn husker sat in one corner. Memories waxed and waned. Aching arms from turning the wheel as Rose fed the dried ears of corn into the machine. Watching the empty husks fly to one side. The smell of dried corn kernels slowly filling the bucket below.
A craving for parched corn made her mouth water. Her mother would sauté it with a bit of brown sugar and salt. A favorite snack.
Did Pearl’s kids run the old-fashioned machine?
She knocked and waited to see her sister.
A shadow passed behind the peephole and Mercy held her breath. Would Pearl speak to her?
The door flew open and her sister stared, her mouth hanging open. “Mercy?” she whispered.
Tears formed in Mercy’s eyes and her throat swelled. She nodded. Pearl looked older. The glamorous young woman Mercy remembered had been replaced by a mother who now kept her hair in a simple ponytail and wore a faded top Mercy recognized from fifteen years ago. Pearl looked much older than her nearly forty years.
Pearl lunged at her, wrapping her arms around Mercy in a tight squeeze. “It’s been so long!” Pearl pulled back, her gaze scanning Mercy from head to toe, and then hugged her again. Mercy still couldn’t talk. Her arms wrapped themselves around her sister and gripped tightly.
Pearl pulled back again and wiped at her eyes. “Oh Lord. Oh Lord, Mercy. I think of you every day.”
Mercy felt like a twelve-year-old again. Unable to speak and worried about saying something utterly stupid. She wiped her eyes and continued nodding, feeling as if her skin had been ripped off and her sensitive nerve endings left raw.
“I’m sorry, Pearl,” she finally sputtered.
“Come in, come in!” Pearl grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the home.
The pig smell vanished and was replaced by a wonderful cooking smell. Stew or steak or meat pie.
It smelled like home.
Pearl stopped and stared at her again. She reached out and brushed a clump of hair out of Mercy’s eyes, a gesture she’d made a million times in their past. Mercy forced an awkward smile. “Hi, Pearl.”
“I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”
Mercy finally saw some of the eagerness fade from Pearl’s eyes. She’d remembered that Mercy was no longer considered one of the family. All contact had been ordered to cease.
“Levi didn’t tell you I was in town?”
“No, you saw him already?” A faint hurt flashed in Pearl’s eyes.
“I saw him at the coffee shop,” Mercy admitted. “He wouldn’t speak to me. I assumed he’d tell everyone I was here.”
Pearl nodded, and Mercy wondered if she regretted letting her in her home and was now the sibling who’d broken her father’s rule.
“Are you just visiting?” Pearl asked cautiously. “Have you seen Mom and Dad?”
Mercy took a deep breath. “I’m working. I’m investigating the recent murders. And no, I haven’t seen our parents.” She studied Pearl’s face, hoping for a hint of what her reception from her parents would be. Pearl wore a poker face, and Mercy interpreted it as meaning Pearl believed she wouldn’t be welcome.
“You mean Jefferson Biggs? And the other two men? I know another was found on Monday.”
“Yes.”
“I’d heard you worked for the FBI.”
“I’ve been there six years. Right now I work out of the Portland office in domestic terrorism, but I’ve been assigned to help out the Bend office with these murders.”
“Domestic terrorism,” Pearl repeated. “They think these murdered men were domestic terrorists?”
“Not really,” assured Mercy. “What caught our eye was all the weapons that have been stolen, along with the murders. And what that stockpile of weapons could mean in the hands of one person or a group of persons.”
Pearl nodded, her face still carefully blank.
“Why would someone do that, Pearl?”
“I don’t know.”
The silence stretched for three long seconds as they tried to read each other’s faces. Pearl knew as well as Mercy did that the area was littered with people who were angry with the government for good reasons and for lousy reasons. People who felt their rights, their land, or their wealth had been stripped away because of unfair laws. When weapons and anger and distrust were mixed with the right personality, it could become a volatile situation. One Mercy hoped to prevent.
Mercy smiled. “It’s good to see you,” she whispered. No matter the situation that had broken their family apart, Pearl was her sister. “How are your kids?”
“One’s married and the other is a junior in high school,” Pearl said proudly. “Are you married?”
“No. It’s never happened for me.”
Pity flashed in Pearl’s eyes.
“I love my job,” Mercy felt the need to state. “Part of the reason I’m here is because we’re also looking into Jennifer Sanders’s death. I discovered there’s been no follow-up since the first investigation.”
Pearl looked away. “I try not to think about that anymore. Would you like something to drink?”
Mercy agreed and followed Pearl into the kitchen. The atmosphere had changed, and the excitement of their seeing each other had been replaced by caution and curiosity. And walls. Walls had gone up in Pearl’s eyes at the mention of Jennifer. Did Pearl think Mercy had visited only because she had official questions?
It was partially true.
“I wanted to see you,” Mercy said as she watched Pearl make two cups of tea. The faint scent of licorice filled the room, and Mercy smiled. It’d been their mother’s favorite tea. Mercy still bought it. “I’m not here solely for work.”
Pearl gave her a knowing look. “So you’re saying you would have stopped by at some point or another?”
Mercy had no answer.
“It’s okay, Mercy. I understand. It’s a two-way street. I could have reached out to you.”
But you never would. Not since our father ordered everyone not to associate with me.
It was stupid. They were adults abiding by their father’s ancient demands.
Some habits were hard to break.
Especially if you believed Dad was absolutely right.
Pearl set a mug of tea in front of her and sat in the chair across the table. A decorative sign above the sink said: Use it up. Wear it out. Make do or do without.
How many times did I hear my father say that?
Mercy wouldn’t have chosen those words to decorate her kitchen. “Can we talk about Jennifer?” she asked.
Pearl took a sip of tea and nodded, her gaze on the tablecloth. Mercy drew a notepad out of her bag and her sister frowned at it.
“I feel like I’ve done something wrong,” she said.
“Only if you’re the one who killed Jennifer.”
Pearl dropped her mug a half inch onto the tabletop and sloshed hot tea on the table. She swore and wiped it up with a napkin from a stack in the center of the table. “Of course I didn’t kill her! What kind of question is that?”
“The type of question that points out that you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
The annoyance on Pearl’s face was reminiscent of their childhood squabbles.
Her sister sighed, propped up an arm, and leaned her chin on one hand, gazing at Mercy. “You’re right. What do you want to know?”
“You were interviewed by an Eagle’s Nest officer after the murders. Do you remember that?” Mercy didn’t mention she’d already read the officer’s notes on the interview.
“Of course. I was horrified at what’d happened. The officer was nice and respectful, and wanted to know when I’d talked to her last and if I knew of anyone who’d want to hurt Jennifer.”
“Did you?”
“No. Everyone liked Jennifer.”
“Was she dating anyone?”
Pearl moved her gaze to stare out the window. “Not right then. She didn’t have a steady boyfriend.”
“I didn’t say steady. Did she date anyone? Even just casual get-togethers?”
“She dated Owen for a while before he married Sheila.”
“What? Really?” Mercy straightened in her chair. “I had no idea she dated our brother.”
“It didn’t last. She dated several of the guys in his circle. David Aguirre, Mike Bevins. Jamie Palmer. Nothing was ever serious, and of course none of them could have been involved in her death . . . that was done by someone crazy. Probably someone who was passing through town.”
Mercy pressed her lips together. Crazy was often discovered in plain sight.
“I’ve thought and thought about that day,” said Pearl. “I could never think of anyone who could be a suspect.” She wiped her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if our daughters would have been best friends like Jennifer and I were.”
Sadness overwhelmed Mercy. She’d never had that sort of friendship with another female. Her sisters had been her closest friends. Until they no longer were.
“Levi’s daughter is close in age to your son, right?”
“Yes, Kaylie is in the same grade as him.” A mothering look entered her eyes. “Kaylie is a bit wild. Levi does his best, but he gives her a lot of leeway that our dad never did.”
Mercy remembered the small stud in Kaylie’s nose at the coffee shop and silently agreed. And cheered.
“Levi raised her alone?”
“Yes.” Pearl hesitated. “He’s never been quite the same since Kaylie’s mother left. He really cut down on his involvement with the family. Dad and Owen have just about given up on him. I don’t think he pulls his weight. I don’t think he wants to anymore.”
A chill shot through Mercy at the thought of Levi being cut from the family’s circle.
Why does that bother me? I was cut.
She hated the thought of anyone being on their own. She’d learned to pave her own way, and it hadn’t been easy. Every day she was fully aware that she didn’t have her own community to lean on. When she’d first left, it’d been freeing, but it’d also been terrifying. Walking a tightrope without a net.
She’d compensated by working her ass off. Staying prepared.
“I caught a glimpse of Dad earlier in town,” she said slowly. “He looks the same, but older.”
Pearl tipped her head. “You look older too.” Her gaze seemed to probe, searching for Mercy’s vulnerable spots. “Mom hasn’t changed. More gray. Hell, even I’ve got plenty of gray now.”
Mercy met the gaze, wondering if she was looking at herself in six years. She knew that between her and Rose, she had the strongest resemblance to Pearl. But I haven’t raised two kids and lived on a farm with pigs.
She had an overwhelming need to break her sister out of her prison. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Are you happy, Pearl? Is Rick good to you? Is there something else you want to do with your life?”
Shock crossed her sister’s face. Then anger. “Of course I’m happy! I’m doing exactly what I wanted to do, and I’m married to the best husband in the world. We have a good life here, Mercy. We don’t need to live in the big city and buy the latest iPhones and designer handbags,” she snapped. “Don’t pity me because I still live in Eagle’s Nest. It’s a good place to live a simple life.”
Mercy saw the lies in Pearl’s eyes; she didn’t challenge them. “I was just catching up on the last fifteen years. I’m not judging you.” The lie soured on her tongue.
She looked down at her blank notepad and calmed her brain, focusing on the second reason for visiting her sister. “Did you know weapons were stolen from Jennifer’s apartment that night?”
“No.” Surprise infused Pearl’s tone. “I knew she had a few guns. Everyone does. Is that important?”
“We’re not sure. Weapons were missing from Gwen Vargas’s home too.”
Pearl sat back in her chair. “Huh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Easy to sell.”
“Yes,” agreed Mercy. “A photo album was missing from Gwen’s home, but nothing like that was reported from Jennifer’s. Do you know if anything personal was stolen? Maybe something her parents mentioned later?”
“I don’t recall,” said Pearl. “I didn’t talk to her parents except at her funeral.”
“Did the officers ever show you pictures of the crime scene?”
“No. And I don’t want to see them.”
“What if I got you some pictures of Jennifer’s room? Would you be able to tell if anything was missing?”
Pearl thought for a moment. “I honestly don’t know.”
“You practically lived there.”
A sad smile crossed her sister’s face. “That’s true. I could look—as long as they’re not pictures of . . . the body—but it’s been a long time to remember small details.”
“I’ll keep that option in mind. Do you remember what happened to the mirrors in the crime scenes?”
Pearl covered her mouth with one hand. “I’d forgotten about that. They were all broken. It was odd.”
“Have you heard of anything else like that happening around here?”
She thought hard for a moment and slowly shook her head, her gaze unfocused. “I think I’d remember if something like that happened again. So many rumors were going around after their deaths . . . they said the killer was disfigured and couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. Or it was actually a woman who hated both Gwen and Jennifer because they were attractive.”
“They were raped.”
“Rumors don’t follow logic, and there are other methods of rape, you know.”
Mercy froze. Had penetration with a foreign object been considered? There’d been no semen. She needed to read the police reports again.
Pearl made a good point.
But I know a woman wasn’t there when Rose and I were attacked.
Doubt flooded through her. Mental images clashing with logic.
A woman could have been there. Or instigated the crimes.
She took several deep breaths, trying to rationally process the new possibility her sister had raised.
Could a woman have recently killed the three men? And stolen their weapons?
She kicked herself for allowing a sexual bias to cloud her thinking. Don’t discount women. They were capable of having done any of the crimes. The odds stated their killer or killers were male, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t consider a woman.
“Was there someone that jealous of Jennifer?”
Her sister took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or won’t say?” Mercy asked carefully.
“Just because someone is a bitch, it doesn’t mean they’re capable of murder.”
“Very true. But if you have suspicions, you should speak up.”
“I didn’t have suspicions. There’s no way she would have done something like that.”
“Who?”
“Teresa Cooley. But just because she fought with Jennifer doesn’t mean she’d kill her. Or Gwen.”
Mercy couldn’t put a face with the name. It was slightly familiar. She scribbled it on her notepad, feeling as if she’d read the name recently. Perhaps in the police reports. Pearl might not have suggested the name years ago, but possibly someone else had.
Was a woman behind the attacks back then?
A small door to her memories tried to burst open. She mentally leaned against it, refusing to let its contents send her hiding under her covers. The memory of the attack didn’t need to resurface again. Once after her visit with Rose had been enough.
“Teresa went to school with you and Pearl?”
“And Gwen, who was two years behind us, but we didn’t know her that well. But seriously, Mercy. It was high school mean-girl stuff between Jennifer and Teresa. Jennifer grew out of it, but Teresa never did. I was married, for gosh sakes, and Teresa acted like I wanted to steal her boyfriend. We were twenty-four, but Teresa seemed to have gotten stuck on age eighteen.” Pearl tapped the table. “I’ll say it again: that doesn’t mean she killed anyone.”
“I know,” agreed Mercy. Exhaustion swamped her. She was operating on little sleep, and her conversation with her sister had taken emotional turns she hadn’t expected.
Mercy ran out of questions, but she wasn’t ready to leave. Something inside her made her want to linger. She wanted to see pictures of Pearl’s children—all twelve years of school photos—and hear what activities her kids loved to do. She wanted to enjoy her cup of tea and simply gossip, the way they used to.
She didn’t deserve it.
Mercy stood and put away her notepad. “That’s all I have. I need to get back to work.”
Pearl stood but didn’t say anything. Mercy avoided her gaze.
They walked to the front door, and Mercy finally looked at her sister. “I’m staying at Sandy’s Bed & Breakfast if you remember something about Jennifer that might be helpful.”
“How long are you staying in town?”
“Shouldn’t be long. Just until we get some answers.” She fiddled with her bag, unable to hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds. She sensed an opportunity rapidly fading, never to be offered again.
Then she was caught up in Pearl’s arms again. “Don’t be a stranger, Mercy. You’re welcome here.” Scents of home and family overwhelmed her, and she leaned into her sister’s embrace.
Mercy struggled to see the road as she drove back to town.