THIRTY-TWO
Her heart racing, Mercy jumped out of Truman’s truck and jogged up the driveway to her parents’ house.
Déjà vu.
Three days ago she’d approached this house in trepidation, nervous about seeing a sister she hadn’t spoken with in fifteen years. Now she was racked with fear for her sister’s life. Royce and Eddie had arrived at the home moments before and were talking with her parents. Eddie had an arm around her mother.
Her mother’s hair was shot with gray, but she still wore most of it pulled back in a single wide barrette at the back of her head. Nostalgia stabbed Mercy in the heart as she recognized her mother’s ancient sweatshirt, and she had an overwhelming need to be the one with an arm around her. Her father’s shoulders were stooped, but his head was up in an intractable pose she knew too well.
She met Eddie’s gaze, which was full of sympathy and concern, as everyone turned to see who approached.
Mercy’s steps slowed and she held her breath, her gaze skimming from face to face.
Will they shut me out?
I can’t take the rejection right now.
Her mother’s mouth dropped open, and she stepped out from under Eddie’s arm. Mercy’s vision tunneled on her mother’s green eyes, and she walked straight into her open arms.
Acceptance.
Everything was familiar. Same shape, same smell, same embrace. Mercy closed her eyes, pushing aside all thoughts.
“We’ll find her, Mom.”
Her mother pulled back from their embrace and placed her hands on Mercy’s cheeks as tears streamed down her own. Her face had aged. More wrinkles, more folds, a new softness. “I’m so glad to see you, Mercy.”
Words Mercy would never forget.
She touched her forehead to her mother’s, remembering how her mother had done it each morning before she left for school. Her mother hugged her again.
Truman looked pleased and raised one eyebrow at her.
She nodded at him. All was good. At this split second in time all was good.
Rose.
She moved back, gripping her mother’s shoulders. “What happened, Mom?”
Her mother sucked in a deep, wavering breath, but her father answered first. “We just got home. The front door was open, and I can tell there was a struggle in the kitchen.”
“There’s blood on the kitchen floor,” her mother whispered. “Broken glass, a mess everywhere.” Her face crumpled. “She’s gone. Her phone’s on the kitchen counter. She’d never go anywhere without her phone.”
Mercy looked at her father. He hadn’t made a move toward her, and she stood just as still.
“Dad.”
He nodded. “Mercy.” His eyebrows were low, his eyes ice cold.
Is that it?
Strengthened by her mother’s embrace, Mercy felt her father’s rejection roll off her shoulders. I can handle him.
“We’d like to take a look in the house,” Truman said, breaking the silence.
“Who’s been inside?” Mercy asked her mother.
“Just us. We didn’t touch anything. As soon as we saw the open door, we knew something was wrong. And when we went in . . .”
“Did you see any vehicles leaving as you arrived? Anything unusual left behind?” Royce asked.
Her mother’s hands wouldn’t hold still. She touched her bag, her belt, and her sleeves as she looked to her husband, who shook his head. “We didn’t notice anything.”
“Let’s take a look.” Truman handed booties and gloves to everyone. As she slipped them on, Mercy studied the heavy door and its multiple locks. Nothing was busted or bent. Rose must have left the door unlocked even though she was home alone. Mercy knew a lot of rural home owners didn’t lock their doors, but her father had insisted they keep it locked. Especially after the murders of Jennifer and Gwen.
Mistake number one.
Or did you open it to someone you knew?
The house appeared pristine except for the kitchen. Russet potatoes were strewn about the floor. Some peeled, some not. A glass bowl lay in shatters among the potatoes. Mercy glanced in the sink, where peelings covered the bottom. A vegetable peeler was abandoned in the brown mess.
How many times did I peel potatoes in this kitchen?
She glanced at her parents, who’d stayed out of the way of the officers, and was pleased to see her father holding her mother’s hand.
Some good things haven’t changed.
Taking care where she stepped, she walked the tile floor. Smears of blood showed where a struggle had occurred. She squatted to get a closer look and spotted a small paring knife on the floor nearly under the stove. She pointed and Royce nodded, aiming his camera at the knife. The officer had been taking photos since they entered, and Mercy couldn’t find fault with his thoroughness.
The blood smears led toward the front of the house, but quickly vanished, giving no clue where the bleeder had gone. Mercy wandered down the hall, using her small flashlight to study the floor and walls, searching for more blood. She shone her light in the powder room near the front door and froze as her heart fell through the floor. “Mom?”
Her mother appeared with Truman, Eddie, and her father right behind her.
“Was the bathroom mirror already broken?”
Her mother automatically reached to flip on the switch, but Mercy grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch.” Mercy stepped back so her mother could see clearly into the room and aimed her flashlight. A small empty frame hung over a sink filled with mirror shards.
“Noooo. Rose!”
Mercy grabbed her mother’s arm as her knees buckled. Her father pushed his way into the small powder room, took his wife in his arms, and clenched his jaw as he silently stared at the mess in the sink.
They remembered.
Truman swore under his breath. “We need to check the grounds of the ranch. Royce?” The other officer appeared. “Call Lucas. We need more help out here. Tell him to contact Jeff Garrison at the Bend FBI office and tell him we’ve got a case related to the prepper murders.”
An hour later, a search of the ranch hadn’t revealed Rose.
Nausea had pressed at the back of Mercy’s throat since she’d arrived at the house, and twice Truman had asked if she needed to leave. When she’d first studied the blood in the kitchen, the thought that Rose had been taken by the prepper killer had tried to swamp her brain; she’d set it aside, wanting proof. Once she saw the broken mirror, reality had swept in and drowned her doubts.
He has her.
Who is he?
He’d followed Mercy to her cabin. At least twice, maybe more. He’d slashed her tires. Why?
She had no proof, but she was capable of putting two and two together. But why Rose?
Truman had rapidly pulled together the investigative team. Deschutes County had sent some deputies to walk the entire property, and Jeff from the Bend office had arrived with another agent.
They weren’t short on help.
Mercy sat with her parents in her father’s study. The furniture had been rearranged and the rug had been replaced since the night she and Rose were assaulted, but she still felt echoes of the attack. Or maybe they were fresh from today.
“Has anyone been hanging around the ranch?” she asked her parents. Focus on asking the right questions.
She couldn’t relax while sitting across from her parents. Emotions boiled and cooled inside her.
Concentrate.
“No one new,” answered her father. “We have a lot of people come and go, but no one unexpected.”
“Can you write up a list of everyone who’s been here in the past week, Karl?” Truman asked her father.
He nodded and pulled a sheet of paper from a pile on his desk, then started his list.
“Has Rose complained of anything unusual?” Mercy asked. “Has she felt like she’s been watched?”
She felt Truman’s gaze on her.
Her parents exchanged a glance and shook their heads. “She did ask me to take her over to the Bevinses’ ranch on Wednesday. I thought that was odd,” Karl added.
“What did she do there?” Tension climbed up Mercy’s spine.
“Nothing. I refused to take her,” he stated, a familiar inflexible look in his eyes. “She wanted to talk to some of the hands about putting their kids in her preschool. I told her I wouldn’t drive her to go begging on his property.”
Deborah Kilpatrick touched her husband’s leg. “It wasn’t begging. She was genuinely concerned that they get a boost before kindergarten like the other children around here.”
Sounds like Rose. But why now?
“So she didn’t go,” Mercy repeated.
Deborah looked at her lap.
“Mom?”
She cast a quick glance at her husband. “I didn’t take her, but I know she went over there on Thursday.”
Mercy hated the small ducking action of her mother’s head as she looked at her husband. “Who took her?” Mercy asked.
Deborah looked straight at her. “David Aguirre. He’s the pastor of our church, where Rose teaches preschool.”
Karl blew out a breath and folded his arms. His wife ignored him.
Truman tapped Mercy on the shoulder. “Can I talk to you outside?”
She nodded and followed. Truman closed the den door and led her to stand on the porch. County deputies were still working the scene under Eddie and Jeff’s directions.
“You think Rose went to the Bevins ranch because of your conversation Tuesday night?” Truman asked in a low voice.
“I do. I think she was trying to listen for the second voice from that night.”
“Do you think she found him?”
“Something happened.” Mercy gestured at the inside of the home.
“Okay. I know David Aguirre pretty well. I’m going to head to his place and ask about Rose’s behavior at the ranch and see if he knows exactly who she talked to. I’ll let you know what I hear.” He gave her arm a parting squeeze and a we’ll-find-her smile.
Mercy watched him jog down the steps of her parents’ home, placing his hat on his head, an unfamiliar longing in her chest.
Once all this is over . . .
Oh, Rose. Did I get you in trouble?
She walked back inside and put her hand on the doorknob to the den, keenly feeling Truman’s absence. She’d grown used to having him beside her. Now she had to face her parents on her own. Crying sounded from the den, and she pushed open the door, Truman immediately gone from her thoughts. Her mother was in tears, her father angry.
All her life she’d known her father would never strike her mother. He might be old-fashioned about some things, but he’d taught her brothers that the moment a man strikes a woman, he stops being a man.
Her mother was frightened for Rose.
“She’s my baby,” she said to Mercy with a tear-filled face. “I know she’s not the youngest, but I knew she’d always be with us. Now she’s gone.” A sucking breath. “Possibly with a killer. Oh, Karl! What’s happening to her right now?”
Her father directed his anger at Mercy. “You stirred this up. This is your fault. We’d lived in calm for fifteen years since you left and the first week you’re back, Rose goes running off with old ideas. We’d convinced her to let it go! What did you say to her? Because you might have gotten her killed!”
Mercy bit her tongue and felt her hands curl into fists.
Reply as a professional, not as their daughter.
“I need to know what she’s said about anyone at the Bevins ranch recently.” She hated the high pitch of her voice.
“She doesn’t associate with anyone over there!” her father roared. “None of us do!”
“I saw Levi talking with a whole crew from there in his coffee shop,” Mercy snapped. “And Joziah Bevins greeted me pleasantly this week. You’re holding a one-sided grudge!”
“I never threatened his family,” her father hissed. “And his daughter isn’t missing!”
Mercy froze. “When did Joziah threaten our family?”
Karl looked away. “Ages ago.”
“What did he say?” she asked sharply.
Her mother’s hand was pressed against her mouth as her gaze darted between Mercy and her husband.
“It was implied,” Karl said.
“Jesus Christ!” Mercy wanted to strangle him. “I remember when our cow was shot. You had us convinced that Joziah Bevins was second-in-command to Satan. Did he or did he not threaten physical harm to us?”
Her father looked away.
Mercy counted to ten and looked to her mother. “Did he directly threaten your children?”
“Not exactly. He wanted our skills and connections,” Deborah whispered. “He’d approached me several times in town, trying to get me to convince Karl to join him.”
“We stay away from him,” her father said solemnly. “When the time comes, we know who our friends will be.”
Her energy drained away. “There’s more to life than preparing for the end of the world, Dad.”
Disappointment clouded his eyes. “Of course there is. But peace of mind is important too. I’d never forgive myself if I let an opportunity to prepare for the future pass because I was lazy.”
“No one can accuse you of being lazy,” she muttered.
“And I know you haven’t left it behind,” he added.
Mercy looked at him, keeping her face carefully blank.
“I know about your cabin. Did you think the sale would escape my attention? You’ve done a good job up there.” He nodded approvingly.
She wanted the floor to swallow her up.
“What?” asked her mother, confusion wrinkling her forehead.
He kept my secret.