THIRTY-FOUR
Later that evening Truman stepped out on the front porch of the Kilpatrick home and sucked in a deep breath. The tension in the house made him crave a shot of hard alcohol. Or five. Mercy’s siblings had arrived over the afternoon. All in various stages of grief and panic over Rose’s abduction. Truman had offered comfort when needed, but mostly he’d stood back and observed the interactions between Mercy and her family.
Firmly on the pro-Mercy team were Levi and her mother. Against Mercy were Owen and her father. Pearl floated between the two camps, and Truman understood. She didn’t want to pick a side; she wanted to keep everyone happy.
A peacemaker.
Two Bend FBI agents, along with Eddie, were working with Deschutes County on the investigation. Mercy had been firmly set aside from the investigation because of her relation to the victim, and she resented it. She alternated between looking ready to wilt and looking ready to plant her foot in someone’s ass. Truman knew she understood, but he’d worried she’d throw the potato salad at Sheriff Ward Rhodes after he patted her shoulder.
Food was everywhere.
Royce was posted out front of the Kilpatrick home to keep the parade of well-intentioned neighbors at a distance. Every ten minutes he brought a casserole or dessert to the front door. Pearl would take the offering and add it to the food already on the kitchen table. She paced between her parents and the kitchen, refilling drinks, getting more spoons, and making countless pots of coffee.
It was a vigil, waiting for the phone to ring.
The FBI agents questioned Deborah and Karl Kilpatrick for well over an hour. Then they talked to Mercy and brought in David Aguirre to question him about Rose’s trip to the Bevins ranch. Truman had watched Mercy carefully, waiting to see if she’d tell about her attack fifteen years ago. She’d stayed quiet. He noticed how Levi had casually leaned against the wall, listening to Mercy’s interview, his gaze sharply on her face.
He’s wondering too.
Guilt flooded Truman. Mercy’s story floated through his head for the hundredth time. He still couldn’t see a benefit to sharing her story: A second person at an attack fifteen years ago. The witness who heard his voice is missing.
What could police do with that information?
Truman couldn’t see any leads. But if something suddenly came up so that the information was pertinent, he was going to twist Mercy’s arm until she told.
What if we could get a lead from the body Levi hid?
Who knew how many months that could take? And a fifteen-year-old corpse wouldn’t point to where Rose Kilpatrick was right now.
Or would it?
Indecision made his stomach hurt. But he was following Mercy’s lead on this one. She would know if her story could help the investigation. Judging by the strain on her face, she’d thought about nothing else. When he couldn’t watch anymore, he’d gone outside.
Royce came up the porch steps with a basket. The odor of fresh cinnamon rolls reached Truman’s nose.
“Take a break,” he told Royce. “Get something to eat. I’ll watch out front.”
“I’m stuffed,” Royce muttered. “Seems wrong to be eating at this time.”
“Then go for a walk.”
The officer nodded and took the newest offering inside. Truman walked out to Royce’s vehicle, which blocked the Kilpatricks’ drive, and leaned against the driver’s door, watching down the lane. The sun had set a few minutes ago, but the sky was still light. He stared up at the darkening sky and asked again for Rose to be released.
Headlights came up the Kilpatricks’ drive. Truman straightened as the car pulled closer and parked. He recognized the young woman at the wheel but couldn’t remember her name. One of the back windows rolled down, and he spotted two young boys in car seats. The mom stepped out of the vehicle, a covered dish in her hand.
“Evening, Rachel,” Truman said as her name miraculously popped into his head.
“Any word, Chief?” she asked as she handed him the warm dish.
“No.”
She glanced back at her boys. “Both my kids are in her preschool class. They absolutely love Miss Rose.”
“Do they know?” Truman asked quietly. How do you explain this to a four-year-old?
Rachel shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t tell them, and I really don’t know how I’ll handle it . . . if . . .”
Truman gripped the dish. If she turns up dead.
“Give my best to her parents.” Rachel’s shoulders sagged as she walked back to her car. The boys stared solemnly at Truman.
They know something is wrong.
The whole community suffered when something happened to one of its own. Judging by the outpouring of food and well-wishes, Rose Kilpatrick had touched everyone.
A king-cab pickup pulled off the single-lane driveway to let Rachel’s vehicle pass. Truman recognized one of the Bevins ranch trucks. Mike Bevins was at the wheel, and Truman could make out other men in the truck. He wondered if one of them was Joziah.
Three hands accompanied Mike. Truman spotted Craig Rafferty’s big bulk with a gallon of juice in his hand. The other men carried covered dishes.
Would I ever have seen this on my old job? No. He’d seen mourning families and church services for victims, but he’d never seen anything like the turnout for Rose Kilpatrick. The caring of the community made his throat tighten.
This is why I live here.
He nodded at the four men. “Any word on Rose?” Mike asked.
Truman shook his head. “Appreciate you stopping by.”
“Can we give our regards to her parents?” one of the hands asked.
“Not now. They’re overwhelmed and talking with the FBI.” Truman realized he still held Rachel’s warm dish. “Just set your stuff on the steps. I’ll take it in.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Mike asked as he placed his food on the porch. He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, looking earnestly at Truman. “I’ve got a bunch of men ready to volunteer to search. You just say where.”
“They don’t have any leads on a location yet, but if you notice anything suspicious, let us know. You could ask your guys if any of them happened to be passing by here and saw a vehicle leaving.”
Mike raised a brow at his three men. They all shook their heads. “I’ll ask the rest when I get back to the ranch.”
The Kilpatricks’ door opened and Mercy stepped out. Truman thought she looked pale and thinner than usual, but it could be the darkening evening.
“I’m sorry about your sister, Mercy,” Mike said, taking off his hat. Nods and “Sorry” came from the other three.
“Thank you. And thank you for the food. That’ll be a big help.”
Silence filled the air as the men shuffled their feet in the gravel. They said their good-byes and drove off. Mercy let out a giant sigh as she and Truman watched the dust from the truck’s tires.
“Everything okay in there?” Truman asked. Mercy stood with her arms wrapped around her, her expression pained.
“As okay as it can be.” Her voice shook.
“Hey.” Truman stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. A faint tremor shook her body, but she looked into his eyes, and he recognized the gaze of a person at the end of her rope. She put up a good front; she behaved as if she were taking everything in stride, but he suspected she was seconds away from collapse.
Every word he wanted to tell her sounded patronizing and empty. He didn’t want to give her useless encouragement when her world had been rattled to its core.
Following instinct, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her back. She was nearly as tall as he, and her chin rested on his shoulder for a brief second before she ducked her head and pressed her face against his neck. Her entire body shook as she took a gasping breath.
“I wish I’d never come back to Eagle’s Nest.”
“You’re here for a reason.”
“The FBI should have sent someone else.” Another deep, raspy breath. Her arms were still wrapped around her stomach as if she was scared to let go of herself. He tightened his grip, her hair catching on his chin. She smelled of coffee and cinnamon rolls and pain.
“You’re the best person they could have sent. No one knows what makes these people tick like you do.”
“I’ve been gone too long. Everything’s changed.”
“Still. You have more insight than any other agent.”
“All I’ve done is disrupt. Rose would be home right now if I hadn’t brought up the old attacks. She would have never started searching for that voice again.”
Truman could say nothing that would change her mind right now.
“I couldn’t stay in there anymore. Every time my father looks in my direction, I feel his hatred.”
“He doesn’t hate you.” Empty words.
She shuddered. “He blames me. If I’d only been the quiet, obedient daughter he wanted, none of this would have happened.”
Truman stepped back to look her in the eye. “Four men would still be dead. Two women would still be dead. And because of you, we’re very close to finding a killer.”
“But my sister,” she whispered. Her tears finally spilled. “I should have reached out before. I’ve wasted fifteen years because of my pride. We could have—”
“Stop it,” Truman ordered, squeezing her shoulders to emphasize his words. “I need you focused if we’re going to catch the guy who took your sister.”
“Dammit, Truman. This has been a fucked-up day.” She wiped her eyes. “And of course Jeff ordered me off Rose’s case. He’s promised to keep me informed, and I can sit in on any interviews, but outside of my parents and David Aguirre, no one else has seen her.”
“You’re still on the prepper cases. Any progress we make there is a step forward for Rose.”
“True.” She straightened her back, took a long, deep breath, and lifted her chin, looking him in the eye. “I won’t fall apart like that again.”
“Mercy, if anyone has the right to fall apart right now, it’s you.”
He hugged her again, and this time her hands tentatively went around his waist.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re the only person I feel like I can lean on.”
The heat of her body seeped through his shirt, and he was surprised at how thin she felt under his hands. He knew he’d have a hard time letting go.
“Anytime.”