“Ollie’s an outdoorsman . . . and this wasn’t his first encounter with death. He’s doing as well as can be expected for an eighteen-year-old.”
“I get a good feeling from that boy. He’s terrified to make eye contact with me, but he’s got better manners than my own kids ever did.”
“He likes cookies,” Truman suggested. “And you should offer a treat to his dog next time you see him. Those two things will win him over.”
“He’s got a past.”
It wasn’t a question, but Truman knew she wanted an explanation. Curiosity shone in her eyes. Few people knew Ollie’s history, and he liked it that way. The orphan didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.
“That’s Ollie’s story to tell. Like I said, try cookies.”
“Hmph.” She didn’t care for his answer, but she accepted it. “They identify the body yet?”
“They did yesterday evening. He wasn’t a local.”
“Who was it?”
Truman shifted in his seat, making his chair squeak, knowing the FBI hadn’t released the identity. They were waiting to notify Mull’s family and trying to keep the media coverage to a minimum.
She held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find out soon enough.”
Relief flooded him. It was still ingrained in him to answer Ina’s questions.
I’m not a teenager anymore.
“Why are you waiting so long for a wedding to that woman?”
The question out of left field didn’t surprise him. This was typical of conversations with Ina; she collected information.
“I assume you’re referring to Mercy. We both know she doesn’t rush into anything, and we wanted to wait until—”
“Rose has her baby and marries Nick.”
Truman nodded.
“I heard about their engagement. Took him long enough. I had them pegged as a couple almost two years ago.”
“What?” Ina had managed to surprise him.
“I saw the way he looked at her at the Fourth of July picnic the year before last and knew it was just a matter of time. Like your Mercy, Nick doesn’t rush into anything. He takes his time. Does things right. But I knew he’d made his mind up back then.”
“Huh.” Truman was speechless. Mercy had believed Nick’s interest was relatively new.
“He’s got good character, that one. I remember when his wife died, and I wondered if he’d ever recover. I knew he’d wished they’d had children. Now with Rose pregnant, that man will have two people to cherish. That baby couldn’t have a better father.”
Truman could only nod, his throat thickening. Some men would struggle with the parentage of Rose’s baby. Nick wasn’t one of them.
Why am I surprised when Ina reveals how well she knows her people?
“What do you know about Sandy’s time before she moved to Eagle’s Nest?” he asked, hoping for Ina’s insight into the woman’s past.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “Is this about the vandalism at her place?”
“Partially.”
“What has she told you?” Ina asked cautiously.
She knows.
But he saw she was holding back, not wanting to betray a confidence. Ina knew when stories were appropriate to spread and when to hold her tongue.
Unlike some of the other gossips in town.
“She told us about Lionel.”
Ina relaxed back into her chair, tucking her cane between her knees as she considered Truman’s question. “It took me a few years to get the story out of Sandy. Anyone who met that woman could tell she had a past. I swear she looked over her shoulder for years, always expecting something horrible to come for her.”
“She’s suggested her ex might be responsible for the vandalism.”
Ina gazed out the window, her fingertips tapping the arch of her cane. “Maybe. But she hasn’t heard from him in ten years.” Her sharp eyes abruptly met his. “Right? Don’t tell me she knows he’s creeping around.” Fury burned in her gaze, and Truman worried for Lionel.
“She’s not positive about that. We had to pull the story out of her, she seemed—”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Samuel and me.”
“Ahhh.” A knowing look crossed her face, and she nodded.
“Don’t tell me . . .”
“Oh yes. I’ve noticed how your officer looks at her.”
“I feel like I’m constantly in the dark in this town. Not a good place for someone in my position,” Truman groused.
She brushed aside his comment with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t worry about it. I’d tell you if it was important. This is just people stuff.”
“The people of Eagle’s Nest are my business.”
“Their personal lives aren’t.”
He bit back his next comment. But they’re yours?
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, they’re mine. You’re in charge of the laws and enforcement. The happiness of the people is mine. If I can do something to improve someone’s quality of life, I’m going to do it. Sometimes that means asking a lot of questions and maybe sticking my nose into places people don’t like. Anyway, Sandy told me about that jerk who beat on her and made me swear to keep it silent. I have until now. Do you think there’s any chance it’s him?”
“He’s got a recent assault conviction and lives about three hours away. It doesn’t rule him out.” He paused. “He doesn’t have a record from the time he was married to Sandy.”
Ina pressed her lips together and slowly nodded. “She wasn’t up to it. She has a lot of regret about not pressing charges. I hope that hasn’t come back to haunt her.”
“I’ll keep looking into it. We’re putting up cameras at her B&B tomorrow.”
“You’re looking into the problems at my daughter-in-law’s place too, right?”
This is the real purpose of her visit. Bree.
“We are . . . It’s possibly connected to the issues at the bed-and-breakfast,” Truman said. “We haven’t had vandalism reports for months, so it’s hard to believe that two completely unrelated but similar vandalism cases occurred within a week.”
“Doesn’t feel right.”
“I agree.” Truman sighed. “All the graffiti feels personalized to the victim. But it still could be the same person with two axes to grind.”
“Bree is upset. She feels her horses are in danger.” Exasperation filled Ina’s tone. “She’s more concerned about them than the X on her truck.”
“She has every right to be upset. I suspect it’s easier for her to focus on the horses than consider that the vandal intended a message for her. No one wants to feel targeted.”
“Lucas can’t be out there all hours of the day, watching out for his mother.”
“Neither can we,” Truman said gently.
Waves of dissatisfaction rolled off his visitor, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped her cane.
“I know you’re concerned,” Truman stated. “Bree is a priority to me. Sandy is too, and I’m doing my best to figure out what’s happening.”
Ina had the grace to look away. “I know you’re good at your job . . . but I had to say something,” she said in a low voice. “It’s my family.”
“You wouldn’t be the Ina I’ve always known if you hadn’t said something,” Truman said with sympathy. “I’d be worried if I hadn’t received a phone call or visit over this.”
“Not asking for special treatment.”
“Everyone gets the most special treatment I can give.”
The corners of her mouth slowly turned up. “You’re a good chief, Truman Daly.”
“Why do I feel like you’re not complimenting me?” he asked, raising his brows.
“Mighta been a compliment for myself. I knew you were the best for the job.” She stood, pushing up with one quivering arm to keep her balance.
“How are you doing, Ina?” Watching her struggle hurt something integral in his soul.
She glared at him, dark eyes flashing. “Why?
”
He held up his hands. “Just asking.”
“Don’t want to be fussed over.”
“But you’ll keep me in the loop?” He held her gaze, relaying his concern.
She paused. “Of course. Now get back to work and let me say goodbye to my grandson.” She turned her back to him and shuffled out to the hall.
Truman stayed put at his desk, following her order and wondering if she’d actually tell him if she had any serious health problems.
She protected her privacy with an iron wall but could easily convince others to share their biggest secrets.
He turned back to his computer screen and studied the image from Lionel Kerns’s driver’s license, committing it to memory. He sent the photo to the rest of his officers. According to Kerns’s stats, he was six foot three and nearly three hundred pounds. He had a silvering beard and a wide nose. Truman studied the eyes, growing angry that the large man had believed he had the right to beat on his wife. Sandy was tall and strong, but not enough to defend herself against a man of that size.
If Lionel Kerns was messing with Sandy or Bree, Truman wanted to be the first person to lay a hand on him.
My town.
NINE
Sandy picked a bench in the sunshine, plopped down, and closed her eyes, lifting her face to the sun as she waited for Bree. After Truman and Samuel had left, her first phone call had been to her best friend, asking why she hadn’t mentioned her vandalism. Bree had gone quiet on the phone and asked if they could meet in person.
Toddler shouts made Sandy open her eyes. A young mom play-chased her two tots, who screamed in joy. Twin boys. And the mother’s stomach bulged with another new life. Sandy admired her. Kudos to a mom who would get pregnant when she already had toddler twins.
I can’t imagine her life.
Not that Sandy’s life was easy street. Guests frequently woke her in the middle of the night. Issues with their beds, outdoor noises, spiders, and one time a ghost. Even with the extensive variety she served on her breakfast buffet, someone always requested—demanded—something different. Then there were the guests who expected food to be available all day long. Sandy had tried to accommodate her hungry guests the first year she was in business and then realized they were taking advantage of her. Now she provided fresh cookies, tea, and coffee at all hours. Nothing else. No kombucha, no popcorn, no mangos, no “just a sandwich.”
Learning not to be a pushover had taken time.
It wasn’t easy when submissiveness had been pounded into your psyche for years.
The boys tore past her bench, and the mother grinned as she made eye contact with Sandy. Sandy smiled back.
No children for me. I’m nearly fifty and married to my work.
She had no complaints about her current life, but she couldn’t help the small pangs of envy when she saw babies.
“Sorry I’m late!” Bree slid onto the bench next to her and shoved a paper coffee cup into Sandy’s hand, and they hugged. Bree’s hair smelled of hay and horses.
Mine must smell of Clorox.
Sandy took a drink of her hazelnut coffee. The fact that Bree had added the perfect amount of cream sparked a small joy in her heart. It reflected their close relationship. They knew each other’s likes, dislikes, and most intimate secrets. Bree’s friendship was at the top of Sandy’s favorite-things list.
“Now.” Sandy looked her friend in the eye. “Tell me everything about the vandalism. I’m wondering if the same person did mine.”
Bree’s happy expression faded into one of caution. “I’m sure it’s not related to yours. That wouldn’t make sense.”
“I’d like to form my own opinion about that. Talk.” Her tone left no room for Bree to protest.
Bree turned to lean back on the bench, her gaze focused across the small playground.
Sandy mentally sorted through possibilities as Bree described the scene at her farm.
When she was finished, Bree finally looked at Sandy, an odd expression in her eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering if I was followed when I went to ride at your place last weekend,” Sandy said.
“Why would someone follow you?”
“To see what’s important to me. I’m pretty sure my love for that horse is obvious when I’m there.”
Bree’s face was blank. “You think my damage was aimed at you? Why?”
Sandy cocked her head; Bree’s flat tone made no sense.
Why isn’t she more concerned?
“You know my history,” Sandy said slowly. And you’re about to hear a lot more.
“You’re referring to your ex.”
“Yes. I can’t think of any other reason someone would spray-paint bitch and whore on my building.”
“But he doesn’t know where to find you.” Bree’s eyes crinkled in worry. “Does he?”
“I don’t know,” Sandy whispered. “I haven’t told you everything.” Her voice shook.
Bree took her hand and squeezed. “Talk away.”
Comfort flowed from her friend’s hand. “You know he physically abused me. I told you how I had to sneak away and change my name.”
“Yes.”
The care in Bree’s gaze nearly undid her. “You don’t know how bad it was . . . It wasn’t just the physical stuff. It was mental and emotional too.”
“Of course it was,” Bree said gently. “They go hand in hand.”
“I had no money. He wouldn’t let me work. He gave me some cash at the beginning of every month and that was to buy all our groceries and anything else the house needed.” The words spilled out of her. She’d opened a gate that’d been locked for a decade. “I knew how to stretch every dollar. I planted a garden to make the grocery money last longer. I traded with neighbors for fruit from their trees and firewood for heat. When he realized this, he cut the cash back more because I clearly didn’t need it. It wasn’t about the lack of money—not completely. It was the mental abuse. Everything was my fault. The reason he couldn’t give me more money was my fault. The reason the meals were never tasty enough was my fault. The reason he had to work was my fault. Nothing was ever good enough.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I was stuck. I didn’t know how to leave. He wanted children . . . I never understood how he could be so disgusted with me but also want children from me.” Her heart pounded. “Of course it was my fault I never got pregnant.”
“Asshole.”
One corner of Sandy’s lips curved up. “It was my fault,” she admitted. “I got birth control. I might not have been able to do anything else, but you can be damned certain I would do anything to keep from having his child. I guarded those pills with my life. I had nightmares that he’d find my hiding spot and beat me, throw out the pills, and then rape me.” Revulsion racked her.
“Oh, Sandy.” Bree looked ready to cry.
“His mission was to keep me down. If I was under his foot, it supported his ego. He felt strong and powerful.” She laughed. “I can see it so clearly now. I look back and can’t understand why I married him in the first place.”
“But you told me that he wined and dined you at first. Bought you flowers and jewelry.”
“I was so stupid.”
“You were young. He sounded like a dream.”
“In a way he was. He was older and mature. His truck was new, and he took me to the nicest restaurants. But it all stopped once we got married. It didn’t just stop, it turned 180 degrees.”
“Like I said. Asshole.” Bree leaned closer. “I think you’re letting your memories take control of your thoughts. Yes, something bad has happened recently, but you don’t know that it’s him. It’s understandable that you’re thinking that way, but you need to take a step back and look at the situation rationally.”
Bree made sense.
Am I expecting the worst?
Bitch. Whore.
Terror swept through her. “No. I know it’s him.”
“But Sandy . . .” Bree
didn’t finish. Instead she set down her coffee and added her other hand to the one gripping Sandy’s. “My vandalism is directed at me. I know it. It can’t be your ex harassing me.” Her tone was flat again. “I told you about the big X on my truck door . . . That’s personal.”
“Who would make it personal to both of us?” Sandy asked. She’s holding back. “I feel like you’re not telling me something.”
Bree said nothing, her two hands still tight on Sandy’s one.
A chill settled on Sandy’s skin. Even in the warm sun, goose bumps rose on her arms. “Do you know who did this, Bree?” Her voice cracked.
Her best friend was silent, a mental struggle reflected in her eyes. She finally spoke. “I have some suspicions.”
“Did you tell the police? Because Truman was stumped today. I don’t think he has any leads.”
“It’s too far-fetched.” Bree gave a weak smile. “My memories are running away with my thoughts too.”
“Tell me,” Sandy ordered. “I’ve told you everything. You know how I had to pull myself up. Lionel destroyed my self-worth. How can yours be worse than mine? The police deserve to know . . . I deserve to know. Whoever is doing this is trying to tear me down again.” Anger was red hot on her tongue. “He’s in for a surprise. I’m not the powerless person I used to be. I will fight back with everything I’ve got because I deserve better. I never believed that when I was married. I thought I deserved what I had—but now I know I’m worth it.”
“You have come so far,” Bree told her, her dark gaze holding Sandy’s. “You are the strongest woman I know. You put yourself back together and became the type of person I wish I was. You have no idea how much I admire and envy your backbone.”
She’s not going to tell me. I never thought I’d see the day she let me down.
“Give me a few days. I’m going to look into some things.” Bree took a deep breath. “I want to make sure I’m not crazy first before I tell the police my suspicions.”
“I might be out of business by then.” Truth.
“You’ve got to trust me on this, Sandy.” Her eyes pleaded for understanding.
I don’t understand.
Bree’s head jerked as her gaze shot to the far side of the park. “Did you see that truck?”
A Merciful Fate Page 8
