A Merciful Fate

by Elliot, Kendra

  “She was damned good at it,” agreed Truman. “Ollie loved their tutoring sessions.”

  “I was so pleased when the state recognized her last year for her teaching talent.” Ina took a long sip of coffee. “When Hollis died, I thought she’d get married again one day. She was such a gem that I figured another man would snap her up right away. But she told me she only had room in her heart for Hollis . . . and Lucas, of course. He’s the spitting image of his daddy.”

  “Was she originally from around here?” Truman asked.

  Ina’s gaze sharpened. “Is that the point of this trip down memory lane? Bree’s history?”

  “We’re trying to catch who attacked her. It helps to know her past. It’s been difficult to find any data before she married Hollis.”

  “She wasn’t from around here . . . Northern California.” Her face brightened. “She’d lived in a town called Paradise. Can you believe that? She always joked that she moved from one paradise to another. Have to respect a girl who embraced the beauty of our area.”

  “She ever go back to visit?”

  “No. She said her parents had passed a few years before she moved, and she didn’t have any other relatives she cared to keep in touch with. I always felt bad for her . . . When she talked about her parents you could tell it hurt. Hollis told me not to pester her with too many questions.” Ina twisted her lips. “I did my best.”

  Truman tried to imagine Ina holding her tongue.

  “Well now . . .” Ina twisted her hands on the arch of her cane and frowned as she turned to look out the window. “I had it a second ago . . . Dammit.”

  “What was that?”

  “Shush. Let me think.”

  Truman took another cookie and let her think.

  Ina picked up the Fat Nathan picture and glared laser beams through it. “This was Hollis’s friend . . . Well, more like an acquaintance . . . High school?” She muttered under her breath for a moment. “Maybe. Or from the real estate office? Nah, that’s not old enough.” More scowls.

  A friend of Hollis’s? Hollis had been dead for at least fifteen years.

  “Your memory sounds darn good to me, Ina.”

  “Stop with the sweet talk.” She waved a hand at him. “I keep associating the picture with high school . . . but my gut tells me that’s not right, and I can’t come up with anything else.” Exasperation crossed her face.

  “Any chance you still have Hollis’s high school yearbooks?” Truman asked, crossing his fingers.

  “Of course.” She braced her hands on the table to stand, and Truman immediately jumped out of his chair to help. “Sit down. I’m not dead yet.” She slowly left the kitchen.

  Nathan May can’t be a high school friend of Hollis. Mercy told me Nathan went to school somewhere in Portland.

  Truman wouldn’t pass on the yearbooks. Someone who looked similar must have attended Eagle’s Nest High School. That would explain why a few people had zeroed in on the same picture.

  But I didn’t live here back then. Why is it familiar to me?

  Ina reappeared with two books. They were startlingly thin compared to Truman’s high school yearbooks. His books were heavy beasts, but he’d attended a school with nearly two thousand kids. Eagle’s Nest High School wasn’t a tenth that size.

  “Here you go. I grabbed his junior and senior year.” She placed the books in front of him. “I’ll let you do the exciting job of going through them.”

  “Thank you, Ina.”

  “You need anything else?”

  “I don’t think so.” Truman stood and took a last sip of his coffee. “I appreciate the information on Bree.”

  “Anytime.” She tapped her cheek, and he grinned as he bent to kiss it.

  Just as he’d done a hundred times.

  He said his goodbye and strode back toward the main part of town, the yearbooks tucked under his arm.

  I’ll tackle these first thing when I reach the office.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Every red truck on the list had been eliminated.

  Mercy wanted to hit something. Expanding the search to nearby counties had more than tripled the list and meant a lot of driving.

  Now she sat in the parking lot of the hospital, trying to calm her frustration before she went in to check on Kaylie. And Bree Ingram. At least Eddie had been discharged that morning, but he hadn’t left the hospital. Instead he’d gone to sit with Kaylie. He’d called Mercy to explain that he and Kaylie had a shared experience, and she would need someone to exchange gunshot jokes with.

  Mercy hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry at his remark.

  Her mother and Pearl had updated her hourly on Kaylie’s progress. Thankfully each of their reports said the same: no infection yet. Kaylie was awake and had some issues with getting her pain under control, but Mercy’s mother had handled it. Mercy easily imagined her mother riding the nurses until her grandchild was out of pain. Pearl’s report a half hour ago had said Kaylie was sleeping. She’d added that Eddie was sleeping in a chair in Kaylie’s room due to his own pain management.

  At least Kaylie wasn’t alone. Her support group was strong.

  Mercy started to get out of her Tahoe and stopped, watching a red-haired woman leave the hospital.

  Sandy.

  Her gait was rapid and determined. Her head down, her arms swinging with purpose as she walked straight to her SUV.

  Something is up.

  Mercy jogged to intercept the woman. “Sandy!”

  Sandy stopped. Fear flashed on her face and then vanished as she recognized Mercy.

  Guilt poked Mercy. The woman was just assaulted. I shouldn’t have startled her.

  “I heard Bree woke up,” Mercy said as she reached Sandy at her vehicle.

  “She did. But it was brief, and it hasn’t happened again yet.” Something odd flickered in her eyes, and she scanned the parking lot, clearly wanting to be on her way.

  “What’s going on, Sandy?” Mercy crossed her arms. “You look like you’ve got somewhere to be.”

  The tall woman’s gaze grew confrontational. “Of course I do. I have a business to run.”

  Mercy waited. Sandy’s gaze bounced everywhere, and an air of urgency swirled around her.

  I don’t think it has anything to do with her B&B.

  “Sandy,” she said in a low tone. “What happened? I can tell you’ve got something on your mind.”

  “Last time we talked you practically accused me of murder. I can’t say I want to repeat the conversation.”

  “I was doing my job . . . and I didn’t accuse you of murder. I asked you about your past. It was a simple connection. Tabitha was murdered while digging into a nearly thirty-year-old crime. She talked to you. Therefore, I looked into what you were doing thirty years ago. And I did the same with Bree.”

  The woman exhaled and looked at Mercy head-on. “That’s what’s bugging me. Bree’s past. Today I had a thought.”

  “And?”

  “Do you know what Bree said when she woke up?”

  “I heard she thought she was dying and wanted to be buried.”

  Pain flashed in Sandy’s gaze, and her mouth tightened. “That’s correct. She also said ‘sorry’ a few times, ‘killed him,’ and then asked for Lucas.”

  “‘Killed him’?” The hair on Mercy’s arms rose. “What the hell?”

  “I know. It’s been bouncing through my brain all afternoon.”

  “And it’s made you think of something to check out.” She looked hard into Sandy’s brown eyes. “Do you have an idea of who attacked her?”

  Her head jerked. “Oh no! It’s nothing like that . . . I have no idea who did that.”

  Disappointment rolled over Mercy. “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not sure . . . but I need to take a look.”

  Mercy couldn’t interpret the expression on Sandy’s face.

  “Can you spare three or four hours?” Sandy asked, sounding hopeful.

  “It depends. Where are we g
oing?”

  “Can you ride a horse?”

  Mercy snorted. “I was born on a ranch. Hell yes I can ride.”

  But Mercy hadn’t ridden a horse since she’d left Eagle’s Nest at the age of eighteen.

  As she followed Sandy’s Explorer to Bree’s ranch, she wondered if it would be as easy as riding a bike again. The body never forgets how to move with the motions of the horse. Right? She crossed her fingers it was so.

  Mercy didn’t know when she’d learned to ride; it’d always been a part of her life. All her siblings had ridden. As kids they’d hold competitions to see who could ride backward and bareback the longest, who could best guide a horse through a complicated course without a bridle, and who could run and vault up over the horse’s hind end to land in a sitting position on its back.

  That only worked on one of the small, older geldings. He didn’t care what the kids did. They could hang upside down under his belly and it didn’t faze him.

  Any other horse would have freaked.

  Memories flooded her. Her siblings, the ranch animals, the diverse nature around her home where she and her siblings found their daily entertainment. No handheld screens to constantly stare at.

  I had a good childhood.

  She’d thought it was horrible and suffocating—and parts of it had been, but she’d had a breadth of experience that the kids of her coworkers in Portland would never have.

  I can see that now.

  She parked beside Sandy at Bree’s barn, the home in her rearview mirror. It looked like a happy place to live. Well maintained, with a few feminine touches of country decor.

  It felt like a facade.

  Mercy had been inside the house and seen the bloody kitchen. She was aware of the crime scene investigation’s findings, which hadn’t amounted to much. They desperately needed more evidence from Bree’s attack. The battered red truck had been their best lead.

  I’ll look at every red truck in the state if I have to.

  Sandy waited for her at the barn door. “Feels too quiet, doesn’t it?” she said with a glance at the home.

  “It does. Are you sure this is the only way to get where we’re going?”

  “I’m positive. Unless you can scale tall, perfectly vertical cliffs. There are no roads to where we’re going, just horse paths.”

  A chain and combination lock held Bree’s two barn doors together. Sandy spun the combination. “Bree added it after her stalls were marked up.”

  Mercy didn’t say anything. A good pair of bolt cutters would make fast work of the chain.

  Throwing her weight against one of the doors, Sandy slid it to the side.

  Mercy inhaled. Hay. Horse. Manure. Her mouth stretched into a wide smile.

  “What?” asked Sandy.

  “The scents of my childhood.”

  “Are they good memories?”

  “Yeah, they are. At one time I would have said no, but looking back now, I know they are.”

  The barn lit up inside as Sandy hit a light switch. When Sandy opened the main door, shadowed heads had appeared over the stall doors, but now Mercy saw the alert ears and dark eyes fixed on her.

  God, I’ve missed this.

  Sandy immediately opened one of the stalls and led out a bay mare. She crosstied her in the center aisle. The horse rotated its ears toward Mercy, and its nostrils widened as it inhaled, searching for her scent. “This is my Abby,” Sandy said with a fond rub on the mare’s head. “I think Justin would be a good mount for you.” She pointed at a chestnut with a wide white stripe down his face. “He’s unflappable and solid. I know you said you can ride, but I assume it’s been a while?” Sandy raised a brow at her.

  “It has,” Mercy admitted. “Show me his tack, and I’ll get him started.”

  It was like riding a bike.

  Her muscles remembered the movements to lift the heavy western saddle and settle it on the gelding’s back. How to tighten the cinch and knot it. How to slip the bit between the teeth and manipulate the soft ears to slide the headpiece behind them.

  She’d traded her shoes and slacks for the hiking boots and heavy-duty black pants from her SUV’s clothing stash. After adding a light jacket she was ready to go. Sandy surprised her by tying a shovel to each of their saddles. “We’ll be digging?” Mercy asked. The long shovel handle was parallel to Mercy’s back. She had an urge to fasten a flag to the top as if she were in a parade.

  “Maybe.”

  I will expect a clear answer before I go much farther.

  The pensive look in Sandy’s eyes, and the constant stress in her jaw, kept Mercy from pressing the issue as they saddled the horses.

  Minutes later, she was on horseback and following Sandy across a field. Her thighs immediately complained about the unusual position, and Mercy knew she’d be sore tomorrow. Sandy was right about Justin. He didn’t care a whit about the shovel or when Mercy adjusted the length of her stirrups three times. He simply plodded forward.

  She gave him a squeeze with her calves and clucked her tongue, moving him even with Sandy and Abby. “Start talking,” she ordered the other woman.

  Sandy took a large breath. “Seven years ago, my business was about to go under. Hospitality is not an easy game. I had no funds for a website for guests to find me, my roof needed to be replaced, and two of my refrigerators were close to death. The stress had me nearly pulling out my hair.

  “Bree knew I was sinking. She saw the anxiety was affecting my health. I couldn’t sleep, I could barely get out of bed, and I suddenly had no joy in my work.” She shrugged. “Who would? No one likes to see their dreams circling the drain.”

  “I’m sorry, Sandy.”

  The redhead gave her a weak smile. “It’s water under the bridge now.”

  “What happened?” Mercy had a feeling she knew what Sandy was about to say.

  “Bree gave me a stack of cash.”

  Bingo.

  “I refused to take it, convinced she was giving away her life savings. She was a widowed mother with a growing son. She had to need the money.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “No. She told me Hollis’s death had left her money from a huge life insurance policy, and her investments had nearly doubled the amount in the eight years he’d been gone. I still didn’t want to take it, but I felt like my life was about to implode. I finally swore I’d pay her back, and she agreed. When you and Truman interviewed me after Lionel’s attack, it struck me as odd when you said her bank records looked normal for a single working person. You didn’t mention a huge investment account.”

  “I didn’t find one.”

  “And you said that Bree might know one of the thieves from the Gamble-Helmet Heist.” Sandy turned clear eyes on Mercy. “That stuck in my head. Bree doesn’t seem the type to hide cash in her mattress, but a thick wad of cash was exactly what she gave me.”

  “You think she has money from the robbery.”

  “Maybe . . . and maybe someone else who knows about the money wants it. Enough to cut her fingers off to get her to talk.” Her voice went ragged as she spoke.

  “Are we going to dig up that money?”

  “There’s a place I want to look.” Sandy took a deep breath. “I could be totally off base, but Bree and I have ridden to one particular ridge at least a dozen times. She calls it her happy spot, but it’s called Horse’s Head Rock. As you can guess, it’s a huge rock that looks like a horse’s head. A few weeks ago we were up there, and she dug a gorgeous crystal out of the dirt.”

  “The dirt? Like, found it randomly?”

  “No. She knew exactly where it was. It was in a little tin box not far from the horse.”

  “That’s really weird. Why hide a crystal?”

  “That’s what I asked her, and she laughed and said she hid it next to the horse for good luck—like an offering of some sort, I guess, but she tucked it in her pocket. I don’t think it was worth any money, but I could tell it was special to her. She said she’d originally found it on o
ne of her rides.”

  “And you think she might have buried something else—like money,” stated Mercy. “I can see that. It’s worth taking a look, but it’s a long shot.”

  “I know. That’s why we could be wasting our time. But repeating ‘buried’ and ‘bury me’ has to mean something.”

  “Bree also said ‘killed him’ when she woke,” Mercy pointed out.

  “I don’t know what to think about that.” Sandy met Mercy’s gaze. “Do you think she killed someone because of this money?”

  Mercy thought of Ellis Mull’s skull with its bullet holes. “Hard to say. We don’t know for certain that the money exists.”

  Sandy blanched. “Maybe she killed and buried someone up there?”

  “I hope not,” Mercy said firmly.

  What are we going to find?

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, following a faint trail through rocks and sage that steadily led upward toward a pine forest. Sandy’s mount pulled ahead as the trail narrowed.

  “How far is it?”

  “At least another hour or so.”

  Mercy pulled out her phone, grateful to see she had service. “I need to make some calls.”

  “Do it now,” Sandy said over her shoulder. “There’s no reception near the ridge.”

  Dialing Truman while sitting on a horse in the middle of nowhere made her smile. A collision of two eras.

  His voice mail answered.

  “Hey, Truman. I’m calling you from horseback.” She grinned. “I’m with Sandy. We’re riding from Bree’s ranch, and we’re headed to a place called Horse’s Head Rock. Sandy has a theory about Bree that we’re going to check out.”

  I can’t explain Sandy’s idea in a voice mail.

  “I’ll tell you about it when we’re done. I’ll be out of range for a few hours.”

  Her phone beeped in her ear and she checked the screen. Art was calling.

  “I love you,” she said rapidly to wind up her message to Truman. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She switched over to Art’s call.

  “What’s up, Art?”

  “After you told me your theory on a female driver, I started reviewing interviews of some of the women from back then and taking a more recent look into their lives.”