by Rose, Karen
Panic rose to close off his throat. ‘I need to find her,’ he repeated. I need to warn her.
You could call the police. But . . . He stared at the photo on the computer screen, Pastor’s voice shouting in his mind. Don’t trust the police. Don’t trust the government. Trust only me.
But Pastor had lied about so many things. Desperation warred with indecision. Anonymous letter, he thought. If I can’t find Mercy, I’ll write that letter.
‘Can you find her address or phone number?’ he asked.
Edie squared her shoulders. ‘I’m not really good with this stuff, but let me see what else I can find.’
‘Thank you.’ Amos forced himself to sit back and let Edie work her magic.
Please let me find Mercy. Please don’t let me be too late.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Edie muttered. She gave Amos an unreadable look. ‘Don’t read this article. It’s Internet trash. Like the National Enquirer back in the eighties. Lots of lies and half-truths. Don’t even bother with it.’
Amos didn’t have a chance to read it, because Edie made it disappear. A new article opened and the older woman relaxed a little.
‘This one’s better,’ she pronounced. ‘Some twerpy little jerk published a very unflattering exposé on your daughter. But he retracted it and now wants to help other . . . well, other people.’
Amos frowned, stuck on the first part of her statement. ‘What did his unflattering exposé say?’
Edie leaned around the screen to look at Abigail, who had stopped reading and was watching them with open curiosity.
‘Stuff that nobody needs to know,’ Edie replied. ‘Little pitchers, Amos.’
‘All right,’ he said. He’d find out later. ‘Do you know how I can find her?’
‘Well, the first article, the one about that program from last week, it said that she lives in New Orleans.’
‘Which is very far,’ he said, disappointed.
‘True, but as of four days ago, she was in California. In Sacramento. Which happens to be where Daisy Dawson lives. I bet your son Gideon lives there too, or spends a lot of time there, at the very least. The author of this retraction also lives in Sacramento. I’d say that’s where you need to go.’
‘All right.’ Amos picked up his backpack, but Edie stayed him with a light touch to his arm.
‘Hold your horses, Papa Bear,’ she said mildly. ‘Before you go charging out of here, maybe we can find out exactly where in Sacramento you need to go.’
Amos sagged back into his chair, feeling foolish. ‘You’re right, of course.’
Edie patted his arm. ‘Give me a minute or two.’ She turned her attention to Abigail. ‘You finished that book already?’
Abigail nodded, worry in her eyes. ‘I did. Papa, are you well?’
Amos made himself smile. ‘I am. Maybe we can find another book.’ Rising, he reached for her hand. ‘Ready, Abi-girl?’
‘Yes, Papa,’ she said obediently, but her worry remained.
He led Abigail back to the shelf from which Edie had taken the Ramona book. ‘There are more books about Ramona,’ he said. ‘I remember from when I was a little boy.’ He pulled all the Ramona books from the shelf and took them back to the computer table. ‘I’m not sure which one comes next.’
‘I can help with that,’ the librarian said with a smile. ‘I’m Miss Millie. I’m Miss Edie’s friend. What’s your name, little darling?’ she asked.
‘Abigail,’ his daughter answered very shyly.
‘Well, Abigail, I love it when kids come to the library, and I love these books. Let’s go sit over here in these comfy chairs, okay?’
Amos nodded gratefully when Abigail looked up for permission. ‘I’ll be right over there with Miss Edie,’ he promised. ‘I won’t leave, I promise.’
‘I asked her to help you,’ Edie said when he’d returned to the computer table. ‘I have to leave soon, but I don’t want to just desert you two. Millie and I have been friends for years and she’s way better at this computer stuff than I am.’
‘You seem to be doing very well,’ Amos said, meaning it.
Edie shrugged. ‘I do my best. I asked Millie how I can get information from Jeffrey Bunker, the guy who wrote the most recent article. It was just posted an hour ago.’ She pointed to a time stamp at the top of the article. ‘See?’
Amos did see. He also saw that the article’s author was discussing survivors of sexual assault.
Amos had been only nineteen when he’d entered Eden, but he knew what those words meant. That Mercy had been included with ‘other survivors of sexual assault’ made his rage begin to bubble again. But he held it back because Edie was still talking.
‘Millie suggested I open a new email account and send Bunker an email on your behalf. So can I use your name?’
Amos nodded numbly. ‘An email account? What’s that?’
Edie sighed. ‘Oh boy. It’s a way to send messages to people over the Internet.’
Amos had too many questions. But top of his list was how to find Mercy, so he nodded to Edie. ‘Yes, use my name. Amos Terrill. Two r’s and two l’s.’
Edie began typing and Amos didn’t try to follow everything she did. Finally she stopped typing. ‘This is what I wrote. “Dear Ms Dawson and Mr Bunker, I’m representing a man named Amos Terrill, who claims to be the father of Mercy Callahan and Gideon Reynolds”.’ She looked over at him. ‘Sorry to use “claims”.’
‘It’s okay,’ Amos said. ‘Whatever you need to do so that I can talk to her.’
‘“Please reply to this email address if you can help Mr Terrill contact either Miss Callahan or Agent Reynolds. You can also reach him through this number”.’ She glanced up at him. ‘That’s the library’s main line.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said apologetically. ‘But I have to leave for my shift at the grocery store. Millie will be able to log in to this account, and I’ll leave this page open in case Bunker replies. See this circle with an arrow? You click that to refresh. That means it goes and checks for new mail. If someone replies, you just click on it to read what they wrote. Once your session time is up, Millie can log me out.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
She smiled at him. ‘Like I said, if my daughter or grandkids were in trouble, I’d hope someone would help them.’ She gave him a piece of paper, folded in half. ‘This is my phone number. I can’t use my phone while I’m working, but I’ll check my messages. Millie can help you get in touch with me if you have problems. Please let me know what happens.’
He smiled, even though he felt like the earth was shifting beneath his feet. This woman had been an anchor when he’d needed one most and now she was leaving. ‘I will. I promise. Thank you again.’
She gave him another arm pat. ‘Take care, Amos.’
And then she was gone, leaving Amos to stare at the computer screen, willing the ‘twerpy little jerk’ to reply.
Sacramento, California
Tuesday, 18 April, 10.10 A.M.
Mercy bit back a sigh as she got into the black FBI van dominating Rafe’s driveway. There were no windows in the back and no markings identifying them as being with law enforcement. The trip to Santa Rosa was already a production, with the van and two additional FBI vehicles that would be part of their entourage. ‘I don’t know why I thought we could just drive up the highway.’
‘Hey, don’t complain. I feel like I’m a super-secret spy on a super-secret mission,’ Farrah said as she climbed in to sit beside Mercy. ‘Let me have my James Bond moment, okay?’
Mercy chuckled. ‘Some super-secret spies we are. Everyone is armed except for us.’
‘I have some pepper spray,’ Farrah said seriously. ‘I threw it in my luggage before we left New Orleans. My mama gave it to me.’
Mercy felt the same flare of a
ffection every time she thought of Farrah’s mother. ‘How is Mama Romero?’
‘Sad. Angry. My father is having a harder time,’ Farrah admitted. ‘Quill was his aunt. I talked to him last night. He was crying, but told me that I needed to be here. Actually forbade me to come back until you don’t need me anymore.’
Mercy felt abruptly guilty. ‘I—’
Farrah lifted a brow. ‘Don’t say what you were going to say. This is not your fault.’
Mercy knew that, but . . . ‘He killed two more people last night. Stole their camper.’ She swallowed hard, still having trouble not feeling guilty. ‘They were on their honeymoon, Ro.’
Farrah drew in a shocked breath. ‘Goddammit, Mercy. Somebody needs to stop him.’
And that somebody is going to be me, Mercy thought grimly.
‘And that somebody is not going to be you,’ Farrah declared, giving her a shrewd look. ‘I swear to God, if you risk yourself again . . .’
Mercy wanted to sigh, but held it in. ‘I promised Rafe I wouldn’t. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Farrah muttered. Her scowl brightened when the door opened again. ‘Liza, you’re riding with us?’
Liza Barkley was Tom Hunter’s plus-one. She moved with the same confidence that all the cops had, except hers had come from a tour in Afghanistan versus walking a beat on the street.
‘If it’s okay,’ Liza replied. ‘I can climb to the very back. I’ve got some reading to do on the way.’ She squeezed by them, dropping her backpack on the rear bench seat. ‘I brought snacks,’ she added brightly.
Farrah laughed. ‘So did I. What did you bring?’
‘Bars,’ Liza replied promptly, then shook her head. ‘Brownies, I mean.’
Tom stuck his head in the driver’s door. ‘She’s from Minnesota. They say “bars” up there. It’s weird. But her bar-brownies are delicious.’
Liza laughed. ‘Too little, too late. I’ll just be sharing my bars with the ladies.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I control when we stop for bathroom breaks.’
Farrah whistled. ‘That escalated fast. Please don’t forget that there are other people in the van who didn’t threaten to withhold snacks. If we need to stop, you’ll stop.’
Tom grinned. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then he glanced at his phone and sobered. ‘I need to take this. Excuse me.’ He jogged to the garage, where Rafe and André were coming out of the house. Tom listened to the call, and then he, Rafe, and André had a conversation during which the other two men’s expressions grew equally sober.
Rafe said something to André and the two disappeared back into the house, reappearing with a cat carrier.
‘Oh no,’ Mercy whispered. The dread she’d felt watching the men talk had morphed into the beginnings of a panic attack.
‘What is it?’ Liza asked, worried.
‘They’re bringing Mercy’s cat,’ Farrah replied, then swallowed. ‘Her comfort animal.’
‘Oh,’ Liza murmured. ‘Got it.’
André got into the front passenger seat while Rafe settled into the seat beside Mercy, sandwiching her between his body and Farrah’s, his mood tense. And dark.
From where she sat in the middle, Mercy could see André drawing his weapon from his holster and holding it in his lap, his gaze darting in every direction while Rafe pulled the sliding door closed and popped the latch on the carrier. Rory climbed out, immediately curling up in Mercy’s lap, but her hands were clenched into fists and she couldn’t manage to relax them.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘What’s happened?’
Rafe’s jaw was taut. ‘It’s Ginger.’
Mercy frowned at him in confusion. ‘The woman who sold me the jewelry box yesterday? What’s happened to her?’
Rafe met her gaze directly. ‘She’s dead.’
Mercy stared at him, the panic beginning to swirl in her mind. ‘No.’
Farrah reached for Mercy’s hand, prying her fingers loose from the fist and holding on tightly – too tightly, but the brief discomfort was what Mercy needed. ‘Breathe, Merce,’ she murmured. ‘What happened, Rafe?’
‘Ginger was found this morning. With the owner of the Snowbush general store, Nick Corwin. In bed together.’ Rafe shook his head. ‘They’d both been shot in the head. Corwin’s wife was on the floor, also dead. It was supposed to look like a murder-suicide.’
‘Supposed to,’ Mercy said dully, wishing she hadn’t taken seconds of the breakfast that Farrah had prepared.
‘There was evidence of a break-in at Ginger’s house,’ Rafe said. ‘A broken window. Her car was parked in Corwin’s driveway – behind the wife’s car, which was parked inside the garage. The wife couldn’t have arrived home to find them in bed with each other. Plus the wife is a lefty, but was found with the pistol in her right hand. Lots of little things didn’t add up. Ginger was in pajamas, and her own bed had been slept in. The sheriff’s department didn’t find any of Ginger’s street clothes in Corwin’s room, so she’d have had to leave her house wearing her pajamas with no coat.’
‘So both Ginger and the store owner are dead,’ Mercy murmured. ‘After Ginger told us about DJ being the front man for Eden trading. And after her boss made a phone call as soon as we left the store. That’s not suspicious at all.’
Rafe’s nod was grim. ‘That’s the general consensus. Someone killed them so that they couldn’t describe – or identify – DJ Belmont.’
‘Ephraim?’ Farrah asked. ‘Did he do it?’
Rafe shrugged. ‘It’s possible. If so, he was really busy. He killed the couple for their camper at one twenty this morning. The bodies found in Corwin’s bedroom were found at six thirty this morning by his brother-in-law, who had finished his shift at the medical center in Alturas. He and his sister have co-owned the house since their parents died ten years ago. When she married Corwin, they moved out, but had to move back after Christmas when money got tight. He said that things were tense between Corwin and his sister because of money, but that he’d never heard them fighting and his sister had never told him that she suspected her husband of having an affair, so finding the murder–suicide scene was a shock. The brother claimed to have spoken to his sister at one a.m., when she called to tell him she’d gotten home from her job safely, like she did every night. His cell phone record backs that up. The brother’s been very cooperative with the local sheriff’s department.’
‘How do you know time of death of the honeymoon couple so exactly?’ Mercy asked, trying to think like the professional she’d always prided herself on being. But it was easier to be clearheaded when you hadn’t met the victim. When you hadn’t asked the questions that led to her death, and the deaths of so many others.
‘The bride wore an Apple Watch,’ Rafe said. ‘Her pulse was being constantly monitored and stored on her phone. It recorded the time that her heart rate went to zero.’
Mercy exhaled slowly. ‘So Ephraim would have had to kill Ginger, Corwin, and his wife after killing the couple at the campground, because at least Corwin’s wife was still alive when he was at the campground. How far is the campground from Snowbush?’
‘Three hours.’ Rafe nodded to Tom when he returned. ‘I told them everything.’
‘I figured you would.’ Tom started the engine, then turned in his seat to frown at them. ‘But that’s not information I was supposed to tell you.’
Meaning, he could lose his job if they told anyone else.
‘Then why did you?’ Farrah asked.
Tom backed the van out of Rafe’s driveway and headed down the street. The agent who’d been sitting out front when they’d emerged that morning was to follow them wherever they went. It had been Molina’s demand and Mercy had been grateful for it.
‘Whatever Ephraim does impacts the people in this vehicle,’ Tom said. ‘I consider you all as need-to-know. I would want to know, that’s for damn sure.’
> ‘We appreciate that,’ André said. ‘We would have been on alert, but now even more so.’
Mercy’s mind was still churning through the information they weren’t supposed to have. ‘If Ephraim left the campground as soon as he killed the honeymoon couple, he’d have gotten to Snowbush at about four thirty. And if he broke into Ginger’s house and took her from her bed, then staged a murder–suicide, he probably would have left Snowbush at five thirty. Or so,’ she added with an awkward shrug, because everyone in the vehicle was staring at her. ‘Which means he could be here by now.’ Which put new terror in her heart. ‘Of course, he could have been anyway if he left the campground and came straight here.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I guess I hoped you’d put him out of commission for a little while, Rafe.’
Because Rafe’s shot had hit him. Mercy remembered the look of shock on Ephraim’s face, the fury and pain immediately after.
Rafe took the other hand she still clenched in a fist and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles before tugging her fingers free and twining them with his own, just as Farrah had done. He placed their joined hands on Rory and started petting his fur.
‘I’ll aim higher the next time,’ Rafe promised. ‘I won’t miss.’
Higher. Like between-Ephraim’s-eyes higher. ‘I hope it hurts him,’ she whispered, but her mind went back to the situation in Snowbush. ‘Ginger didn’t remember Ephraim coming into the store. Only DJ. So if Ephraim did kill Ginger, Nick Corwin, and his wife, either Corwin called Ephraim directly or whoever Corwin called did. I’d assumed that was DJ, but now I don’t know.’
André leaned around the front passenger seat so that he could see them. ‘That was a fair assumption. But it’s also true that whoever brought Ginger to that house left her car there. How did he get away afterward? It’s possible that two people were involved, that one of them killed Ginger and the others and the other drove the getaway vehicle.’
‘A very good point,’ Tom said. ‘If I pass it on to my boss, I’ll have to take credit for it, though. Since . . . you know. Need-to-know and all that shit.’
André grinned. ‘Take the credit, rookie. I consider it a fair trade.’
