“So you’re not in the army?”
“No, ma’am. In fact, I got out two years before Gunny.”
Geneva looked perplexed at Anna’s use of my nickname, but she recovered fast. “Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your visit short for a bit this morning. Mercy has a meeting scheduled.”
“No sweat. I’ll tag along.” Anna stretched. “Won’t take me long to get ready.”
Anna was less sociable than me, and I couldn’t deal with both her and Geneva first thing this morning. “Tell you what—hang out here, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Huh-uh. I’m going.” She shook her finger at me. “Pissing me off when I’m hungover is a bad choice. You know that.”
Anna’s threat wouldn’t fly with me. Once her superior; always her superior. “Back off, A-Rod. I’m dealing with campaign stuff and don’t need your help. Work on losing your bitchy attitude while I’m gone.”
Anna whizzed a decorative pillow at my head. I caught it and flung it back at her Frisbee-style. She grinned. “Just testing your reflexes, Gunny. Hate to think you were getting soft.”
“Soft my ass.”
She hip-checked me as she walked by. “The couch sucks. I’m sleeping it off in your bed.”
I managed to grab my clothes before she slammed the bedroom door in my face. I showered, braided my hair, and slathered on makeup. Dressed in my newest Cruel Girl jeans, a sleeveless blue-plaid shirt, and my sparkly red rhinestone belt, I epitomized the red, white, and blue hometown cowgirl.
Geneva gave me a once-over as I slipped on my Ariat Fatbaby boots with the ostrich skin toes. Wouldn’t be prudent to wear a gun, although I felt half naked without one.
“Do I pass your inspection, campaign boss?”
“Part of me says no, because it’s too casual. Part of me says yes, you look amazing, and I don’t think my ego can handle seeing you in dress clothes.”
My head snapped up. A compliment? From Geneva?
She smirked. “Shocked I have a civil side to my tongue?”
“Uh-huh. That and the fact no one’s called me amazing in a long damn time.”
Except Dawson had a few nights ago. He’d murmured, “You are amazing, Mercy,” as he’d kissed every inch of my skin. Dammit. I didn’t want to think about Dawson and what my active campaigning for his job would do to our relationship.
What relationship? It’s just sex, right?
“Mercy? You okay?”
I looked at her, guiltily, I’m sure. “Sorry. Just thinking about something else.”
“Let’s go.”
Geneva drove a minivan, which didn’t bother me. She drove like Mad Max on meth, which did bother me. It occurred to me, as I white-knuckled the dash, that if I was elected sheriff, I’d have to cite her for speeding.
Too bad I didn’t have the damn badge and ticket book right now. But I gritted my teeth, trying not to look at the speedometer. Or the road whizzing past. Or how she fiddled with the climate-control buttons instead of keeping both hands on the wheel.
“Mercy, I need to ask you something.”
“If it’s about my military service, there are some things I can’t discuss.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
She blurted, “Are you a lesbian? I don’t care if you are, I mean, I’ll still love you … but not in that way. It’s just … well, you’ve never been married, you’ve never talked about any kind of long-term relationship. Then you’re into guns and all that macho military stuff, and you haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been home. Now Anna shows up and your relationship with her seems really … close.”
Maybe keeping my encounters with Dawson a secret hadn’t been a smart move. If I’d piqued Geneva’s curiosity about my sexual orientation, did the rest of the county question it, too? My petulant side wondered if Dawson’s marital status would be called into question. Would Dawson admit he was in a relationship?
What relationship? It’s just sex, right?
Seemed my brain, pissed off by the alcohol-induced pounding headache, had decided on that theme today.
“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s none of my business—”
“Of course it’s your business. But don’t worry that a former female lover will step forward during the campaign and out me, because I’m not gay.”
Geneva turned her head and looked at me. “You’re not?”
“No.” She’d drifted completely into the other lane. “For Christsake, Gen, keep your eyes on the road.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry.” When she swerved back into the proper lane, I swear the wheels left the pavement.
Jesus. I could not watch the woman drive. “Out of pure nosiness, we’ve been friends forever. You’ve known me longer than anyone. Did you really think all of a sudden I might be batting for the other team?”
She rolled her eyes. “You pointed out to me last summer how much I didn’t know about you, and that I never knew you as well as I thought I did, so it’s a legit question, Mercy.”
“True.”
“Besides, you never talk about this kind of girly shit with me. So I don’t have any idea if you’ve been in any serious relationships.”
“A few. My inability to have kids is a big issue. If things became more than a fling, I’d ’fess up and most guys walked away. No big loss. I focused on the career I loved and kept all relationships casual. Men have come and gone. Some stayed longer than others, but they’ve all moved on.”
“I didn’t ask to be nosy.”
“Yes, you did.”
Geneva laughed. “Also true.”
“But know what’s funny? I have been seeing someone since I moved back here.”
Dumb move, Gunderson.
What had possessed me to share that secret? It didn’t feel like I was trying to give Geneva back the trust she’d lost with me; it felt like I was offering her proof that I wasn’t a lesbian.
“Really? Who?”
I didn’t answer.
Geneva mulled over the possibilities.
When she hit the brakes and we skidded to a stop on the shoulder, I knew she’d figured it out. Damn good thing my seat belt worked.
“Please tell me it’s not Dawson.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t tell you it’s not Dawson, when it is him.”
Geneva flat-out gaped at me. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Mercy, you’ve been screwing around with the sheriff ?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“How long?”
“Off and on since last summer.”
“Even after he arrested you?”
“The irony is we’d been together before he arrested me.” Even I knew how freaky that sounded.
“Who else knows?” she demanded.
“John-John, only because he overheard something he shouldn’t have. I doubt Dawson’s told anyone. We’ve kept it private, for obvious reasons.” I felt her gaze burning into me, and I found the guts to look at her. She wasn’t mad; she wore a look of pity. That got my hackles up. “What?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Running against him? Because you asked me to.”
“Mercy, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t know, okay? When we’re alone and everything is good—great actually—I can forget who he is. But when it comes to him doing his job, I compare him to what my dad did as sheriff. Then I wonder what the hell I’m doing with a man who doesn’t measure up.”
Geneva was quiet, which drove me batshit crazy.
“Jesus, Gen, what?”
“Hate to burst your bubble, but Wyatt Gunderson wasn’t a saint. However, Dawson did measure up, or else your dad wouldn’t have given him his endorsement for sheriff.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I’ve known you a long time, Mercy, and you’re damn good at self-sabotage.”
I faced her. “Are you talking about what happened with Jake?”
She poked me in the arm. “See? More’n twenty years have passed by and you still haven’t gotten over it. Stop using your one bad long-term relationship as an excuse. And for God sake, stop comparing all men to your dad. It’s really kind of twisted.”
I hated that she had a point.
“So why did you come out of the closet to me about your relationship with Dawson, Mercy?”
“Your job as my campaign manager is to keep me focused on the issues. Make certain that I keep whatever weird fucking thing I feel for Dawson out of my decision-making process. I’m doing what’s right for the county, not for myself.”
Geneva eased the car back on the road. Her silence bothered me more than her constant chattering. When I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, I snapped, “Spit it out before you choke on it.”
“Speaking as your campaign manager? I’ll do everything to help you get the win you deserve. But speaking as your friend? My heart is breaking for you and the decision you’ve made to put duty ahead of your personal life again.” She careened into the library parking lot and screeched to a stop. “I accused you of being selfish last summer. Christ. You can’t know how that eats at me, Mercy, because I see how wrong I was. You’ve given everything for everyone else. You deserve something good for yourself.”
How was I supposed to respond to that?
Luckily, I didn’t have to. Kiki knocked on the window and tapped her watch.
“We’re late. Come on, candidate Gunderson, your committee awaits you,” Geneva said, and the matter was closed.
For now. But she’d given me a lot to think about, none of it campaign related.
Anna and I were lounging on the sofa, drinking beer, watching the first season of Lost on the TV/DVD combo she’d haggled for at Pete’s Pawnshop, when my cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“Mercy? It’s Winona. Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted you to know that Cherelle just walked in.”
“She alone?”
“For now.”
“Good. I’ll be there in fifteen. Keep her there—give her free drinks, whatever.”
“I’ll try.” Winona hung up.
I vaulted to my feet and shimmied out of my loungewear, dressing in the ensemble I’d worn earlier. Except I added my favorite accessory in my back pocket: my Kahr Arms P380. I sat on the bed and tugged on my blue-camo Old Gringo boots.
Anna leaned in the door frame. “Where’s the fire?”
“Clementine’s. It’s not on fire, but someone I’ve been wanting to talk to just showed up, so I’ve got to go.”
“Is this more campaign crap?”
“No.”
A gleam appeared in her eyes. “This has to do with Jason?”
She’d see through a lie, so I didn’t bother. “Yes.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let this just fade away. You still feel like you owe him, don’t you?”
“I do owe him, Anna.”
“So do I. I’m coming with you.”
I didn’t have time to argue with her. “Get a move on then.”
Surprisingly, Anna didn’t pester me for more details on the drive to Clementine’s.
My candidacy was the perfect excuse to wander through various clusters of bar patrons. Anna hit the bar, and I presented a big ol’ smile to George Johnson’s group. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?”
“Good. You out on official business?” George asked.
“Yep. Pressing flesh. I figured I deserved a little liquid fortification beforehand.”
Mike lifted a plastic cup off a stack in the center of the table and poured me a beer. “The first one’s on us.”
“Thanks.”
“How about a toast?” Rocky raised his cup, and the guys at the table followed his lead. “To Mercy Gunderson, the next sheriff of Eagle River County.”
I smiled and drank up. For the next few minutes, I made banal chitchat with my supporters as I closed in on my real target in the back room.
After I talked to members of the dart league, I waltzed right up to Cherelle’s table and thrust out my hand. “Mercy Gunderson. I’m running for Eagle River County sheriff.”
She ignored my hand. But she didn’t duck her scarred face from view as I’d expected. A sneer settled on her misshapen mouth. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are. Not interested. Get lost.”
“Now, Cherelle, is that any way to start a conversation? When I just want to talk about the issues that affect you personally?”
Her eyes flashed annoyance. “If you know my name, then you also know you don’t wanna be around when my friends get here.”
“Speaking of friends … we have a mutual friend.”
“I doubt it.”
I paused. “But you did know Jason Hawley, Cherelle.”
“Never heard of him.” Cherelle slid to the end of the booth, intending to leave.
“No need to run off. My buddy Anna just got here. And look. She brought refreshments.”
Anna set three cups and a pitcher of beer in the middle of the table. She slid in. I turned and bent forward to snag a chair from an empty table, making sure Cherelle got a good look at the bulge in my back pocket.
When I turned back around, Cherelle demanded, “Since when are you allowed to carry in here?”
“Since always.” I straddled the chair, allowing easy access to my gun and blocking her in. “So, Cherelle, here’s what we know. You talked to Jason several times, even on the night he was murdered. We have a few more questions about that topic of conversation.”
“I ain’t telling you shit, cop,” she spat.
“Although I hope to win the election, I’m not a cop yet, which means anything you tell me is off the record.”
“Right.”
Anna shoved a cup of beer at her. “So who fucked up your face?”
The bluntness caught Cherelle off guard.
“I’m betting it was some asshole guy who wanted to mark his territory.” Anna swallowed half her glass of beer. “I hope you castrated the son of a bitch.”
Cherelle’s gaze darted between us. “You are both pathetic. You think you can flash a piece at me and I’ll piss my pants because I’m scared? Of you two old bags? Don’t make me laugh.” She focused on Anna. “You think acting all fake, like we’re sisters under the skin, united against asshole men, is gonna make me break down because I’ve finally met a woman who understands what I’ve been through? Fuck off. You don’t know nothin’.”
“Yeah?” Anna jerked her T-shirt down, pointing to the long gash that ran from the right corner of her collarbone to her sternum. “I know exactly what it’s like to have some sadistic fucker cut you up.” She lifted her shirt, exposing the five knife wounds scattered at random intervals across her lower abdomen. “Ever been stabbed? Clear through your body so the knife comes out your back? You ever had to wait, knowing the insane motherfucker was going to stab you again? So don’t you sit there all fucking smug and tell me I don’t know nothin’.”
Cherelle stared at Anna with unabashed interest.
Some of Anna’s story was exaggerated. The gash on her chest was from scaffolding slicing her that night in Bali. But the stab-wound story was real. At age sixteen, Anna’s ex-boyfriend cornered her at a public park in California and attempted to kill her. An army medic saw it happening, called the cops, and stabilized her until the ambulance arrived. Surgeons repaired her liver, but Anna lost a kidney, her appendix, and her uterus, and gained a new appreciation for the army.
“Looks like you win this round. But tell me, Anna,” Cherelle repeated her name sarcastically, “do you ever see the guy who used you as a whetstone?”
Anna shook her head. “He’s in jail.”
“See, that’s where we’re different. I have to live with the guy who did this to me every day of my life.”
Tempting, to chug the whole pitcher and quit bitching about my lot in life.
“Why do either of you give a damn about that Jason Hawley guy? If the dude was trouble, I think
you’d”—Cherelle pointed at me—“be happy he wasn’t around anymore.”
I started to answer, but Anna beat me to it. “Maybe she is happy, but I’m not. Jason may’ve been a scummy guy to her, but to me he was … mine. Know what I mean?”
Cherelle’s forehead puckered with total skepticism.
Anna pounded her beer and poured another. “Look, I’m not good with words, and I won’t bore you with the star-crossed-lovers bullshit, although it was true for me ’n’ Jason. He was …” Anna closed her eyes. “Dammit. He was great. He was everything. We had the real deal. Had it, and now it’s gone.”
The confession appeared to be working. Cherelle wasn’t looking defiant, just … interested. Concerned maybe, but not totally convinced.
“When Mercy called me after she’d found his body, I had to come here. I don’t know, probably sounds stupid, but I thought maybe I could … sense him or something.”
Ooh. Anna was good.
Cherelle broke the silence. “I do know what you mean. I had that real thing once, too.”
“Got it taken away from you?” Anna asked.
“Yeah. Just like you did. It sucked. Still eats at me.”
“So it doesn’t get better?”
Cherelle shook her head.
Anna confided, “I’m going crazy. I’d be grateful for anything you can tell me about what he said or did the last time you talked to him.”
Cherelle’s voice was so low I strained to hear it. “I met with him a couple of times. The last night we couldn’t come to terms and … that was the end of it.”
Bullshit. I waited, but I suspected that’s all we’d get from her. We’d probably gotten more than most. Definitely more than Dawson.
“Who are your new friends?”
Cherelle glanced up, eyes wide with panic, and she shrank into the booth.
It appeared her paramour had arrived.
I stood. “Hey, there. I’m Mercy Gunderson, running for sheriff.”
He glowered at Cherelle. His body vibrated with menace.
“Anyway, hope you don’t mind I bent Chantal’s ear. Whenever I come across a voter who’s undecided, I get a little carried away.” I forced a laugh. “So poor Chantal has been a captive audience.” Was intentionally bungling her name too over the top?
Victor said, “Do I look like I care who you are? Get your ass to our table, Cherelle. Now. I need a beer.”
Mercy Kill Page 18
