A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(21)

“And Ina, could you keep it to yourself for a bit? I don’t think she wants to advertise that she’s in town, but please let me know when you remember what happened. I’d like to hear the story.”

Ina huffed but reluctantly agreed. “Is Lucas still doing a good job?” she asked. “Not slacking off yet, I hope. I knew he’d be a good replacement for me when I watched him reorganize all my recipes when he was fifteen. Did I tell you he put them on one of those tablet things? I can make the words nice and big so they’re easy for these old eyes to read.”

“Your grandson is a good fit,” said Truman. “And he likes his job.”

“Good.” Satisfaction rang in her tone.

“One more thing, Ina. Have you ever heard a rumor of a cave man who lives in the forest around here?”

“A what?” she asked.

“Cave man,” Truman repeated, feeling a flush cover his face.

“Can’t say I’ve heard that one mentioned in the last forty years.”

“You have heard of him?” Truman’s voice shot up an octave.

“I can remember hearing about some old mean man who lived in a cave. He hated children and would kill any who stumbled into his domain,” she mused. “Terrified me when I was a kid, and as I got older it kept me from ever venturing too far into the woods alone. But I suspect that was the intention of the story. To scare kids out of stupid behavior.”

“Like when a parent tells you to be good or the bogeyman will get you.”

“Yes, something like that. Might be originally based in some fact. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that there were a few unsocial types illegally roughing it in the state forest.”

Is there a grain of truth to the cave man story?

Could the preppers have been murdered by an angry mountain man who wanted their weapons?

He didn’t know what to think.

Truman ended the call with a promise to visit next weekend. He tried to have coffee with Ina Smythe once a month. The woman had been close friends with his uncle Jefferson. Sometimes Truman had wondered how close, but neither of them had ever hinted at a romantic relationship. Truman had made teenage assumptions based on looks. Looks exchanged between the two of them during the summers he stayed in Eagle’s Nest, and the feeling that permeated the air when the two of them were in the same room. As a teen Truman had twice been hauled into the Eagle’s Nest police station for some juvenile prank, and Ina had always stuck up for him and then gotten him released from the holding cell after four hours.

Last month during coffee, he’d asked her why she hadn’t gotten him immediately out of the jail cell. She’d cackled and replied, “You deserved those four hours in that cell. Probably more. I figured it was a good place for you to think about the stupid things you’d done.”

She’d been right.

He frowned. Ina didn’t have memory problems. She never missed a beat when reciting some random incident that’d happened forty years before. Or remembering one of her eighteen great-grandchildren’s birthdays.

Why couldn’t she remember the reason Mercy Kilpatrick had left town?

Or is she not telling me on purpose?

The thoughts swirled in his brain for a few minutes as he took the last turn to Leighton’s home. Special Agent Kilpatrick preferred to keep things to herself. When she’d made the comment last night about being from a small town, why hadn’t she mentioned that she was from his small town?

If she wants to keep it a secret, I’ll let her.

Sooner or later she’d be exposed. This was Eagle’s Nest. A poor place to hide secrets.

He pulled onto the soggy road shoulder in front of Underwood’s home. Mercy hadn’t wanted him to accompany her, but he’d insisted, arguing that Leighton was the type to shoot a stranger and then ask their business. It wasn’t completely true—although Leighton was known to answer the door with his gun in hand—but Truman wanted to keep his finger in the investigation. If his uncle had been killed by the same person who had shot Ned Fahey, he wanted to know. He planned to keep the two FBI agents as close as possible. He’d offered his little meeting room as home base so they wouldn’t have to travel back and forth to Bend, and they’d accepted.

When he’d heard the agents had been put up in the roach motel halfway between Eagle’s Nest and Bend, he’d called Sandy’s Bed & Breakfast. She had two rooms opening up tomorrow. He’d casually mentioned the B&B to the agents. “She’s got a great breakfast buffet for her guests. Eggs, hash browns, amazing bacon,” Truman had said to sweeten the deal. Mercy hadn’t seemed interested, but Eddie’s eyes had lit up at the thought of getting out of the bare-bones motel. They’d agreed to stop by and talk to Sandy later in the day.

He’d do what it took to stay close to the FBI investigation.

He stepped out of his vehicle and walked back to Mercy’s Tahoe. The two vehicles matched, except for the department logo on Truman’s door. Mercy slammed her door and pulled up her jacket hood. Her heavy coat had a bit of black fake fur trim around the hood that made the green of her eyes pop. Now that he knew she was related to the other Kilpatricks, he recalled that her oldest brother, Owen, had the same intense eyes. Truman decided they looked better on Mercy. The color was wasted on a man. Other than the green, she was all black. Black hair, coat, pants, and boots.