A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(25)

Usually he didn’t relish another person’s discomfort, but Mercy was playing a game with him, and he was due for a score. She slowly lowered her hood as he pointed at the last booth. “Have a seat. I need to say hello to a few people first.” She nodded and strode away. Truman took his time greeting two old-timers who were nursing their bottomless cups of coffee. Neither of them asked about the woman who’d come in with him. He stopped and greeted a mother he didn’t recognize with two small children. He gave each of the boys a police badge sticker and learned the mother lived on Oak Street. She was flirty, with big smiles and artificial laughter. He saw her gaze shoot to his left hand. He checked hers. No ring. He silently sighed, tousled the boys’ heads, and politely broke away.

Mercy studied the menu, her profile to him as he walked down the aisle. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, she was still quite striking. Her jawline was sharp and her nose turned up the slightest bit. Nothing about her said FBI agent.

Until she turned her questioning stare on you.

Her mind seemed to be constantly analyzing and processing data. She didn’t waste words, Truman had happily noted. He hated nothing worse than people who spoke to hear themselves talk or people who tried to cover up that they were slackers by using an avalanche of words. More words did not mean more intelligence.

He slid into the booth. “The burger is excellent. Mushrooms and Swiss.”

Mercy nodded, not lifting her gaze from the menu. “Not much of a burger fan, but thanks. How’s the enchilada salad?”

“I have no idea.”

“How you doing, Chief?” Their waitress appeared.

“Great. Thanks, Sara. Your kids staying out of trouble?”

“So far they’ve only broken the refrigerator door this week, but we’re barely through Tuesday. You want the usual?”

“Yes. Mercy?”

Mercy looked at the waitress. “Coffee with heavy cream and the enchilada salad, please. No cheese.”

“The toppings are mostly cheese,” said Sara. “You want extra olives and salsa?”

“Sounds great.”

Sara vanished, and he swore Mercy exhaled in relief. Or maybe he imagined it. A vibration came from her purse on the booth bench. She grabbed her phone out of her bag and studied the screen. “Autopsy results on Ned Fahey.”

“What’s it say?” He waited impatiently while she opened the e-mail and scrolled. A narrow groove appeared between her eyebrows as she focused on the tiny print.

“Know that, know that, know that . . . ,” she muttered.

“Anything new?”

“Here we go. Time of death is estimated to be between midnight Saturday and six a.m. Sunday.” Her face softened. “He had some of the worst arthritis in his back and knees that Dr. Lockhart has ever seen. Poor guy. No wonder everyone said he was crabby. He was in constant pain.”

“The gunshot wound is still the cause of death, right?”

“Yes. Have we heard if they found the bullet? The county evidence team was supposed to search.”

“No one’s told me.”

“I’ll e-mail Jeff and ask.”

“Jeff?”

“The SSRA in Bend.”

Her temporary boss.

Mercy looked up from her phone, satisfaction in her gaze. “Now we can focus on that time period. That’s a big help.”

“Hello, Chief Daly, I hope you’re having a good day.”

Truman looked up to find Barbara Johnson’s round face beaming at him. The retired high school teacher was one of his favorite residents. Probably because she was always positive and upbeat. Being around her always lifted his spirits. “I am, Barbara. Can I intro—”

“Mercy Kilpatrick?” Astonishment rang in Barbara’s tone. Mercy was out of her seat and hugging the woman before Truman could blink.

The women pulled apart and stared at each other before laughing and hugging again. Barbara wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, girl. It’s so good to see you! I’ve thought about you so many times over the years.” They pulled apart again and Barbara looked Mercy up and down. “You look fantastic. City life agrees with you.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Call me Barbara now. You’re not a child anymore.” She looked at Truman. “Mercy was one of my star pupils. I always knew she’d go far.”

Mercy wiped at her own eyes. “Thank you, Mrs.—Barbara,” she said awkwardly. “You don’t know how much that means to me. You were a rock I could lean on, and I always could talk to you.”

“Where have you been? Why haven’t you come back to visit before now?” the woman asked. “I see your parents all the time, but they never talk about you.”

Mercy glanced at Truman and guilt flashed in her eyes. “It’s a long story. Can we meet at another time to talk? I’m working right now.”

“I’m sure the police chief won’t—”

“Can we please save it for later, Barbara? I’d love to catch up with you,” Mercy said quickly. “We’re tight on time.” She shot a pleading glance at Truman.

He was tempted to invite the kind woman to join them, simply to see how Mercy reacted. “She’s right, Barbara. We need to eat and run.”