A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(26)

Disappointment flooded Barbara’s face, and Truman’s heart twisted at the unfamiliar sight. “All right.” She shook a finger at Mercy. “You better not leave town without paying me a visit. I’ll hunt you down if you do.”

“I promise,” Mercy agreed.

The woman left after a few more words, and Mercy slid back into the booth as Sara appeared with their food. Truman silently added ketchup and mustard to his burger, swirling it around on the bun. He put the burger back together and took a bite, slowly chewing. He waited through a full minute of silence while Mercy attacked her salad, her gaze firmly on her food. He finally spoke.

“So . . . Special Agent Kilpatrick. I think you have something to tell me.”



Mercy swallowed a large corn chip and it scratched its way down her esophagus. She coughed and grabbed her glass of water. Truman took a bite of burger and calmly watched her as he chewed.

How much does he know?

She mentally raced through explanations, discarding most of them as she poked at her salad.

Stick to the truth. Doesn’t have to be the whole truth.

“I grew up in Eagle’s Nest, but I haven’t lived here since I was eighteen.” She risked a look at him, meeting his gaze. Truman showed no surprise. He was proving to have a solid poker face.

He took another bite of burger, and ketchup dripped onto his plate. His gaze didn’t leave her eyes. One of his brows rose. And?

“I had an argument with my parents.” She shrugged. “Teen stuff, you know. Boundaries. Life philosophies. Seeing how far I could push.” She stabbed at her salad a few more times, no longer hungry. “Anyway, I haven’t had a reason to come back.”

“But you’ve been in touch with your parents.”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“E-mail? Christmas cards?”

“None of us have tried anything.”

“But you’ve got four siblings. You talk to them, right?”

Mercy blanched. “You knew?”

“I put it together after Toby Cox said you looked like Kaylie Kilpatrick. I thought maybe you were her mother who took off years ago, but Ina Smythe set me straight.”

Mercy set down her fork as a black haze tunneled her vision. “What else did Mrs. Smythe tell you?”

“She couldn’t remember why you left town.”

Good.

“Why didn’t you immediately tell me you were from Eagle’s Nest?” His brows narrowed as he took a drink from his soda. “Were you trying to get the job done and get out before anyone noticed you?”

“Something like that.” Mercy sat perfectly still, fighting her body’s need to dash out the door. “This isn’t my favorite place.”

Truman nodded, seeming to accept that, but Mercy could tell he knew there was more to the story. He wasn’t going to pry it out of her. Yet.

“Your boss know you’re from here?”

“My boss in Portland does. She must have told the SSRA in Bend, because he mentioned it.”

“Is that why they sent you? They thought you’d have some insight into this community?”

Mercy paused. Could that be the reason? “I’d just cleared some cases off my desk. I was due for a new assignment.”

“And Peterson? Why’d they send him? There’s no way that agent has any roots on this side of the Cascades.”

“He worked on one of the cases I just closed. We work well together.”

“Anything else I should know?” Truman asked. He dropped his gaze and focused on cleaning up the ketchup with a fry.

“No.”

“Good.”

Silence hung over the table for a few minutes as Mercy tackled her salad again. For a small-town diner, it served an excellent salsa.

“How you doin’, Chief?” A gravelly voice interrupted their meal.

Mercy looked up and caught her breath. Joziah Bevins. Her memory of the man merged with the older man in front of her. The lines in his face had tripled, his hair had thinned and whitened, and there was a new stoop to his shoulders. He’s old!

Has my father aged the same way?

My mother?

Her throat thickened and she blinked rapidly.

“Hey, Joziah. Just catching some lunch,” said Truman.

Joziah turned his attention to Mercy, and his smile slowly faded. Recognition fluttered and then faded in his eyes.

“This is Mercy Kilpatrick. She’s with the Portland FBI office.”

Recognition caught flame. “Well. Mercy Kilpatrick. It’s been a long time. I hadn’t heard you were with the FBI. You’ve really outgrown our little town, haven’t you?” Curiosity and caution shone in his gaze.

She expected him to pat her on the head and call her a good little woman. If he told her to show her pretty smile, she’d stomp on his toes.

He’d said both things to her before, but she’d never had the desire to stomp on his toes. Of course, back then she’d believed that type of comment was acceptable.

Funny how she’d changed.

“Nice to see you again, Joziah.” Her mouth felt odd saying his name; he was still Mr. Bevins in her brain. Or “that * Bevins.” She heard the words in her father’s voice.