A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(44)

“They—or he—took the easiest items to sell for the most money,” he argued.

“I know.”

“The Vargas murder included a photo album.”

Her brows came together. “That’s odd. I haven’t seen anything personal taken in the other cases.”

“We don’t know what else could be missing from the recent cases. There was no one to ask.”

“Men who live alone and are isolated. Easy pickings.”

“Nothing about my uncle was easy,” corrected Truman.

“You’re right. And from what I saw at Ned Fahey’s house, he made everything as difficult as possible.”

“I’m not sure these old cases can be connected,” Truman said slowly. “The motivations appear totally different.”

“They’re fifteen years apart,” said Mercy. “Motivations change. I’ll get some searches going through ViCAP and see if anything similar has happened in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe he hasn’t been inactive all this time.”

Truman nodded.

Or has someone been biding their time in Eagle’s Nest?





EIGHTEEN


Mercy hauled her small suitcase up the wooden stairs of Sandy’s Bed & Breakfast. No ADA ramp in sight. To Mercy this would always be the old Norwood house. A house she’d avoided while growing up because old man Norwood and his wife were seriously creepy. The huge house had been straight out of a horror film with its three stories, turrets, peeling paint, and failing gingerbread trim. Now it shone with cheerful colors in the style of a Victorian painted lady, and the architectural details had been lovingly restored.

Someone had sunk a lot of money and elbow grease into the house.

Eddie opened the door with the oval lead glass and Mercy followed, feeling slightly grumpy.

Bed-and-breakfasts weren’t her thing. Too personal. She’d prefer an anonymous hotel with four plain walls where the staff didn’t know her name and she didn’t have to share a breakfast table with strangers.

“Smell that?” Eddie whispered. “Now I’m hungry again.”

She inhaled, and the odor of fresh-baked cookies flooded her senses. Her stomach rumbled.

Dammit.

“Hello, hello! I’m so glad you’re here!” A tall, slender woman with long, red hair came through a swinging door behind a small reception desk. She wiped her hands on her white apron and gave them a genuine smile. Flour dusted her T-shirt. She reminded Mercy of a hostess on a TV cooking show. “Nice to see you again, Agent Peterson.” She nodded at Eddie. “I have your rooms ready for you.” She held out a hand to Mercy.

Mercy took it. “I’m Mercy.” The cookie odor hovered around the woman, and Mercy couldn’t help but return her smile.

“You don’t know how relieved we are to be here,” said Eddie. “Do I smell cookies?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m always happy to have law enforcement staying in my place,” Sandy said. “It always feels a little safer. And the cookies have just a few more minutes. Once you’re settled into your rooms, you’ll find a plate of cookies right over there on that table. They’ll be there every afternoon. And there’s always fresh coffee.”

“I’m in heaven,” Eddie muttered. “Are you single?”

“No,” Sandy said firmly with a flash of dimples. “You’re young enough to be my son.”

“Adoption works too.”

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

Mercy fought to control her eye roll. “It smells great. Which way to the rooms?”

Sandy led her upstairs to a pleasant room with an attached bath. Mercy peeked in the bathroom. Eddie was right: it had a newly tiled big-ass shower. As Sandy took Eddie to his room, Mercy jogged back downstairs and out the door to get her water and food stash out of the back of the Tahoe. She slammed the rear door of the Tahoe shut, and a white pickup caught her eye as it parked at the post office across the street. A man stepped out and walked around the back of the truck, his profile to her.

She caught her breath.

She knew the walk and the tilt of his head. Even the style of cap was familiar.

His jeans were faded and loose, and heavy work boots were on his feet.

Dad.

He walked in the door of the post office and vanished.

Mercy couldn’t move, her bag gripped in her hand.

Does he know I’m in town?

No doubt. Gossip travels fast, and she’d bumped into too many familiar faces.

He looked older. His hair was white instead of salt and pepper. His shoulders were more stooped. He was still thin. No aging beer paunch for him. He took his health too seriously to allow it.

She took two steps in the direction of the ancient Ford truck, unsurprised that her father had kept it running all these years. He didn’t buy anything new. He’d drive the truck until it could no longer be repaired.

What will I say to him?

She stopped. Unable to take another step as fear coiled in her stomach.

Hey, Dad. Remember me?

What if he didn’t acknowledge her? Like Levi hadn’t?

I can’t deal with this right now.

She turned around and blindly walked up the steps to Sandy’s, barely able to lift her feet, drowning in a need to connect with the rest of her family.