A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(46)

Mercy finally saw some of the eagerness fade from Pearl’s eyes. She’d remembered that Mercy was no longer considered one of the family. All contact had been ordered to cease.

“Levi didn’t tell you I was in town?”

“No, you saw him already?” A faint hurt flashed in Pearl’s eyes.

“I saw him at the coffee shop,” Mercy admitted. “He wouldn’t speak to me. I assumed he’d tell everyone I was here.”

Pearl nodded, and Mercy wondered if she regretted letting her in her home and was now the sibling who’d broken her father’s rule.

“Are you just visiting?” Pearl asked cautiously. “Have you seen Mom and Dad?”

Mercy took a deep breath. “I’m working. I’m investigating the recent murders. And no, I haven’t seen our parents.” She studied Pearl’s face, hoping for a hint of what her reception from her parents would be. Pearl wore a poker face, and Mercy interpreted it as meaning Pearl believed she wouldn’t be welcome.

“You mean Jefferson Biggs? And the other two men? I know another was found on Monday.”

“Yes.”

“I’d heard you worked for the FBI.”

“I’ve been there six years. Right now I work out of the Portland office in domestic terrorism, but I’ve been assigned to help out the Bend office with these murders.”

“Domestic terrorism,” Pearl repeated. “They think these murdered men were domestic terrorists?”

“Not really,” assured Mercy. “What caught our eye was all the weapons that have been stolen, along with the murders. And what that stockpile of weapons could mean in the hands of one person or a group of persons.”

Pearl nodded, her face still carefully blank.

“Why would someone do that, Pearl?”

“I don’t know.”

The silence stretched for three long seconds as they tried to read each other’s faces. Pearl knew as well as Mercy did that the area was littered with people who were angry with the government for good reasons and for lousy reasons. People who felt their rights, their land, or their wealth had been stripped away because of unfair laws. When weapons and anger and distrust were mixed with the right personality, it could become a volatile situation. One Mercy hoped to prevent.

Mercy smiled. “It’s good to see you,” she whispered. No matter the situation that had broken their family apart, Pearl was her sister. “How are your kids?”

“One’s married and the other is a junior in high school,” Pearl said proudly. “Are you married?”

“No. It’s never happened for me.”

Pity flashed in Pearl’s eyes.

“I love my job,” Mercy felt the need to state. “Part of the reason I’m here is because we’re also looking into Jennifer Sanders’s death. I discovered there’s been no follow-up since the first investigation.”

Pearl looked away. “I try not to think about that anymore. Would you like something to drink?”

Mercy agreed and followed Pearl into the kitchen. The atmosphere had changed, and the excitement of their seeing each other had been replaced by caution and curiosity. And walls. Walls had gone up in Pearl’s eyes at the mention of Jennifer. Did Pearl think Mercy had visited only because she had official questions?

It was partially true.

“I wanted to see you,” Mercy said as she watched Pearl make two cups of tea. The faint scent of licorice filled the room, and Mercy smiled. It’d been their mother’s favorite tea. Mercy still bought it. “I’m not here solely for work.”

Pearl gave her a knowing look. “So you’re saying you would have stopped by at some point or another?”

Mercy had no answer.

“It’s okay, Mercy. I understand. It’s a two-way street. I could have reached out to you.”

But you never would. Not since our father ordered everyone not to associate with me.

It was stupid. They were adults abiding by their father’s ancient demands.

Some habits were hard to break.

Especially if you believed Dad was absolutely right.

Pearl set a mug of tea in front of her and sat in the chair across the table. A decorative sign above the sink said: Use it up. Wear it out. Make do or do without.

How many times did I hear my father say that?

Mercy wouldn’t have chosen those words to decorate her kitchen. “Can we talk about Jennifer?” she asked.

Pearl took a sip of tea and nodded, her gaze on the tablecloth. Mercy drew a notepad out of her bag and her sister frowned at it.

“I feel like I’ve done something wrong,” she said.

“Only if you’re the one who killed Jennifer.”

Pearl dropped her mug a half inch onto the tabletop and sloshed hot tea on the table. She swore and wiped it up with a napkin from a stack in the center of the table. “Of course I didn’t kill her! What kind of question is that?”

“The type of question that points out that you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

The annoyance on Pearl’s face was reminiscent of their childhood squabbles.

Her sister sighed, propped up an arm, and leaned her chin on one hand, gazing at Mercy. “You’re right. What do you want to know?”

“You were interviewed by an Eagle’s Nest officer after the murders. Do you remember that?” Mercy didn’t mention she’d already read the officer’s notes on the interview.