A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(33)

“Eden.” Mercy waited until the girl looked up at her. “Nothing is harder for a mother than to leave her children, and usually there is a much deeper reason for leaving than fighting with a spouse.”

Do I tell her I suspect her mother is looking for her?

No. I can’t stir up trouble.

“I hate her.” Tears leaked from the blue eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with being angry in this situation. And there is nothing wrong with loving your mother even though you’re bitter. You can do both.”

Eden nodded, but Mercy doubted her words had penetrated the girl’s grief. Her wounded gaze had ripped something apart inside of Mercy. She set a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder and then was stunned when the teen immediately stepped close and wrapped her arms around Mercy’s middle, burying her face in Mercy’s shirt.

She has no one.

Guilt touched Mercy as she remembered her idea to get the girl alone to question her about the camp. That could wait for another day. Right now she had a broken teenage heart to console. She patted Eden on her back and let her cry. As Mercy waited, her gaze fell on the odd hopscotch drawn in the dirt. Then she saw it.

It doesn’t have numbers.

Hopscotch had boxes numbered one through ten. These squares were blank.

Cold fear wrapped around her lungs. Do the children not remember their numbers?

No books. Oral lessons.

An uneducated society was a malleable society.

That day they visited the sick boy, Mercy’s mother had been angry because that family wouldn’t help their son. No medicine, no doctors. “If he’s meant to be healed, God will heal him,” the boy’s mother had stated, ignoring Mercy’s mother’s pleas.

He died that night.

Mercy shivered and wondered how the woman’s other children had fared.

Kids would not be left to die as long as Mercy breathed.

Heavy boot steps made her and Eden look up. The lieutenant who had watched Mercy earlier that morning was marching toward them. Eden stiffened, and Mercy tightened her arms around the girl. He didn’t meet their gaze as he passed and strode into Sadie’s cabin, his AR-15 still slung over a shoulder.

Mercy and Eden exchanged a glance.

“Who—” Mercy started.

“Polk!” The lieutenant stepped out of the doorway. “You’re with me.”

Eden let go of Mercy and stepped away, an alarming fear in her eyes.

“Where are we going?” Mercy asked.

“Pete needs to see you.”

“Can it wait for—”

“No. Now.”

“I need to—”

“Hell, woman! Get moving!”

Mercy clamped her mouth shut. Don’t rock the boat.

“My dad said she could give Noah the medicine.” Eden put her hands on her hips, glaring at the man.

Surprise filled Mercy. Is that what this is about? Tylenol?

“She can tell it to Pete.”

He can’t be serious. Mercy considered the uptight lieutenant. She suddenly remembered the name of the actor he’d reminded her of. “Has anyone ever said you look like a younger Kiefer Sutherland?”

Amusement flashed. “Walk,” he ordered.

She walked.





THIRTEEN

That afternoon after the autopsy, Truman rested his chin in one propped-up hand as he studied the bullet hole images from both John Does on his computer screen.

Executions?

Dr. Lockhart’s word echoed in his head. His mind was fixated on the image of these men kneeling as they took a bullet to the head. Had the killer looked them in the eye before he shot? Had the same man murdered both victims?

Truman worried this train of thought was keeping him from considering other possibilities. It was too early to jump to the conclusion of a serial killer in Deschutes County. They could have nothing to do with each other.

Then why does my gut say they do?

He closed the images, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He needed to focus on Eagle’s Nest issues. Speeders. Loose livestock. Minors with alcohol. His priority was the safety of his residents, not looking over Evan Bolton’s shoulder.

Although he appreciated the courtesies Bolton had extended him.

A soft knock on his closed door made him frown. No one in the office knocked like that.

“Come in,” he said loudly, quickly straightening some papers on his desk.

Karl Kilpatrick opened the door. Surprise raced through Truman at the sight of Mercy’s father. He stood and gestured at a chair. “Karl, come in. What can I do for you?”

Mercy’s father sat, his cowboy hat in his hand. “Keeping yourself busy?” he asked conversationally. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair that showed much more salt these days. His eyes were an intense green like Mercy’s. Over the last few months, Truman had noticed he moved slower than usual. And had lost weight.

“There’s always something,” Truman said. “Some days more than others.”

“Good. Good, that’s good.” Karl paused for a long second, contemplating Truman. “How’s Ollie doing?”

“He’s still going to the community college in Bend. Works at the sports shop on the weekends.”

“He’s a sharp kid.”

“He is.” Truman studied the older man. Karl wasn’t one for small talk, so Truman knew he hadn’t come to shoot the breeze. Something’s up.