A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(61)

She paused, warily eyeing him.

“I just need to know if any of the children have medically suffered because of where they live,” he said in a low voice.

Emotions warred in her gaze, and he knew he had convinced her. She was a grandmother at heart and—

“I can’t help you.” She slammed the window closed, alarming him that it would shatter.

Stunned, he stared at the glass, unable to move. She stood, giving him her back, and left her desk.

“Well, crap.”



Starving, Truman drove through the tiny, silent town, realizing it was nearly 10:00 p.m. and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It’d been an exhausting day. An autopsy. The news about Mercy. The long drive. His failure to charm the front desk hospital warden.

It had been a first-class shitty day.

Up ahead on his right, a beacon summoned: a diner with an OPEN sign in its window. His stomach burned at the sight, so he pulled to the curb. Guilt flashed at the thought of everyone hustling their asses off up at the base camp. He’d refuel and get back ASAP.

The diner was the only source of life on the street. A half dozen large windows allowed its fluorescent light to spill onto the sidewalk. He pulled open the glass door, making a bell chime, and stepped in, welcoming the scents of coffee, grease, and meat that washed over him. Instant homegrown comfort.

An older couple sat in a booth near the window. Neither looked up as he came in, both intent on their slices of pie. At the counter, two stools were occupied. One by a man and the other by his hat. Truman took the stool next to the hat, setting his own on his other side. The man glanced his way and nodded amiably. He appeared to be in his midtwenties and wore the usual uniform of the area: worn jeans, scuffed boots, and thick coat.

An older man with heavy jowls appeared from the kitchen. He wore a white short-sleeved T-shirt, a paper hat, and a black apron. His arms were incredibly thin and covered with tattoos from wrist to sleeve. “Need a menu?”

“Nope. I’ll take the biggest burger you’ve got and fries. Coffee too, please.”

“Want a fried egg on that burger?”

“Absolutely.”

He returned to the kitchen. From his seat Truman watched him start the burger and drop fries in the fryer. As they cooked, he came back to pour Truman a cup of coffee.

“Passing through?” he asked without any interest.

“Yep. It shows?”

“Most people are just passing through,” the waiter/cook commented.

“Your food makes them not want to stay, Clyde,” joked the man to Truman’s left, speaking around a mouthful of fries.

“Is that why you’re in here stuffing your face five nights a week, Ethan?” the older man shot back, dark eyes twinkling. He topped off the joker’s coffee cup and returned to the kitchen.

“Good food?” Truman asked conversationally, scoping out his counter-mate. A local. And if he was in here five nights a week, it meant he didn’t belong to America’s Preserve.

“The best.” Ethan waved a ketchup-dipped fry in the air before popping it in his mouth.

Truman took a plunge. “You familiar with the people living up at the old church camp?”

The young man kept his gaze on his fries. “Why?”

“Heard there are children living up there too. Doesn’t seem like a group that’d have kids around.”

Another fry disappeared into Ethan’s mouth. “Seems okay.”

“Could be,” Truman said, but he used a dissenting tone. He silently sipped his coffee for a long minute, waiting to see if the man would fill the silence. He felt his neighbor study him from his boots to his hair.

“You heard things about the kids?” the man finally said.

Truman shrugged and drank his coffee.

“They don’t go to school,” said Ethan in a low voice. “Some of the teachers in town have complained. Said they need to be educated, and homeschooling doesn’t seem to be a priority for those folks.”

“That’s not good,” Truman agreed.

Ethan glanced over at the old couple, who were still eating their pie. “My brother works at the hospital. Said one of those kids was brought in on an emergency.”

Truman had struck gold. He met Ethan’s gaze. “The kid okay?”

“Yeah. But everyone at the hospital was pissed. Said the boy should have been seen at least a week ago. His infection was out of hand.”

“Poor guy. This was recent?”

Frustration filled Ethan’s face. “I think he’s still in the hospital. If he’d had antibiotics when the infection started, he wouldn’t have nearly died.”

Truman set down his mug. “Died?” Ethan had his full attention.

Ethan nodded, leaning closer. “They don’t believe in modern medicine up there. Say it’s made by the government to control us.” He rolled his eyes.

“Is that the first time someone has come in that sick?” Truman asked.

“Far as I know. My brother says they’ve had a couple of adults with bad cuts and some broken bones, and then they never pay. They just vanish, but the hospital knows where they live. The administrators don’t think it’s worth going up there to confront them.” He shook his head. “It’s not right.”

Clyde placed a burger in front of Truman. The patty was wider than the bun, and it dripped juice and grease on his plate. The fries were piled high, making Truman’s stomach growl at the sight.