A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(32)

“We don’t know that we can keep her.” To Mercy, giving the cat a name would mean her stay was permanent.

“I took her to the vet today,” said Kaylie, scooping up the cat and pressing her cheek against the cat’s fur. “She’s not chipped, but she has been spayed. Her blood work looked good, but she’s underweight.”

“An easy fix.”

“Especially with the way she’s been eating,” agreed Kaylie. “She’s a pig.”

“I can’t blame her.”

“We could call her Piggy.” Her niece blinked innocently.

“Hell no. That’s a horrible name.”

“I was thinking about names that tied to your job. Glock, Beretta, Ruger.”

Mercy patted the cat. Her fur was as soft as a bunny’s. “She’s a girl. Those names aren’t girly at all. Not to mention they sound violent. And more accurate names about my work would be Paperwork, Phone Calls, or Headaches.” She stroked one of the tan patches on the cat’s side. “How about bakery-or coffee-related names? Cupcake, Latte, Mocha, Cookie.”

“Biscotti,” murmured Kaylie. “Or Snickerdoodle, Streusel, Dulce de Leche, Café au Lait.”

“I like Dulce de Leche. It fits with her tan patches, and we could call her Dulce for short, which means ‘sweet.’”

“Perfect.” Kaylie planted a kiss on the cat’s forehead and set her down. “She’s definitely sweet.”

We weren’t supposed to name her yet.

Mercy acknowledged that she’d failed on that objective.

Dulce hopped onto a dining table chair and settled down as if she’d always lived there, her blue gaze locked on Mercy. Dulce had lived through a tough winter on her own, and Mercy suspected she would have gone on to survive another just fine without people. The cat was very self-reliant. Just as Mercy strove to be.

You’re a survivor too, aren’t you?

Will a relative take you home?

They were still trying to contact the Hartlages’ closest relatives. So far Darby had located the father’s uncle in Arizona. He didn’t care about the deaths and only wanted to know if he’d get some money. Darby continued to search.

The suspicion that Dulce had a permanent home with her and Kaylie grew stronger.

“Have you read or heard the news today?” Kaylie asked as she started to wipe down the kitchen counter, not looking at Mercy.

Kaylie’s tone was too casual, and Mercy’s radar went off. “I haven’t. What did you hear?”

Her niece focused on scrubbing at an invisible spot. “You haven’t read anything new about your find up on March Mountain?”

Crap. “What did he write now?”

Kaylie indicated her laptop on the table. The article was still open. Mercy spotted Chuck Winslow’s name and quickly scanned the article, her fury growing as she scrolled.

He didn’t.

He did.

Chuck Winslow had written a recap of the murders two decades earlier and then stated that Britta Verbeek had recently moved back to the area and was currently using the name Britta Vale. He’d listed her work website.

Every nut and reporter in the country is going to hound her.

He went on to quote Grady Baldwin’s declaration that he hadn’t committed the murders and, without stating it outright, implied Baldwin’s belief that Britta was holding back something that would exonerate him.

Baldwin told me he didn’t talk to Winslow.

Rereading the article, she realized that wasn’t true.

“Dammit.” She fumed, wondering if her conversation with Baldwin had encouraged him to reach out to Winslow, seeing a way to get his side of the story out in public again.

The only positive she saw was that Winslow hadn’t mentioned Mercy’s name or the missing Hartlage family. He stated that the bones found on March Mountain had a few similarities to those in the old cases. Shit. The sentence read almost exactly how she’d stated her reason to Grady Baldwin for the interview.

Baldwin must have contacted Winslow after I left.

Winslow didn’t mention the murders that had supposedly followed Britta from city to city. No doubt Baldwin had shared that theory, but Mercy hadn’t found the claim credible after more research, and Winslow must have come to the same conclusion. One family had been killed by a relative, another family had all died in a car wreck, and another had died in a house fire. All of the deaths had been explained. Baldwin was grasping at straws by pushing the theory that mysterious deaths had followed Britta.

Poor Britta. Sympathy for the woman filled her. Britta needed her privacy, and Mercy wondered what this exposure would do to her psyche.

Asshole. Chuck Winslow had no idea of the emotional trauma his article could cause the woman.

Or did he?

“What is it?” Kaylie asked. “You look like you want to strangle someone.”

“I do. Chuck Winslow would do just fine.”

“He doesn’t mention you,” Kaylie said helpfully.

“No, but he’s mentioned a woman who’s been through enough.”

“Britta Vale? It sounds like the police need to investigate her.”

“That’s my point. There’s nothing concrete to back up what he’s implying about Britta. It’s all speculation from a man who desperately wants out of prison. I’ve talked to her twice.”