Mercy (Atlee Pine #4)(97)

“That was the other reason I called you. Two people came by asking questions about Mercy and you.”

“When was this?”

“The same day Mercy came by, only later. They just showed up on my doorstep.”

“What did they want?”

“They said Mercy had murdered somebody. They were trying to find her and convince her to turn herself in.”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t give me their names. But I think they were with the police or something. They seemed very professional. And I told them that you had been by to see me. I gave them your card.”

“Who was she supposed to have murdered? Did they give you a name?”

“No, they didn’t say.”

“Was the man tall and lean, dark hair, dressed nicely, good-looking?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And the other person?”

“A woman. About your height, but leaner. Dark hair. Very pretty. Very intense. She . . . she . . .”

“She what?”

“Well, she seemed to be blaming me for what happened to Mercy. Like laying a guilt trip on me. I didn’t care for that.”

“Okay.” The woman evidently wanted a sympathetic response from Pine, but she wasn’t going to get it. “Go on.”

“And when I showed them your card the fellow asked the woman if she recognized the name, but she said she didn’t. She said something like there are thousands of female FBI agents. I asked her if she was an agent and she said no, but that she knew some.”

“So let me get this right. They didn’t give you their names. I’m assuming they didn’t have badges or credentials showing they actually were police. So why did you talk to them?”

“Well . . . They seemed nice and professional, like I said.”

“Wanda, I need to know everything. And I mean everything!”

“Okay, okay,” the woman said in a flustered tone. “The man paid me two thousand dollars in cash. I really didn’t have a choice. I had to take it. Me and Len barely get by what with all the medical bills. And let me tell you, Medicare and the VA don’t cover it all, not by a long shot.”

“Did you see the car they drove up in?”

“No. When I answered the door the lady pointed out that somebody had knocked down our lamppost and I guess that distracted me. I bet it was Mercy. Like I said, she scared the bejesus out of me. Said she wanted to kill me and Len.”

“I did knock it down,” said Mercy. “I did that to the lamppost so I wouldn’t do it to you.”

Wanda snapped, “Is that you, Mercy? I didn’t know you were on the call.”

“Well, I am.”

“What you did was not very nice. It’ll cost something to fix that lamppost.”

“You came into two grand because of me, so there’s that.”

Pine interjected impatiently, “Wanda, would you be able to recognize these people?”

“Yes, I think so. They both kind of, you know, stood out, so to speak.”

Pine checked her watch. “I’d like to come and see you today.”

“Why?”

“You can give us fuller details. And I want to check around the neighborhood. Somebody may have seen the people, too, and the car, and maybe gotten its license plate number. We need to find these people, and this is the only lead we have right now.”

“Why do you need to find them?’

“Because I’m pretty sure they’re the ones who kidnapped Carol Blum, the woman who was with me when we visited you.”

“Oh my God. I feel like I’ve been dropped into some damn spy movie or something.”

“Only this is real life. So you’ll be home this evening?”

“Yes. I really don’t go nowhere anymore.”

“By the way, we found Desiree. She’s in prison.”

“What! What for?”

“Keeping another little girl prisoner.”

“Christ Almighty. Hope she never gets out.”

“I’ve got some things to finish up and then we’ll head out. We can probably be there around seven this evening.”

“Are these really bad people? They seemed very nice.”

“I’ll see you around seven.”





CHAPTER





66


PINE WAS DRIVING THE PORSCHE SUV the police had recovered, and her sister was riding shotgun.

In the backseat was Special Agent Neil Bertrand. He was there because Drew McAllister had insisted Pine allow him to accompany them. She had introduced Bertrand to her sister. The tall, lanky agent seemed intrigued by Mercy Pine. He had no doubt learned some of her history, but he asked no questions and rendered no judgments, for which Pine was appreciative.

The day was turning stormy with the clouds moving in and hovering dome-like over them as they passed through Chattanooga, Tennessee, on the wide asphalt strip of I-75. The wind started to buffet the SUV, and Pine gripped the wheel with both hands. The traffic was heavy; tractor-trailer rigs blew past her on both sides carrying the commerce of the country to where it needed to go.

“You really think Wanda Atkins will be able to help you find Blum?” asked Bertrand.