A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(13)

“Don’t touch anything,” ordered Bolton.

The deputy jerked upright. “I wasn’t going to.” Guilt flushed his face. “Anyone else feel light-headed in here? There’s a smell of dried moss or something weird that’s getting to me. It’s like I took a hit off a joint. Or maybe it’s the tight quarters.”

Truman suddenly felt the same. He scanned the childlike homes. What else are they made of?

“I feel it,” said Bolton. “Everyone out.”

Outside the room Truman welcomed the healthy animal scents, and Bolton rubbed his eyes. “Think there’s something hallucinogenic in there?” Bolton asked. “Did you feel that?”

“I felt something. Could just be stale air or maybe an allergy,” suggested Truman.

“Something all of us are allergic to?” Bolton was unconvinced. “Something is in there. I’ll warn the crime scene techs.” He glanced at Truman. “Probably time for you to get back to work. Tell Mercy to head home too. She’s been up all night.”

“She won’t leave until CPS gets here.” Truman spotted her in a pen with Morrigan, who was tying a pink bow around a black goat’s ear. Three tiny goats pushed and shoved one another to reach the handful of feed on Mercy’s palm, delighting her. Her laughter bounced off the dusty rafters.

The sound stripped his soul bare, warming him. He’d burn bridges and trudge across a desert for her. He was blessed to have her in his life. Was it love? Hell yes.

Truman turned back to the detective, who eyed him with a touch of envy.

Outside, the crackle of tires on packed snow announced the arrival of another vehicle.

“Maybe we got lucky and that’ll be the CPS agent,” Bolton stated.

I’ve been lucky for the last four months.





SIX

The arriving car had belonged to the CPS agent. Mercy had grilled the pleasant woman before allowing her to take Morrigan. Truman had given props to the agent, who’d smiled all through Mercy’s interrogation. Morrigan liked the woman and was interested in meeting a ten-year-old girl who lived in the home where she’d wait until her mother turned up. After they left, Mercy drove home to shower and nap. Truman went back to work.

“Augustus McGee wants you to meet him at the diner,” Lucas announced as Truman entered the Eagle’s Nest police station.

Truman stopped, his cowboy hat in hand, halfway to its hook. Augustus was a town busybody. “Why doesn’t he come here?”

“You know why.”

“Really? He won’t step foot in the office?”

“It’s a government building. That’s enough reason for the old coot.”

“Sheesh. What’s he want?”

“He was all secretive and wouldn’t say, but he claims it’s related to your case from this morning.”

Olivia Sabin’s death was the only case. It wasn’t his case, but he couldn’t imagine what else Augustus could be referring to.

“I’ll be back in half an hour.” Truman put his hat back on and zipped his coat. He’d planned to research Olivia and Salome Sabin at his desk, but it’d have to wait. At least he could grab a late lunch.

“Half hour. Right. If you’re fortunate.” Lucas’s grin nearly split his face. “Have fun, boss.”

The bright sun in the intense blue sky lied to him about the temperature as Truman strode toward the diner, two blocks down the street. The sun promised eighty degrees, not the actual frigid twenty-one. Summer wouldn’t be here for another five months.

Through the diner’s window he spotted a balding head with crazy gray tufts of hair above its ears. Augustus was waiting. Truman sighed and decided to tell Augustus up front that he had only a half hour for lunch. When Augustus had parked in a fire zone, their conversation had lasted nearly two hours. Augustus claimed he was a freeman. Several times the sovereign citizen had told Truman the police department didn’t have jurisdiction over his person. Truman had an image of Augustus walking around in a huge bubble where no government agency had any authority, but apparently if Augustus had information to share, he’d deign to speak with a cop.

Inside, Truman shook Augustus’s hand and slid into the booth across from him. Augustus McGee looked like a retired clown. All he needed was the red nose and white paint on his round face. He was a big man with pale-green eyes that viewed the world with deep suspicion. He believed in silent black helicopters, mind-reading radar from the cellular towers, and that the government’s primary purpose was population control. Truman’s officers claimed the man got crazier by the year.

“I’ve only got half an hour, Augustus, and I hope you don’t mind if I eat lunch while we talk.”

The waitress appeared. “Coffee, Chief?”

“Just water. And whatever your burger of the day is.”

“It’s Hawaiian. Ham and a ring of pineapple on the burger patty.”

“Perfect for a snowy day,” answered Truman. She poured his water and left. “What can I do for you, Augustus?”

Augustus leaned forward, clenching his coffee cup in both hands, his eyes intense. “Is it true that Olivia Sabin has been murdered?”

The Eagle’s Nest rumor mill was faster than the speed of light.

“You knew her?” Truman asked.