A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(27)

“I’m trying to swear less,” admitted Eddie.

Mercy’s brain had instantly translated Eddie’s statement. “That’s not an effective technique.”

“Either way, Eddie’s words are accurate,” stated Ava. “I’ve never seen anything like this, and I’ve seen a lot of nightmares.”

“What is the image?” asked Mercy, trying to make a pattern out of the cuts. “Clearly it means something.”

“I’ve sent pictures to the Portland gang unit and reached out to a tattoo association,” said Natasha. “I feel like I’m grasping at straws, but I’d hoped it’d be familiar to someone.”

“The FBI must have someone in a random department who specializes in something like this,” said Ava. “Send me the photos and I’ll get them to the right person. I know we’ve searched our databases for other similar murders, but nothing has turned up. Yet.”

Mercy pulled a pen and notebook out of her bag and tried to sketch the shapes. She shook her head at her finished product. “I can’t see what it is. But it definitely is something.”

“I’m pointing out the obvious question again,” said Eddie. “But why is it on these two seemingly unrelated people?”

“I think the key word there is seemingly,” stated Mercy. “Our job—your job is to find the connection.”



Truman stepped through the doors of the church without knocking, feeling like a trespasser. It wasn’t a Sunday, so simply being in the building felt off-kilter to him. He took a left and headed down a long hall that he knew would lead to David Aguirre’s office. He assumed the minister was in the building because his ancient Ford pickup was parked in back of the church.

Truman had spent his lunch break at his desk, using Google to do a bit of research, and had a fresh appreciation for the rule about not believing everything on the Internet. Unable to get some of the rumors about Olivia and Salome Sabin out of his brain, he’d decided to educate himself on current-day witchcraft.

He was now more confused than when he’d started. He should have stuck with his previous education from Disney villains.

From what he’d read, there appeared to be no rhyme or reason to witchcraft. He saw it in his mind as a giant tree. The trunk was the catch-all witchcraft label and the hundreds of branches were the possibilities for how to practice. There was no consistency. Black magic, white magic, evil and good. Solitary practitioners and covens that ranged from a few to hundreds. He’d decided to pick David Aguirre’s brain. The minister had lived in Eagle’s Nest all his life, and Truman hoped he had a bit of insight into the rumors that surrounded the Sabin women.

The faint sounds of a TV show came down the hallway, and Truman stopped outside David’s office door. It was ajar. He knocked and then pushed it open. David sat at an ancient wooden desk, tapping away at a keyboard. The back of a giant monitor faced Truman, the Apple logo prominently displayed. Behind the minister a small television was tuned to a cooking competition show that Truman often watched with Mercy.

David stood and held his hand out over the monitor. “Hey, Chief. What brings you to church on a weekday?” David had been close friends with Mercy’s oldest brother, Owen, all his life. She’d shared stories about when the two men were in their teens that had made even Truman—who’d thought he’d heard and seen everything—shake his head. Mercy still harbored a bit of dislike for the man who’d set aside his fast-track-to-hell ways and now stood behind a pulpit. Truman understood. Something about the minister had bothered him during his first few months in town, but Truman had put his dislike aside after David’s actions a few weeks earlier at the funeral of Joziah Bevins, a longtime Eagle’s Nest resident.

David’s words over Joziah’s casket had been heartfelt and sincere. Truman had watched as David took charge of Joziah’s grieving son, Mike, one of Truman’s closest friends. Truman’s respect for the minister had grown substantially that day. David cared about the people of his town, just as Truman did. They offered their support in different but similar ways.

“I assume you’ve heard about the murder of Olivia Sabin,” Truman began.

“Yes.” David nodded and gestured for Truman to take a seat in an old wood chair to the side of his desk. “It’s all I’ve heard about for the last twenty-four hours.”

“Gossip train full speed ahead.”

“Exactly.” David did up the buttons of his thick sweater, and Truman realized the office was quite cold. Glancing around, he realized the monitor was the only item in the office that was less than a decade or two old. No doubt David kept the heat low, saving money so he could afford to properly heat the building on Sundays.

“Did you know Olivia or Salome?” Truman asked.

David leaned back in his chair, a reluctant look on his face. “Why are you asking?”

“I was there yesterday morning,” Truman told him. “I saw the home and Mercy happened to be there for her death. I can’t get some of the things in the house out of my mind. And like you, I’ve been inundated with gossip since it happened. I’m trying to sort out what’s real from the bull.” He paused. “You know they haven’t been able to locate Salome, right?”

“I’d heard. I hope she hasn’t been hurt.” David sat forward and rested his arms on his desk, his gaze holding Truman’s. “You want to know if I think the two of them could be witches.”