A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(38)

Preparation.

“We’re sitting in a palace,” her father had said. “But few people know exactly where. You can be certain that when the world goes to hell, they’ll come looking for us. We need to be ready to defend our home. We take care of our own.”

A selfish philosophy.

But a little voice inside her head agreed. She couldn’t feed and protect everyone.

Her father had a small circle of people who subscribed to his beliefs, ready to have one another’s back in time of need. Each person brought a valuable skill to the exclusive community. Midwifery, livestock health, plumbing, electronics, medicine. He didn’t have room or patience for useless people.

Mercy’s knuckles grew white as she gripped the steering wheel. We’re just going to the Sabins’. No one knew where her cabin was.

She spotted the area where she’d nearly hit Morrigan. Her tire tracks were still on the snowy shoulder. She stopped the SUV and pointed. “That’s where Morrigan ran out in the road.” She squinted, peering into the dense forest. “I see our footprints heading toward the home. Without following those, I couldn’t find it on my own.”

Ava and Eddie studied the road and forest. “How far is the house from here?” Ava asked.

“A few minutes straight through the forest or ten minutes by road.”

“Take the road.”

Mercy drove on. That night she’d been headed in the opposite direction, coming from her cabin. Discomfort weighed heavily on Mercy as she continued to drive in the direction of her secret. Even though she watched carefully, she almost missed the turnoff to the Sabin home.

“Wow. I thought you were accidentally driving off the road,” said Ava. “I never would have spotted that turn.”

They spent the next several minutes bouncing along the rutted tracks. She crossed her fingers she wouldn’t meet any other vehicles on the narrow road, because there was little room to pass. The knot of anxiety in her stomach loosened as she drew closer to the Sabin home.

“That’s it.”

The little house. The barn and corrals. Mercy looked at the home with fresh eyes, acknowledging some of the smart decisions at the property. The area was well cleared of brush and trees, leaving a good margin between the home and forest in case of fire. She spotted a pump house she hadn’t noticed before and a group of fruit trees close to the forest. Goats bleated from the barn. She knew the county sheriff had fed the animals but wondered how long that would continue. Farm animals took consistent maintenance.

There were no animals at Mercy’s hideaway. She hadn’t bought any because her job could keep her from visiting for several weeks. She had plans for pens and some animal sheds, and her long-term plans included goats and chickens. No pigs. She’d debated buying cows but couldn’t see herself handling the slaughter. Goats made milk and chickens made protein and she could manage them on her own.

Will I be alone?

She knew Truman had spotted her home sale flyers a few nights earlier. He hadn’t asked any questions, and she didn’t know how she felt about that.

Common sense said she needed a bigger place. Emotions said she should include Truman in the decision making. But it’s my house. I have to make my own path. I can’t make decisions based on hopes for our relationship.

She put the dilemma out of her thoughts, refocusing on their visit.

“Peaceful out here,” commented Ava. “I guess this works for people who want to be left alone.”

Exactly.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to tell if Salome has been here,” said Eddie. “Look at all these tire treads.”

“I need to see the scene anyway,” said Ava. “This is definitely different than the site of the judge’s murder. He lived in a house that overlooked the city. Damn thing sits on stilts on the steep slopes along the west side of Portland. Stunning views, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep, terrified the house would slide down the hill or collapse in an earthquake.”

Mercy knew the exact area Ava described. She’d peered up as she drove along the city’s freeways, wondering who dared to live in such precarious settings. The prices had to be in the millions of dollars.

A sharp contrast to the tired home before them.

They exited the vehicle and tramped through the packed snow to the house. Mercy remembered dashing after Morrigan across a yard of untouched snow. Now hundreds of footprints marred the scene.

“We’re good to go in,” Ava said, removing the crime tape crossing the door.

The smell of blood was still strong. Mercy touched her nose, wanting to cover it with her hand. Instead she focused on the details of the home that she’d been too rattled to notice that night. Photos of Morrigan hung in the living room. She stepped closer, a smile hovering at her lips at the sight of the happy child. Beside Morrigan’s pictures was a woven wall hanging of three feminine figures, simple silhouettes showing three generations of females. Small, medium, and large. Scanning the home, Mercy noticed two similar sculptures of a trio of feminine shapes.

Ava noticed the same. “Cute. Three generations of women who live in the same house.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “The feminine trio is a revered symbol in Wicca.”

Mercy and Ava both looked at him. Wicca?

He shrugged his shoulders. “Am I the only one who did the reading? With the constant stories of these women being witches, I did some digging into the subject. Based on the interviews I’ve looked over and what I read in the evidence reports, I suspect they are into Wicca, not witchcraft.”