A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(70)

“I can’t stay long,” Mercy told him. “I need to get to the office.”

Truman unlocked the library’s front door and held it open for her. It was one of the budget-cut days, so the building was closed. A faint hint of lemon reached him as Mercy passed by. Her usual scent. He liked it, but it wasn’t as heady as the warm scent from her skin after she’d rolled in bed with him. That was his favorite.

“It’s freezing in here,” Mercy exclaimed, snapping up her coat.

“She turns off the heat when it’s not open.”

“It must take hours to get it back up to a livable temperature.”

“Maybe that’s part of the reason the patronage is down.” He led her to the microfiche machine and turned it on as he pulled the two rolls of film from his pocket. He’d dusted them for prints but found nothing helpful.

“There’s only one machine? Bummer.” Mercy sat in the unit’s chair while he grabbed another from a reading table.

“I think two sets of eyes will still be better than one.”

“I don’t understand what we’re looking for.”

“That makes two of us. All I know is that whoever broke in was searching for something specific during these months.”

“Salome?”

“Possibly. I want to know what she was searching for. If it was her, logic says it’s related to her mother’s death. Why else would she risk breaking into buildings at a time like this? I don’t think she was looking for recipes.”

Truman pulled out the tray below the huge monitor and threaded the local paper’s film across the viewing area, then wound the blank end around another roller. He pushed the tray back in, fast-forwarded to the first sideways image, and then turned a knob to rotate it to right-side up.

“For a second I thought we would have to tilt our heads and read it sideways.” Mercy peered at the buttons. “No zoom?”

“Here.” He rotated another dial and the old front page was suddenly legible. The forty-year-old lead story was a feature on the high school’s valedictorian. “Know him?”

“I don’t recognize his name. Probably was smart and moved away.”

He chuckled. “I like Eagle’s Nest.”

“Trust me, as a teen all anyone wanted to do was get out.” She forwarded to the next story. “I don’t mind it now.”

They sped through stories on livestock, county fairs, and drownings. Typical summer stories. National news was in a small column on the far right of the front page, almost as an afterthought. Local stories took precedence.

Truman hit the FORWARD button each time Mercy nodded to show that she had finished reading. Together they skimmed every page, and she frequently pointed out names she recognized. Truman pressed the button again, and his heart stopped as a photo of Jefferson Biggs filled the monitor’s screen. His uncle. The man was in his twenties and grinning in a way Truman had never seen. Jefferson had won the top prize at the county rodeo.

“How cool is that?” Mercy exclaimed.

“I never knew he did rodeo.” He stared at the photo. What else do I not know?

She turned to him, her gaze concerned. “Are you okay seeing this picture?”

Four months earlier he’d discovered his uncle dead, brutally murdered by a local serial killer. Truman mentally poked at the sad spot where his uncle’s death lived in his brain; it didn’t hurt the way it used to. “Yeah, I am. I’ve just never seen it before.” The initial shock had vanished, and he wished he had a copy of the picture.

“There’s a print option,” Mercy pointed out, reading his mind. After a few missteps with the printer, Truman had his copy.

“Are you sorry you sold his home?” she asked.

“No. I’m glad you took a lot of his supplies, and I like the young family who bought it.”

“It was too much house for you.” She continued to skim, leaning closer to the monitor, reading each headline.

Now?

“Are you looking for a house to buy?” he asked bluntly. The question erupted out of his mouth as if it’d been bottled under pressure.

She sat back from the monitor and turned to him, her eyes cautious. “I’ve been thinking about it. The apartment was fine for me, but I’d like Kaylie to have a home. If she goes away to school, I want her to feel she always has a place to return to.”

Something Mercy never had.

He carefully phrased his next statement, not wanting to sound as if he’d made assumptions. “I’d hoped one day to live with you.”

Her expression softened. “I know.”

He waited.

“I don’t see how my house shopping interferes with those plans.”

She was right. But his stomach still twisted and churned. “I wanted to shop with you. Do it together.”

“That’s a good idea. Kaylie isn’t interested in looking at all. She says it’s boring.”

It didn’t sound boring to Truman. It sounded awesome. He was slightly stunned that she’d immediately welcomed his help. The subject had been churning in his stomach for two days. Why did I wait to ask?

“You told me you have another year on your lease, right?” Mercy asked.

“Right.”

“Then there’s no rush.” She turned back to the monitor.