He lifted his chin and nodded. “She followed me. Tried to talk to me at lunch. I didn’t tell her anything.” His eyes narrowed as he met Mercy’s gaze. “She knew you spend the night here sometimes, and she hinted that you’d regret not speaking with her.”
Mercy glanced at the article on her phone. “I don’t regret it, but I am rather pissed at her.”
“I should have told you . . . Maybe you could have stopped the article. It’s been on my mind all afternoon.” He sagged on his stool.
“I sincerely doubt anything I could have said would have stopped her. It’s not your fault.” Mercy patted him on the shoulder, hating to see him so down on himself. “Did she think this article would win her an interview with me? I’d also like to know why she’s the first one on the story.”
“She said she got an anonymous message through Twitter,” Ollie stated.
“What else did you learn at lunch?” Mercy asked in surprise.
Ollie shrugged. “She’s determined.”
“But why did someone contact her at the Midnight Voice when they could have tried CNN or Fox?”
“Maybe they did and were ignored,” suggested Truman. “How did Kaylie find that article? Don’t tell me she reads that rag.”
“She has online alerts set up for my name. Yours too.” Mercy slid off the stool and paced in the small kitchen. “Who tipped off the reporter? One of the county deputies? Someone at the medical examiner’s? Who else knew about the money bags?”
“My guys have mentioned the remains a time or two, but they don’t know about the robbery connection.”
“Shane Gamble knows what we found.” Mercy halted her pacing, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. “I told him.”
“He wouldn’t have access to Twitter,” Truman pointed out.
“He can make phone calls. He could have someone else do it for him.”
“But what’s his motivation?” Truman asked. “He’s sitting in prison. Finding the other thieves won’t affect him. He’s not going anywhere.”
“He’s complicated,” Mercy told Truman. “He loves a game and he loves attention. Dammit! I gave him confidential information on a silver platter, and I bet he’s using it to stir things up. He’s bored and needs entertainment.”
“That fits with what you said about his character,” agreed Truman.
“I probably made Gamble’s day with my visit yesterday—I probably made his decade. How could I be so stupid?” She ran her hands through her hair and tugged until her scalp protested. “I thought I was so smart during our interview, but instead I gave him something big to play with, and he put himself in the spotlight.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Truman pointed out. “Anyone could have leaked the story.”
“The fact that it was leaked to a tabloid means something—and I suspect it’s Shane Gamble who deliberately chose it.” Why? Her mind raced. “I could interview him again . . . and not let him know that I suspect he leaked the story. Maybe I can find out what he’s up to. We’ll see how he likes it when—”
“I think you need to focus on finding the other thieves and money,” Truman said gently. “Not picking the brain of a convict to satisfy your personal curiosity.”
Mercy took deep breaths instead of giving in to her impulse to reject Truman’s point. He’s right.
“Don’t let him get to you. And do the same with this reporter. Ignore them. Focus on the information that’s in front of you.”
“I don’t like being used,” she grumbled. “And yes, I know you’re correct.” She shot him a rueful side-eyed glance. “How can you be so levelheaded and not upset?”
“I don’t see much to be upset about. But I’m annoyed that she called you a bumbling backwoods FBI agent.” His brown eyes warmed her. “That’s not true at all.”
“And she claims she only prints facts,” complained Ollie. “I should talk—”
“No one is talking to her,” Truman stated firmly. He pointed at Ollie. “Eat your pizza.”
Mercy bit into her own piece, glaring at her plate.
Tabitha Huff is in for a surprise if she talks to me again.
THIRTEEN
The next morning Truman was almost to the Coffee Café when Kaylie stepped out the front door with two men. The three of them stopped to talk outside, and Kaylie put her hands on her hips and pushed her chin forward, presenting a profile that Truman had seen a dozen times on Mercy. In other words, something had pissed Kaylie off.
As he drew closer, he recognized Cade Pruitt and his father, Glenn.
Uh-oh. What did Cade do now?
Kaylie spotted him and relief crossed her face. Glenn turned and held a hand out to Truman. “Hey, Chief.”
“Glenn. Cade,” Truman replied, quickly checking Cade’s expression. The young man didn’t appear upset. In fact he’d just set a comforting hand on Kaylie’s shoulder. “What’s up?” Truman directed the question to Kaylie.
“Reporters,” she said grimly. “They all seem to think the local coffee shop is the place to slyly probe the employees with questions.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re so obvious.”
Truman understood. “Seen a few today?”
“Three so far. The story has spread far beyond that tabloid,” Kaylie said. “They act as though I’m their best friend and then ask if I know the way to where that body was found.” Her nose wrinkled. “Please. How stupid do they think I am?”
“I heard the same thing happen to a waitress in the diner,” Glenn told Truman. “They’re descending on the town like vultures.”
“Tell everyone to ignore them,” he advised. “They’ll eventually leave when they realize no one is talking.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear someone had taken a reporter up there for money,” Glenn said. “I can think of a few people who can be bought.”
Truman could too. “I’ll get word to Christian Lake to put some security in the area.” He can afford it.
Cade leaned toward Kaylie, heavy concern on his face. Truman lifted a brow. “Is there more to it than that, Cade?”
Frustration crossed the young man’s face. “I don’t like people harassing her.”
“I can take care of myself,” Kaylie said pointedly. No eye roll was visible, but Truman heard it in her voice. Mercy had told him one of the things that bothered Kaylie about Cade was his overprotectiveness.
“I know you can.” Cade didn’t sound convinced.
“I need to get back to my customers,” Kaylie stated, breaking the quiet. She gave Cade a kiss on the cheek and went back inside the coffee shop.
“She’ll be fine, Cade,” Truman told him. “Reporters aren’t threatening. Just nosy. They have bosses to answer to if they step out of line.”
“You’re not even together now,” Glenn told his son. “Or are you?” He looked at Truman. “I can’t keep track.”
Truman couldn’t either.
“We are,” answered Cade. “I need to get to work.” He lifted a hand at Truman and headed toward his vehicle. As he left, Truman noticed Cade walked with the same left shoulder tilt that he’d seen on Glenn. He’d call Cade Glenn’s Mini-Me, but both men were well over six feet tall.
“Do you have a minute?” Glenn asked Truman, a worried look in his eyes.
“You concerned about those two kids?”
“Nah. They’re good friends whether they’re dating or not. Kaylie knows how to keep Cade in line.”