“I’m setting some things aside so I can help you,” Jeff said, eyeing his cluttered desk.
Mercy folded her arms and cocked her head to the side.
“I’m the best you’ve got right now.”
“Find me some more help.”
He looked sharply at her. “You mean ask Portland for more agents? You do know we have a budget, right?”
“You do know this is one of the biggest cases we’ve ever had, right?” she threw back at him. She understood part of his job description was to control costs, but she also knew he could get more money for a case like this one.
Mercy was encouraged by the speculation in Jeff’s eyes. “Let me know what the Portland office says.” She gave him a sugary smile and tapped a finger on his desk phone. Call now.
“Go talk to Tabitha Huff’s boss,” Jeff ordered. He picked up his receiver but didn’t push any buttons.
Good enough. “On my way.”
Mercy strode back to her office. The editor of the Midnight Voice. Victor Diehl’s phone calls. Autopsy report for Tabitha Huff. New interview with Shane Gamble. Deciding which took priority was driving her crazy. Every task needed to be done now.
She dropped into her desk chair and wiggled her mouse to activate her computer. A photo of her and Truman hiking filled her screen and transported her back to that mountain and the wonderful feeling of lack of responsibility. No murders. No phone calls. No government bosses. The two of them had stood on a peak in the Cascade mountain range, and Truman had extended a long arm to snap a selfie of them with Mount Bachelor in the background. A clump of her long hair had blown into Truman’s mouth, and happiness radiated from them. Truman had taken another without her hair in his mouth, but this was her favorite.
Her heart ached for the lightness of that moment.
The past week had been all work. Every time she and Truman spoke it was about work. At this very second, that carefree mountain moment felt light-years away. And the expectation of another day like it was drastically low.
We should be planning a wedding.
Each time she sat down to browse venues or dresses she was interrupted. At this rate they’d marry at city hall, and she’d be in her usual black garb.
Rose has a wedding to plan too.
Mercy realized she could kill two birds with one stone and pulled out her phone to dial her sister.
“Hi, Mercy.”
The sound of Rose’s voice instantly relaxed Mercy. Her sister spread peace through her presence even over the phone.
“I only have a minute, Rose,” Mercy said. “I’m swamped here—”
“I heard about Eddie,” Rose cut in. “I’m so sorry, Mercy. And I heard about the reporter who died too. Is that case yours also?”
“We think it might be related to something I’m working on.”
“That poor girl. So young.” Rose coughed.
Mercy frowned. Rose sounded horrible. “Are you sick?”
“A little. Lots of bugs going around the preschool.”
Mild alarm slid into Mercy’s thoughts. “Maybe you shouldn’t be working there . . . with the pregnancy.”
Rose laughed. “I stayed home today, but it’s a little late to avoid germs while I’m pregnant.”
“It can’t be good for the baby to have you sick. You can’t take any medication, can you?”
“My doctor says I can take some things, but I’d rather not. I can stick it out.”
Mercy’s inner mama bear stepped forward. “What are your symptoms?”
“I’m fine, Mercy, really—”
“Symptoms, Rose.”
Her sister sighed. “Okay. You heard the cough. I’ve got a sore throat and fever. Nothing big.”
Mercy knew it was big if Rose had stayed home from work. “Body aches?”
“I’m pregnant, Mercy.” Amusement rang in her voice. “Everything always aches. Especially my feet. Don’t get me started on trying to find a comfortable position to sleep.”
“Does Mom know you’re sick?”
“I can’t get her off my back.”
Good.
“Say . . . can you give me Dad’s cell number?”
Rose was silent for a long moment. “Are you reaching out? That’s good, but maybe talking to him in person—”
“No, I have a question for him,” Mercy hedged. “It’s about a case.”
Rose rattled off a number, and Mercy’s fingers grew icy as she scribbled it down.
It’s the same number as in Victor Diehl’s phone.
“I don’t know if calling him is the best idea, Mercy. He’s not one to say much on the phone.”
Mercy wasn’t surprised. A phone conversation with him would be awkward. “I’d rather talk to him in person.”
“Well, I know he has a doctor’s appointment today at one. You could probably catch him after that.”
“Same doctor?”
“Do you really think he’d see anyone else?”
Mercy smiled in spite of herself. Her father was still a creature of habit.
She ended her call and sat staring at the number from Rose, her brain spinning in a million directions. Is my father involved in this? Her heart pounded in her ears, and everything in the room faded away except for the phone number.
She glanced at the time. It was too early to catch her father at the doctor’s office, and she knew Jeff expected a statement from Tabitha Huff’s boss. She did a quick online search and found a name and phone number for the managing editor of the Midnight Voice. Within a minute she had Gordon Kelly on the phone and had identified herself.
“You said Bend, Oregon?” Kelly had a distinctive smoker’s voice. “Where is that?”
Mercy paused. Wouldn’t he know where he sent a reporter? “Sort of in the middle. Did you send Tabitha Huff here to investigate a story?”
“Tabby? No. I looked over her latest story, but she’d written it during some personal time off. Why? Is she in trouble with the FBI?” Curiosity filled his tone. “Does she need some help?”
Mercy steeled herself. “No. Tabitha was murdered yesterday.”
“The fuck? Are you bullshitting me? Tabby? She’s dead? How?”
“She was shot. We don’t know much else. I wanted to see if you knew what she was investigating in our area.”
She was here because of her own curiosity?
“I know shit.” His voice grew rougher. “She asked for some personal time, and I gave it. I didn’t ask what she would be doing during the time.”
A dead end? Who else would know why Tabitha Huff came here to ask questions?
“Why is the FBI involved? That seems odd . . .”
Mercy flinched as Gordon’s voice took on a what-are-you-hiding-from-me inflection.
“We work closely with all the law enforcement agencies in the area.” Mercy scrambled for noncommittal phrasing. “If they ask for a hand, we give it.”
“Uh-huh.” Gordon wasn’t convinced.
“If you have next-of-kin information, that would be appreciated.”
“I’ll transfer you to my secretary. She’ll help you with that . . . although I can’t recall Tabby ever mentioning family.”
“Sometimes people just don’t talk about it.” Mercy knew all too well.
She thanked the editor and waited on hold as he transferred her call. I’ve stirred up his curiosity. He’ll start digging.
Why did Tabitha come here on her own dime?