“Of course.” She braced her hands on the table to stand, and Truman immediately jumped out of his chair to help. “Sit down. I’m not dead yet.” She slowly left the kitchen.
Nathan May can’t be a high school friend of Hollis. Mercy told me Nathan went to school somewhere in Portland.
Truman wouldn’t pass on the yearbooks. Someone who looked similar must have attended Eagle’s Nest High School. That would explain why a few people had zeroed in on the same picture.
But I didn’t live here back then. Why is it familiar to me?
Ina reappeared with two books. They were startlingly thin compared to Truman’s high school yearbooks. His books were heavy beasts, but he’d attended a school with nearly two thousand kids. Eagle’s Nest High School wasn’t a tenth that size.
“Here you go. I grabbed his junior and senior year.” She placed the books in front of him. “I’ll let you do the exciting job of going through them.”
“Thank you, Ina.”
“You need anything else?”
“I don’t think so.” Truman stood and took a last sip of his coffee. “I appreciate the information on Bree.”
“Anytime.” She tapped her cheek, and he grinned as he bent to kiss it.
Just as he’d done a hundred times.
He said his goodbye and strode back toward the main part of town, the yearbooks tucked under his arm.
I’ll tackle these first thing when I reach the office.
THIRTY-THREE
Every red truck on the list had been eliminated.
Mercy wanted to hit something. Expanding the search to nearby counties had more than tripled the list and meant a lot of driving.
Now she sat in the parking lot of the hospital, trying to calm her frustration before she went in to check on Kaylie. And Bree Ingram. At least Eddie had been discharged that morning, but he hadn’t left the hospital. Instead he’d gone to sit with Kaylie. He’d called Mercy to explain that he and Kaylie had a shared experience, and she would need someone to exchange gunshot jokes with.
Mercy hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry at his remark.
Her mother and Pearl had updated her hourly on Kaylie’s progress. Thankfully each of their reports said the same: no infection yet. Kaylie was awake and had some issues with getting her pain under control, but Mercy’s mother had handled it. Mercy easily imagined her mother riding the nurses until her grandchild was out of pain. Pearl’s report a half hour ago had said Kaylie was sleeping. She’d added that Eddie was sleeping in a chair in Kaylie’s room due to his own pain management.
At least Kaylie wasn’t alone. Her support group was strong.
Mercy started to get out of her Tahoe and stopped, watching a red-haired woman leave the hospital.
Sandy.
Her gait was rapid and determined. Her head down, her arms swinging with purpose as she walked straight to her SUV.
Something is up.
Mercy jogged to intercept the woman. “Sandy!”
Sandy stopped. Fear flashed on her face and then vanished as she recognized Mercy.
Guilt poked Mercy. The woman was just assaulted. I shouldn’t have startled her.
“I heard Bree woke up,” Mercy said as she reached Sandy at her vehicle.
“She did. But it was brief, and it hasn’t happened again yet.” Something odd flickered in her eyes, and she scanned the parking lot, clearly wanting to be on her way.
“What’s going on, Sandy?” Mercy crossed her arms. “You look like you’ve got somewhere to be.”
The tall woman’s gaze grew confrontational. “Of course I do. I have a business to run.”
Mercy waited. Sandy’s gaze bounced everywhere, and an air of urgency swirled around her.
I don’t think it has anything to do with her B&B.
“Sandy,” she said in a low tone. “What happened? I can tell you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Last time we talked you practically accused me of murder. I can’t say I want to repeat the conversation.”
“I was doing my job . . . and I didn’t accuse you of murder. I asked you about your past. It was a simple connection. Tabitha was murdered while digging into a nearly thirty-year-old crime. She talked to you. Therefore, I looked into what you were doing thirty years ago. And I did the same with Bree.”
The woman exhaled and looked at Mercy head-on. “That’s what’s bugging me. Bree’s past. Today I had a thought.”
“And?”
“Do you know what Bree said when she woke up?”
“I heard she thought she was dying and wanted to be buried.”
Pain flashed in Sandy’s gaze, and her mouth tightened. “That’s correct. She also said ‘sorry’ a few times, ‘killed him,’ and then asked for Lucas.”
“‘Killed him’?” The hair on Mercy’s arms rose. “What the hell?”
“I know. It’s been bouncing through my brain all afternoon.”
“And it’s made you think of something to check out.” She looked hard into Sandy’s brown eyes. “Do you have an idea of who attacked her?”
Her head jerked. “Oh no! It’s nothing like that . . . I have no idea who did that.”
Disappointment rolled over Mercy. “Then what is it?”
“I’m not sure . . . but I need to take a look.”
Mercy couldn’t interpret the expression on Sandy’s face.
“Can you spare three or four hours?” Sandy asked, sounding hopeful.
“It depends. Where are we going?”
“Can you ride a horse?”
Mercy snorted. “I was born on a ranch. Hell yes I can ride.”
But Mercy hadn’t ridden a horse since she’d left Eagle’s Nest at the age of eighteen.
As she followed Sandy’s Explorer to Bree’s ranch, she wondered if it would be as easy as riding a bike again. The body never forgets how to move with the motions of the horse. Right? She crossed her fingers it was so.
Mercy didn’t know when she’d learned to ride; it’d always been a part of her life. All her siblings had ridden. As kids they’d hold competitions to see who could ride backward and bareback the longest, who could best guide a horse through a complicated course without a bridle, and who could run and vault up over the horse’s hind end to land in a sitting position on its back.
That only worked on one of the small, older geldings. He didn’t care what the kids did. They could hang upside down under his belly and it didn’t faze him.
Any other horse would have freaked.
Memories flooded her. Her siblings, the ranch animals, the diverse nature around her home where she and her siblings found their daily entertainment. No handheld screens to constantly stare at.
I had a good childhood.
She’d thought it was horrible and suffocating—and parts of it had been, but she’d had a breadth of experience that the kids of her coworkers in Portland would never have.
I can see that now.
She parked beside Sandy at Bree’s barn, the home in her rearview mirror. It looked like a happy place to live. Well maintained, with a few feminine touches of country decor.
It felt like a facade.
Mercy had been inside the house and seen the bloody kitchen. She was aware of the crime scene investigation’s findings, which hadn’t amounted to much. They desperately needed more evidence from Bree’s attack. The battered red truck had been their best lead.