I fumbled with my keys.
Come on, come on, come on.
The door gave way. I didn’t bull my way in, in case nothing was wrong.
Please, Saro. Be a complete and total fucking liar.
I checked the living room first. Jake was stretched out on the couch, mouth open as he snored, with the TV projecting shadows across the room. I vaulted up the stairs, please, please, please pounding in my skull.
My sister was curled in the middle of the bed she shared with Jake. Her hair spread across the pillow. No blood soaking the sheets. No blood on her anywhere. I watched the rise and fall of her chest.
Thank God.
I tiptoed to the crib against the wall and peered inside.
A small sliver of moonlight shone in. Big hazel eyes blinked at me. Arms and legs flailed with excitement. She smiled, pleased as punch to have someone awake to entertain her.
My breath caught on a sob.
Joy was all right. Hope was all right. Jake was all right.
My relief was short-lived when Joy fussed at me for not picking her up. I shot a look at Hope. She hadn’t moved.
I wasn’t sure I even remembered how to pick up a baby. Had I ever known? I started to slide one hand under her head when I noticed my hands were filthy. And bleeding. Too sullied to touch such innocence. I grabbed a burp cloth and draped it over my hands, then slid one beneath Joy’s head and the other beneath her butt. I slowly lifted her from the crib, holding her in front of me, afraid I’d ruin her fluffy-soft pale yellow sleeper if it brushed against my dirty clothes.
Her warmth flowed through me. Surrounded by sweet baby scents-shampoo, powder, and lotion-I had the overwhelming urge to weep. For once, I gave in to it. I whispered, “Hey, Poopy. Lookit you.”
Baby girl remained somber, her body still, probably deciding whether this crazy lady who was crying and bleeding was going to drop her on her head.
That’s your fear, not hers. She just wants someone to see to her needs.
Don’t we all.
Joy blinked, fighting sleep. Her long, dark lashes swept her plump pink cheeks. I watched her, held her, until her eyes stayed closed and her mouth went slack. I carefully returned her to the crib the way I’d found her, lying on her back, a rainbow butterfly fleece blanket covering her from chest to feet.
Hope was in the same position, sleeping peacefully. I tugged the covers under her chin and smoothed her hair back from her cheek.
I didn’t allow myself to break down until I stood in the shower. The horror of what could’ve happened knocked me to my knees. My blood and tears mixed with the water and swirled down the drain.
TWENTY-TWO
Election day.
I didn’t bounce out of bed, bursting with enthusiasm. Rather, I shut off my cell phone and yanked the covers over my head. Maybe nobody would miss me.
At eight, Sophie beat on the door. “Mercy, Geneva’s called for you three times. You need to get up and call her back, hey.”
At nine, Hope knocked. “Are you sick again?”
If heartsick counted, then yes.
I’d bitten off way more than I could chew with this running-for-sheriff business. I didn’t want to win. I didn’t deserve to win.
The knife slices in my neck burned. I’d coated them with arnica gel, trying to speed up the healing process. Bruises dotted my body from Saro tackling me. Bruises lined my shin from smacking into machinery at Mulligan’s before finding Victor’s body. And then there were the bruises to my ego.
Two weeks had passed, and I hadn’t figured out who’d killed J-Hawk. Until last night, I’d wondered if instead of choosing the death-by-cop form of suicide, J-Hawk had chosen the death-by-drug-lord type of suicide. Murder beat waiting for cancer to consume him. It beat dealing with the fake sympathy he’d get from family. Double-crossing violent drug dealers assured that he exited this world in a sensational manner, not wasting away riddled with cancer like an average joe. It would’ve been a mercy kill.
But I didn’t buy that hypothesis any longer. Sure, Saro could’ve been lying to me when he’d said they weren’t responsible. But I suspected he’d told the truth that they’d used the circumstances of J-Hawk’s murder for gain.
Another angle I hadn’t considered. Had J-Hawk’s wife ordered the hit? Hired someone to kill him while he was on the road, working for Titan Oil? Maybe she’d discovered her husband was selling drugs and decided to save herself the humiliation of his getting busted. It’d be a win-win situation for her. The husband she loathed would be dead, and the potential for lawsuits against Titan Oil and Clementine’s would be very much alive.
I’d lain in the dark for hours last night. Berating myself. Saro. Victor. Cherelle. Turnbull. Anna. J-Hawk. Geneva. Rollie. Kit. Kiki.
But strangely enough, not Dawson.
More persistent knocking. I’d geared up to scream “go away” when the lock tumbled and the door opened.
What the hell? Who was breaking into my room and invading my privacy? I threw back the quilt, brushed my hair from my eyes, and saw John-John shooing both Sophie and Hope away before he slammed the door in their faces.
“What are you doing here?”
“Unci asked me to come by.”
“Damn meddling old woman. Why’d she call you?”
“Because you’ve freaked her out, as well as your sister; you’ve locked yourself in your room, and they know you’re heavily armed.”
I fell back into the pillows. “Were they worried I’d backslid into my drunken ways?”
“Not even close.”
“That’s something. Look. It’s no big deal. I just wanted alone time to mentally prep for the election stuff today. Tell them everything is fine. Tell them I’m not armed and dangerous.”
“For a change.” He sat on the bed. “So this alone time? That includes avoiding Geneva, your campaign manager, and lying in bed?”
“Can’t get nothin’ past you.”
“Can’t get nothin’ past your sister either.” John-John dangled a burp cloth in front of my face. The one I’d used last night to pick up Joy. “Now do you understand why they’re worried about you?”
Seeing the dirt and blood smears sullying the cloth, dotted with happy little pastel teddy bears, brought my fears from last night racing back. “I had to make sure she was all right.”
“Why wouldn’t Joy be all right?”
Because of me.
John-John leaned in when I didn’t answer. “No one here but us, doll. Talk to me.” His gaze roved over my face, down my neck, and stopped. “What the fuck… are those… knife cuts?”
I turned my head toward the window in total shame.
But he was having none of it. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “What happened last night? Who did this to you?”
“Saro.”
“Did you call the sheriff after it happened?”
“No.”
“Goddammit, Mercy. What is wrong with you? Whatever is going on personally between you and Dawson doesn’t change the fact he needs to know that a citizen was brutally attacked in his jurisdiction.” Still muttering, he reached in his front shirt pocket for his cell phone.
I batted it out of his hand. “It’s way more complicated than that. Saro attacked me last night here, after I came home from the forum. That was after he’d already been in the house, John-John.”
The blood drained from his face.
“After Saro finished trying to extract information from me with his tanto blade, he hinted he’d already taken care of Hope and Jake. Then he showed me Joy’s teddy bear with its head sliced off…” My voice caught. “Bastard used a pressure point trick on me and knocked me out cold. When I came to… I ran into the house, not knowing what I’d find. Joy was in her crib, and I had to pick her up, just to make sure she wasn’t…” I swallowed the lump of fear still clogged my throat. “The baby was fine. Hope and Jake were fine. But me? Not so fine.”