A Merciful Secret Read online

  Only Kaylie and Truman knew her secret.

  Why am I still hiding it?

  It wasn’t odd for people in Central Oregon to be prepared. It’d been a bigger deal when she lived in Portland and drove over nearly every weekend to work at her cabin. Back in Portland people rarely had enough groceries to get through a week. Power outages made them huddle in their cold homes, waiting out the temporary inconvenience, confident in the utilities to eventually restore life to normal. Portlanders wouldn’t understand.

  If I talked about it, people out here would comprehend.

  But discussing her plans went against everything she’d been taught.

  Telling people that she was prepared for the end of the world would send them scrambling to her place in case of an emergency. Growing up, she’d been taught to be tight-lipped with her friends, never to discuss her family’s wealth of stores and equipment. Even though her family were known as preppers around Eagle’s Nest, no one knew the extent of their preparations. This was where a hard-to-find location and a solid defense were important. The driveway to her parents’ home was easy to miss; that was on purpose. Weapons skills were taught at an early age to protect their supplies. A plan was always in place.

  Preparation.

  “We’re sitting in a palace,” her father had said. “But few people know exactly where. You can be certain that when the world goes to hell, they’ll come looking for us. We need to be ready to defend our home. We take care of our own.”

  A selfish philosophy.

  But a little voice inside her head agreed. She couldn’t feed and protect everyone.

  Her father had a small circle of people who subscribed to his beliefs, ready to have one another’s back in time of need. Each person brought a valuable skill to the exclusive community. Midwifery, livestock health, plumbing, electronics, medicine. He didn’t have room or patience for useless people.

  Mercy’s knuckles grew white as she gripped the steering wheel. We’re just going to the Sabins’. No one knew where her cabin was.

  She spotted the area where she’d nearly hit Morrigan. Her tire tracks were still on the snowy shoulder. She stopped the SUV and pointed. “That’s where Morrigan ran out in the road.” She squinted, peering into the dense forest. “I see our footprints heading toward the home. Without following those, I couldn’t find it on my own.”

  Ava and Eddie studied the road and forest. “How far is the house from here?” Ava asked.

  “A few minutes straight through the forest or ten minutes by road.”

  “Take the road.”

  Mercy drove on. That night she’d been headed in the opposite direction, coming from her cabin. Discomfort weighed heavily on Mercy as she continued to drive in the direction of her secret. Even though she watched carefully, she almost missed the turnoff to the Sabin home.

  “Wow. I thought you were accidentally driving off the road,” said Ava. “I never would have spotted that turn.”

  They spent the next several minutes bouncing along the rutted tracks. She crossed her fingers she wouldn’t meet any other vehicles on the narrow road, because there was little room to pass. The knot of anxiety in her stomach loosened as she drew closer to the Sabin home.

  “That’s it.”

  The little house. The barn and corrals. Mercy looked at the home with fresh eyes, acknowledging some of the smart decisions at the property. The area was well cleared of brush and trees, leaving a good margin between the home and forest in case of fire. She spotted a pump house she hadn’t noticed before and a group of fruit trees close to the forest. Goats bleated from the barn. She knew the county sheriff had fed the animals but wondered how long that would continue. Farm animals took consistent maintenance.

  There were no animals at Mercy’s hideaway. She hadn’t bought any because her job could keep her from visiting for several weeks. She had plans for pens and some animal sheds, and her long-term plans included goats and chickens. No pigs. She’d debated buying cows but couldn’t see herself handling the slaughter. Goats made milk and chickens made protein and she could manage them on her own.

  Will I be alone?

  She knew Truman had spotted her home sale flyers a few nights earlier. He hadn’t asked any questions, and she didn’t know how she felt about that.

  Common sense said she needed a bigger place. Emotions said she should include Truman in the decision making. But it’s my house. I have to make my own path. I can’t make decisions based on hopes for our relationship.

  She put the dilemma out of her thoughts, refocusing on their visit.

  “Peaceful out here,” commented Ava. “I guess this works for people who want to be left alone.”

  Exactly.

  “I don’t think we’ll be able to tell if Salome has been here,” said Eddie. “Look at all these tire treads.”

  “I need to see the scene anyway,” said Ava. “This is definitely different than the site of the judge’s murder. He lived in a house that overlooked the city. Damn thing sits on stilts on the steep slopes along the west side of Portland. Stunning views, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep, terrified the house would slide down the hill or collapse in an earthquake.”

  Mercy knew the exact area Ava described. She’d peered up as she drove along the city’s freeways, wondering who dared to live in such precarious settings. The prices had to be in the millions of dollars.

  A sharp contrast to the tired home before them.

  They exited the vehicle and tramped through the packed snow to the house. Mercy remembered dashing after Morrigan across a yard of untouched snow. Now hundreds of footprints marred the scene.

  “We’re good to go in,” Ava said, removing the crime tape crossing the door.

  The smell of blood was still strong. Mercy touched her nose, wanting to cover it with her hand. Instead she focused on the details of the home that she’d been too rattled to notice that night. Photos of Morrigan hung in the living room. She stepped closer, a smile hovering at her lips at the sight of the happy child. Beside Morrigan’s pictures was a woven wall hanging of three feminine figures, simple silhouettes showing three generations of females. Small, medium, and large. Scanning the home, Mercy noticed two similar sculptures of a trio of feminine shapes.

  Ava noticed the same. “Cute. Three generations of women who live in the same house.”

  Eddie cleared his throat. “The feminine trio is a revered symbol in Wicca.”

  Mercy and Ava both looked at him. Wicca?

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Am I the only one who did the reading? With the constant stories of these women being witches, I did some digging into the subject. Based on the interviews I’ve looked over and what I read in the evidence reports, I suspect they are into Wicca, not witchcraft.”

  Ava’s gaze narrowed on him. “What’s the difference?”

  Olivia’s death chants whispered in Mercy’s ears.

  “Depends who you ask. The lines between the two are blurry. I read a lot of different opinions, but what I primarily gathered is that Wicca is a spiritual practice and focuses on an individual relationship with the divine. There’s a lot of emphasis on the feminine.” He glanced around the house. “Wiccans are big fans of nature. They bring it into their homes and seek harmony with it.” He pointed at several collections of greenery and candles that Mercy had written off as leftover Christmas decor. “Those are pretty fresh and there’s no holiday theme to the candles. It looks like something with a permanent place in the home.”

  Mercy silently agreed. “The crafts in the barn also have strong nature elements.”

  “So what’s it mean for us?” Ava asked, stepping closer to look at the candles. “There’s a history of visitors seeking magical help, right? Could we be dealing with an angry customer who didn’t get their desired results?”

  “A lot of Wiccans don’t cast spells. It’s more about appreciating the gifts of nature.”

  “There are spells attached to bags of herbs out in the barn,” Mercy pointed out.r />
  “I suspect they were simply taking advantage of people’s misconceptions. If someone asked if I could help them find love and offered me cash, I’d make something up.” He indicated a worn spot in the rug. “Especially if I needed money.”

  “What exactly is the feminine trio thing?” Ava asked.

  Eddie rubbed his chin. “I don’t quite remember. Something about a moon goddess who is made up of a crone, a mother, and a maiden.”

  Olivia, Salome, and Morrigan. “How much reading did you do?” Mercy was duly impressed.

  “Not much. Trust me, I’m no expert.”

  “How does it all tie to a judge in Portland?” muttered Ava. She wandered down the hall and halted as she looked through a doorway, her shoulders suddenly tense.

  Mercy felt the knot in her gut tighten. I know what’s in there. Ava looked over her shoulder at Mercy, her eyes gentle. “Can you talk me through this?”

  Nodding, she joined Ava and tucked her emotions behind a brick wall and recited what she remembered. The blanket that had covered Olivia was gone. So were the pillows. A square of fabric had been cut out of the chair, and a large section of the rug was missing. Black fingerprint dust splotched every surface. Hanging on the wall was another feminine trio silhouette. Mercy looked at it with new understanding and then noticed that candles sat on several surfaces. She wondered if they were for worship, not light.

  The three of them stood in silence as Mercy gazed at the blood-soaked chair. I hope your pain is gone, Olivia.

  After a few respectful moments, Ava asked to see the room of knives. Mercy led the way.

  “Are knives common in Wicca, Eddie?” Mercy asked as she watched Ava’s eyes widen at the huge array of blades.

  “I remember some mention of knives, but I don’t think it is a huge element.” He leaned close to study an elaborate handle. “This is an insane collection. The photos didn’t do it justice.”

  Ava’s sharp gaze traveled over the shelves of glass jars, her lips pressed in a tight line. “Nothing came back as poisonous so far, but they haven’t checked all the samples. I understand Morrigan was the one who mentioned poison on the blades?”

  “That’s correct,” Mercy said.

  “I’d like to know where the murder weapon ended up,” Ava said. “And determine if the same blade was used on the judge.”

  “Have the medical examiners given an opinion on that?” Mercy asked.

  Regret crossed Ava’s face. “All they can say is that it’s inconclusive . . . but that doesn’t rule it out.” She exhaled. “Show me the barn.”

  Relief and light filled Mercy as she stepped out of the home. An overwhelming sense of sadness had permeated the air inside the house, and she wondered if Salome and Morrigan would ever live in the home again. If it’d been my mother, I couldn’t. But perhaps Salome had no other options. Mercy slid open the barn door and welcomed its rush of scents; they were the smells of the living. Hay, animals, dirt, and even manure. The atmosphere of life soothed her after the deathly air of the house.

  If this is the reverence Wiccans feel for nature, I understand.

  The pygmy goats pressed their noses between the boards, begging for attention, and Mercy was pleased to see a pile of fresh alfalfa and some grain in a low trough. Ava leaned over the pen wall to scratch eager heads, delight on her face. “Gosh, they’re cute.”

  Mercy moved closer to pet one and caught her breath, staring at the black goat. It had a pink bow tied around one ear. Two days earlier Mercy had watched another goat yank the bow off its ear, and Morrigan had rolled her eyes in exasperation because she’d just tied it on. When they’d left the barn, the ribbon had been draped over the rail, out of the reach of the goats.

  “They were here,” she announced, unable to pull her gaze off the cheerful black goat nuzzling Ava’s hand.

  “How do you know?” Eddie asked, and Mercy shared her story of sitting in the pen with Morrigan and the goats.

  “I don’t think any of the county deputies would bother to tie a bow on the goat’s ear,” she pointed out.

  Ava agreed, turning to study the rest of the barn. “What did Salome and Morrigan do here in the middle of the night? No doubt they also went in the house. I couldn’t tell anyone had entered since it was sealed up.”

  “I bet Salome sent Morrigan to the barn, keeping her out of the home,” said Mercy. “Especially once she saw the crime scene tape.”

  “Where’s the workroom with the little elf houses?” Eddie asked.

  Mercy led the way, not surprised that Salome had been to the property. No doubt she waited until she saw the deputies leave.

  She stepped back and gestured for Eddie and Ava to enter the workroom, enjoying their exclamations at the sights. Mercy was pleased the houses hadn’t been disturbed by the evidence teams. The small row of knives had been removed, but no black powder covered the miniature works of art on the shelves.

  “I heard the officers got light-headed in here,” Ava said. “Anyone notice anything?”

  They all inhaled deeply, looking from one to another.

  Mercy felt nothing. And judging by the other faces, they didn’t either.

  “Huh,” said Ava. “Something must have been stirred up in here at that time. Seems okay now.”

  “Morrigan said she sells these houses, right?” Eddie asked. “Where are her records of sales? How does she advertise them? Or does she take them somewhere to sell? It might be a good starting place to track her movements.”

  “Good points, Eddie,” agreed Ava. “There wasn’t a computer in the house, so I bet she keeps a laptop with her.” She snapped her fingers. “What about Etsy? That online store where people sell their crafts? This stuff is perfect to sell on there. I bet she has a storefront on the website . . . or maybe on a similar site.” Speculation gleamed in her eyes. “Would the Portland computer forensics lab be able to pinpoint a location she accessed her storefront from? You know . . . like see the IP address if she signed in on another Wi-Fi?”

  Mercy and Eddie exchanged a look. “I have no idea,” admitted Mercy. “That’s a question for the computer guys. They intimidate the hell out of me. I never know if they’re going to laugh at my question and tell me I watch too many movies, or roll their eyes because I have the computer knowledge of an eighth grader.”

  “I suspect you just insulted a lot of eighth graders,” Eddie added.

  Mercy didn’t disagree.

  The three of them left the craft room and stopped to scratch goat heads on their way out of the barn. Outside they paused and considered the property one last time. “Gorgeous,” Ava said under her breath as she looked up at the snowy pines against the blue sky. “But too damned isolated for me . . . and that’s saying a lot. I like my alone time.”

  “I’m with you,” Eddie added. Mercy said nothing.

  “Mercy, how far away is your cabin?” Ava asked. “You were headed back to town, right?” Ava smiled as she asked the question, but Mercy felt as if she were in an interrogation spotlight.

  “It’s about ten minutes in the other direction.”

  “I’d love to see it. Is it as quiet as this place?”

  Her stomach churned. “I think we should head to the office. There’s not much to see and yes, it’s very quiet. As isolated as this home.” She wasn’t ready to share her secret.

  “Why were you driving so late?” Ava asked.

  “Because I arrived at the cabin late. That evening was the first chance I’d had to check the place since the last snowstorm. I did what I needed to do, made certain the snow hadn’t caused any damage, and left. I didn’t plan to stay overnight.” She steadied her breathing.

  “Morrigan was lucky that night,” Eddie said.

  “Definitely,” agreed Ava.

  They trudged across the snow toward her Tahoe, and Mercy stepped across the multiple ruts left by the law enforcement vehicles. A dozen different tire treads were imprinted in the snow. Wide ones and thin ones, mostly with large snow-eating treads
to grip unplowed roads. She lifted a boot to step into the widest one and stopped, her foot in midair. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Don’t move.”

  Ava and Eddie obeyed and then looked at her expectantly.

  Mercy looked at the tracks to her left and to her right, her confidence building. “Look at this track.” She pointed to the one she’d nearly stepped in. “It’s huge. And I crossed its mate several steps back.”

  “That’s a wide vehicle,” Eddie agreed. “Must be one of the evidence vans.”

  “No,” Mercy disagreed. “Those vans are probably narrower than my Tahoe. This vehicle is wide.”

  “Christian Lake’s Hummer,” stated Ava.

  “That’s my first thought too,” Mercy said.

  Eddie looked from Mercy to Ava and back to the tracks. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said slowly. “Those tracks could have been made by a lot of different vehicles.” His tone lacked conviction.

  “I knew Christian was lying when he said he didn’t know the Sabins.” Mercy’s mind spun with possibilities. “This track overlaps nearly all the other ones. He’s been here recently.”

  Ava had her phone in hand. “I’ll get an evidence team out here to take a mold of the tracks. Then I’ll ask Christian to let us print his tires.”

  “He won’t agree to that. Get a warrant first,” Mercy said. “And you can’t make a call out here. You’ll have to wait until we go down the road a few miles.”

  “Crap.” Ava pocketed her phone. “Warrants take time. I’ve found asking the owner for permission works a lot faster.” She batted her eyelashes. “People don’t like saying no to me. We’ll get a warrant if he refuses me.”

  Mercy studied the deep tracks again.

  Why was Christian Lake at the Sabins’?

  FIFTEEN

  I had to run.