A Merciful Secret Read online

  “Thanks, Natasha.” Mercy ended her call. “Olivia Sabin shows evidence of an old break in her mandible. Natasha added that there were several old healed fractures in the other bones of her face. She has to be the Olivia in this article.”

  “That’s terrible.” Truman enlarged the old photo of the wife beater, seeing the evil in his eyes. What kind of man has to beat on a woman? “I think being sent to prison is motive for killing both Malcolm Lake and his ex-wife. Is this guy still locked up?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Morrigan looks nothing like me.

  I don’t care. My daughter is willowy and slight while I curve everywhere. She will never be described as voluptuous. My skin is a pale mocha and hers is nearly transparent, with a touch of rose. The bone structure of her face is delicate and ethereal, nearly the opposite of my full cheekbones and brows. I carry the genes of people who embraced the sun and toiled in its heat. I don’t know her history.

  I see her real mother in her pale eyes and fine hair.

  But she is my daughter in every way.

  There are many ways to end a pregnancy, and my mother knew most of them. She was skilled with herbs . . . poisons . . . She knew just how much would cause a woman’s body to reject the new life within it. She refused to physically remove a baby; potions were her only tools. But she was adamant in providing this service. Her only rule was that the pregnancy couldn’t show yet.

  The women who came with even the smallest baby bumps were sent away, told to talk to their doctors. These women were often angry, screaming at her, blaming her for their position. My mother would hold firm.

  I was there when a woman brought her daughter across the mountain range from Salem one February. I smelled their indecision before they entered our home.

  “They’re undecided,” I whispered to my mother as we watched them near our door. “The girl is terrified she’s making a mistake, and the mother is confused.” I paused. “It goes against their hearts.”

  The women entered, and we learned the girl was seventeen, a senior in high school, a top student, and had been accepted to college with a full-ride scholarship. A blessing, her mother said, because they were extremely poor; college would have been out of the question. She would be the first in her family to go to college.

  Two pregnancy tests had confirmed the daughter’s suspicions, and she believed she was three months along. She swore they’d used protection and had been shocked to discover a month later she was pregnant. There were seven months before she left for school.

  My mother brought them tea, and I scented the calming herb she’d added. The girl wouldn’t pick up her cup and stared at it as if it held the poison.

  “It is safe,” I said, smelling her fear. “We will talk first.”

  Her hands shook as she tentatively drank.

  Her blue eyes were wide and innocent; she was still a child no matter her incredible performance in school. I studied her straight blonde hair with a bit of jealousy. She was the girl I’d always wanted to look like. Even at the ripe old age of thirty, I was jealous of her teenage perfection. Yet their lack of money showed. Their car was nearly as old as my mother’s, and their clothes showed heavy wear and carefully repaired seams. A sour smell of desperation hovered around both of them.

  Over tea we listened to them talk. My mother always talked to her “patients” first. She needed to know they had thought through their decision. Within moments we knew these two women were not ready.

  My mother raised a brow at me, and I asked the daughter if she’d like to see the goats. We separated the two of them. My mother kept the mother drinking tea and the daughter followed me to the barn where two baby goats suckled from their mothers. She was charmed, as I’d known she would be. Baby animals and human girls were one of the most perfect pairings in the world.

  “You are scared to do this,” I finally said, watching her pet the mothers.

  “I don’t want to,” she answered in a low voice. “But I don’t see any other choice. I can’t let this change the direction of the life I want.”

  “Man proposes,” I said quietly.

  “What?” A confused blue gaze met mine. Soft shades of yellow and lavender surrounded her. I smelled baby roses and new lilacs: innocence.

  “Just talking to myself.”

  The girl lay both hands on her stomach. “I can’t feel anything. I haven’t seen any changes. Yet I know there is a life inside me.”

  “May I?” I asked, gesturing to her stomach.

  She was hesitant but nodded.

  I smiled and moved slowly, not wanting to spook her. I gently set my fingertips on her flat belly and closed my eyes.

  Fresh-mowed grass, violets, cut lemons. The scents assaulted me. I’d expected subtlety, but the baby’s life presence was strong. Pale pinks flashed in my mind, and I knew it was a girl.

  Mine.

  My eyes flew open and I jerked my hands away.

  “What is it?” the girl cried.

  “Nothing,” I told her. “I thought I’d shocked you,” I lied.

  “I didn’t feel it.” Suspicion floated in her blue depths.

  “Have you considered adoption?” My knees felt like water, and I gripped the edge of the goat pen for balance.

  “Yes, but it seems complicated.”

  “I can place the baby for you. No papers. Nothing needed.”

  Her face cleared. “You can?”

  “You don’t want to end the pregnancy, do you?” I asked gently. “There is another option.”

  The two women drove away thirty minutes later. A plan was in place. It was doubtful her pregnancy would show much during the rest of the school year. Olivia would deliver the baby in late summer.

  And I would keep her.

  The months of her pregnancy dragged for me. I was impatient and worried she’d change her mind. I had no peace until their car parked in front of our home that summer.

  The first time I held Morrigan in my arms, I became whole. I hadn’t known there was a child-shaped empty space in my heart.

  She was innocence. Unlike me with the blood of a murderer flowing through my veins.

  Fresh-cut grass stayed as her primary scent, and her eyes reflected the most beautiful shade of pale blue that made up her aura.

  I was in love.

  My mother guided me and watched me raise her. No doubt she was amused at the change Morrigan had brought about in my wild life. I no longer searched for stimulation, striving to live up to the dangerous legacy bred into my bones.

  Now my world was wrapped in a pink blanket.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Mercy checked her rearview mirror over and over.

  I feel as if Antonio Ricci will show up any moment.

  The man’s mug shot occupied a large portion of her thoughts, along with Olivia’s horrific death. Her vision of Antonio was of a young, strong man, while Olivia had been old and frail. Had he taken revenge on his wife? Olivia must have seen his face, known her past had come back to haunt her. And do worse.

  Pity and anger filled her.

  She and Truman had spent another half hour combing the rest of the microfiche, searching for more mentions of Antonio or Olivia Ricci, but found nothing. They’d also scoured for anything else that could indicate why that film had been singled out, but by the end of their search, both of them were positive that the Ricci trial was the key. Mercy called to ask Jeff to find Antonio Ricci’s current location, and he promised to get back to her ASAP. She and Truman had parted at the front door of the library, heading to their respective offices to officially start their day.

  She called Ava from her vehicle to share their findings.

  As she listened to Ava’s phone ring, she considered the odd conversation with Truman about her house hunt.

  There is a reason the horse goes before the cart. Especially in a growing relationship. To her, buying a house together didn’t make sense unless they were married. She suspected Truman woul
d have them married by now if she hadn’t kept things at a decent progression. She’d learned that once Truman made a decision, he stuck to it.

  A good trait to have.

  But who makes a lifetime decision based on a few months of dating?

  Lots of people.

  I’m not most people.

  But she did plan in the long term for most things. Money. Supplies. Safety. She prepared for everything but her personal life. Why?

  “Mercy? What’s up?” Ava’s voice came through the speakers in her Tahoe.

  Mercy gave her an abbreviated version of the discovery of Antonio Ricci.

  The line was silent for a long moment. “Holy crap. Salome’s father might be our killer? That makes no sense.”

  “Why not?” Mercy asked. “Malcolm Lake presided over the trial, and Olivia’s testimony helped send him to prison. I see perfect motive.”

  “It does seem like a good motive, but Eddie spotted the mystery visitor on the video recordings at Judge Lake’s office.”

  “Who?” Mercy held her breath.

  “It was Salome. She visited the day of his death.”

  Mercy’s mind scrambled to make the pieces fit. “Did you show the assistant the video?”

  “We did. She broke down and confessed that the judge had ordered her out of the office a half hour before her lunch that day. She’d lingered in the hallway, curious why the judge didn’t want her around, and saw a beautiful mystery woman enter his office.”

  “Why on earth wouldn’t the assistant tell us?”

  “She feared it was an affair that needed to be kept private. She assumed the woman was married or involved with some other government official, and she didn’t want Judge Lake’s name dragged through the mud after he was murdered. I think she had a bit of a crush on him herself and believed she was protecting his honor.”

  “What she did was delay a murder investigation.”

  “I made it very clear to her that the FBI was not happy.” Ava paused. “I might have made her cry.”

  Mercy snorted. “I bet you did.”

  “I think we need to look hard at Salome as our killer,” Ava asserted. “She was in the right place at the right time.”

  “But why was she at his office?”

  “I asked the assistant about that, and she swears there was no paperwork from the woman’s visit to indicate she was there for legal reasons. She did say her boss was in a very happy mood after the visit.”

  “Maybe they were having an affair.” Mercy wrinkled her nose. The judge had been an attractive man in his seventies, but the age difference was too much for her personal taste. “That could be the purpose of Salome’s frequent trips that Morrigan told us about.”

  “Eddie thinks she was in Portland to meet with some suppliers and attend an Internet business seminar. He found phone calls to the suppliers on her cell phone records, and when he talked with them, one said that Salome had talked about the seminar. Eddie said all the suppliers sounded very fond of her.”

  “Supplies for building her fairy houses?” Mercy asked, remembering the stunning room in the barn.

  “Yes. Eddie located her Etsy store and her website. Digging into things, he believes she does pretty well for a home business. The supply orders she placed indicate a lot of upcoming construction, and they said she always paid promptly.”

  “A dream client.” Mercy tried to merge Salome’s business acumen into her line of thought. “But why would she kill the judge?” She was enjoying the brainstorming session with Ava. Both were tossing forward ideas, searching for connections, pointing out fallacies. It didn’t matter how odd some of the suggestions were. There were no incorrect theories at this point.

  “My first thought after hearing your Antonio Ricci story is that her father put her up to it. But why would she kill her mother?”

  “That’s the part that makes no sense to me. Even the reports that their relationship was tumultuous doesn’t provide a good motivation.” Mercy mulled over Ava’s theory. “It’s not impossible that Antonio put Salome up to the murders, but I suspect we’ll find that he’s been released. I think he’s more likely to be our suspect, and I expect to hear his location from Jeff any minute. What about the tire prints at Olivia’s cabin? Did you get the warrant to take Christian’s tire prints?”

  “No. I was told there wasn’t enough cause.” Ava swore under her breath. “And there’s been no sighting of Salome and Morrigan.”

  “Correct. Nothing from the airports or on her BOLO.”

  “Dammit. I feel like this isn’t moving fast enough.”

  “I disagree,” said Mercy. “Finding out Salome’s father connects Olivia and the judge is huge.”

  “I can’t help but feel Salome herself has a big role in this.”

  “I keep pointing out the one thing that blows that theory to bits,” said Mercy. “Her daughter was left behind. She wouldn’t have left Morrigan at a murder scene. We both saw her desperation to get her daughter out of foster care.”

  “Maybe Salome wanted Morrigan back because she was afraid she would say Salome had killed the grandmother.”

  Mercy froze at the suggestion. “Crap.” Then she shook her head. “No. I don’t believe it. If that was so, why leave her behind in the first place?”

  “It’s a stretch, but we know Salome has the genetics of a murderer. Her father was put away for three first-degree murders, and I bet he committed more than that.”

  The talk of Antonio Ricci made her skin crawl. Mercy glanced in her rearview mirror again. “I feel claustrophobic. Maybe it’s all the snow, the closed mountain passes, and how difficult it is to get around town right now. It’s as if there’s an invisible barrier around this area. I don’t like the thought of her father being in town.” An overwhelming need to get out of town boiled under her skin.

  “That’s understandable. With the murder of Rob Murray and the attack on Michael, I’d be feeling boxed in too.”

  “Any word on Michael?” Mercy asked.

  “I checked in with him this morning.” Relief filled Ava’s voice. “He mouthed off to me on the phone, so I know he’s feeling better. They’ll let him go home as soon as the passes open so his wife can pick him up. He still can’t remember what happened right before he was shot.”

  Two beeps sounded through Mercy’s speakers. “Jeff’s calling. I’ll call you right back.” She pressed a button on her steering wheel and cut Ava off. Excitement blazed through Mercy. I know exactly what Jeff’s going to tell me.

  “What’d you find out?”

  “Antonio Ricci is still in prison,” stated Jeff.

  “What? Are you sure?” I was so certain he was out . . .

  “Positive. I insisted on a visual verification before I called you back.” Jeff sounded as frustrated as she felt.

  “Fuck.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Now what?” Mercy deflated, and her bones ached with disappointment.

  “I arranged for a phone call with Ricci. Maybe he can shine some light on the situation. I don’t know how accommodating he’ll be, since he’s been in prison for forty years. He might harbor some anger against law enforcement.”

  Mercy snorted. “You think?”

  “I want you to do the phone interview.”

  Yes! “I can do that.” Elation drove away her exhaustion as questions for Salome’s father ricocheted in her head. “When is the call?”

  “They’re getting back to me. Since Friday is almost half over, I emphasized that I didn’t want to wait through the weekend. Hopefully they’ll pull their act together and get it set up for today.”

  “Did you hear Salome was seen visiting the judge?” Mercy asked.

  “Eddie just called me. And now that we know her father is still in prison, that new fact is shining the light back on her for the kills.”

  Mercy shut her mouth, her emotions at war with the facts. I can’t rule out Salome as the killer simply because I have a feeling. She had to consider all options. �
��I was talking to Ava when you rang through. Anything else?”

  “No. Let her know about Antonio Ricci.”

  “I will.” Mercy ended the call and dialed Ava, who picked up on the first ring. Mercy wasted no time in telling her about Ricci’s location and Jeff’s attempt to get Mercy a phone call with the inmate.

  “I’m not surprised he’s still in prison,” stated Ava. “Now to figure out why problems didn’t start until forty years after his trial.”

  Mercy heard Ava rapidly tapping a pencil on her desk. The staccato beats were like a ticking clock.

  “The entire Lake family claims they’ve never heard of Olivia Sabin,” Mercy said slowly. “Maybe they’ve heard of Olivia or Antonio Ricci.” She hadn’t forgotten Christian’s face as she asked about Salome Sabin. He knows something.

  She needed to talk to Christian again.

  “The whole Lake family is pissing me off,” said Ava. “They’re blocking us at every turn. That usually means they’re trying to hide that someone is guilty.”

  “It’s not Christian,” defended Mercy.

  “How do you know?”

  She didn’t answer; she had no facts to back up her statement.

  “Don’t let your old relationship affect your actions in the investigation, Mercy. We both know those were his Hummer tracks at the Sabins’ cabin.”

  “We don’t know that,” said Mercy. “And until we have the evidence that says it was his, I won’t accept that as fact.”

  “I understand.”

  “I want to ask the Lakes about the Riccis,” said Ava.

  “I think we’re wearing out our welcome with them . . . or at least with Gabriel and his mother.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll call them again. Let me know when you speak to Antonio Ricci.”

  “I will.”

  “And watch the weather. They say the worst snow is supposed to hit your area this evening.”

  “Of course it is,” muttered Mercy. “It’s the weekend.” She ended the call, Ava’s warning about the snow taking over her thoughts. This weekend could be a good opportunity . . .