A Merciful Secret Page 9

  David stood and held his hand out over the monitor. “Hey, Chief. What brings you to church on a weekday?” David had been close friends with Mercy’s oldest brother, Owen, all his life. She’d shared stories about when the two men were in their teens that had made even Truman—who’d thought he’d heard and seen everything—shake his head. Mercy still harbored a bit of dislike for the man who’d set aside his fast-track-to-hell ways and now stood behind a pulpit. Truman understood. Something about the minister had bothered him during his first few months in town, but Truman had put his dislike aside after David’s actions a few weeks earlier at the funeral of Joziah Bevins, a longtime Eagle’s Nest resident.

  David’s words over Joziah’s casket had been heartfelt and sincere. Truman had watched as David took charge of Joziah’s grieving son, Mike, one of Truman’s closest friends. Truman’s respect for the minister had grown substantially that day. David cared about the people of his town, just as Truman did. They offered their support in different but similar ways.

  “I assume you’ve heard about the murder of Olivia Sabin,” Truman began.

  “Yes.” David nodded and gestured for Truman to take a seat in an old wood chair to the side of his desk. “It’s all I’ve heard about for the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Gossip train full speed ahead.”

  “Exactly.” David did up the buttons of his thick sweater, and Truman realized the office was quite cold. Glancing around, he realized the monitor was the only item in the office that was less than a decade or two old. No doubt David kept the heat low, saving money so he could afford to properly heat the building on Sundays.

  “Did you know Olivia or Salome?” Truman asked.

  David leaned back in his chair, a reluctant look on his face. “Why are you asking?”

  “I was there yesterday morning,” Truman told him. “I saw the home and Mercy happened to be there for her death. I can’t get some of the things in the house out of my mind. And like you, I’ve been inundated with gossip since it happened. I’m trying to sort out what’s real from the bull.” He paused. “You know they haven’t been able to locate Salome, right?”

  “I’d heard. I hope she hasn’t been hurt.” David sat forward and rested his arms on his desk, his gaze holding Truman’s. “You want to know if I think the two of them could be witches.”

  Stated like that, it sounded ridiculous. “Something to that effect. I’ve been reading up on witchcraft, trying to get a sense of what could be going on in their home.”

  David pressed his lips together and appeared to be weighing his words, debating what to share. “I met Olivia once,” he started. “This was years ago . . . way before Morrigan was born. She came to see me.”

  “She did?” Shock shot through Truman. “I thought—”

  “You thought she’d have nothing to do with a church, right? Well, she was seeking counsel, just like any other person in town might do. She had no one else to talk to. Her daughter, Salome, seemed to be the only person in her life, and Olivia was worried about her . . . like any mother who worries about her daughter.”

  Truman was fascinated. “What did she say?”

  David frowned. “I feel most of that conversation is private, but I can tell you she was concerned for Salome’s future. She didn’t want her daughter to be ostracized from society the way she had been.”

  “Didn’t Olivia choose to live removed from others?”

  “She did. But she knew what people in town said about her. Locals crossed the road to avoid meeting her on the sidewalk and never made eye contact in the grocery store.”

  “That’s horrible,” admitted Truman.

  “That day I saw a lonely woman who simply wanted her daughter to be accepted.”

  “How old was Salome at that time?”

  “Somewhere in her twenties.”

  “Old enough to do as she wished.”

  “That was part of Olivia’s heartache. Salome embraced the witchcraft rumors and may have even perpetuated some of them. Olivia said her daughter enjoyed the suspicion and fear.”

  Dark, challenging eyes. Dangerous curves.

  “I can see that.”

  “I told Olivia she couldn’t change her daughter’s behavior. Salome was an adult. Olivia could only sit back and love her.”

  “What about the witchcraft?” pressed Truman.

  David shifted in his seat, discomfort crossing his face. “Olivia assured me she only practiced white magic.”

  “You don’t seem pleased at that.”

  “I can’t condone anything of that nature.”

  “What I’ve read about white magic sounds like it’s based in nature. Almost a reverence for the elements.”

  “Yes, we had a discussion about how she celebrated the world that my God had made. She didn’t see any harm in that.”

  “But she lauded the results, not the maker.”

  Relief crossed David’s face. “Exactly. Our discussion was polite and interesting, but I don’t think I convinced her of the error of her ways. She wasn’t a bad woman . . . just misguided.”

  “Some ministers would have ordered her out of their office.”

  “She was a human being with feelings and a family. Just like you and me. She came to me in desperation, and I helped her as I would have done for anyone. I’m not here to pass judgment. That’s not my job.”

  Truman’s respect for David rose another notch. The minister might occasionally lapse into a piousness that annoyed him, but his heart was in the right place.

  “Did you ever meet Salome?” asked Truman.

  The minister took a deep breath. “I did.”

  Truman waited ten seconds, but David didn’t speak. “I met her,” Truman stated. “She rattled me pretty good.”

  “Yes.” A skeptical light shone in David’s eyes. “That was it exactly. I only met her in passing, but I swear she saw every fault in my soul. I didn’t like it.”

  “I experienced the same.”

  “Danger and thrills radiated from her,” David said. “It was disturbing, but it helped me understand why so many men fell prey to her looks. Her words and actions implied that she offered escape from the humdrum life.”

  “Only a momentary escape,” clarified Truman.

  “Right. But sometimes men don’t look beyond what is right in front of them.”

  The existence of Truman’s job backed up this statement. Most of his arrests were of people who hadn’t considered the consequences of their immediate actions. Or else simply didn’t care.

  David got out of his seat and went over to the giant bookcases. He ran a finger along some spines, searching for something. “I know people have gone out to the Sabin home, looking for assistance with their problems.”

  “Problems?” Truman asked.

  “Hoping to get help with their health, or financial situation, or love life.”

  “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  David pulled out a book, glanced at the cover, and put it back, continuing his search. “Everyone wants a shortcut. If they hear that someone offers a magic pill, they try it.” He removed two more books and nodded in satisfaction at the covers. He handed them to Truman. “Maybe these will help you understand what happened in the woods.”

  Truman reluctantly accepted the books, ill at ease with the titles. “You have books on witchcraft?”

  “I have books on everything. You can’t answer questions about something unless you study it.”

  “Do you think Olivia could have been killed for her beliefs?”

  David held Truman’s gaze. “Absolutely.”

  ELEVEN

  Mercy steered over a large chunk of ice in the center of the road.

  “Dad got called out on a birthing cow,” Rose stated, sitting next to her in the Tahoe.

  Their father was known for his knowledge and talent with livestock. For as long as Mercy could remember, Karl Kilpatrick had gotten calls in the middle of the night, neighbors stating that the vet
was busy, but their cow or goat needed someone now. He never turned anyone down. He wasn’t a vet—and he always reminded the owners of that fact—but he knew his way around the inside of a cow and easily recognized nutritional deficiencies in horses, goats, and pigs. Some neighbors would call Karl before they contacted the vet, but he always knew when a situation was beyond his ability and urged them to get professional help.

  Animal medicine was a valuable survival skill that made him an asset to other preppers in his community. If Karl Kilpatrick was around, they could rely on him in a livestock emergency. Livestock were worth their weight in gold if healthy, but if sick or injured, they could threaten a family’s bottom line. If modern conveniences vanished, the loss of a cow could mean the difference between life and death for a family.

  “Three nights ago Dad pulled twin calves,” Rose went on. “The Rickmanns couldn’t get anyone out to their place, and the poor cow had been trying to deliver for hours.”

  “Both calves lived?”

  “They did,” Rose said with pride. “I would have loved to touch them.”

  Mercy had watched her father deliver dozens of reluctant calves. Some lived, some died. When possible he had brought his kids along, sometimes hauling them out of bed in the dead of night in the belief that they should learn how to handle an emergency situation. Mercy hadn’t watched her father slide his arm inside the hind end of a cow in years. As a child she’d never been bothered by the sight; that was how it was done, and immediate action was vital to save the life of the cow and calf. But right now the memories were slightly disturbing. If the calf was dead inside its mother, he’d send young Mercy and her siblings out of the barn. Except for Owen, the oldest of the group. He’d use Owen to help him remove the calf. Sometimes in pieces.

  But when a healthy calf was born, her father beamed. Many times she’d watched him run his hands over a newborn cow as it nursed, pride filling his face. He’d kindly slap the mother’s hide, telling her she’d done a good job. Back then, when a slimy, live calf landed in the hay, Mercy envied the praise the mama cow got from her father. He wasn’t an easy man to impress.

  “I haven’t touched a newborn calf in years,” said Mercy. Big eyes, wet nose, awkward legs.

  “I’ll let you know when we have one at the farm,” Rose offered.

  Mercy pulled into Walker’s Lumberyard on the outskirts of Eagle’s Nest. It’d been a town institution all her life, but its previous owner had had a reputation for crotchetiness. “What happened to old man Walker?” she asked.

  “He died about ten years ago. Nick has been running it ever since then.”

  “He would have been rather young to take over,” observed Mercy.

  “People took right to him,” said Rose. “Dad has never complained about Nick like he constantly did about his father. I think Nick worked hard to be the exact opposite of his predecessor.”

  “I always liked Nick,” said Mercy. “He was in Levi’s circle of friends, right?”

  “Yes. I always thought of him as the one in that group with a bit of common sense.”

  “It didn’t take much to gain that title. Most of those guys acted like idiots.” She parked while watching Rose out of the corner of her eye. An aura of excitement surrounded her sister. Her hands wouldn’t hold still, and she sat straighter in her seat than usual.

  The building was a huge yellow metal structure with three sets of giant sliding doors. A wooden sign over one of the doors announced that they’d arrived at Walker’s Lumberyard. Neatly stacked piles of boards filled one end of the parking lot. Someone had taken the time to dig them out of the snow.

  After crossing the plowed lot, Mercy opened the only human-size door and was greeted by the scent of fresh-cut wood. On Mercy’s arm Rose paused and inhaled deeply. “I love that smell,” she admitted.

  “One of the best,” agreed Mercy. They entered a small salesroom that was closed off from the warehouse portion of the lumberyard. A space heater whirred, and a few metal chairs lined the far wall. The sales counter was unmanned and an ancient ornate cash register took up a third of the counter’s work space. Mercy remembered the gold-colored metal register from her childhood lumberyard visits; the relic had to weigh several hundred pounds.

  A door between the warehouse and salesroom opened. A large German shepherd and Nick Walker entered, and Nick’s eyes lit up as he spotted the two women. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  “Nice to see you, Nick,” Mercy replied as Rose told him, “Good afternoon.” Her grip tightened on Mercy’s arm, and the black-and-brown dog nosed Rose’s other hand.

  “Hi, Belle,” Rose said to the dog, and Belle turned her attention to Mercy, begging for a head rub.

  As in high school, Nick gave the impression of being all gangly arms and legs, even while wearing his winter coat and heavy pants. He was tall and slightly stooped, with a long, angular face, but his brown eyes were warm and kind.

  And focused on Rose.

  “I’m glad you could come down today, Rose,” Nick said. “I thought about delivering it to your home, but I first wanted to be certain it was something that interested you.”

  “I’m dying of curiosity,” admitted Rose.

  He stepped forward and offered his arm. Mercy transferred Rose’s hand and felt oddly alone as Nick led them through the door into the warehouse. A small forklift zipped back and forth near one of the huge doors, swiftly picking up and transferring stacks of lumber as if they were weightless. The driver raised a hand at them, never missing a beat, and Mercy waved back, impressed by his rapid pace.

  “It’s over here,” Nick said.

  Mercy stayed five steps behind, watching as Nick kept glancing at her sister, his smile growing wider each time. Belle trotted on Rose’s other side as Nick led them into a corner filled with workbenches, electric saws, and woodworking tools. Mercy stopped to admire a thick slab of wood that featured a cross section of a gigantic knot and couldn’t stop herself from running her hand across the polished surface. Instead of being rejected for its deformity, the unique wood was stunning and highly desirable for a one-of-a-kind table.

  Reluctantly pulling her gaze from the wood, Mercy looked over at her sister and caught her breath. Nick had just placed Rose’s hand on an intricately carved cradle. It was tall, with widespread legs that rested on gently curved rockers. The ends arced like the headboard of a sleigh bed, and the sides had elegant flat spindles.

  It was beautiful.

  Rose’s mouth dropped open as she realized what was under her fingertips. Her face lit up and her hands flew over every aspect of the cradle, pausing over the complicated design carved into the arched ends. “Oh, Nick.” She gave the cradle a push, feeling it smoothly rock. “It’s lovely.”

  Mercy blinked hard as the cradle blurred. “Did you make that, Nick?” She already knew the answer.

  “I did. Do you like it, Rose? I didn’t know if you already had one.” He was entranced by her reaction; his gaze locked on her face.

  “It’s amazing, and no, I don’t have one.” Her fingers returned to the pattern on the ends. “Are these flowers? I feel leaves too.”

  “They’re roses.” He said the name of the flower in the same tone with which he’d said her name. With deliberate respect. “I debated that it might be too girly if you have a boy, but then I decided that a baby wouldn’t care.”

  Rose laughed, a sound that filled Mercy’s heart. “It’s for me to enjoy, and I love it.” She turned her shining face to Nick. “Thank you so much. You’ve created an heirloom.” She lifted both arms in his direction, and Nick stepped into the hug. “I can’t believe you made it for me.”

  His eyes closed as he returned the hug, and the expression on his face made Mercy catch her breath again. Rose pulled away, turning her excited face to Mercy. “Describe it for me.”

  “He stained the oak a lovely golden shade,” said Mercy. “It reminds me of rich honey. It’s both elegant and homey at the same time. The grain of the wood is very elegan
t. You’re right; it will be an heirloom.”

  Rose’s right hand explored the cradle again as her left gently touched her coat over her growing belly. Nick rubbed Belle’s ears, never taking his gaze from Rose’s movements. The dog watched her too.

  “I can deliver it this afternoon if you’d like,” he told Rose.

  “That’d be wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you. This is the most wonderful gift I’ve had in a long time.”

  The elated look in Nick’s eyes stuck with Mercy as she drove Rose home.

  TWELVE

  A snowplow driver had called in the vehicle, claiming it’d sat on the side of the remote road for two days. Truman had responded to the call and was now parked behind the SUV.

  Truman studied the screen on his police vehicle’s computer. The new Lexus SUV hadn’t been reported stolen.

  No snow covered the black SUV’s hood, so it hadn’t been present during the last snowstorm. Truman got out of his truck and approached the vehicle. Several footprints surrounded it in the deep snow, but the driver who’d called it in had said he’d peeked inside to see if someone was hurt. From the look of it, a few other people had also stopped. Truman counted three different sets of tire tracks where vehicles had stopped. People who’d probably checked to see if anyone was inside and then gone on their way, seeing it as none of their business. A typical attitude in this area. Truman was slightly surprised that the abandoned SUV had been reported after only two days, but he suspected the value of the vehicle had shortened the time period.

  He checked the interior. It was empty and nothing appeared damaged, but he couldn’t see into the rear section, which was covered by the interior cargo cover.

  He studied the surrounding area. Fenced snowy pastures. A few trees. Nowhere for anyone to go. Whoever had been driving the car had either been picked up or walked the three miles back to town. No footprints led away on the shoulder, but the driver could have walked on the plowed road. Truman started back to his vehicle, but he paused. After a second he turned around and pounded on the rear hatch of the Lexus. And listened.

  Silence.