A Merciful Fate (Mercy Kilpatrick Book 5)

by Kendra Elliot

  Karl held his gaze. “Your best bet is getting in on horseback.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “I can loan you a couple of mounts. You ride?” He included Samuel in the question, who nodded immediately.

  “I rode when I was a teen,” Truman said. Summers with his uncle had included many hours on horseback. Usually drunken escapades with friends.

  “Then you’ll do fine. The best way in to Horse’s Head Rock is off Old Sherman Road.”

  “Mercy and Sandy left from Bree Ingram’s house.”

  Karl nodded. “I can see how they’d get there from that location. Old Sherman is a lot faster. Still remote and dense but faster.”

  “Perfect. You can get horses there?”

  “Yep. Let me call one of my guys. He can load them up and meet us there.”

  “Thank you, Karl.” Truman’s heart slowed the slightest bit. We have a plan. Karl pulled out his cell phone, and Truman glanced at Samuel, who didn’t look pleased. “What?”

  “Those guys are on ATVs. They’ll be way ahead of us.”

  “Got any other ideas?”

  “No.” He looked away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Was I wrong about Sandy?” he asked in a low voice.

  Truman understood. Nothing like finding out you might be infatuated with a criminal. “We don’t know the full story. Her money might have been legitimate.”

  “Don’t know how,” Samuel muttered. “Everything I saw and heard from her says she’s always struggled.”

  “Maybe she got a loan back then.”

  “But paid people in cash?” Samuel was skeptical.

  “How about we wait and ask her instead of jumping to conclusions?” Even as he said the words, Truman worried he’d missed something. An answer to the Gamble-Helmet Heist might have been living in his town for the last ten years. An answer that wanted to stay a secret.

  Enough to murder?

  Tabitha Huff was the answer to that question.

  “Call Ben and tell him what’s going on. We’ll need county backup . . . if they can find the place.”

  Karl turned back to the two men. “Let’s go.” As he stood from his bar stool, his phone rang again. “Deborah,” he mumbled, but he motioned for Truman and Samuel to start walking. He followed the two men out of Leaky’s and then stopped. “What?” Karl shouted into the phone. “Why did she do that?”

  Truman and Samuel both turned to listen. Who?

  Karl’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? That bad? Shit!”

  Kaylie?

  “I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone, concern filling his face. “I gotta go.”

  “What?” Truman grabbed his arm as the man started to leave. “You need to show us how to get to Horse’s Head. What the hell just happened?”

  “Rose is in labor. She’s been in labor all fucking day and didn’t tell anyone, but she finally called Nick, who took her to the hospital. The baby is breech, and Rose is severely dehydrated from the flu. She wasn’t taking care of herself, and they think that’s why she went into early labor.” He pulled his arm out of Truman’s grasp and turned his back. “I gotta go.”

  Truman took a hard step and spun the older man around. “We’ve got to get to Mercy.”

  Fury shot from his green eyes. Mercy’s eyes. “She’s gonna have to wait.”

  “She can’t wait!” Samuel moved into the man’s face. “She doesn’t know she’s being followed by two killers. You have to see that takes precedence over Rose’s labor.”

  A struggle raged in Karl’s eyes.

  He’s always had a problem with Mercy. “Are you going to let your pride endanger Mercy, Karl?” Truman asked softly. “This isn’t the time to hold old grudges.”

  “Rose—”

  “Is in the hospital with doctors. What are you going to do there? Deliver her baby? She has professionals to help her.” Truman paused, his gaze hard. “Mercy only has you. No one else.”

  The war in Karl’s eyes continued. He didn’t move.

  “Jesus fucking Christ. She’s your daughter,” said Samuel. He unsnapped his weapon, and Truman shot an arm out to block him.

  “Don’t,” he ordered his officer. “Does your guy bringing the horses know how to get there?” he asked Karl.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then we need you a hell of a lot more than Rose does right now.”

  Karl looked from Truman to Samuel, and resignation filled his gaze.

  “Let’s go.”

  Truman exhaled, shaking his head, and followed Mercy’s father. Samuel caught up to him. “Was he really headed to sit uselessly in a hospital waiting room?” Samuel whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “I had no idea his anger went so deep.” Samuel’s gaze shot daggers at Karl’s back.

  “I think it’s more habit now than anything.” Truman hoped that was true.

  “He will regret that habit if something happens to Mercy.”

  Truman had his doubts.

  Thirty minutes later, Truman watched Karl and his hand back two horses out of a trailer.

  “Wait a minute,” Truman said. “Only two horses? Aren’t you going with us?” he asked Karl.

  “I don’t ride anymore. My back can’t take more than five minutes in the saddle.”

  “Don’t you think you should have told us that to start with?” Samuel snapped.

  Karl snorted. “I’m sure two intelligent officers like yourselves can follow a map.”

  “What map?” Truman ignored the sarcasm. Time was ticking loudly in his head.

  Karl squatted and smoothed a stretch of dirt. He picked up a thin stick and started to draw.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Truman adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and moved closer to watch.

  “We’re right here.” Karl made an X in the dirt. “Head south from here until you clear this part of the forest. Then go southeast for about . . . oh, say about twenty minutes at a trot, shorter at a canter. You’ll see rock formations start. You’ll need to loop this way for a bit and then look for a narrow pass between two of the tallest rocks.” He continued to make scratches in the dirt. “When you come out of the pass, go east for another ten minutes—”

  “At a trot?” Samuel asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

  Karl just looked at him. “After ten minutes or so, you’ll be at the ridge and can easily spot the one that looks like a horse’s head. Lots of rocks, but only one looks like a horse.”

  “How much time total?” Truman asked.

  “Depends how fast you go. Somewhere around forty minutes, I’d guess.” Karl scowled. “Don’t overwork my horses.”

  Truman stared at the dirt, trying to memorize Karl’s marks. Samuel snapped a picture with his phone, making Truman feel like an idiot.

  He looked at Mercy’s father. “Thank you, Karl. For the horses and everything.”

  The man looked away. “Hope it works out for the best.”

  Not what I expect to hear from a father about his daughter.

  “I’ll be thinking of Rose,” Truman told him. “A birth a month early isn’t too bad. Lots of babies come that early.”

  Karl just nodded, his expression flat.

  “Ready?” Truman asked Samuel, who nodded. He had a rifle on his shoulder and his game face on. The face that stated he was ready to kick butt.

  Truman took the reins from Karl’s helper, gripped them in place on the saddle’s pommel, and slid his left foot into the stirrup. With a grunt he lifted himself up and threw his right leg over the horse’s back. The horse didn’t move a muscle as Truman’s rear awkwardly slammed into the saddle.

  Karl picked a good one for me.

  He glanced at the sky, figuring they had a few hours of daylight left. Samuel and his mount moved beside him, and Samuel sat as if he’d lived in the saddle all his life.

  “About time you showed us you really deserve that cowboy hat,” Samuel joked, touching the brim of his own hat.

  Truman snorted. “At leas
t we’ve got the white hats.”

  Samuel’s face went solemn. “Hope that’s enough.”

  Truman lifted his reins and clucked to his horse, who moved straight into a jarring trot.

  “I’m not relying on my hat.”

  Hang on, Mercy.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The view took Mercy’s breath away.

  She moved as close as she dared to the edge of the cliff. Dizziness swamped her as she looked straight down, and she jumped back two steps.

  The face of the cliff was rock, but she couldn’t see the bottom because trees growing on a gentle slope covered it. Beyond the trees, the land leveled out and extended east forever.

  Sage and rocks and dirt. A few clumps of trees. A stretch of river far in the distance. It seemed to wind off the edge of the earth.

  She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see the Cascade mountain peaks she loved so much, but trees on the top of the ridge blocked them.

  “Stunning, isn’t it?” Sandy asked, appearing beside her.

  Mercy studied the tall redhead, her earlier doubts still percolating in her mind. Mercy had become on edge, watching Sandy for any sign of deception. But Sandy had seemed to grow more relaxed the longer the trip went on. Mercy relaxed too.

  But not too much.

  “This was Bree’s happy spot, but it’s become mine too,” Sandy told her with a genuine smile.

  “It’s amazing.” Mercy turned to admire the horse head formation. “I can see where it got its name,” she said. “But it needs more of a neck.”

  That drew a snort from Sandy. “Right? It’s rather stumpy looking. Still obviously a horse, though.”

  The formation towered a good thirty feet over Mercy to her right. The outline of its face was a gentle downward slope east toward the cliff. At the top, two triangular extensions formed ears, and then the rock sloped down again for the neck. It even had hollows for nostrils and a round bulge where its left eye should be.

  “There’s no eye on the right side,” said Sandy. “But the shape of the cheek is much more pronounced.”

  “It’s amazing,” said Mercy. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “Bree said even Indians referred to it as the horse’s head.”

  “I can imagine the reverence they felt for this figure. It’s majestic. No wonder Bree buried stuff next to it for good luck. It makes me feel like I need to leave an offering.”

  “Right here is where Bree dug up the crystal.” Sandy strode over and pushed her shovel into the dirt not far from the horse. “Oh God. This is going to suck. It’s nearly as hard as the rock.”

  Mercy copied her movement and found her statement to be true.

  They dug in silence for a few minutes, occasionally hitting rocks and not making nearly the progress that Mercy had hoped. Mercy took off her jacket and tossed it aside. At least it wasn’t boiling hot. It was a warm day, but plenty of fluffy clouds kept the sun from being unbearable.

  “I’m sorry I upset you the other day in Truman’s office,” Mercy told Sandy as she tossed aside a tiny shovelful of dirt and watched Sandy’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.

  “You were doing your job.” Sandy huffed as she spoke. “I can’t be offended by questions when that young woman was murdered, Bree was beat up, and your niece was shot. I overreacted.”

  Kaylie flashed in Mercy’s mind. Hopeful, she pulled out her phone. No service.

  “Told ya,” Sandy said.

  “Just checking.” Mercy looked up as she heard the engine of a far-off plane. The blue of the sky and the white clouds looked fake—as if from a painting.

  Sandy stopped and used the hem of her shirt to wipe sweat from her brow. “This is a pain in the butt.”

  “Just think of all the money you might find.”

  Sandy laughed. “I don’t think I’ll get to keep it.” She gave Mercy a hopeful look. “Or would I?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What I would do with two million dollars,” Sandy said softly as she plunged her shovel into the ground. “No more problems.”

  “I suspect that was what the robbers thought too. I’d say the money brought them some problems.” She pictured Ellis Mull’s skull. “And worse.”

  Mercy’s shovel clinked. Her heart racing, she bent down and brushed away the dirt. Rock.

  Disappointment radiated through her. They’d hit rock at least a dozen times. She leaned on her shovel and looked around. “There’s got to be an easier place to bury things.”

  “We can scout out the right side, but there’s more rock than this one.” Sandy put her shovel on her shoulder and looked to the horses they’d tied up in the little grove of pines. “I don’t think they’re going anywhere.” Neither horse had moved, and they both looked bored.

  “This way,” said Sandy. She led Mercy along the rock horse’s neck and into another small grove of pathetically ratty-looking pines. They looked exactly as one would expect with little access to water and rich soil. Mercy followed, threading between the trees. They rounded the rock that formed the neck and came out on the south side of the horse. Sandy was right. No eyeball.

  The ground was all rock. Mercy’s heart sank.

  “You’re right to call this a wild-goose chase,” Sandy said softly. “I’m sorry I took you away from your niece in the hospital. I jumped to stupid conclusions based on Bree saying ‘buried.’” Sandy slammed her shovel tip into the dirt. “Really stupid conclusions. When you told me Bree might know one of the thieves, I couldn’t get it out of my head that she’d loaned me money from the robbery.”

  Mercy plopped down on a rock bulge. “Where else would Bree have hidden money?”

  “We’re assuming she had the money,” Sandy pointed out as she sat next to Mercy. “I hope we can ask her at some point.” Her voice cracked, and sympathy filled Mercy.

  “She’s a tough woman. Bree will pull through this.” She patted Sandy awkwardly on the shoulder, unsure of how to comfort the woman. Mercy wasn’t a hugger. Although Kaylie and Rose had pulled more hugs out of Mercy in the last eight months than she’d given in the previous fifteen years.

  “They say the longer she’s unconscious, the worse her chances of full memory recovery,” Sandy whispered, wiping her eyes.

  “Don’t give her problems that don’t exist yet,” ordered Mercy.

  “She’s so strong,” said Sandy, staring at the amazing vista. “There have been several times when I’ve fallen apart over money . . . stress . . . customers, and she was always there to pick me up.” She turned to Mercy. “You know how many times I’ve picked her up? None. The closest I’ve seen her come to cracking was the other day, when she told me about the reporter confronting her.”

  “Everyone adores her.”

  “I’m sorry I brought you up here on a stupid whim.” Sandy sighed and wiped her eyes. “I was so sure . . .”

  “It was worth checking out. Why don’t we look around a little more?” she suggested, looking at the spread of rock under their feet. Art was right. This lead was a disappointment.

  “How about over there?” Sandy pointed at a patch of dirt with a few scraggly weeds. It was a good twenty feet from the horse.

  Why not?

  Sandy was embarrassed.

  At least Mercy has been a good sport about it.

  She and Mercy had dug for a good hour and turned up squat.

  How did I come up with such a wild idea?

  Mercy paused, leaned on her shovel handle, and wiped the back of her neck. But Sandy could tell she wasn’t giving up.

  “I’ll dig some more near our first spot,” Sandy told her. “You keep on this one.” Guilt was making it hard for her to work next to the agent.

  Mercy nodded and continued to dig.

  Sandy worked her way around the horse’s neck, fighting back tears. How could I be so stupid? And she’d convinced an FBI agent to join her on the quest. Mercy would never take anything she said seriously again. Sandy eyed the larg
e patch of ground they’d disturbed. They hadn’t gone very deep—they couldn’t. The type of soil and the rocks made it impossible. Sandy inhaled and looked around. Where would I bury treasure?

  She thought back to the times she’d been here with Bree. Was there something Bree had always checked out? As lovely as the spot was, Bree insisted they visit a little too often. Sandy had always assumed it was because of the beauty—because it was drop-dead amazing—but now she wondered if Bree had been checking on her prize.

  She leaned her shovel against the horse’s neck and ran her hands over the cracks and grooves, working her way to its head. Bree had often petted the horse’s head. Sandy looked up at the ears nearly thirty feet in the air. There’s no way I can get up there. And I’ve never seen Bree go up there.

  The money would have to be reachable but hidden well enough from casual visitors.

  She climbed up a few feet, still checking the grooves.

  “You find my money?” A male voice spoke behind her.

  Instant sweat bloomed under Sandy’s armpits. Hanging on by her fingertips, she looked over her shoulder.

  I don’t know him.

  He wasn’t a big man. In fact, he was compact and wiry. But the rifle in his hands seemed huge. His clothes were well worn, his denim a grungy white in places. His salt-and-pepper hair was a good month past needing a cut, and he’d last shaved at least a week ago. His eyes . . .

  Sandy swallowed.

  Wrinkles and heavy lids spoke to his age, but his eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen. Icy blue and staring lasers through her skull.

  “Answer me,” he said calmly.

  “No money.” Her voice was hoarse.

  He took in the large dirt area she and Mercy had overturned.

  “Not for the lack of trying, I see. Where did Bree say the money was?”

  A dozen scenarios ran through her head. The first showed him shooting her as soon as the money was found.

  I’m dead if it’s found.

  She put her finger to her lips and jerked her head, indicating the other side of the horse. The man’s eyes narrowed on her. “What? It’s on the other side?”

  Sandy shook her head, shushing him as she held her finger to her lips.