by Paula Munier
“We know that Patience and Claude are missing,” said Mercy, perching on the arm of the sofa, close to her father. “And that the two police officers assigned to protect Patience have failed to check in.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” said Grace, shaking off her husband and sitting up straight, smoothing her skirt. Readying herself for battle.
Mercy smiled. You couldn’t keep her mother down for long.
“We’ll find them,” said Troy, settling across from them on the love seat, Susie Bear at his feet.
“Start at the beginning,” said her father.
“I don’t know where the beginning is,” she said. “There is so much that doesn’t make sense.”
“Elaborate,” said her mother.
“We’ve got the pipe bomber.” Mercy pointed to the screen shot Brodie had captured for her and printed out and left on the coffee table. “We’ve got George Rucker escaping from prison, current whereabouts unknown.”
“We’ve got a dead biologist named Colby in the woods,” added Troy.
“And another dead man in a barrel not far from where Colby died,” she said. “Been there some twenty years.”
“Probably Thomas Kilgore.”
“Kilgore?” asked Duncan.
“Thomas Kilgore,” said Troy, “suspected of killing his wife and running off. Current whereabouts unknown.”
“Not anymore. Dr. Darling has confirmed that the body in the barrel was Thomas Kilgore,” said Thrasher, coming back into the living room. Much to the pleasure of Sunny, who shadowed him to the love seat and positioned herself between his knees as he sat down next to Troy. The golden retriever rested her silky head on the captain’s thigh, as if she knew he was a widower who needed comfort. Maybe he did, even if he never showed it. The dog was a marvel.
Troy raised his eyebrows at Mercy. “We’ve got Beth Kilgore, the abused wife who went missing twenty years ago. Current whereabouts unknown.”
“And Ruby Rucker,” said Thrasher, “the adulterous wife who left her husband and ran off to Las Vegas around the same time.”
“Current whereabouts unknown,” Troy and Mercy said in unison.
“That’s a lot of current whereabouts unknown,” said Duncan.
“Ruby Rucker was trouble,” said Grace. “What has she got to do with Patience gone missing?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure how what happened back then matters to what’s happening now. Or even if it does.”
“It must matter,” said her father.
“Your father doesn’t like coincidences, either,” said Troy.
“No.” Mercy smiled at him before going on. “Ruby and Beth were friends. Ruby may have confided in Beth, told her that she was planning to leave her husband. And encouraged her to come with her.”
“So you think Beth Kilgore murdered her husband?” asked Duncan.
“Yes,” said Thrasher.
Mercy’s father looked at her.
“No.”
The captain shrugged.
“Grandpa Red traced their last known movements. Beth Kilgore was last seen at the library, and Thomas Kilgore’s truck was last seen heading south out of town.”
“That’s where the trail ends for both of them,” said Troy.
“Although now we know that Thomas Kilgore ended up at the bottom of that barrel,” said Thrasher.
“We have more than that on Ruby. She sent George a Dear John postcard from Las Vegas.”
“Her hometown,” said Grace.
“Yes.”
“George hired a private eye to track her down,” said Mercy. “Mary Lou Rucker-Smith gave us his files. All he had to link Ruby to Las Vegas was this postcard. It’s definitely her handwriting. The private investigator corroborated that, but he never found any evidence of her in Las Vegas. He traced her as far as the bus station, where she parked her silver Audi sedan in the lot and left the keys under the seat. She bought a ticket for Las Vegas, got on the bus, and was never seen again.”
“Las Vegas is a city of transients,” said her father. “People come, people go.”
“It’s such a tacky town,” said her mother. “There’s no pride of place. They spend absurd amounts of money to build these outlandish casinos, and ten years later they blow them up and start all over again.”
“The chili will be ready in about half an hour,” announced Amy as she and Brodie joined them from the kitchen.
“I couldn’t possibly eat a thing,” said Grace.
“Thank you,” Mercy said to Amy. She turned to Thrasher. “Did we ever track down Rocky Simko?”
“Mississippi law enforcement found a stolen car abandoned in a Walmart parking lot last night. Another car was reported missing from that same lot that same evening.”
“Simko is a car thief,” Mercy told her parents.
“Let me guess. They found that one, too.”
“In Tennessee,” said Thrasher.
“So Rucker and Simko could have made their way to Vermont one stolen car after another.”
“I don’t see how all this can help us find my mother,” said Grace.
At that they all fell silent. Amy and Brodie sat down on the floor by the coffee table, their love seat now inhabited by Troy and Thrasher. Mercy closed her eyes and let her mind wander. She retraced her and Elvis’s steps in her mind, from visiting Deputy Pitts to the bombing and finding the body in the barrel to going to Lillian’s house to see Patience and realizing she was missing. She opened her eyes. “Where would they take her?”
“Everybody’s looking for them,” said Amy. “So they’d have to take Patience somewhere no one would see them.”
Assuming she were still alive, thought Mercy. But she couldn’t let herself go there.
“A hiding place,” said Brodie. “We’re looking for their hiding place.”
“We’re looking for Patience,” said Grace.
“Brodie is right. They have to be keeping her somewhere.”
“I’ve got to get back to the station.” Thrasher rose to his feet. “Troy, keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thrasher nodded to Grace and Duncan and left.
“This is getting us nowhere,” said Grace.
“Let’s go back to the Ruckers,” said her father. “As far as we know, George Rucker is the only person who hates Patience enough to hurt her. So what do we know about him and his wife?”
“They were in real estate,” said Grace.
“That’s right. She was better at it than he was. Mary Lou Rucker-Smith, the woman who inherited George Rucker’s real estate business, says that Ruby Rucker sold a lot of houses. The old hunting lodge where we found Thomas Kilgore was one of her listings.”
“That’s interesting,” said Duncan.
“The murder happened on the property that Ruby Rucker bought for the judge, and that George Rucker later bought from the judge,” she said.
“Not far from where Colby’s body was found,” added Troy.
“Another connection.”
“We know that Ruby and Beth knew each other,” said Troy. “Maybe Ruby showed Beth the lodge. Or maybe she went to one of the judge’s parties there.”
“I can’t see Thomas Kilgore letting her go to one of those parties,” said Mercy. “Although he might go himself.”
“Would the judge let a man like him come to one of his soirées?” asked Grace.
“Maybe through the back door,” said Mercy. “He was a compulsive gambler. Maybe we need to add illegal gambling to the mix of drugs, prostitution, and money laundering.”
“Kilgore could have crossed the wrong guy at one of these parties,” said Troy.
“And ended up dead,” said her father.
“So it might not have been Beth Kilgore at all.” Mercy just couldn’t believe that the young woman whose happy place was the local library was a murderer.
“She’s still missing,” said Troy, “and that disappearance is looking more and more suspicious.”
“
George Rucker knew about the lodge, too.”
“So he killed Thomas Kilgore? What motive would he have?”
“I’m not suggesting that. I’m thinking about George in the present now.”
“Okay, I’ll try to keep up.”
Mercy laughed. “Very funny, Warden Warner.”
“It’s not always easy to know where your mind is going.”
“Tell me about it,” said her mother.
Mercy ignored Grace’s comment and addressed Troy. “I don’t always know where my mind is going, either. But back to George Rucker. He’s escaped from prison and he needs a place to stay. If he is here, then where could he go?”
“You’re thinking maybe he’s hiding out at one of these white elephant properties,” said Troy.
“It would make sense. Mary Lou told us that he was still part of the business, so he’d know which ones were still vacant.”
“Hideouts,” said Brodie, high-fiving Amy.
“We should find out which those are.” Troy sighed. “I should find out which those are.”
“She likes you a lot better than she likes me.” Mercy waggled her brows at him.
“I’m on it.” Troy waggled his eyebrows back. They both laughed, and Mercy found herself drawn to him again.
“Get a room, guys,” said Brodie.
Amy giggled.
“Really,” said Grace, giving Brodie a look that could kill even the bravest clockwork juggernaut.
“What?” Brodie looked to Amy for assistance.
“It’s okay.” Amy returned Grace’s imperious stare dagger for dagger. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”
Mercy smiled, grateful to Amy for the distraction. She shifted away from Troy as she felt the flush rise up her neck to redden her cheeks. She turned her back to them all, examining the files again, her eyes coming to rest on the Las Vegas postcard, which continued to bother her, though she couldn’t say why.
“I’ll contact the Realtor for a list of those properties,” said Troy, finally breaking the awkward silence that went on way too long as far as Mercy was concerned.
“Great,” she said, without turning around.
Troy left the room, going outside to make his call.
“I think I’ll make a pot of tea,” said Amy. “For all of us.”
“I’ll help,” said Mercy, grateful for the opportunity to escape. As she left the living area and moved beyond the farm table to the kitchen counter on the other side of the great room, out of the corner of her eye she saw her father take her mother’s hand in his. She wondered what it would be like to have someone in your corner all the time even when you were wrong. Especially when you were wrong. Martinez always had her back, but she wasn’t sure that was the same thing.
She filled the electric teakettle with water and switched it on while Amy gathered mugs and tea bags and milk and sugar on a tray. By the time the kettle boiled and she and Amy rejoined the group, placing the tray on the coffee table, Troy was back.
“She emailed me the list.”
“That was fast,” said Duncan.
“Mary Lou Rucker-Smith stands ready and willing to help law enforcement.”
“I bet she does.” Mercy handed him a cup of tea. “Is that a direct quote?”
“More or less.” He handed her a piece of paper. “These are all the properties George Rucker bought from the judge during that time.”
She scanned the columns of the spreadsheet. “There are only three on the list that remain unsold. The hunting lodge where they found Kilgore’s body, a nineteenth-century Cape Cod off Old Buttonbush Road, and a 1940s ranch built by Emil Woznicki in Rutland County.
“Emil Woznicki,” said Duncan. “He was a very successful businessman in the last century. He saw Hitler for the danger he was very early on, and went to make a fortune in munitions during the war. We were at law school with his grandson Avery Woznicki. Remember, darling?”
“Vaguely,” said Grace.
Mercy wasn’t surprised her father remembered. Duncan had amazing people skills; he never forgot a face or the name and story that went with that face.
“What are you thinking?” asked Troy.
“I’m thinking we start with the Cape Cod,” Mercy told Troy. “Since it’s closer.”
“Do you think you’ll find Patience there?” asked Brodie.
“I don’t know,” she said, sipping her tea. “I hope so.”
“It’s a long shot,” said Troy.
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“Everyone in law enforcement is out looking for your grandmother and Claude and Becker and Goodlove.”
“But they don’t have this list.”
“No,” he admitted.
“And even if they did, they’d ignore it,” she said. “So Elvis and I will check it out. Sunny stays here.”
“Sure,” said Amy. “We’ll watch her. And I’ll keep the chili warm for you.”
“We’re going with you,” said Troy, meaning him and Susie Bear.
“Thank you,” Grace said to Troy.
It was the first time her mother had truly acknowledged Troy Warner since the Wild Game Supper. Grace was queen of the silent treatment; ending the silence meant he’d earned her forgiveness. And possibly more, if he kept on protecting Mercy like this. As swayed by loyalty as a feudal lord, her mother might come to see Troy’s actions as proof of his sworn fealty to the O’Sullivan-Carr clan. That is, practically family.
Not that she needed her mother to approve of Troy, any more than she needed her to approve of Martinez.
But it might be nice, for a change.
SUMMER 2000
Beth was at the library at noon as planned. She’d ridden her old electric bicycle the seven miles into town and parked it in the back of the parking lot, just like Ruby had instructed.
“Good afternoon, Beth,” said Mrs. Minnette.
The librarian was one of Beth’s favorite people. Usually she’d go over to the desk and talk books with her, but not today. Beth didn’t have the time, and she had no books to return. She shifted the big tote slung over her shoulder. It did not hold library books; it held her wallet, two changes of clothes, toiletries, a manila folder containing her birth certificate and her social security card, and the only pair of high heels she’d ever owned.
“Hi.” She hoped Mrs. Minnette couldn’t tell what was in her bag. She looked up at the old-school black-and-white clock on the wall behind the desk. Five minutes past. Where was Ruby? Why couldn’t she be on time, just this once?
She moved over to the magazine section, close to the front door, pretending to peruse People and Redbook and InStyle, one eye on the entrance. A lame smoke screen, since she typically headed straight for the fiction shelves.
Ruby swept in, hooked her pointer finger at Beth, and swept back out again. Beth breathed in that musty library bouquet of grass and vanilla and mildew one last time.
She hurried past Mrs. Minnette, who raised her eyebrows at her. Beth smiled and waved and rushed out of the building before the woman she secretly thought of as the mother she’d never had could notice the tears filling her eyes. The only person in Lamoille County she would truly miss.
Ruby was waiting in her Audi at the back of the empty parking lot. “Your bike’s in the trunk. Get in the back and lay down.”
Beth placed her tote on the floor of the car and scrambled in, crouching down in the seat by a folded Red Sox stadium blanket.
“Cover yourself,” ordered Ruby. “Just until we’re out of the county.”
Beth complied without complaint. She was terrified that Thomas would see her and follow her and kill her in her sleep. The same fear that had stalked her every day and night since she’d married Thomas. She wondered how long it would be and how far she would have to go before that fear went away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Old Buttonbush Road was the old route to Buttonbush Village that hardly anyone had used since they’d built the new county road fifteen years ago.
The hamlet was located about twenty miles to nowhere from Northshire, and another ten miles to nowhere north of there was the gravel road that led to the nineteenth-century Cape Cod.
Mercy held on to her seat and the dogs huddled in the back cab as Troy steered the Ford F-150 onto the gravel road, slick with the ice and slush and snow the storm had left behind in its wake. It was a very bumpy ride that didn’t seem to lead anywhere for several miles, winding through a series of snow-covered fallow fields in various stages of evolution, reverting to woodland or to marsh depending on the proximity to the many mostly frozen ponds that dotted the landscape. The road was deeply rutted, and they bounced along.
“Someone’s been out here, although how recently it’s hard to say,” he said. “We’ve had such variable weather, and the wind has drifted the snow so much that whatever tracks there are may have been compromised—unless maybe they’ve been here in the past couple of hours. We can take a closer look when we get to the house.”
They passed one of the tallest stands of cattails Mercy had ever seen and came upon a small clearing upon which stood a falling-down weathered Cape Cod home that looked to be at least two hundred years old. A large barn that must have been built around the same time stood about a hundred yards east of the house. The barn was in slightly better form but still had seen better days.
“I can see why even the marvelous Mary Lou could not sell this place,” she said.
“It’s in pretty bad shape. Seems deserted.”
“Maybe.” Looks could be deceiving. In Afghanistan, abandoned buildings often harbored lethal secrets. Troy would know that, too, because he’d served over there.
“Yeah. Better take your weapon anyway.”
Mercy had every intention of taking her Beretta. Troy parked at the end of the road, which abruptly gave way to an old stone wall that ran down past the house and beyond into the woods.
They got out of the truck, and the dogs leapt down to join them.