A Merciful Fate

SIX

Ollie stepped through the door of the Coffee Café, and his heart sped up as he spotted Kaylie bustling behind the counter. Her aunt Pearl was also working in the coffeehouse, but Kaylie moved twice as fast. Kaylie handed a cup to one of the two customers at the cash register, giving him an intimate smile that made Ollie’s stomach feel as if it’d tumbled off a cliff.

Ollie recognized one of the tall men from the back. Cade. Kaylie’s on-again, off-again boyfriend.

Currently on again.

I have no business wishing they weren’t together. She’s like a sister to me.

He was pretty sure Kaylie felt the sibling vibe.

Cade was a solid guy, but Kaylie was . . . more than him. She had fire and curiosity for life. She constantly analyzed and asked questions, studied the world around her and immersed herself in it. Cade focused only on what was right in front of him.

It wasn’t a bad thing. Ollie liked Cade; everyone liked Cade. He just wasn’t right for Kaylie.

Cade and the other man turned around to leave, and Cade’s face lit up as he spotted Ollie farther back in line. “Hey, Ollie. Fueling up?”

“Yeah.”

Cade gestured at the older man next to him. “Dad, this is Ollie. The guy who rescued Truman.”

Ollie wanted to shrink into his boots. He wasn’t a hero.

Cade’s father held out his hand, and Ollie shook it. “Call me Glenn. Let me know if you ever want a construction job somewhere.” Ollie had to look up at the tall man, but his eyes were kind, and he dressed like Cade. Carhartts. Work boots. Long-sleeved thermal shirt. Looking between him and his son, Ollie knew Cade would look exactly like Glenn in twenty years.

Glenn seemed just as nice as Cade. No doubt solid and hardworking. “Salt of the earth people,” Ollie had heard his grandmother say. He hadn’t understood what the term meant until he’d moved to Eagle’s Nest. Here he’d encountered many of them.

“Thank you, sir . . . Glenn.” Everyone in town had treated Ollie with kindness and respect, but Ollie knew it was because they cared about their police chief. One day he hoped the town would respect him for himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Ollie watched as Kaylie’s gaze followed the men to the door while she automatically waited on the next customer.

It’d become a habit to stop into Kaylie’s coffee shop several times a week during the afternoon when she was out of school. He’d never cared for coffee, but she’d introduced him to some sweet concoctions that were like drinking a dessert.

Ollie’s grandfather would shake his head at what was called coffee these days.

The first time Ollie had stopped in the shop, the scent had brought back memories of his grandfather’s old perking coffeepot. Ollie used to stare at the liquid bubbling in the clear knob, wondering what was happening inside that created the bitter drink his grandfather couldn’t start his day without.

“Hey, Ollie.” Kaylie flashed a smile at him as she grabbed a brownie for the customer in front of him. Her long, wavy ponytail fell over one shoulder, and he realized he missed the pink color. Now it was back to dark brown. His gaze stuck on the green sparkle of her nose stud. She changed the color every day.

His stomach did a bungee-jump thing.

Kaylie had introduced him to the modern teenage world. She’d told him what to do with his hair and what socks to wear with his tennis shoes, along with other instructions on practical things like digital books and streaming videos. No matter how stupid his questions, she never made fun of him. She was smart and kind and patient.

Pearl stepped into his field of vision, blocking his view of Kaylie. “I think my son and his friends are going to a movie this coming weekend. You should go with them.” She held his gaze, projecting her auntly concern. For weeks she’d been after him to do things with Kaylie’s cousin.

Ollie never knew what to say to Pearl’s son. The one time they had gotten together it’d been awkward, and they’d eyed each other as if they were from different planets. Ollie didn’t care to repeat the experience. He’d rather talk to Kaylie or Truman. Or Shep.

“I’m probably working. And I have a big test on Monday.”

Disappointment flitted across her face, and she nodded, accepting his answer. Ollie knew she meant well, but he didn’t need the companionship of guys his own age. They seemed like children to him. Foreign children.

“Did you want the caramel frappé, Ollie?” Kaylie called from behind the counter, the plastic cup already in her hand.

“Please.” He gave a silent sigh of relief as Pearl headed for the small back office beyond the counter.

“You just missed Lucas,” Kaylie told him as she worked on his drink. “His mom’s property was vandalized overnight. He said Truman checked it out.”

Concern for Bree overtook him. She’s such a tiny woman. “Was the damage bad?” Ollie asked as he watched Kaylie dart around. She had a swipe of chocolate on one cheek and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. For some reason he liked seeing it. It made her green eyes pop more than usual. She had the same eyes as her aunt Mercy, but Kaylie’s were relaxed. Mercy’s constantly studied her surroundings. When Mercy turned them to him, he felt as if she could see his exact thoughts.

When she looked at Truman, they softened.

Truman’s eyes did the same thing when he saw his fiancée.

Sometimes they forgot Ollie was in the room, they had their attention so focused on each other.

It wasn’t a bad thing. One day he hoped for that type of personal connection.

“Lucas was pretty steamed,” Kaylie answered. “None of the animals were hurt, but the damage to her truck could cost quite a bit.”

“That sucks. I really like Bree. She’s helped me a lot.” Ollie appreciated the tutoring time she’d spent with him. Especially with English. He’d had no idea that sentences were made of dozens of parts of speech, and he needed to learn to label each one. To him sentences were just strings of words that created pictures in his mind. She was also good with chemistry, which made his brain hurt. He frowned, thinking of Bree’s remote farm. The thought of her out there alone with someone harassing her angered him.

Kaylie handed him his drink, and their gazes met as he realized the gem in her nose matched her eyes.

Bungee jump.

Suddenly she looked past him, and her face lit up. “Truman.”

The loss of her eye contact left him hollow, but he turned and raised a hand to Truman.

The lines on Truman’s forehead looked deeper than usual, and stress lurked in his eyes. But he looked a million times better than when he’d been holed up in Ollie’s cabin, a fever racking his body.

Truman greeted both of them and accepted the cup of brewed coffee that Kaylie had pulled the moment he stepped inside.

“Got a second, Ollie?” Truman took a careful sip and held Ollie’s gaze.

Something’s wrong. His stomach lurched.

Truman tipped his head toward the side of the room, and Ollie followed him.

“What time did you finish up at Lake Ski and Sports last night?” Truman asked softly, his eyes dark.

Ollie frowned. “Ten, like always.”

“Did you go straight home?”

“Yes. I had an early class today.” Truman hadn’t been at the house last night. He’d been at Mercy’s.

Truman glanced around the empty café. “Do you ever drive out on Simpson Road?”

“Of course. When I have sessions at Bree’s place.” His palm sweated against his cold cup. “What happened?”

His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath and met Ollie’s gaze. “A truck like yours has been seen out there recently.”

“So? I just said I’ve been out there.”

Truman grimaced. “There’s been some vandalism in the area, so I had to ask.”

Ollie froze and felt his world crack. “You thought I did it?” His voice was too high. “Are you talking about the vandalism at Bree’s?”

He doesn’t trust me.

Truman’s gaze narrowed. “Yes. How did you know that?”

Ollie pointed at Kaylie, his mouth instantly dry. “She just told me. Lucas was in here.” Hot anger flashed, and he stared back at Truman. “I would never do anything like that.”

“I know that, Ollie, but I had to ask because your truck fit a description. I don’t deserve this job if I don’t follow up.”

“Lots of people have shitty trucks like mine.”

Truman’s expression went blank, and Ollie knew he’d gone too far. Truman had bought him the truck.

Bile rose in his throat. “It’s not shitty. Fuck. I’m sorry. I think it’s an awesome truck.” He really did. The powerful growl of the engine made him smile every time he started it. “I didn’t mean it,” he muttered, wanting to take back the last ten seconds.

“I know.” But the usual warmth in Truman’s eyes hadn’t returned. “I can’t be surprised that you reacted that way to my questions.”

“I’m sorry,” Ollie repeated and longed to vanish. Did Kaylie hear me be an ass?

Truman clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s over. Now I can look for other beat-up red trucks.”

Ollie tried to smile, but his facial muscles refused to cooperate. “I hope you find who did it.”

“Me too. I’ll see you at home later tonight.” Truman waved at Kaylie and made his exit.

Ollie looked back at Kaylie, who studied him from across the room, her hands on her hips, a small frown on her face. He felt two feet tall.

Did Truman really consider me a suspect?

“It’s Ellis Mull.” Dr. Natasha Lockhart’s dark eyes sparkled as she shared the news.

“Are you sure?” Mercy asked as her inner child cheered. She’d held her breath during most of the evening’s drive with Eddie to the medical examiner’s office, fingers crossed for an identification. The doctor had stated on the phone that she had information but wanted to share it in person.

“Sweet,” said Eddie with a grin. “The pieces are falling into place.”

The petite doctor nodded enthusiastically, looking as young as a first-year medical student, not like the experienced forensic pathologist she was. Mercy liked the smart and witty woman, who was dedicated to scientifically cutting up bodies for answers.

“I can’t believe we’re celebrating someone’s murder,” Mercy murmured, guilt swamping her excitement.

“You’re not,” said Dr. Lockhart firmly. “You’ve identified someone who’s been missing for a long time. His family can now have some closure.”

Mercy eyed the broken eye socket of the skull, where Mull had been shot. What will his family think of that?

“You’re doubting me,” Dr. Lockhart said. “I’ve heard from too many families that not knowing is the absolute worst.” She gently touched the skull. “This is horrible, but it’s an answer. It will fill a gaping void for his family. Now they can start to heal.”

“Did the dental X-rays provide the confirmation?” Eddie asked.

“Yes. The medical examiner’s odontologist found Mull’s old films and did the comparison. She’s one hundred percent positive. The records match perfectly. She says that Ellis Mull hasn’t had any dental work done since the original films. I’d suspected the remains were quite old, so the lack of dental work may reinforce my theory that he died not long after the robbery.” She took a breath. “I’d already determined the remains weren’t Whipple. He was too short based on the length of the femurs. Age and race hadn’t ruled out Mull.”

“Is the gunshot the cause of death?” Mercy asked. “Did anything else happen to him?”

“Solely working with skeletal remains limits my conclusions,” Dr. Lockhart said, picking up the skull. “There’s no soft tissue to determine other injuries. I studied every inch of bone that we have and didn’t find any marks to indicate a stabbing or bludgeoning. Of course, not every bone is here. I’m missing several small ones from the hands. Probably carried off by some sort of vermin. The hyoid bone of the neck is missing. If it’d been present and broken, it could indicate a strangling.” She set the skull down and picked up a lengthy bone that had to be from a leg. “He has heavy bones. Very thick. I read he’d played football and was into weight lifting. His long bone structure supports that.” The doctor ran one finger down the length of the femur, stopping about halfway. “See this groove? It’s the linea aspera. He’s developed a hypertrophic lesion along it from heavy muscle use. He has similar lesions on his humerus at the deltoid insertion. This boy worked his body hard.”

Compared to the medical examiner’s tiny hands, the bone looked gigantic.

“His right clavicle and right fibula both had old, healed breaks, but I found nothing out of the ordinary on the rest of the skeleton to indicate how he died.”

“Except that.” Eddie touched the ravaged eye socket. “This is the entrance wound, correct?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Lockhart. She turned the skull to view the back. “See how this hole has circular layers of bone missing around it? It’s beveled. That tells me it’s an exit. It’d be a clean hole if it was the entrance wound.”

“The bullet continued through the wall of the shack,” added Eddie. “We haven’t found it yet.”

Mercy suspected they never would. She looked at Eddie. “So where are the other two friends?”

“And the mysterious Jerry,” he added. “The impression I’ve formed is that the four main guys were the best of friends. My money is on Jerry to be the hothead with a gun who wanted a bigger piece of the money pie.”

“I would have picked Gamble as the shooter if he wasn’t behind bars,” said Mercy. “He’s devious, and I can see him getting greedy.”

“Think Gamble will be any more forthcoming once he knows Mull is dead?” asked Eddie.

Mercy remembered Shane Gamble’s eyes. He craved information. His active brain was locked in a prison, and he was starving for more stimulation. Once Mull’s identification was picked up by the media, they could lose some leverage with Gamble. “It’s very possible. He enjoys the mind games. Now that I know how he thinks, I might be able to get something useful.”

“How can someone who’s been locked up for nearly thirty years help your investigation?” asked Dr. Lockhart.

Mercy pointed at the skull. “He was possibly stuck in a shed for thirty years. Has he been of help?”

The woman’s dark eyes turned thoughtful. “Touché.”

“Getting inside Gamble’s skull will be tough,” Eddie pointed out.

“I’ll let you borrow my Stryker saw,” offered Dr. Lockhart.

“I don’t think the prison will allow it.” Mercy grinned at the doctor, imagining the bone-cutting saw being used on Gamble.

“The media would love to hear you tried,” Eddie said dryly. “I can see the headline: ‘FBI Agent Threatens Inmate with Saw.’”

“Hopefully we’ll have more time to investigate before the story breaks,” said Mercy.

“I can’t believe it hasn’t broken yet,” said the doctor. “I’ve kept things quiet here, and I know the odontologist in Portland won’t talk, but the word is going to get out. People have wanted this mystery solved for decades.”

“We’ve been very lucky so far,” said Mercy. Her phone chimed. She glanced at the screen, and her heart sank. “I spoke too soon.”

“What happened?” asked Eddie as he tried to see her screen.

“It’s a text from Jeff. The office got a call from the Midnight Voice.”

Dr. Lockhart wrinkled her nose. “The tabloid? They got the story first? That doesn’t seem right.”

“I’m sure the reputable news outlets will be right behind them,” said Eddie.

Mercy sighed.

My job just got more difficult.