No Mercy

TEN

The next two days passed in a blur. There were so many people in and out of the house I couldn’t keep track. Sophie and our neighbors Iris Newsome, Kathy Lohstroh, Jackie Quinn, and Bernice, from the sheriff’s office, all took turns organizing the food dropped off by various church groups and friends. I’d forgotten how a community pulls together at the loss of one of our own. I guess I hadn’t paid much attention after my dad died.

Then again, Wyatt Gunderson hadn’t been murdered. My cynical side wondered if the support was borne out of voyeurism.

Being around a crowd without a clear purpose drove a loner like me crazy. I’d escaped from the living room, where a half-dozen women were tending to Hope. Some were parents of our friends, who knew our sad family history. I could almost hear them, wondering what other tragedies could befall the unlucky Gunderson family. Speculating on why I was hiding outside with the menfolk rather than sipping tea with them.

Levi’s funeral was set for two o’clock. I would’ve preferred earlier in the day, to avoid the heat and just to get the damn thing over with, but it wasn’t my call. I glanced at my watch. Barely ten. Too soon to break out the Wild Turkey? Everyone grieves in their own way. Whiskey works best for me.

Tires on the gravel driveway caught my attention. Great. More company. A quick feeling of relief bloomed when John-John’s El Dorado parked.

John-John was dressed sedately in dark slacks, a light gray polo shirt, and black loafers. Even the row of silver hoop earrings was small and understated.

“Hey, kola,” John-John said. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Taking a breather.”

“Can I join you for a minute?”

“Sure. Shoonga. Down.” The dog jumped off the swing and rearranged himself by the door.

John-John flopped next to me on the porch swing. The cushions slid around and the chains jangled as he settled his bulk.

“You here to see Hope?”

“No, buttercup. I’m actually here to see you.”

My stomach revolted. “Another vision?”

He shook his head.

We let the momentum of the swing carry us because the conversation was at a standstill.

“I wondered how you were holding up.”

I shrugged. Ignored the hollow feeling in my chest. “I’m doing okay.” I wasn’t. But I didn’t want to share my misery. Levi’s murder had returned my father’s passing to the forefront, just when I’d seemed to get a handle on the idea Dad was really gone. Now I had another loss to compound it and the guilt.

The porch swing creaked with each pass. The constant squeak shuffle clank of the chains soothed me. The silence between us stretched, not awkward, just… there.

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

John-John sighed. “I remember when you used to tell me everything.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Some things might’ve changed, doll, but my ears still work the same as they did twenty years ago.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Another long pause. I heard the water valve kick on in the kitchen. Someone was doing dishes. Seemed like those church ladies were always washing dishes.

“We’re worried about you.”

I faced him. “Who’s we? You and Muskrat?”

“No. Sophie and me.”

“Sophie needs to mind her own damn business and stop talking about me behind my back. She keeps it up and I’ll fire her.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes. I do.” I couldn’t look him in the eye when I said it; he’d see the lie. “Anyway, I hate that everyone is watching me, judging how I grieve. Just because I’m not bawling and cutting off all my hair or slicing my skin in a Lakota mourning ritual doesn’t mean I’m not affected.” Doesn’t mean I’m coldhearted. I told myself looking for solace in the bottom of a whiskey bottle didn’t mean a damn thing either.

“No one believes you’re unaffected by Levi’s murder. It’s just our nature to reach out to you.”

And it was my nature to retreat inside myself. None of these well-meaning souls would leave me alone unless they felt they were “helping” me. Damn. I had no choice but to let them think they were helping me while I followed my own agenda.

“I appreciate it, really, I do. It’s just… driving me crazy to sit around. I want answers now. Kids don’t get murdered here. And we’ve had two murders in two weeks.”

John-John stopped nervously pinching the crease in his pants. “You think there’s a connection between Albert’s and Levi’s deaths?”

“Don’t you? Doesn’t everyone? Everyone except for Dawson.” I slapped a mosquito on my forearm, leaving a smear of blood. “I don’t know why Dad hired him. Dawson wouldn’t know investigative work if it bit him on the ass. Now I understand why Estelle was so upset. Why she wanted me to do something. Somebody has to.” I’d called Estelle, and she’d agreed to meet me later, after the funeral, when she got off work. Getting that list had become urgent.

The swing stalled. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

I said nothing.

“Come on, girl. Whatcha got up your sleeve?”

“Just my arm.”

He frowned.

“What makes you think I’m planning anything?”

“Let’s just say my spidey sense is tingling.”

“I have some of that ‘spidey sense’ myself.”

“I know. About damn time you owned up to it; you ain’t all white, you know.” He playfully slapped my thigh. “Nice try, changing the subject. You ain’t gonna tell me what you’re up to, are you?”

“Probably not.”

“These visions are disturbing, Mercy. Trust me when I tell you it’d be best if you don’t get involved.”

“Best for who? Not best for Levi. Maybe if I’d acted a little quicker helping Estelle, Levi might still be alive.”

John-John reached for my hands. He peered into my eyes, and I swear he saw all the secrets I’d buried. “You’re wrong. Don’t do this to yourself. You have enough guilt burning holes in your soul. Levi wouldn’t-”

The screen door banged. I jumped. John-John swore and Shoonga barked once before rolling over on his back into a patch of sunshine.

Iris Newsome stopped, readjusting the avocado green Tupper-ware bowl sliding off the Pyrex casserole dish. She looked up at us. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t. Here, let me help you.” I shot off the swing, thankful for the interruption, and caught the plastic bowl before it crashed to the porch.

“Thank you. I have a case of butterfingers today.”

I followed her to her car. She stacked the dishes in the passenger seat and straightened. She didn’t smile; instead, she stared at me, waiting for me to say something.

I almost wished she’d broach the subject of the countywide petition drive and break the thorny silence between us. “Thanks for bringing food, Iris, and helping out. We appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I could do. I just wish I could do more.” Her gaze flicked to the house. “Poor Hope. First losing her dad. And now this?” She looked back at me with watery eyes. “I know what it’s like to bury a child.”

I stood there like an idiot. Not knowing what the hell to do. Words of comfort escaped me. I wasn’t much of a hugger. I couldn’t even offer her a stupid Kleenex.

Iris wiped the tears with the tips of her fingers and gave me a wan smile. “Sorry. It’s just hard, seeing her like this. It’s not fair.”

Nothing seemed to kick my vocal cords into use.

“I’d better get going. I’ll see you at the service.”

As she drove off I glanced at the empty porch swing. John-John had gone inside. Good. He couldn’t ream me for sneaking a nip or two.

Then again, given his spidey sense, he probably already knew.

After the short service and the burial in the Gunderson Cemetery, we headed to the ranch. The women congregated in the house; the men milled outside. I alternated between hovering over Hope and waiting for Estelle to show up.

I watched Kathy Lohstroh rip off a chunk of plastic wrap and cover a pan of pumpkin bars. She gave me a sympathetic half smile and set about tidying the kitchen.

After she joined the throng of women in the living room, I grabbed the flask I’d stashed in the junk drawer. I’d just poured a generous splash of self-medicating goodness into my coffee when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around guiltily.

Hope’s loser boyfriend, Theo, said, “There are some guys outside who want to talk to you.”

“I’ll be right there.” I assumed more offers of condolences. I drained the coffee and stepped into the late-afternoon heat.

Never assume. Two shiny matching Chevy pickups parked in the middle of the yard blocked in a half-dozen cars. Several men dressed in black pseudo-fatigues leaned up against the pickup’s side panels, talking in low voices and pointing to the area past the barns.

Not locals. Hunters? We had a great number of guys-local and out-of-staters-who stopped at the house for permission to hunt on our land. Dad usually said yes if they asked. But if we caught people hunting on Gunderson land without permission? I’d learned the “shoot first” philosophy straight from the horse’s mouth-good old Dad.

The men straightened up as I approached. “Is there something I can do for you guys?”

The bulky guy with a buzz cut-no doubt a former soldier-stepped forward. “Hi, Miz Gunderson. I’m Richard Amiotte.”

I frowned. His name sounded familiar.

“We’ve been playing phone tag. I’m with the Swamp Rats Investment Group in Florida? We’ve been trying to set up a time to check out this property. We were on our way through from a fishing trip in Canada, and were in the area looking at other properties and thought we’d stop by.”

“Sorry, Richard, we’ve been dealing with some family issues in the last few days-”

“Sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, we are pressed for time, so we understand if you’ll just want to do a quick overview.”

“Excuse me? An overview of what?”

His gaze narrowed on the cars and trucks, the men dressed in western suits. Finally back on me in my little black dress. “Is this an auction? You already sell this place?”

“That’s hard to do when it isn’t even listed.”

His face relaxed. “Then what’s the problem with letting us take a look around?”

A crowd had gathered behind me. Before I could answer, Theo said, “What would it hurt, Mercy? Whoever he is, he might make a better offer than Kit McIntyre’s group.”

How did the pompous asshole know about Kit’s offer? I whirled on him. “What would it hurt? We buried my nephew today, you moron.”

Theo turned beet red. Then he glared at me as he brushed past and headed back into the house.

“We don’t need a guided tour,” Richard said quickly. “We can get all the information we need just by a drive-through.”

“Not possible. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

Another man, around sixty, tanned, his hair bleached from the sun, and dressed for an afternoon on a sailboat, sidled up beside Richard. “What’s the problem? We contacted you weeks ago about purchasing this tract of land here in the Dakotas.”

Several ranchers behind me snickered. The Dakotas. Didn’t this southern-fried idiot realize North and South Dakota had been recognized as separate states since 1889? Probably pointless to mention that the Gunderson Ranch had been in my family since the 1890s.

I paused, giving him a moment to rethink his stupid, smarmy statement. He didn’t. He merely stared at me. Dared me. Creeped me out to the max.

Too bad these guys hadn’t listened to their damn voice mail. I’d left them a message renouncing my intention to sell, or to consider their offer. “There’s been some misunderstanding. The Gunderson Ranch is not for sale. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave immediately.”

“But-”

“I’m not asking again.”

Murmured conversation began behind me. The rumor mill would run rampant in Eagle River County in another hour. My neighbors figured the conversation was over. They dispersed, leaving me alone with these gate-crashers.

The other men with Richard climbed in their trucks. I watched until their pickups were a red blight on the landscape and then gone.

After the Swamp Rats scurried away, I snuck into the house. My black satin heels were scuffed from the rocks, caked with dust, and completely ruined. No wonder I never wore girly shoes.

In my bedroom I changed into worn boots and jeans, carefully placing the flannel-wrapped bundle inside my right boot. Downstairs I made nice with our neighbors for the next couple of hours. Hope seemed to appreciate me sticking around.

When I’d endured my limit of politely restrained conversation, I wandered outside. Leaning against the weathered fence, I wrapped my hands around the rail and propped my foot on the bottom rung.

Some of the cattle wandered in from the pasture and circled the stock tanks. The calves were getting big. A few brave babies even ventured away from their mothers. We weren’t running a full herd. It didn’t make sense to lay out that kind of money for stock upkeep when the ranch’s future was up in the air.

I closed my eyes. Even the blistering rays from the sun didn’t burn away the cold reality of saying good-bye to Levi. Tears dripped down my face as I listened to swishing tails, buzzing flies, the sucking sound of hooves caught in the muck, and the occasional disgruntled moo.

Lost in sorrow and misery, I jumped when “Mercy?” sounded behind me.

I whirled around and saw Estelle Yellow Boy.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Estelle crossed her arms and set them on top of the fence. “Sophie said I’d find you out here.”

“A lot more peaceful than in the house.”

“I’ve always liked this time of day. Too hot for most folks.”

Two calves frolicked by the fence connected to the barn.

“Sorry about Levi. He was a good friend to Albert.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t.

“I can’t stay long. Paul thinks I’m working late because I took time off to go to Levi’s funeral earlier.” She turned and looked at me. “It was a nice service. Considering.”

It saddened me that more of Levi’s friends hadn’t shown up.

“Here’s the list you asked for.” Estelle slid a piece of rose-colored stationery from the pocket of her skirt. “This should be enough to get ya started.”

“Good.” I rolled up my jeans and removed the package containing the necklace and handed it back to her. “Thank you, but I can’t take this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need a financial incentive to do what’s right, Estelle.”

Her eyes darkened with skepticism. She held her tongue for a minute. “And what are you gonna do if you figure out who done this to Levi and my boy?”

“I’m not sure.” What a lie. I’d do what I do best: kill. I doubted the predator instinct that defined my life resided in Estelle. I wouldn’t lose sleep over vengeance. She would. Whether or not she understood, carrying out revenge was my burden to bear, not hers.

“Will you keep in touch with me?” she asked.

“You really want Paul to know what I’m-we’re-doing?”

Estelle shook her head. Without another word she left.

I remained in the great outdoors as the sun expanded to a fat orange ball and the clouds puffed out to pastel waves on the never-ending blue horizon.

Jake meandered over from the barn, Shoonga on his boot heels. He didn’t make eye contact with me. Not surprisingly, he stayed a good distance from me, too.

We both stared across the field like it held the secrets to the universe.

Finally, his silent routine got to me. “You come here looking for an apology?”

He snorted. “Be waiting a long damn time since I know you ain’t sorry. And you’re just like your dad in that respect; he said false remorse is as bad as an outright lie.”

Dad. What would he think of my murderous intentions? Would he do the same thing if he were in my shoes? No. But he wouldn’t be sitting on his hands like Dawson was either.

“You plan on quitting and telling me to go to hell, Jake?”

“No. But I’d like a chance to say my piece, without you interrupting me like you always do.”

“Fine.”

“We’re opposites, Mercy. Always have been, I suspect we always will be. I know you think a man who doesn’t fight back-even when provoked-ain’t a real man.” He rubbed the heel of his hand on the exact spot where I’d shoved the gun barrel into his forehead. “I’m not gonna defend the way I was raised, and I don’t wanna argue with you about the hard-assed way Wyatt brung you up.”

I kept quiet.

“I’m tired of fighting you. No matter what happened in the past, or hell, even the other night when you showed up at my place armed and angry, we need to figure out a way to work together, not against each other, since it appears neither of us is going anyplace anytime soon.”

“True.” Jake had been forthright; he deserved the same from me. “But to be honest, the idea I can’t pick up and leave here whenever I want is suffocating me. It always has.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“So what do I do?”

“Come take a ride with me.”

“How’s that gonna help?”

“Maybe you won’t feel like you’re choking on your responsibilities when you have a clearer view of them.”

I squinted at him. “Do I need to get my gun?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m checking that old stock tank in the south section. Thought I reminded TJ to fill it, but with all that’s been going on… I ain’t sure if I did.”

A hot wind blew my hair across my face as I looked over my shoulder at the house. Sophie and a few other women were still there. Hope should be all right, but I didn’t feel comfortable passing her on to someone else.

Jake moved and laid his hand on my arm. “We won’t be gone long. I promise.”

“Okay, but I’m driving.”

“How’d I know you were gonna say that?” He tossed me the keys.

We settled in the ancient truck, Shoonga panting between us, water sloshing in the tank in the truck bed. After we were through the first gate, which Jake opened and closed, he harrumphed. “You’re driving just so you don’t gotta be on gate duty.”

“Yep. Pays to be the big boss.”

“So, you know where you’re going, boss?”

“I’m sure if I get it wrong you’ll be more than happy to correct me.”

A smile ghosted around his mouth.

Bumping along in the stifling heat had a cathartic effect. Somehow Jake knew I needed a reconnection to solitude and a reason to focus on the external problems rather than the internal ones, if only for a short while.

We drove in silence for fifteen minutes. I’d automatically followed the tire tracks without really paying attention to where we were headed. When I veered left to crest a small rise, I hit the brakes. I hadn’t been out in this section for years.

Memories arose of the hours and years Jake and I had spent just like this, driving around in the cab of a dirty truck, bound by circumstances and our love for the Gunderson Ranch. Testing the boundaries of friendship. The spring I’d turned seventeen we’d stopped circling each other and crossed the line from friends to lovers. Right here. On this very spot.

For the next year we weren’t “out” as a couple, although everyone suspected. The secrecy was partially because I was underage, partially because Jake worked for my father, but mostly because sneaking around heightened the relationship’s appeal. Accidental touches, stolen kisses, lingering looks seemed more meaningful when given and taken covertly. Even our couplings were quick-a frenzy we mistook as passion.

Dad disapproved of his oldest daughter and ranch foreman knocking boots. Rather than confronting us or offering up condemnation, he sicced Hope on us, demanding she accompany me everywhere. Nothing cools ardor faster than a twelve-year-old girl.

What bothered me was that Jake didn’t mind Hope attaching herself to me like a burr. He coddled her. He teased her. She gloried in it while I seethed because he gave her the sweetness he’d never given me. I began to resent Jake, Hope, my dad, and the entire situation. I cut them all out of my life after the pregnancy ended, and I lost everything I couldn’t admit I’d wanted.

In hindsight… my accusation the other night to Jake rang false. It wasn’t Hope who hadn’t stood a chance against succumbing to Jake’s charms; it was Jake who hadn’t stood a chance against Hope’s needs. And like it or not, I’d played a part in throwing them together. Did I have a right to my anger about their past when I’d been the one who’d walked way? From both of them?

Probably not, but it was still there.

“Mercy?”

I jumped. “What?”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Just waiting for directions from my navigator.”

“You don’t remember?”

Talk about a deceptive question. “I remember most everything, Jake. Sometimes… I just get a little lost.”

Pause. “We all do. There’s no shame in admitting it. Or asking for help to get back on track.” Jake pointed. “See the metal edge? It’s to the left at the bottom of the hill.”

“Got it.”

We rested side by side against the tailgate as we transferred one tank into the other, pretending to be mesmerized by sunbeams reflecting off the stream of precious water.

I squirmed. Sighed. Shuffled my feet.

Jake calmly said, “What?”

“So we okay then?”

“I reckon.”

A dust minitornado kicked up about a hundred yards in front of us. The herd bolted. Shoonga gave chase.

“’Cept for one thing.”

Figured. “What?”

“I saw you talking to Estelle. I know what you’re doing.”

I stayed mum.

“We both know you’re going after whoever killed Levi. You’re just like Wyatt that way. Relentless. I wanna help.” Jake cocked his head, gazing at me from beneath the brim of his beat-up hat.

He looked older; his eyes brimmed with pain. Even though I’d softened toward him slightly, I also realized I could use his grief to my tactical advantage. Would I ever stop thinking like a soldier?

You aren’t a soldier anymore.

I muttered, “Shut up,” to that matter-of-fact, unwelcome voice in my head.

“What?”

“Nothing. Look at this and tell me what you think.” I unfolded the Estelle’s list, and we scanned it:

Warrior Society members-

Albert said only seven candidates participated at the meetings to honor the Seven Sacred Rites

Judd Moser

Donald Little Bear

Bucky One Feather

Randall Meeks

Axel Rouillard

a couple of girls, don’t know their names

“Any names look familiar?” I asked.

“I know all of ’em. I avoid a couple of these families.” His dirty finger traced Moser and Little Bear’s names. “Bad news.” Jake pointed to the top line. “What’s this Warrior Society?”

I told him Levi’s take on it, and his frown deepened. “Didn’t Levi talk to you about it?”

He shook his head. “You seem to think Levi and I had a relationship. We didn’t, beyond me being the hired help.”

“Think you can find out more?”

“I’ll try. Axel’s dad, Bernie, does all the repairs for the ranch. I’ll talk to him. Who are you starting with?”

I smiled for the first time in days. “The person I’m tracking down first isn’t even on the list.”