No Mercy

THIRTEEN

The constant brrrr-rat-a-tat-tat of machine-gun fire echoed in the distance. A series of angry shouts dragged my attention from the window across the street. I peered around the corner, careful not to give away my position. A man climbed out of a baby blue Cadillac and started up the steps of the mosque just as happy kids streamed out the front door.

My heart thumped a warning too late. The car and the man exploded simultaneously. I couldn’t even scream when hunks of metal, small chunks of flesh, and blood rained down on me.

I jumped and was instantly awake. Disoriented by the darkness and the nightmare, my eyes frantically searched for something familiar. When my gaze caught the whir of the ceiling fan blades, I realized I was on the couch in the living room. My ankle throbbed, reminding me of the incident from the previous night.

I looked at my foot propped on the pillow. The ice pack on my ankle had melted. The one beneath my head felt like a water balloon. A leaky balloon.

I yelled, “Sophie?”

No answer.

Why hadn’t I heard her clattering around in the kitchen? I squinted at the grandfather clock. Six. That explained it. Sophie didn’t get here until after eight… unless she decided to come early. Or later. I didn’t make her punch a time clock.

I sat up and bent forward to check my ankle. The swelling was down. No bruising. I flexed and pointed. Still sore. It’d probably be all right if I didn’t put too much pressure on it. I swung both feet to the floor and put my weight on the arm of the couch so I could stand. I half limped/half hopped to the kitchen.

I glanced out the window over the sink. Didn’t see Jake’s truck. He was always here at the crack of dawn. I didn’t make him punch a time clock either. I hobbled to the door. Twisted the handle and the lock popped. I never locked the door. Dawson? Concerned for my safety last night? How… sweet.

I pushed on the screen door. It wouldn’t open all the way. What the hell? Did nothing in this place stay in one piece? Just another damn thing I’d have to fix. I pushed again. The bottom corner kept hitting something. I stuck my head out the top of the door, looked down, and froze.

Couldn’t be.

I blinked. My vision swam. I slammed my eyes shut and chanted: please be a dream, please be a dream, please be a dream. Slowly I peeled my lids open.

Still there.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t make my mouth move. I couldn’t work up enough spit to even swallow. My eyes kept straying to the horrific scene on my porch.

Black goo ran in a river down the steps. A large puddle had crusted over, looking stark against the white boards on the porch.

Not a nameless black substance. Blood.

Blood from the dead person blocking the door.

I curled my hands around the screen door until metal cut into my palms. The pain meant it was real. This wasn’t another bad dream.

Heartsick, I choked back the acid crawling up my throat and scrambled for the kitchen phone. Dialed 911. After I explained the situation to dispatch, I added, “Make sure you call Dawson and tell him I’ve got another body at my place.”

Only after I hung up did I allow myself to fall apart.

I loaded the cordless in my purse, along with my cell phone. In my dad’s office I found my grandfather Deke’s old oak cane. Leaning on it kept the pressure off my bum ankle. I shuffled down the handicapped ramp.

Outside, I dropped my backside onto the bumper of the truck. Unfortunately, I had an unobstructed view of Sue Anne.

I could’ve closed my eyes. Or gazed at the pearly morning sky. Or focused on the red geraniums and pink petunias in the flower boxes. But I forced myself to look. To see what had been done to her.

She’d been placed on her left side with her knees drawn up, facing the steps. Her slender arms were bound behind her back with nylon rope. Blood coated her neck. Her teeth, clamped over a blue bandana serving as a gag, stuck out from beneath her swollen lips, giving her a feral look. Her long hair had been pulled away from her face and tied with a white bow, which matched the white gown she wore. The front of the dress, at least the part I could see, was discolored reddish brown.

Somehow I’d managed to keep myself somewhat together until my purposefully detached gaze landed on her bare feet. Her toenails were unpainted and unadorned except for a silver toe ring on the second toe of her right foot. A rainbow-colored braided friendship anklet was tied around her left ankle. Just like the bracelets Levi and I had made years ago.

I lost it again. What a waste. What an absolute fucking waste. I dropped my head to my knees and cried.

Even as I sobbed for Sue Anne, a cold fear invaded my soul. Had I played a part in getting her killed by forcing her to talk to me? How did I live with that? How could I possibly justify snooping around when it led to more deaths?

I kill for a living. There’s no PC way to say it. I’ve never tried to pretend I was an assassin with a heart of gold. I can’t afford to think of anything but the job when I’m on the job. Study intel, get in position, pull the trigger, get out. Repeat as necessary. Simple.

Do I have sleepless nights? Yes. Do I have regrets? Some. Not as many as I should. I’d ended more lives than what’s listed in my kill book. I hate having to document my assignments. Yes, it’s important to keep track of all the technical stuff, wind velocity, range ratios, and humidity. Build a better soldier by being better prepared. But to list names? Dates? Times? And methodology? That requirement bordered on psychotic bragging.

Terrorists deserved to die. Sue Anne didn’t. Some things really are black-and-white in my world.

The sirens snapped me out of the black hole I’d sunk into.

Baby-faced Deputy Jazinski crossed the yard and stood beside me. Nervous. Fidgety. Could’ve been his usual behavior since I didn’t know him. I’d heard Dawson hired Jazinski right before my father’s death with Dad’s blessing. Still, the kid gave me a weird vibe.

“Has anybody been through that door besides you, Miz Gunderson?”

“No. And I didn’t come out that door; I came out through the front.”

He asked me a bunch of questions. My response was nonsensical at best, curt at worst. By the time he’d finished, the second patrol car and ambulance arrived. As had Jake. At least he’d retained a clear head. Not only had he immediately tied up Shoonga behind the barn, he called Sophie to delay her coming to work. My brain was scrambled.

Photos were snapped. Distances measured. I would’ve stayed frozen in shock in that same spot until they loaded her body, but Jake forced me to the picnic table by the gazebo. He stayed with me, lending me his unspoken support until Dawson loped over.

Dawson crouched down and poked my ankle. “Looks better. How’s your head?”

“Fine.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yeah. Apparently I slept through someone dropping a dead girl on my doorstep.” I flinched. Dammit. I hadn’t meant to sound so callous.

He straightened and rubbed the back of his neck.

I recognized it as a sign of his agitation. “What?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

No answer.

It hit me. “Jesus. Am I a suspect?”

“No.”

“Then what?” When he peered at me, I realized he wasn’t wearing his mirrored shades.

“Sue Anne wasn’t dead when she was dropped there. I would guess she was unconscious. But whoever killed her slit her throat right on your porch.”

I gaped at him. No wonder there’d been so much blood. “You’re serious? She bled to death here?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

I could scarcely find my voice. “How long had she been there?”

Dawson’s steely eyes seemed to soften. “You couldn’t have saved her, Mercy. The damage was too severe.”

“But, maybe-”

“No maybes. She was nearly decapitated. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

This had to be another nightmare. Please. Let this be another bad goddamn dream. I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe when I opened them, I’d see the lace doilies decorating my dresser. At this point I’d take olive green canvas tent walls.

“Look, I feel guilty as hell, too. If I had stayed to keep an eye on you last night, maybe I would’ve heard something…”

My eyes flew open. “Did you see anything on your way home?”

“No.”

“Did you tell Jazinski you were here?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. So he thinks you and I are knocking boots.” Which meant within the hour everyone else in the county would hear the story. Dawson and me screwing like rabbits, while some psycho murderer took a hacksaw to an innocent teenage girl on my front porch.

“Wrong. If you and I were knocking boots, Mercy, I would’ve been here all night, not just until ten o’clock.”

The shout from the front of the house didn’t make a dent in the unwieldy silence between us.

He sighed. “Besides, Jazinski needed to know someone tried to make you a hood ornament last night. The paperwork is in my car. You feel up to answering some more questions?”

“No. Not now.”

“I understand.”

I wish he would’ve been a jerk and demanded I take the time now. It’d be easier to handle my anger than my sorrow. “Look, I don’t want to seem… cold and self-centered, but is there a chance I can get back into my house?”

“Sure. Soon as they’re done cataloguing the scene.”

I felt the need to explain. “I have to take a shower. Everything happened so fast this morning. I feel…” Guilty. Grimy. Worn out. I cleared my throat. “I still have dirt and grass stains all over from last night. I need to clean up.”

Even if I remained under the hot spray for hours, and scrubbed with lye soap until my skin bled, my soul would still feel dirty. How would I ever get clean?

Clean. I thought of Sue Anne’s bloodstains on the porch. Had those ugly black spots seeped into the wood? I couldn’t expect Sophie to scrub them off, and I sure as hell couldn’t do it.

“Hey.” Dawson hunkered down until he was right in my face. “After we’ve released the scene, why don’t you let Kiki’s sister Vivi take care of cleaning up? She does this sort of thing. I can call her.”

Spooky, how he’d known what I was thinking. “Okay.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. For a moment his sweet touch lingered on my cheek and I let myself be comforted by the fact he wanted to offer me solace.

“Sheriff?” Jazinski shouted. “Can I see you for a sec?”

“Be right there.” His hand dropped. He stood and slipped on his sunglasses before he jogged around the corner.

A few minutes later Kiki came by. “Sheriff said you can go inside now. I called Vivi. She’s on her way.”

“Thanks, Kiki. I don’t mind telling you I’m pretty sick of seeing you.”

She smiled sadly. “I hear that a lot. You need help getting upstairs?”

“I’ll manage.” Once I was inside, rather than use the cane, I crawled upstairs on my hands and knees straight into the bathroom and dry heaved. Repeatedly. No wonder. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything.

The shower helped my aches and pains, but not the images in my brain. Naked, I studied my limited wardrobe choices. Since I hadn’t done laundry for a week, I pulled on a denim skirt and buttoned a white sleeveless blouse over a navy blue camisole.

Sophie was sitting at the table snapping green beans when I hobbled downstairs. She looked as surprised to see me as I was to see her. Her wrinkled face looked troubled and sad. “You okay, takoja?”

Her calling me grandchild almost made me lose my hard-won emotional control again. “No. Not really.”

She nodded. “Didn’t think so. Maybe this is the last of it. Bad things always come in threes.”

“But counting my father’s death, finding Sue Anne would make this number four, not three.”

Her gnarled hands stilled.

“You think there’s more to come, don’t you?”

“I know you don’t believe in the woo-woo stuff, but-”

“You’re wrong. I’ve seen and heard too much to chalk it up to coincidence.” I paused. “John-John had a vision about me.”

“I know.”

“You do? Did he tell you about it?”

“No. The important thing is he told you.”

Rarely did Sophie act like the wise old Lakota woman, so when she did, I paid attention.

Snap snap snap. The beans were tossed in the ceramic bowl.

She also had a flair for the dramatic.

Finally she asked, “How many of what he seen has come to pass?”

I thought back to John-John’s words. Red sky, red ground, red water. My mind flashed to the day I’d found Levi and how his blood stained the ground. “As far as I can decipher? Just one.”

She shook her head. Evidently she didn’t have any additional wise words to add.

I snatched a can of Coke from the fridge and drained it in three long swallows. I held back a burp and realized Sophie had been staring at me. “What?”

“You look nice. I like to see you dressing like a girl, hey.”

I scowled. “Don’t get used to it. I’m out of clean clothes.”

Snap snap snap. “You know, you are paying me to do stuff like that. No shame in needing help now and again, Mercy. You want me to run a coupla loads today when you’re at the doctor’s office?”

“Sure, thanks. What time is Hope’s appointment?”

“Hope ain’t going to the doctor. You are.”

My eyes narrowed. “Did Dawson put you up to this? I’m fine. It’s just a mild sprain.”

“Don’t have nothing to do with your ankle. Your appointment is at the VA at two o’clock.”

“What?”

“That nurse kept calling, so I just had her make an appointment.” She frowned. “I know I told you about it last week.”

She probably had. With all that’d happened I’d blocked it out. “Well, I can’t go. Someone needs to stay with Hope.”

“I am here.”

“Dawson has paperwork for me to fill out. I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“He’s gone. Said he’ll be in touch with you.”

I opened my mouth, but Sophie shook her finger at my pitiful attempt at another excuse.

“I ain’t gonna pry. I don’t know why you’re so scared to hear what them docs are gonna say. It’d be better to know what you’re facing instead of trying to hide from it, eh?”

Even I couldn’t argue with that.

I hate hospitals. No one but the army knew how much time I’d spent in various hospitals around the world.

The VA hospital was typical for a government facility. About thirty years past its prime. One half of the main building housed long-term patients; the other half short-timers. Checkups and nonemergency appointments were held in the various outbuildings.

The single-lane road curved through the compound. Clusters of oak trees and lilac bushes blocked the employee’s quarters from view. Beds of flowers were a beautiful flare of color among the drab buildings.

I parked in the lot of Building C. Alongside the wide stone steps was a handicapped ramp. A well-used ramp. Seeing it snapped me out of feeling sorry for myself about my injuries. I’d been damn lucky. I knew several soldiers who hadn’t been.

The round-faced girl at the check-in desk-she looked all of fifteen-smiled at me. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I have an appointment at fourteen hundred.”

“Name?”

“Gunderson.”

She stared at the computer screen as her fingers flew over the keyboard. “I don’t need any additional paperwork filled out today, Sergeant Major. You can have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

The waiting room wasn’t as full as I’d feared. The VA was notorious for overscheduling appointments. Puke-yellow plastic chairs were aligned between end tables strewn with magazines. A TV (no big flatscreen to entertain the vets) was bolted in the darkest corner. CNN blared. Several guys in wheelchairs watched the coverage detailing yet another suicide car bomber in Mosul. I shuddered, thinking of my early-morning flashback.

Once again I was the only woman in the room. I was used to the stares and the hostility from older vets who believed a woman had no place in the service, which was worse than getting hit on by new recruits who weren’t intimidated by a woman in uniform.

Names were called. None of them mine. I’d cracked another copy of Reader’s Digest and skimmed Humor in Uniform when a wheelchair rolled up.

A bearded guy pointed to the magazines on the chair beside me. “Done with those?”

“Yeah. Have at them.”

“So can you tell me why everyone on the planet is interested in Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie? Because I sure don’t understand the fascination.”

He smiled and I realized he was an attractive guy, in a Kurt Cobain/’90s grunge metal kind of way.

“Probably because sex sells,” he said, answering his own question. “Plus, it’s easier to stomach trivial stuff than the truth of what’s going on over there.”

“True.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you here.” He groaned and hung his head. “Jeez. That probably sounded like some lame pickup line. Moving on. Which branch owns your soul?”

“Army. You?”

“Marines. I assume you’re retired?”

“No. I’m active.”

“And you’re here?”

“My dad died recently, so I’m home on leave.”

“Oh, man, that bites. I’m sorry. My folks are both gone.”

Neither of us said anything.

He smiled sheepishly. “Well, that was another conversation killer.”

“You do have a knack.”

“Let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “Maxwell.”

I clasped it and we shook. “Gunny.” My military nickname popped out automatically.

“Name or designation?”

“Both.”

He whistled. “A hot chick that can shoot. Be still my heart.”

At any other time his flirtatious comment would’ve made me grin, but today I couldn’t shake off the impact of my ghastly morning discovery. The other men were scowling at us, not because we were being too loud, but because we had the audacity to strike up a normal conversation. No one was normal here. For some it was a point of pride, for others a mark of shame.

War redefines normalcy for those of us in the service. Even the most gregarious soldiers can pull back into themselves after recurring combat situations and long-term deployments. Some never recover. Sadly, all these guys giving us the stink eye appeared to be alone. Had they isolated themselves on purpose? Was it easier to deal with horrific memories and life-altering injuries when you didn’t have to explain yourself and your unpredictable moods to people who could never understand it unless they’d lived it?

One guy kept glaring at me. Rather than offer him a friendly smile, I returned his glare until he spun around and gave me his hump back.

Hah. Take that. The guy was too damn young to be acting like a bitter old coot.

That could be you if you keep pushing away everyone who cares about you.

Care isn’t the same as need, my inner loner argued. Hope needs me now, but does she care about me for the long run? Sophie’s care felt… forced at times and based on Hope’s needs, not mine. Jake needed me because of the ranch.

Sobering to think the only person who really needed me was Levi and he was dead.

The nurse called a name-Maxwell’s apparently-and he rolled away with a jaunty salute.

I took the opportunity to look around at the other vets, hoping a dose of self-tough love would wake my hermit ass up, when I noticed an Indian man in a wheelchair at the back of the room.

Sunglasses covered his eyes beneath the brim of a battered ball cap, the front emblazoned with the SCREAMING EAGLES emblem of Eagle River High School. I squinted at him. He’d been a big man at one time, wide shoulders, long, thick neck, large head, but with both his legs gone above his knees it was hard to gauge how tall he used to stand. My eyes kept flicking toward him, not because of his disability. Something about him looked familiar, yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. Despite my mother’s voice reminding me it wasn’t polite to stare, I did it anyway.

The door swung open. A nurse approached him and spoke loudly. “Blacktower?”

“I’m blind, not deaf, so you don’t gotta shout.”

The nurse blushed. “Sorry. The doctor sent me out to tell you he’s running behind.”

He didn’t bother to look up when he grunted.

Blacktower. Now I knew why he looked familiar. He was Hiram Blacktower’s brother, Josiah, the disabled and partially blind Gulf War veteran.

A woo-woo feeling rippled through me again. What were the odds I’d run into him here?

My pragmatic side assured me those odds were above average in our sparsely populated state. Since I was seeing the VA eye doctor, who rotated into this facility only once a month, logic dictated Josiah would be here at the same time. Healthcare choices for veterans were limited, and Indian veterans even more so. The Indian Health Service had a worse reputation than the Veterans Administration, so no surprise he’d chosen the lesser of two evils.

I tossed the magazine on a side table and headed toward him. “Mind if I sit here?”

Josiah grunted.

I flopped down. “Nice ball cap. Does that mean you are a Screaming Eagle alumni?”

No answer.

“I’m from Eagle River. Or I was. I’ve been gone the last twenty years in Uncle Sam’s army. You a marine?”

A slight nod.

“Look. We haven’t met, but when I heard your name and saw your ball cap, I realized I know your family. Hiram Blacktower is your brother, right?”

He mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“I said yes. I’m sorry you know him.”

Whoa. That was unexpected. “You two aren’t close?”

“No. I keep my distance from him and have asked him to do the same.”

“Why’s that?”

Another pause.

“Come on. You wouldn’t have said something if you didn’t want to talk about him.”

Another affirmative chin bob. “How well do you know Hiram?”

“I’ve crossed paths with him, mostly on a professional basis.”

“Professional. Right.” He snorted. “Even half blind and crippled I ain’t the embarrassment to our family name and our heritage that he is as a ‘professional.’”

“You the only one in your family who’s feels that way?”

“There is only us these days. The rest of our line has died out.”

“I hear ya there. No more males are left in our family to carry on our name either.”

Hightower cocked his head. “I can’t tell by the way you speak… are you Lakota?”

I nodded, realized he couldn’t see it and said, “Some. My mother was part Minneconjou.”

“Ah.”

I couldn’t tell if his response was meant to be insightful or condescending. “What?”

“Then do you know the old stories? Of Iktomi, the trickster?”

“A little.”

“Then think of Hiram… like Iktomi.”

Sweet baby Jesus in a manger. Parables were my least favorite part of Indian mythology. Why couldn’t he just say what he meant? Rather than comparing a person to a rock or to a turtle or to smoke and expecting me to draw my own conclusions? I pretended to contemplate his wisdom for thirty seconds before I asked, “How so?”

“No matter how many times Hiram sheds his skin and tries to become someone else, the flesh beneath that skin remains red, not white.”

Just another barbed reminder that race was always an issue in our culture, even within the same family.

“Being Indian isn’t a hobby. Neither is being honorable.”

Okay. I’d missed something. “What’s being honorable have to do with anything?”

“It has to do with everything,” Josiah chided me. “You ask him if what he’s been doing is honoring our ancestors.”

“Is this about him working for Kit McIntyre?”

Another no-answer, stoic-Indian moment.

Which pissed me off. If Josiah wasn’t tight with his brother, how the hell did he know what Hiram was up to? I said as much.

Josiah faced me. I swear a jolt of power shot through me.

“When you see Hiram next, you ask him if he’s proud. Tell him I told you to ask.”

Before I could demand clarification, the nurse called his name and chattered loudly as she rolled him out of sight, leaving me with more questions than answers.

My appointment was a waste of time. Nothing’d changed with my eye or my vision. I’d say it was a relief, but it just added another layer of frustration of being stuck in limbo in all aspects of my life.

I called Jake to check in, but mostly to get directions to Hiram Blacktower’s place. I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish. Josiah’s remarks unsettled me, and since I’d already gotten into a pissing match with Hi’s boss, I didn’t have anything to lose by paying Hiram a friendly visit.

Hiram’s place was more run-down than I’d anticipated-not a good indication of his success in real estate or that Kit was paying him better than slave wages. I unhooked the lopsided gate at the entrance, pulled through the opening, got out again, relatched it behind me, and then putted up the driveway.

The house looked to be a one-room shack. The siding was a morass of colors plastered at odd angles in a poor man’s attempt at a mosaic. The lone front window was covered in tinfoil. Probably switched out with plastic wrap in the winter months.

Four vehicles were parked in the yard. A Ford F-150, a Pontiac LeMans with the front end accordioned, a Dodge truck, and some type of foreign economy car. For a second I had an urge to check around the front end to see if chunks of grass hung off the grilles of either truck. Or if the sides were scratched from barbed wire. Or if it’d make that grinding noise if I started it up.

Did I suspect Hi had played the make-Mercy-a-hood-ornament game last night? Hell yes. I suspected everyone with a pickup, which left roughly 99.9 percent of the entire population of South Dakota.

My gaze tracked the high line wire that swooped from the pole by the road to the house. At least Hi had electricity out here; some folks didn’t. I doubted he’d dug a well, so he’d have to haul water. I saw the faded blue plastic tank centered in the back end of the Dodge and knew he hadn’t been the one who’d chased me-at least, not with that truck.

A horse stared at me from behind a rickety fence. I shivered and looked away. Horse one; Mercy zero. As I looked beyond the broken-down corral, I noticed a thatch-covered hut that resembled a dirt igloo. A sweat lodge. A heap of good-sized rocks stood off to the left. Wood was piled around the perimeter. Smoke snaked out of the top of the hut. I glanced at the clock in the truck. Hiram was performing a sweat? At this time of day? When it was already a million degrees? Just another reminder Hi wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.

Hiram stretched out of the tiny door of the sweat lodge and squinted at me. I couldn’t see his lower half, and I knew most guys did the sweat naked. I so didn’t want a glimpse of Hiram’s dangly parts.

He waved vigorously.

I especially didn’t want to see swaying dangly parts. I almost threw my truck in reverse.

Hiram strode toward me, not buck-ass nekkid, but wearing a robe and a gigantic grin.

I climbed out of the cab. My ankle was still sore and I didn’t feel like walking to meet him halfway, so I leaned against the driver’s-side door and nonchalantly looked around at where he hung his moccasins. Stacks of stripped, long pine poles, probably for tipis, were evenly stacked on the other side of the fence. That bit of neatness surprised me, given all the rest of the broken, worthless crap piled everywhere else.

“Mercy Gunderson. What’re you doing here?”

If the gleam in his eye was any indication, he believed I’d shown up to talk to him about Kit’s offer. I’d keep that as an option to keep him talking. I used the old standby: “I was in the neighborhood.”

“Really? So you here on official business?”

“Might say that. I was just at the VA. I ran into your brother.”

Hiram stopped. “You saw Josiah? Umm. How is he?”

“As good as a partially blind, crippled veteran can be, I suppose. He said you don’t come to see him much.” The little white lie was a test to see if Hiram regarded his relationship with his brother in the same light that Josiah did.

“Nope, I don’t. I ain’t got a lot of free time,” said the man standing in his bathrobe, late in the afternoon.

I nodded. “I imagine working as Kit’s gopher keeps you scrambling.”

“I am not his gopher. I am his assistant.” His hands came out of his pockets, and he crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant posture. “He’s taking me to a real estate seminar in Spearfish next week.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Josiah put you up to this? Making me feel guilty for having a job?”

“No, I just wondered why Josiah’s so unhappy about you working for Kit. When it seems you’re apparently having some success. Is it jealousy?”

Hi relaxed slightly. “No. Josiah just don’t understand how the world works; he never has. He went from Ma taking care of him to the marines taking care of him to the VA taking care of him. He ain’t ever had to punch a clock. Never had to worry about being hungry. Never had to worry how he was gonna come up with money for living expenses. And he thinks being a wounded Indian soldier makes him a warrior like our ancestors, and gives him the right to… forget it.”

I understood what Hi left unsaid. Some guys in the service were total jerks before getting injured, and a permanent disability made them only jerkier, more demanding and, in most cases, more impossible to be around. “Well, he talked about honor and pride, saying something along the lines about you doing stuff he didn’t approve of.”

“Which would be almost everything, in his opinion.”

I pointed to the sweat lodge. “Does Josiah know you take part in the sweat?”

“It ain’t something I advertise.”

Neither did Jake or John-John. “Too bad I’ve got another stop to make or I’d ask you to show me how to do a cleansing ritual.”

“Why? Seeing my brother make you feel dirty or something?”

“No, I need one after finding another dead body at my place this morning.”

Hiram’s twitchy body went still. “What?”

“You haven’t heard? I figured it’d be all over the county by now.”

“I haven’t been to town. I’ve been out here all day getting ready. Who’d they find?”

“Not ‘they’-I found her. Sue Anne White Plume.”

Her name didn’t bring any reaction. Hiram was just as stone-faced as his brother.

“Did you know her?”

“Just because I’m Indian don’t mean I know every Indian around these parts,” he snapped.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Forget it.” Hi looked over his shoulder, then back at me. “So now that you’re done nagging me about my brother and spreading bad news, didja wanna talk about Kit’s offer on your place?”

I must’ve gotten that deer-in-the-headlights look because Hiram offered me the sly, mean smile he’d learned from Kit.

“Didn’t think so. I got stuff to do. See ya.”

Don’t let the gate hit you on the way out went unsaid. He trudged to the sweat lodge and disappeared inside.

Despite my desire to go home, I had to stop by the sheriff’s department to fill out the paperwork from last night.

Jolene, the second-shift secretary, gave me a sympathetic look as I approached her desk. “Mercy, hon, how you holdin’ up?”

“I admit all this crap is getting to me.”

“I imagine so. Anything I can do?”

“No. But thanks.” I peeked around the corner. “Is Dawson here?”

“I’m sorry the sheriff isn’t in.” She smiled wistfully. “Seems strange, saying that to you. When your daddy ran the county, we knew better than to make either of you girls wait. Didn’t matter what he was doing, whenever you called from overseas, he gave me explicit instructions to patch you right through.”

Jolene had worked for my dad forever. I wondered how she fared working for Dawson. “Bet you didn’t love those interruptions.”

“I didn’t mind.” Jolene straightened a stack of folders on the corner of her desk. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s some paperwork floating around I’m supposed to fill out. Thought I’d try to catch Dawson before he went home.”

“Too late. He’s gone.”

My raised eyebrows weren’t entirely faked. “Dad never took off before six. Dawson keeping banker’s hours?”

“Not usually. Seems he’s always here. Think he’s afraid if he isn’t he’ll get lost in your dad’s shadow.”

“That would be easy.” I hesitated, hoping she’d buy my unease. “Can I ask you something about my dad and the department?”

“Sure.”

“Why’d he pick Dawson as his successor when there were other deputies who’d worked for him longer?”

Jolene lived to gossip. She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before she mock-whispered, “Caused a big stir. Bill O’Neil was the only one interested in the position. And he’s close to retirement. Wyatt wanted new blood in here; that’s why he hired Dawson.”

New blood or bad blood? nearly tripped off my tongue. Instead, I manufactured a puzzled look. “Remind me again where Dawson came from?”

“Bennett County Sheriff’s Department in Minnesota. He called here about a year ago and asked if we were hiring.”

“Convenient.”

My sarcasm was lost on Jolene. “Very. Dawson moved here right after his interview. He’s renting that old trailer on the Lohstroh place.”

“You’d think if he planned on sticking around he’d want to buy, not rent.”

“Oh, he’s talked plenty about it. He even keeps regular contact with McIntyre’s realty office. But I suspect he’s holding off on buying anything permanent until he knows how the election goes.”

“Sounds to me like he’s got it sewn up.”

“Not necessarily.” She looked at me expectantly.

“What?”

“Some folks are hoping maybe you’ll stick around and give him a run for his money.”

That absolutely floored me.

Jolene laughed. “Hadn’t considered running for sheriff? Ain’t that the way it goes in this county? If it involves you, you’re always the last to know.”

I practically ran out of the building, visions of Suzanne Somers’s bad ’80s sitcom She’s the Sheriff, replaying in my head.

As I reached the door Jolene said, “Don’t write it off as craziness, Mercy. There’s a lot of your dad in you. He always did the right thing. You will, too.”

As I drove, I thought about Dawson and his place in the sheriff’s department. My dad had always been an exceptional judge of character. He definitely would’ve double-checked Dawson’s background before he’d hired him. So Dawson’s apathy bugged the crap out of me.

But was it truly indifference?

Dawson wasn’t doing his job solving murder cases. But… if I gave him the benefit of the doubt, his lack of progress could be blamed on inexperience. Homicides were rare in Eagle River County. With three suspected cases of murder, Dawson might be in over his head and trying to hide it.

Naturally he’d bristle if the former sheriff’s daughter started questioning his experience, his commitment to the community, and his methodology. Especially in light of the rumors circulating I might have my eye on his job.

Jesus. No wonder he always seemed to be following me, showing up when I least expected it, and asking me a million questions.

The more scenarios I ran, the more guilt I felt. Yet my main focus hadn’t changed: finding out who’d killed Levi. As soon as possible. By any means necessary. With or without Dawson’s help.

However, the next time Dawson and I crossed paths, I’d be… nice to him. Pleasant even.

Yeah, that oughta throw him off balance.

I pulled up to the house. A bag of trash was piled alongside the outer wall on the porch, and for the briefest second, it morphed into the shape of a body. Sue Anne’s body. My stomach lurched. I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, it was just garbage. I didn’t have the mental fortitude to walk across the porch. My ankle hurt as I limped around the corner of the house and entered through the front door.

Despite the ghastly vision of Sue Anne’s bloody body propped on my porch, the time had come to track down Moser and Little Bear. Chances were slim they’d talk to me. Chances were high I’d try to change their minds.

Tomorrow. I’d had enough of today. Exhausted and in pain, I wolfed down a protein bar and crawled into my bed.

Some time later, loud voices in the kitchen woke me. I ventured downstairs. Theo’s arm was draped across Hope’s shoulders. She rested against him, her posture the picture of dejection. My chest cavity ached, as if she’d jammed her hand inside and squeezed my heart in her fist.

Theo looked at me and frowned. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

I live here, asshole. “Yeah? Well, I didn’t think you’d be here. After what’s happened, maybe this isn’t the best place for Hope to be.”

Hope raised her tear-filled eyes. “Is it true? Was that girl found here today Levi’s girlfriend?”

“’Fraid so.”

“First Albert, then Levi, and now her? What is going on?”

“Dawson can’t believe those kids were some kind of random victims,” Theo said angrily. “Isn’t it obvious there’s a common tie? Especially when Levi and Sue Anne were seeing each other. This certainly is a-”

“Clusterfuck?”

Poor Theo seemed pissed I’d cut off his impromptu lecture.

“Funny. If you were in my class…”

He rambled. I tuned him out until something clicked. “Hey, wasn’t Sue Anne in your class?”

“Yes. I hardly see what that has to do with anything.”

“Did she come to class last night?”

“No. Lately she’s been missing more than she’s been there, which makes it difficult to talk to her about her excessive absences, doesn’t it?”

“It’s kind of a moot point now.” I took a mental step back. Hope would probably appreciate it if we dropped it. “What are you guys doing tonight?”

“Theo is making supper at his place.” Her eyes glistened again and she said softly, “I have to get out of that house.”

“And I have to make sure she eats properly.”

I was afraid they’d invite me over. Okay, when a decent interval passed and they didn’t issue even a half-assed invitation, I felt slighted. Hypocritical, I know. Just to be ornery, I asked Hope if she needed a ride.

“No. I’ll drive myself.”

“You sure you’re feeling up to it?”

“She’ll be fine,” Theo assured me. “I live about four miles out of town. Small place, but it does have a barn. Nothing slick like your setup here. You should come out and ride with me sometime. I’ve got an old paint horse that won’t spook you.”

I went rigid.

Panic flared in Hope’s eyes. She stepped away from Theo. “Mercy doesn’t ride horses. Ever.”

“Why not?”

Hope waited for me to answer.

I didn’t. Instead, I said, “See you,” and scrambled up the stairs. By the time I’d reached the top, my ankle hurt and my heart hammered. I flattened myself against the wall to regain control. Normally I didn’t have such a visceral reaction at the mere mention of horseback riding. The blood and the death and the bad memories were getting to me.

I heard Hope say, “I can’t believe you said that to her.”

And Theo’s smarmy, “Not my fault she freaked out. It’s been… what? Thirty years since your mom died? I say your sister needs to get over it. Climb back on the horse that threw her, so to speak.”

“Know what? Mercy doesn’t deserve you being an asshole to her in her own house, Theo. Sometimes you just plain piss me off.”

The door slammed behind her.

I don’t know which surprised me more, that Hope had stood up to Theo or that she’d stuck up for me.