“She only took the small suitcase, not the big one.”
That’s reassuring. “Good.” Her heart rate felt nearly normal. Both she and Morrigan looked in the direction of the road at the sound of a vehicle. Mercy recognized the black Tahoe with a light bar.
Relief and a spark of happiness filled her.
Truman could find her in any crowd.
Mercy drew his attention as if she harbored a homing beacon and he were internally wired to the frequency. His nerve sensors locked on her as she sat in the yard and wouldn’t let go. His brain instantly calmed. Being unable to reach her had left him feeling disjointed and empty. Not to mention very worried.
She stood, a tall, slim figure all in black, her long, dark hair only a shade lighter than her clothing.
He frowned. She wore the backup gear from her bug-out bag. What happened to her clothes?
Her hand was held by a small girl in a brown coat and jeans that were too short. Truman assumed she was the granddaughter the deputy had mentioned and was stunned that the child had made it all the way out to the main road to flag Mercy down.
He parked and strode across the snow, his boots crunching, his eyes never leaving Mercy’s green gaze. She gave a wide smile as he walked directly into her arms and held her tight. “You’re going to get a mass of text messages from me when you get your cell service back,” he said into her hair. He inhaled, catching the faint lemon scent from her hair, and the bulk of his anxiety floated away. His arms tightened slightly and he relished the solid feel of her.
“I’m sorry. I knew you might be worried.”
He pulled back, took her face with both hands, and kissed her, not caring about their rule against PDAs when on the job. Four months earlier she’d walked into his town, and he’d known his life would never be the same. In the best way possible. They argued. They made up. They butted heads. But damn, it was fun. Life before her had faded from his memory, and now it felt as if she’d always been with him.
“Yes, I worried.”
“Who told you where to find me?”
“I just followed my nose.”
She scowled.
“I was headed to your cabin to see if you were still there and spotted county waiting at the end of this drive. He told me you were here. What happened?”
The story she recited made him shift his attention to Morrigan. “You went all the way out to the road in the dark?” he asked, holding tightly to Mercy’s hand.
The girl pointed. “There’s a shortcut through there.”
Truman turned around and eyed the dense woods. I wouldn’t walk through there at night. “You’re very brave.”
“I know,” she answered with a shrug.
The home’s front door opened and a man in a bright-blue coat stepped out. Mercy dropped Truman’s hand as the man’s gaze went from Truman to Mercy. He joined their group, and Mercy introduced the detective. Truman noticed the small, wry twist of Bolton’s lips as they shook hands.
Thought she was single, did you?
Think again.
“Have the crime scene techs gotten to the knives yet?” Mercy asked Bolton.
“Not yet. And I talked to the ME. Told her there was a chance some poison could have been on the blade that—” Bolton stopped, his gaze shooting to Morrigan, who stood just outside their group, listening intently.
Mercy laid a hand on Morrigan’s shoulder and looked around. Spotting a deputy in the doorway, she waved him over. “Morrigan is giving tours of her animals. Have you seen them yet?” she asked the deputy, who quickly got the message.
“Nope. I’d love to see them,” he told Morrigan. “Do you have any rabbits?” Truman heard him ask as the two of them walked away.
“Did Natasha say that poison would be visible on the wounds?” Mercy asked Bolton.
“I didn’t ask.”
“The answer is, ‘It depends,’” said Natasha Lockhart as she stepped out of the home. Truman liked the small medical examiner. She was witty and generous with her smiles for a person who daily worked with death. She joined them in the snowy yard. “Hey, Truman,” she greeted him. “Did the two of you try that Thai place I recommended?”
“We did,” he answered. “We’ve been three times already. I don’t know how it stays in business. No one is ever eating in the restaurant.”
“I think most of their business is takeout. Did you try—”
“What were you going to tell us about the poison, Dr. Lockhart?” interrupted Bolton. Mild impatience shone in his eyes.
“Right,” she said. “Some poisons can cause cauterization at the edge of a wound, but it depends on their strength and type. Her wounds bled heavily, so I can’t see much on the tissues, but I’ll look for it and run some tests when I get her on the table.”
“It might be nothing.”
“It’s a start.” Natasha paused and looked over at the barn as Morrigan and the deputy disappeared inside. “It appears someone also tried to smother the woman. Clearly they weren’t successful, but she has petechiae present in her eyes.”
“The tiny red spots in the eyes?” asked Truman. “You think it happened before the stabbings?”
“Right now I think the attempted asphyxiation happened first. There was a pillow close by on the floor, so I asked the techs to bag it and check it for saliva. It looked clean, and I think it would have blood on it if they’d tried to smother her after the wounds.”
“Don’t most pillows get saliva on them?” asked Truman, thinking of nighttime drooling.
“Yes, but this was a decorative pillow. Usually people don’t sleep on them. A regular pillow was still under her head.”
“Was the pillow on the floor dark green?” Mercy asked. “The sofa has a dark-green throw pillow.”
“It was.” Natasha nodded. “Possibly someone brought it in from the living room.”
“With the intention to suffocate her,” added Truman, looking at Bolton. “What are your ideas on motive? Any sign of theft?”
“No indication of a break-in,” said Bolton. “And Morrigan’s mom is probably the only one who can tell if something is missing.”
“Who would want to murder an old woman?” asked Mercy. “I got the feeling from Morrigan that she rarely leaves the house.”
“Perhaps she wasn’t the target,” suggested Truman.
“All those cuts weren’t made by accident,” said Natasha.
“It would take a lot of rage to do the damage I saw,” Mercy said slowly. “Our suspect might have been angry that his intended victim wasn’t here. Perhaps the mother was the intended victim.”
“We plan to take a hard look at the mother,” said Bolton. “And neither you nor Chief Daly have any role in this case.” He pointed at Mercy. “You’re a witness, nothing else.”
Truman recognized the stubborn tilt of Mercy’s head and pitied Detective Bolton.
FIVE
Mercy held the detective’s gaze. Like hell I’m stepping away from this case.
“Excuse me, Detective Bolton?” came a voice from behind them.
Mercy turned in unison with the detective.
It was the deputy who’d gone to look at Morrigan’s animals. The girl was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Morrigan?” Mercy immediately asked.
“She’s feeding the goats. Cute little things.” The deputy gave a half smile. “I know the barn was initially searched for a suspect, but has anyone taken a close look at what’s in there?”