“Sorry about the mud.” He pulled a package of tissues out of his coat pocket and handed it to her.
She shook her head at the plastic package on her palm. “I don’t think these will cut it.”
“We’ll get a towel from Leighton. He’ll feel bad that you got muddy.”
He sounded sincere, and she stole a look at his face to see if he was making fun of her. He wasn’t. Concern shone in his brown eyes. She eyed the rest of him. Other than a little mud on his boots, he’d managed to avoid the filthy water.
“Glad I could break your fall,” she said.
“I appreciate it.” He grinned, and the last grain of her annoyance with him shattered. Police Chief Truman Daly had a smile to stop traffic. He probably breaks hearts right and left with that smile. The tall man had been serious and reserved since she’d met him, which was understandable because of his uncle’s death. But out here in the rainy woods surrounding Leighton’s property, he’d relaxed, even though someone had fired a gun less than a minute ago.
“Chief? You comin’ in?” Leighton called.
“On our way.”
“You sure he’s safe?” Mercy asked.
“He already said he wasn’t shooting at us.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m trusting you.”
“Good idea.” They continued their cautious wading to Leighton’s home. The house didn’t have a front porch. It had a small set of concrete stairs that led up to a larger concrete block in front of the door, which listed to the right. Leighton Underwood stood in the open doorway, his shotgun pointed away and tucked under one arm. It took Mercy a long second to recognize it as a peaceful pose. In Portland, seeing this stance in a doorway would have sent her in the opposite direction.
“My glasses busted.” Leighton squinted at them. He was tall and proud looking, with a thick mane of white hair that’d receded several inches from his forehead. As Mercy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the man studied her from head to toe. His name wasn’t familiar to her. Even if he knew her parents, he probably didn’t remember her.
“Can we come in, Leighton?” Truman asked.
“Who’s this? You said another officer. Unless you hired a woman yesterday, I’m pretty certain there’s no women on the Eagle’s Nest force.” Skepticism filled his lined face.
“I’m with the FBI,” Mercy said. “We’re investigating the death of your neighbor, Ned Fahey.”
Leighton’s chin rose. “I heard that asshole got himself killed.”
“Now, Leighton—” Truman started.
“Any chance I could borrow a towel?” Mercy asked. “I fell in the mud when your gun went off.”
He squinted at her pants. “Of course. Come in. I apologize again for that, but I couldn’t see who was here. All I saw was those big black rigs you drove. And you know what that means.” He stood to the side and waved them into the home. “Don’t worry about your muddy boots. Stay on the hard floor and I’ll mop it up later.”
Mercy stepped inside and was overwhelmed by the odor of ground beef and onions. Her stomach rumbled. She followed the “hard floor” directly to the right and into a kitchen. No food was cooking on the stove. “What did our black vehicles mean to you?”
Leighton bustled past her and set his gun in a corner. He opened a closet door and pulled out a tan towel. She thanked him as he handed it to her. Its nap was nearly gone and it was mostly mesh, but she was grateful.
“You know what those trucks can mean. The feds,” he whispered. “They all drive around in those big black SUVs. Usually in a caravan of sorts.” He cackled. “I guess I was partially right, since you’re a fed.”
“Call me Mercy, please.” She rubbed at her coat, turning the tan towel dark with dirty water. “Why would you expect the federal government to show up at your house? And would you shoot first if it was the government?”
Leighton rubbed at his bristly chin. “Well, I guess shooting first wouldn’t be the smartest way to say hello. But I’ve been on edge lately. I’ve missed some payments on the mortgage and I’ve been getting those calls.”
“Those would be from your mortgage company, not the government. I don’t think the government sees your mortgage as their problem yet.”
“How far behind are you?” Truman asked quietly. “Do you need a small loan? Just until things are right again?”
Mercy looked at him in surprise. Would the police chief open his own pockets?
“I don’t need another loan,” snapped Leighton. “Got enough.”
“Did you know the town has a short-term emergency fund for problems just like this?” Truman added.
Hope appeared on Leighton’s face and then vanished just as rapidly. “I’m not in the city limits.”
“I’d call you an honorary resident. You spend money in Eagle’s Nest, right? I’ll put in a good word with the town treasurer for you.”
The older man seemed to shrink. “I don’t want to lose my house. Had to pay some medical bills and fell behind.”