Truman clapped him on the shoulder. “Happens to everyone. That’s why we set up the fund. Now . . . you’re one of the closest neighbors to Ned Fahey. Did you notice anything unusual over the weekend?”
Mercy admired the way Truman had addressed Leighton’s problem without making a big issue out of it and moved on as if making town loans was a daily part of his job. Maybe it was. She wondered how this mystery emergency fund was paid for.
“I can’t see Ned’s property from here. It’s at least a half mile away. Our properties are divided by a small stream that runs off the Cascades, but during the summer it turns into a dry wash. This fall when it started flowing again, it went a different way. It moved at least a hundred yards into my lower field. Ned said according to the land deeds, that meant he owned half my field. I don’t think so.” If steam could come out of human ears, a dense cloud would be surrounding Leighton’s head.
“That doesn’t sound very fair,” Mercy sympathized. Land was precious to the residents, and they guarded it fiercely. It didn’t excuse Leighton for firing when he’d thought they were government agents coming to seize his property, but it gave her a little more insight into what made him tick. “So you’re saying you haven’t been close enough to Ned’s property—his actual property—to see if anything happened over there.”
“Nope.”
“Hear any shots recently?” Truman asked.
“I always hear shots. But it could be coming from the McCloud or Hackett places. Hard to tell the direction sometimes.”
Mercy studied the older man. Would he kill Ned Fahey to get his hundred yards of property back? He seemed honest enough, but she was reserving judgment.
“Did you order a new pair of glasses?” asked Truman. “I don’t want you shooting someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Yep. Went into Bend last week. They should be ready tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Mercy. She frowned. “Do you have a ride to the eye doctor?”
“What for?” Leighton looked confused.
“Can you see well enough to drive?”
“I’ve been driving that road to Bend for fifty years. I could do it with my eyes shut.”
Mercy decided this wasn’t her problem. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas about who would hurt Ned Fahey? I assume you know about Jefferson Biggs and Enoch Finch. We’re looking for a common denominator in all three deaths.”
Leighton scratched one ear. “Ned was always pissing people off. He liked to wave his ax around a little too much. I called him Injun Ned one time and I thought he was going to take my scalp for it.”
Mercy bit the inside of her cheek.
“But he was pretty harmless. Kept to himself. He talked about being prepared for the end of the world all the time. I can only handle so much of that, you know. It was like a religion to him. He claimed he could last for months without relying on a grocery store or the county service for his heat.” Sorrow crossed his face. “I guess all that work was for nothin’ now.”
“Did you know how many guns he had?” asked Mercy.
Leighton gave her an odd look. “What’s it matter? A man has a right to own all the guns he wants. Never saw the point of owning more than five or so . . . I mean, you can only fire one at a time.” Concentration narrowed his brows. “I think I’ve probably seen him with three different guns over the years. He preferred his ax.”
That statement didn’t match what Mercy suspected Ned owned. But the ax description was consistent.
She and Truman thanked Leighton for his time, and she handed him the wet towel. “Thank you for the towel.”
“I’m sorry I scared you into the mud.” He apologized with a small, gentlemanly bow.
Outside she asked Truman his opinion.
The chief walked another ten feet before replying, clearly organizing his thoughts. “I don’t know if we learned anything from him or not. The change in property lines because of the creek is interesting, but I don’t think it’s a motive for murder.”
“I agree.” Mercy waited for a moment, but he appeared to be done talking. “Is there really a town fund for personal emergencies?”
Truman winced. “Not really. But I’ll do what I can to keep him in his home. That’s how it starts, you know.”
“How what starts?”
“A lot of the antigovernment attitudes. It’s like a line of dominoes. Usually the first domino is tipped over by having their home foreclosed on. Something personal happened . . . either they got ill and racked up huge medical bills or they lost their job and couldn’t find another. They have to choose whether to feed their kids or pay the mortgage. Guess which is going to come first?”
Mercy knew he was right. She’d seen it happen over and over.
“Suddenly the home that’s been in their family for decades is ripped out from under them and their credit rating is destroyed. They need a place to live. They need a job and they need their pride restored. It’s a lot easier to stop the dominoes before they start tipping. If all Leighton needs is a bit of cash to tide him over, then we’ll make it happen.”