He took another bite of burger, and ketchup dripped onto his plate. His gaze didn’t leave her eyes. One of his brows rose. And?
“I had an argument with my parents.” She shrugged. “Teen stuff, you know. Boundaries. Life philosophies. Seeing how far I could push.” She stabbed at her salad a few more times, no longer hungry. “Anyway, I haven’t had a reason to come back.”
“But you’ve been in touch with your parents.”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“E-mail? Christmas cards?”
“None of us have tried anything.”
“But you’ve got four siblings. You talk to them, right?”
Mercy blanched. “You knew?”
“I put it together after Toby Cox said you looked like Kaylie Kilpatrick. I thought maybe you were her mother who took off years ago, but Ina Smythe set me straight.”
Mercy set down her fork as a black haze tunneled her vision. “What else did Mrs. Smythe tell you?”
“She couldn’t remember why you left town.”
Good.
“Why didn’t you immediately tell me you were from Eagle’s Nest?” His brows narrowed as he took a drink from his soda. “Were you trying to get the job done and get out before anyone noticed you?”
“Something like that.” Mercy sat perfectly still, fighting her body’s need to dash out the door. “This isn’t my favorite place.”
Truman nodded, seeming to accept that, but Mercy could tell he knew there was more to the story. He wasn’t going to pry it out of her. Yet.
“Your boss know you’re from here?”
“My boss in Portland does. She must have told the SSRA in Bend, because he mentioned it.”
“Is that why they sent you? They thought you’d have some insight into this community?”
Mercy paused. Could that be the reason? “I’d just cleared some cases off my desk. I was due for a new assignment.”
“And Peterson? Why’d they send him? There’s no way that agent has any roots on this side of the Cascades.”
“He worked on one of the cases I just closed. We work well together.”
“Anything else I should know?” Truman asked. He dropped his gaze and focused on cleaning up the ketchup with a fry.
“No.”
“Good.”
Silence hung over the table for a few minutes as Mercy tackled her salad again. For a small-town diner, it served an excellent salsa.
“How you doin’, Chief?” A gravelly voice interrupted their meal.
Mercy looked up and caught her breath. Joziah Bevins. Her memory of the man merged with the older man in front of her. The lines in his face had tripled, his hair had thinned and whitened, and there was a new stoop to his shoulders. He’s old!
Has my father aged the same way?
My mother?
Her throat thickened and she blinked rapidly.
“Hey, Joziah. Just catching some lunch,” said Truman.
Joziah turned his attention to Mercy, and his smile slowly faded. Recognition fluttered and then faded in his eyes.
“This is Mercy Kilpatrick. She’s with the Portland FBI office.”
Recognition caught flame. “Well. Mercy Kilpatrick. It’s been a long time. I hadn’t heard you were with the FBI. You’ve really outgrown our little town, haven’t you?” Curiosity and caution shone in his gaze.
She expected him to pat her on the head and call her a good little woman. If he told her to show her pretty smile, she’d stomp on his toes.
He’d said both things to her before, but she’d never had the desire to stomp on his toes. Of course, back then she’d believed that type of comment was acceptable.
Funny how she’d changed.
“Nice to see you again, Joziah.” Her mouth felt odd saying his name; he was still Mr. Bevins in her brain. Or “that asshole Bevins.” She heard the words in her father’s voice.
“Been out to see your parents?” Joziah asked.
Why is that the first thing anyone asks? “Not yet. I just got here.”
He nodded, wheels and gears spinning behind his eyes. He glanced at Truman and back at her. “Working on the murders?”
“We’ve asked the FBI for some support,” said Truman. “They have a lot more resources than Eagle’s Nest or county.”
“I was very sorry to hear about your uncle,” Joziah said to Truman. “He was a part of the community for a long time.”
“Thank you, Joziah.”
Bevins said his farewells and took a seat at the diner’s counter, placing his cowboy hat on the seat next to him.
Mercy had held her breath the whole time. When she was a child, Joziah had scared the crap out of her. Nothing had changed.
“Jesus,” said Truman. “I thought you were going to puke.”
Mercy stared at him. “What?”
“When you first looked at him, you turned slightly green. I take it there’s some history there? Not everyone gets a big hug like Barbara Johnson?”
“He and my father don’t like each other. I grew up learning to avoid him.”
“You’re an adult now. I think you can make your own decisions about people. I assume he and your father butted heads over some things?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Joziah Bevins is a popular man around town. Your father commands respect too.”
“It’s always been that way.”
“Should I have not introduced you?”