“But was he living in Oregon?” Debby asked. “How long ago did he leave Nevada?”
“We were hoping you could shine some light on that.” Mercy paused, looking for a delicate way to phrase her next question. “Would you say your father preferred to be . . . independent? Maybe complain a bit that laws interfered in people’s lives too much?”
Understanding crossed Debby’s face. “You’re asking if he was part of some weird group who thinks the government needs to mind its own business.” Amusement twitched in her lips.
“Something like that.”
“Let’s just say my father was rather shocked when I went to law school.”
“Was he angry?” Truman asked.
Debby looked thoughtful as she considered the question. “He’s always been angry,” she said quietly. “His parents’ home was foreclosed on a long time ago. He’s been bitter about that for as long as I can remember. He’s always preached that people need to be left alone to live their lives instead of being taxed every time they turn around.”
“What about his view of law enforcement?” Mercy swallowed hard, not sure she wanted to hear Debby’s answer.
“He’s always hated cops,” Debby replied. “Cops and the military. I remember that from when I was young. I never knew the reason why.”
Mercy saw Truman tighten his jaw. I hope those fires weren’t aimed at hurting law enforcement.
“Now tell me why the FBI is involved.” Debby’s tone and demeanor shifted into lawyer mode.
“Eagle’s Nest had a rash of small fires that I was investigating,” Truman said. “But then two deputies were murdered when they responded to a larger fire. Then someone shot at one of my officers at the fire where we discovered your father’s murder. The FBI was brought in to investigate the deaths of the deputies. They’re including your father’s death in their investigation.”
“Is your officer okay?” Debby asked.
“Yes. They missed. Thank you.” Truman nodded at her.
“You’re wondering if my father was involved in starting the fires. And the murders.”
Mercy and Truman were silent, watching the young woman. Debby looked away and shuddered slightly. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry for the other deaths, but I honestly can’t see my father being involved.” She met Mercy’s gaze. “He was a harmless big teddy bear. He was kind and gentle and couldn’t hurt a fly. It just wasn’t in him. Sure, he talked hard words about police, but I don’t think he would actually act on it.”
“I know he had two weapons registered at the time of his death,” Mercy said. “Did he own more?”
Debby shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t know what he had. My dad loved to shoot and even won some awards. He was an amazing shot with a rifle.” She turned her gaze to Truman. “But he would never kill anyone.”
Silence stretched among the three of them.
“You can’t think of any acquaintances he had in the Bend area?” Mercy asked, feeling the need to end the silence.
The woman stared at the floor to her right, pressing her lips together. “I just don’t know. I really didn’t pay much attention when he talked about people I wasn’t familiar with.” She blinked hard and turned back to Mercy. “I don’t know who his friends have been over the last decade. Does that make me a rotten daughter?” she whispered.
“Not at all.” Mercy’s stomach simmered as she felt the rotten label on her own forehead.
“Did he ever talk about moving to Oregon?” Truman asked.
“I guess he might have said something.” Debby’s face cleared and she straightened. “When I came here for my job four years ago, he’d said he’d never leave Nevada. But about a year ago”—she rubbed at her chin as she concentrated—“I think it was around Halloween. He mentioned that someone he knew was moving to Oregon and joked that he was now considering it. At least I assumed at the time he was joking.” Her dark-brown gaze flicked between Mercy and Truman. “That was about the time he lost his house, wasn’t it?”
Mercy nodded.
The daughter’s shoulders slumped. “I should have listened better. Maybe he was trying to ask for help with a place to live.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Dammit. I think I laughed it off. Told him I knew he’d never leave Nevada. I wish I could remember who he said was moving here, but I honestly can’t remember the names of any of the people he used to talk about. I can’t even tell you the name of the nice neighbors who lived next door so long ago.”
“Since we haven’t figured out where he lived yet, we don’t have any of his belongings outside of the clothes he was wearing,” Mercy said. “Surely someone will come forward when his identity is publicly released tomorrow, and we’ll learn more. We wanted to speak with you before it happened.”
“Someone must know where he’s spent the last year.” Debby’s eyes were hopeful. “I’ll tell you right now you are welcome to go through any of his things to figure out who killed those deputies.” She paused and continued in a thoughtful voice. “My father is dead, and there’s nothing in his past I need to protect.”
“Thank you.” Mercy caught Truman’s gaze and lifted a brow. Anything else?
He shook his head. He stood and handed Debby his card, stating the usual request that she contact them if she remembered anything else. Mercy did the same, and they said their good-byes.
The air outside was nippy and Mercy pulled her collar up around her neck as they walked down Debby’s driveway. “I can feel it’s about to rain.”
“The air is definitely damper over here,” agreed Truman. “What do you think about her description of her father as a teddy bear?”
“I think she’s a grieving young woman who lost her father.”
“She’s sharp,” said Truman. “I think she would have known if he had it in himself to kill someone.”
“I don’t think anyone can truly know what another person is capable of. Doesn’t matter if you are the daughter, son, or wife. People see only what you want them to see.” She looked away as Truman glanced over at her. “She admitted he’s a good shot. Whoever shot those deputies had true skills.”
“On our side of the mountains, there are plenty of people with those skills.”
“True,” Mercy admitted. Our side of the mountains. She wanted to go back to their side. In a matter of short months, Portland had ceased to be her home. Maybe it never had been. Had she simply been biding her time when she lived here? Nothing in town made her want to stay.
Well, almost nothing.
“Have you ever had olive oil ice cream?” she asked, suddenly swamped by a craving.
He recoiled. “What the hell? That sounds disgusting.”
“Do you trust me?” She paused at her side of the vehicle, looking at Truman over the hood.
“Not right this moment.” He looked pained.
“It’ll change the way you look at ice cream. I promise. We need to make one stop before we head home.”
He took a deep breath. “This better be good.”
THIRTEEN