Truman tried to focus on his email at his desktop. He yawned several times, even though he’d gotten a good six hours of sleep.
Last night Mercy had been right. The olive oil ice cream was unique. He didn’t have an overwhelming urge to rush back to Portland and get some more, but it’d been an eye-opening experience. He wished he’d had the courage to try the flavor made with bone marrow and smoked cherries instead of settling for the sea salt and caramel, which had sounded safe.
He’d watched Mercy indulge in her odd ice cream and had enjoyed the blissful look on her face. She was weird about food. Selective and particular in a way he’d only read about online or seen in movies. But when it came to ice cream, all her rules went out the window. He’d never seen her pass up the dessert.
Someone tapped at his door and pushed it open. Mercy’s sister Pearl stepped in. “You got a moment?” she asked.
Surprised, he stood and gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Absolutely, Pearl. What can I do for you?”
She wore her apron from the Coffee Café and had her hair pulled back in a long ponytail. It was nearly 8:00 a.m., and he was shocked she wasn’t behind the counter during what had to be a busy time. She didn’t sit and he continued to stand.
“Some of the customers told me the man that was found at that fire had been identified.” She tipped her head to one side as she spoke to him, her hands buried in her apron’s deep pockets. “I pulled up the article from the paper on my phone this morning. It said the FBI is trying to track his whereabouts for the last few months. Is that right?”
“That’s true. We don’t have a current address for him. Do you know him?”
“I don’t know him, but I recognized his picture. I didn’t know his name was Joshua Pence until I read it. He’s been in the shop recently. Maybe a half dozen times over the last month or two.”
“So he was definitely living around here.”
“I don’t know that for certain,” Pearl clarified. “He could have lived an hour or two away and his route to work brought him through town.”
“Good point.” Truman watched her. She fussed with her pockets and had a hard time looking him in the eye. “I take it you don’t recall discussing where he lived with him.”
“I don’t remember him as being a talker. But his size stood out to me, which is why I recognized him.”
Truman waited. Pearl wouldn’t have left her coffee shop to tell him she simply remembered a customer.
“He came in with Tom McDonald a few times.”
There it is.
Truman didn’t know McDonald except to nod at him in the street. His ranch was far out of town, and the police had never responded out there for any incidents. Truman liked that in a resident, but he also liked getting to know his people. McDonald hadn’t made himself available to get to know. He kept to himself.
“McDonald’s a big guy too,” Truman commented.
“That’s why I remembered him. Together they made quite the pair.”
“So McDonald is the guy to talk to,” Truman said. “Hopefully he can shine a little more light on Pence’s history.”
“I need to get back to work. That was all I had to tell you. I wasn’t certain it’d be helpful.”
“It was definitely helpful.”
Pearl turned to leave, and Truman came around his desk. “Hang on, Pearl.” She stopped and looked at him with a deer-in-headlights gaze. “That newspaper article said the FBI was looking for any information on Joshua Pence, right?”
She nodded.
“How come you didn’t contact Mercy?”
Her gaze darted from side to side. “I figured you would know what to do with the information. And it was easy to dash over here.”
“You could have called her just as easily,” he said gently, knowing he was on fragile ground. Pearl looked ready to dash out the door.
“This was easier,” she admitted.
“I understand.” Although Pearl’s efforts to avoid her sister hurt a mushy spot in his heart.
She tilted her head again. “Do you?”
“I think you try to walk a tightrope between your sister and the rest of your family.” He lightly touched her arm. “You feel like you’re in the middle. Trying to keep the peace, not piss off either side. But still keep a tenuous contact.”
Her lips tightened.
“I think you just want everyone to be happy.”
“I do.”
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked.
He might as well have poked her with a cattle prod.
“Probably going to my oldest’s house.”
“You don’t have plans yet?”
Pearl shifted her weight from foot to foot. “It’s a given. It’s what we’ve done the last couple of years. We haven’t really talked about it yet.”
Truman found that hard to believe. He remembered when his mother would plan Thanksgiving dinners. She had the menu delegated among family and the grocery list written down two weeks before the date. Pearl struck him as the same type of organizer.
“Perhaps you and your family can swing by my place for dessert. I’m cooking for Mercy and Kaylie, but we’d love to have everyone come by.”
She relaxed a fraction, as he’d expected. He knew dessert would feel less threatening than the entire meal.
“I’ll check with everyone and let you know.”
Truman held her gaze. “Please do. Kaylie will be baking, and I’m sure there will be ton of goodies.”
Pearl looked thoughtful. “In that case I may skip baking any desserts. Kaylie always outbakes all of us. Even my mother.”
Relief flowed through Truman. She’s considering it. He didn’t want to overwhelm Mercy with a crush of family, so Pearl’s family was a good choice. He’d heard about Mercy’s last conversation with Owen and knew better than to try to contact him. He didn’t know what to do about Mercy’s parents. Maybe a quick word with Rose would shine some light on the question. “Thank you, Pearl. It means a lot to me.”
Contemplative eyes regarded him. “You’re a different man, Truman Daly. In a good way. My Rick would never consider stirring any pot but his own.” She laughed. “That’s a good thing for me most of the time, but sometimes I wish he saw beyond his dinner plate.”
Truman wondered if Pearl dished up Rick’s plate for him. Twenty years ago he’d had dinner at an aunt’s home where she’d done that for her husband. His mother had rolled her eyes, but his father had liked it. It’d led to an interesting car ride conversation on the way back home. “What’s he think of your hours at the coffee shop?”
“Mmmph.” Her lips turned up the littlest bit at the corners.
“That good, huh?”
“He’ll get over it. With one kid out of the house and the other nearly independent, I needed this. It feels good that I’m adding financially to the household. I know Rick likes that part too . . . it’s just taking him a while to come around.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She turned again to leave but stopped and glanced back. “Take care, Truman,” she said awkwardly, dipping her chin as if slightly embarrassed.
He watched her leave, feeling good about their conversation. He’d do whatever it took to smooth Mercy’s transition back to Eagle’s Nest. He wanted her to stick around for the long term.