The Woman Who Couldn't Scream (Virtue Falls #4)

Merida considered her and chose her words carefully, utilizing sign language rather than the easier-to-use iPad. “My life changed.”

Kateri wasn’t really guessing when she said, “Not for the better.”

Merida shook her head.

“Why can’t you…?”

“Why can’t I speak?” Now Merida changed from sign language to the iPad. “My face—much of the damage was to my jaw, teeth and lips.” She kept her head down, typed rapidly without looking Kateri in the eyes. “The pain was terrific and I screamed so much … Well. You know what agony is.”

“I do.”

“By the time the pain was gone, the surgeries were over, the rehab … it was almost two years later. I just … couldn’t.” Merida picked up her coffee cup, but her fingers trembled and she put it back on the saucer.

Kateri thought about what Merida had said and what she wasn’t saying. “Technically you should be able to speak?”

She typed, “The doctors tell me there’s nothing wrong now.”

“Oh, my friend.”

Merida looked up, her eyes anguished, pleading. With her fingers, she spelled, “But you understand?”

In an odd way, Kateri did understand. She had suffered a catastrophe that changed everything: her livelihood, her affections, her pride, her appearance, her ambitions, her future. She had come away broken in so many ways; she had had to learn to deal with pain, to walk again, to live with limitations. Merida had a different limitation, one that was at the same time both emotional and real. “I do understand. But I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m free now. I’m content. Or I will be soon.” Merida smiled, a curve of the lips that reminded Kateri of Cruella contemplating a new coat.

The expression did not fit well on that flawless face, and Kateri remembered it had been twenty years since she’d last seen Merry Byrd and thirteen years since Merry had cut communication completely. Everything about Merry had changed: her appearance, her method of speaking, even her name. Kateri didn’t know this woman, this Merida Falcon, and that meant she should proceed with caution.

Linda arrived at the table, hands full of breakfast plates and eyes full of irritation. She slapped the plates down. “Eat ’em while they’re hot,” she ordered, and headed off.

Merida looked out the window, then typed, “Your officer is coming this way and he looks very serious.”

Kateri looked, too.

Rupert Moen was jogging across the street toward the Oceanview Café, his copper hair standing on end and blotchy red in his cheeks.

Kateri checked her phone. No missed messages. If John Terrance had resurfaced, all the officers would be running for their cars, sirens would be wailing and someone would have called her.

She started working her way through the omelet as quickly as she could.

Moen charged through the door and toward Kateri.

The whole diner went on alert.

When he got close, she chewed, swallowed and asked, “Emergency?”

“No. Gosh, no! Well, maybe. There’s this woman…” He caught sight of Merida. He stopped in his tracks. “Wow.” He mouthed the word.

Poor kid. He wasn’t equipped to handle movie star glamour in their little town.

“Ironic that he was struck dumb at the sight of you,” Kateri said out of the corner of her mouth.

Merida laughed silently.

Aloud, Kateri said, “Officer Moen, this is my friend Merida Falcon. Merida, this is Officer Moen, a very valuable member of the sheriff’s team.”

Merida smiled and nodded.

Moen tore the hat off his head and nodded back. And stared. And stared.

Kateri took the moment to eat a bite of toast. One thing she knew about being in law enforcement—you ate when you could because you never knew when the next opportunity might be. “Moen, what’s the problem?”

He yanked his attention back to Kateri. “You have a visitor.”

Kateri’s fork hovered in the air over the plate. “At the police station?”

“Yeah … A lady.”

“What lady?” Why did he look like a meteor had landed in City Hall?

He looked around at the avidly listening customers. He leaned down and said softly, “A bitchy lady.”

Kateri drank more coffee, ate another bite of eggs. “What’s this bitchy lady’s name?”

“She refused to tell us. Said you’d know her.”

“Description?”

“Caucasian. Blond. Expensive. Thinks she’s important.” Now the true extent of Moen’s foot-in-mouth syndrome burst forth. “So mean I thought she must have PMS but Bergen said no, she was just scary. For sure. She scared the hell out of me. She’s waiting in your office.”

Kateri wondered how it was possible for Moen to drive a narrow mountain road and grin with excitement, but when he faced a malicious woman he displayed the hollow-eyed terror of a two-year-old on Santa’s lap. “Is there no one else in the station who can handle this woman?”

“No.”

That was blunt. “All right. I’ll come.” She handed Moen her toast, handed her card to Merida and said, “Text me. Let me know where you’re staying.”

Merida nodded, her eyes wide, as if seeing Kateri in action startled her.

Walking stick in hand, Kateri headed across the street and around the square to City Hall, Moen pacing beside her. She asked, “So do you figure this is an uppity tourist? Or a reporter who thought she could bully her way into a story?”

“I don’t think so.” Moen’s tone was ominous, but he chewed through the toast with relish.

As she entered the police department, she called, “Hi, guys, thanks for last night!”

No laughter. No teasing. Just a lot of quiet, tense officers avoiding her eyes, and mostly filling out their reports without being nagged.

Something had spooked them. Or someone had …

Kateri’s curiosity hitched up a notch. She stepped into her office, looked at the woman sitting before her desk, at the back of that blond, perfectly coiffed head—and almost backpedaled all the way to the Oceanview Café.

It was Lilith Palmer. Her very own wicked stepsister.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

Merida watched Kateri and Moen leave. It had been good to see Kateri again, to reestablish the bond between them. It had been sad to see Kateri’s sudden wariness, too, but she supposed not surprising. She wasn’t the optimistic, hopeful Merry Byrd that Kateri had once known. Too many years of rigid self-discipline and meticulous plotting had changed her, made her cold, made her hard, made her a woman fired by fury and driven by vengeance.

Bending her head to her tablet, she brought up her spreadsheet and checked her figures. Last night, caught up in the excitement of putting her plan in motion, she had worked later than she meant to. Financial revenge would be satisfying, but if she handled this correctly, one man would be very sorry that he had ever crossed her path.

The door opened. A breeze swept through the diner.

Linda yelled, “Hey! You born in a barn? Shut the door!”

Merida glanced up.

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