Truman worried this train of thought was keeping him from considering other possibilities. It was too early to jump to the conclusion of a serial killer in Deschutes County. They could have nothing to do with each other.
Then why does my gut say they do?
He closed the images, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He needed to focus on Eagle’s Nest issues. Speeders. Loose livestock. Minors with alcohol. His priority was the safety of his residents, not looking over Evan Bolton’s shoulder.
Although he appreciated the courtesies Bolton had extended him.
A soft knock on his closed door made him frown. No one in the office knocked like that.
“Come in,” he said loudly, quickly straightening some papers on his desk.
Karl Kilpatrick opened the door. Surprise raced through Truman at the sight of Mercy’s father. He stood and gestured at a chair. “Karl, come in. What can I do for you?”
Mercy’s father sat, his cowboy hat in his hand. “Keeping yourself busy?” he asked conversationally. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair that showed much more salt these days. His eyes were an intense green like Mercy’s. Over the last few months, Truman had noticed he moved slower than usual. And had lost weight.
“There’s always something,” Truman said. “Some days more than others.”
“Good. Good, that’s good.” Karl paused for a long second, contemplating Truman. “How’s Ollie doing?”
“He’s still going to the community college in Bend. Works at the sports shop on the weekends.”
“He’s a sharp kid.”
“He is.” Truman studied the older man. Karl wasn’t one for small talk, so Truman knew he hadn’t come to shoot the breeze. Something’s up.
He trusted Karl would get to it in due time.
“Haven’t seen my granddaughter in a while.” Karl set his hat on the adjacent chair.
“Kaylie? School started. Since it’s her senior year, she’s working less at the coffee shop.” Truman drummed his desktop with his fingers.
“She figured out what she’ll do after she graduates?” Karl asked.
Clearly the man was struggling to voice the real reason he had come. Truman would have to help him out.
“Last I heard, she was considering the state schools over in the valley. Mercy insists she get a degree before attending culinary school.” Truman took a breath and narrowed his eyes at the man on the other side of his desk. “Karl, you’ve asked me about everyone but your daughter. What are you really here for?”
Mercy’s father looked away, shifting for a more comfortable spot in his chair. “Deborah tried to call her cell phone the other day. Got transferred to her office and was told she’s out of town, but they wouldn’t say when she’d be back.”
“That’s correct. She might be gone for two weeks.”
Karl focused on Truman. “They wouldn’t give her mother a number to reach her. Deborah emailed her, but no response.”
Truman was surprised by the concern in Karl’s eyes.
“She can’t be contacted on this assignment.”
He frowned. “That include talking to you too?”
“It does.” He wasn’t about to share with Mercy’s father how out of whack his routine had been since she’d left.
The lines on Karl’s forehead deepened, and he cracked two knuckles, gazing out the window.
“I take it you—or Deborah—needs to contact her?”
“It’s nothing.”
Truman leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Karl, in the entire time I’ve been chief here, you have never come to my office and made small talk. It’s plain as day that something is bugging you, so you might as well tell me.”
Karl moved to the edge of his seat, his body forward, his hands clenched in his lap. “Doc’s diagnosed me with Parkinson’s disease.” He held up a hand as Truman started to speak. “Let me finish.”
Mercy should be hearing this.
“It’s early and things are under control. It’s not curable—and we can’t predict how it will proceed—but it’s manageable.” Karl took a deep breath. “I’ve known about it for a while, and it’s made me evaluate a few things.” He paused and looked hard at Truman. “Things I might not have handled the right way during my life. I did what I thought was correct at the time, but this illness has changed a few of my views.” He raised both eyebrows. “Would you believe I even voted for a few Democrats?” He shook his head, disbelief in his eyes.
“I didn’t think you voted.” Truman had assumed Karl would have nothing to do with any aspect of the government. He studied Mercy’s father. Karl had been a strong, independent man all his life. No doubt the diagnosis had rocked him to his core.
“I pay my taxes too. I’m not stupid enough to get flagged in their system. Sometimes the best way to be left alone is to not rock the boat. I’ve always voted. It’s American. But that’s not my point.” He looked down at his clasped hands and cracked more knuckles. “I mighta done wrong by Mercy.”
“Mighta?” Truman was outwardly calm as he raged inside. Karl had essentially banished Mercy from the family when she was eighteen over her refusal to obey his authoritarian ways. Fifteen years had gone by before Mercy spoke with any of her relatives. She still wouldn’t be speaking with them if she hadn’t been assigned an investigation in Eagle’s Nest that involved her brother Levi, Kaylie’s father. Levi had been murdered during the assignment.
“I did.” Karl raised his chin and met Truman’s gaze.
“It’s taken you fucking long enough to admit.” The words spilled off Truman’s tongue as heat radiated through him. “You have no idea the amount of guilt she carries over her relationship with you. And she’s tried to mend the fences; you’ve shut her down every time.”
Karl looked away. He was a proud man. Truman knew he should respect the amount of effort it had taken for Mercy’s father to say what he had, but right now Truman felt his anger pulsate, furious with Karl. Parkinson’s or no Parkinson’s.
Karl should be talking to Mercy, not him.
“It took a life-threatening disease to make you reevaluate your past decisions,” Truman said bitterly. His earlier sympathy for Karl’s health had greatly diminished. “I don’t know what that says about you.”
“I need to talk to her,” Karl said quietly, accepting Truman’s anger.
“Yeah, you do. But you’ll have to wait. I’m sure you can handle two weeks if she lived through fifteen years of silence from you.” Truman exhaled, wanting to punch something. Anything. Mercy had been waiting and wishing for this moment since Truman had met her, and now she wasn’t here.
“Do you think she’ll let me give her away?” Karl asked in a low tone.
Shock and surprise made Truman’s jaw drop. He couldn’t speak.
“How much does she hate me?” he continued.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Truman managed to say. “She hates what you did. She hates your pride that kept you from accepting who she is. And she made something amazing out of herself. You show me another eighteen-year-old girl who knew nothing of the real world and became a top-notch FBI agent under her own power, all alone—with the support of no one.”
“I’m proud of her,” he admitted. “I don’t like that she works for—”
“Stop right there, Karl. You’re about to negate all the progress you’ve made while sitting in that chair.” Truman ran a hand through his hair, praying he wasn’t ruining Karl’s sudden urge to do the right thing. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if Karl went back to his old ways before Mercy returned.