Lori Armstrong - Merciless

I nodded. “My dad was sheriff when I was your age. But that backfired on me. Most people thought I’d tattle on them to the law.”

He laughed, and it reminded me of Levi.

“Can I ask you kind of a strange question?” He nodded. “Did it bug you that Arlette got to live with your uncle and you didn’t?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. “Maybe a little. After my mom died, my dad got married again, and then he died a few years later, so I lived with my stepmom until she kicked me out. Never crossed my uncle’s mind to give me a place to crash, even for a little while.” He shrugged tightly. “But in some ways, I felt sorry for Arlette. ’Cause I know Uncle didn’t want her living there any more than he wanted me.”

Hadley had just confirmed Naomi’s observation about the tribal president’s attitude about his wife’s niece. “Did you guys know each other at school?”

He shook his head. “I dropped out when I was sixteen. Needed to get a job. Been working here since it opened.” He talked about his responsibilities until my food arrived, then left me alone to eat.

The food wasn’t bad, and the portions were huge. After I ate, I still had twenty minutes before I could return to the gloomy basement, so I opted to wander through the casino.

Not many gamblers were trying their luck at the one-armed progressive jackpot win today. I wandered to the blackjack tables. Only one table had players. And one of those players happened to be Devlin Pretty Horses.

Just my bad luck I’d seen him two days in a row. Was there truth to Rollie’s comment about Devlin owing money all over town? Surely the casino wouldn’t advance him a loan?

I watched from behind a video poker machine as the trio at the table played several hands. Devlin’s pile of chips was mighty small. It amazed me how fast the games went and how quickly chips vanished.

Devlin said something to the dealer. The dealer shook his head. An angry Devlin leaned closer, smacking his hands on the table to get the dealer’s attention.

The dealer signaled to security.

Immediately, a strapping guard came over and escorted Devlin out of the building.

Interesting.

I watched the dealer talking to a guy I assumed was the casino floor manager. The suit-and-tie wearing guy nodded a lot at whatever the dealer said. After five minutes, I wandered outside and saw Devlin on his cell phone.

The instant he noticed me approaching him, he ended the call.

“Hey, Devlin, I thought that was you.”

“Mercy, whatcha doin’ out here? This ain’t your normal hangout.”

You would know. “I’m working at tribal headquarters this week, so I came out for lunch. What are you doing here?”

“The same. I’m about to have lunch with a buddy. He’s running late. I’m just waiting out here for him.”

Liar. “Have a nice lunch. The taco salad is good.”

“Thanks. See ya.”

As I drove back into town, I wondered who I could ask to get the truth about Devlin’s gambling problem. Rollie? No. He kept secrets better than anyone I knew.

Maybe Penny. She’d seemed more than a little exasperated with her brother last night. I could swing by Sophie’s house tomorrow on my lunch hour when Sophie wouldn’t be there. I hated to go behind Sophie’s back, but these family issues were taking a toll on her, and I couldn’t stand to see her hurting.

I parked in the tribal headquarters lot. Although the lunch break had done me good, it was almost worse now, knowing I’d have to go back inside.

• • •

Wednesday was more of the same in the archives department. Sheldon and I chatted and had a cup of coffee before I locked myself in the newspaper archive section.

At Quantico we’d learned how to load the film into the microfiche machine. The damn movies made it look so easy, when in actuality, it sucked.

Sheldon refreshed my memory on the process before I selected a roll. Then I began the arduous process of separating out articles specifically regarding women, looking for any information on car accidents, suspicious deaths, missing persons, reports of suicide, and fund-raisers-which were usually for a health-related issue.

Residents of the Eagle River Reservation had a high mortality rate. This wasn’t one of those situations where a prescription for Lopressor or adding more fiber to a diet would change those stats.

I focused on young women between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five. In a one-year span, forty women died, which didn’t seem significant until I reminded myself the entire population of Eagle River was ten thousand residents. And I was looking at only a twenty-year age span for victims. The only age group that had it worse than women of that age group? Babies.

I’d been damn glad to go home, because this assignment really was beginning to feel like punishment.

So yeah, I’d dragged ass, getting to tribal HQ on Thursday morning. Lex hadn’t been thrilled I’d been tasked with car-pool duty again. Especially since Mason had had to work late the last two nights, which left me to ask Lex if he had his homework done.

I stopped by Sophie’s house to talk to Penny. I half expected Devlin would answer my knock, but no one came to the door. I gave up in case Penny was resting and told myself not to get pissy when I noticed John-John’s El Dorado was parked across the street.

Instead of going directly to the archives, I stopped in at the tribal PD. While Fergie didn’t have any news on the case-not that she’d tell me anyway, since Turnbull was in charge-she told me a funny story about her most recent night in a patrol car. I realized since I’d joined the FBI, Dawson no longer shared stuff like that with me.

It was almost nine thirty when I hit the call button to be let into the archives department. Five minutes passed with no response. But every minute I wasn’t in that room looking at sobering statistics was a happy minute. Still, I hit the call button again.

Sheldon finally answered and seemed annoyed to see me.

“Morning, Sheldon. I know I’m a little late-”

“Yes, you are. I understand you don’t punch a time clock, Agent Gunderson, but I do. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only days the archives are closed to the public so I can catch up on my work. Except today, I have to open up at ten since we’ll be closed tomorrow. I wasted a half an hour this morning waiting around up front because I expected you earlier, and now I’m behind. When I get in the back rooms, I cannot hear the buzzer.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to add to your workload when you’ve been so helpful to me.” I followed him to the desk. “You’re closing tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’m taking a much-needed personal day.”

I curbed my disappointment there wasn’t coffee. And I knew I had to make nice. This would be a test, making nice without the benefit of caffeine. “Lucky you. Do you plan on doing something fun?”

Sheldon stared at me, as if gauging the sincerity of my interest. “I’m going hunting.”

I gave him a big smile. “Really? That’s great! Where?”

“Near Viewfield. A friend lets me hunt on his place.”

“Good thing you’ve got permission. I tend to shoot hunters who trespass on our land.”

He didn’t find my attempt at humor funny. “You can’t possibly catch all the trespassers, hunters or otherwise, with the size of the Gunderson Ranch.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun trying to catch them.”

Another dour look. “What about the Sheriff? Does he bring his buddies or his family to hunt in such a prime location?”

Sheldon was pissy today, but I doubted it was due entirely to my late arrival. “Dawson hasn’t asked specifically that we open it up to his friends from Minnesota or his colleagues in the sheriff’s office. There are a few local families that’ve been hunting on Gunderson land for years. They follow the rules, or they lose the privilege.”