Lori Armstrong - Mercy Kill

The same disturbing thoughts I’d shoved aside earlier resurfaced. I knew Anna was a killer. It’d never bothered me. Not when I watched her snuff a terrorist. Not when she’d become a private soldier. But it bothered me now.

If I was elected sheriff, could I arrest Anna for killing Victor? Or would I keep my mouth shut and let her go? Really, what purpose would throwing Anna in jail serve? Victor Bad Wound had been a horrible man. Who cared if he was dead?

But no one had cared when Jason Hawley turned up dead either, so I couldn’t help but draw the parallels.

And if I really wanted to throw a monkey wrench into my decision, I had allowed a murderer to go free before. In fact, it’d been my bright idea to cover up the murder. How could I possibly justify letting Jake off the hook for killing Iris, and not do the same for my grieving friend who just wanted to avenge the man she’d loved?

Despite my claims that no one was above the law, I’d taken the law into my own hands several times. Everyone, including law enforcement, already believed Cherelle was guilty of murdering Victor. Seemed logical to say nothing and see how it played out.

“Mercy. How you holding up?”

I faced Leo Harvey. I’d snap like a chained pit bull if one more person asked me that question. I pasted on a smile. “Doing great, Leo. Thanks again for letting us use your store tonight.”

“My pleasure. Anything you need?”

A shot of Wild Turkey. “No, I’m good. Your wife laid out quite a spread for us. I can’t thank her enough.”

“Barbara lives for this kinda stuff.”

Hope waved at me frantically from across the room. “Leo, if you’ll excuse me.” I wove through the crowd until I reached my sister. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Good news for a change. I’ve been talking to Kit. He has a line on a new double-wide trailer outside of Rapid that was in mortgage default. He said me ’n’ Jake can look at it tomorrow. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Very. Where would you put it?”

Hope switched Joy to her left hip. “Where my old trailer was. Like Jake said, all the hookups are already in place, so it’d be a quick move in.”

“But you’ll be okay living there?”

“It wasn’t the location I hated, Mercy. It was the trailer. I hated the reminder that Levi wouldn’t ever slam that crappy door again. Or leave his pop cans all over the living room.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she hugged Joy closer. “There was just too much of him in such a small space. I felt like I was suffocating in the silence of him not being there.”

“Hope-”

“I’m okay. I miss him. Not an hour goes by that I don’t think of him.”

Instead of witnessing the pain in my sister’s eyes, I poked Joy’s jelly belly. “You deserve a place of your own. But the house will be empty and quiet with you guys gone. I’ll miss you all.”

“Prove it.” Hope thrust Joy between us.

“Whoa. What are you doing?”

“Making you hold your niece. She’s five months old. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I just can’t-”

“Yes, you can. You did last night. I watched you.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I still don’t know why you were bleeding, but I figure if you’d wanted me to know, you’d tell me.” She stepped closer. “Now. Go on. Take her.”

I panicked and started to back up. “But-”

“No buts.” Hope softened her tone. “Mercy. You won’t drop her. I promise. I’ll be right here.”

Shame heated my cheeks. “How did you know-”

“Sophie told me. I trust you with her. But, that said, I wasn’t gonna let you hold her when you were drinkin’ all the damn time.” Her eyes narrowed on mine. “You haven’t been sneaking shots of whiskey tonight?”

I shook my head. Then I looked at Joy’s perfect little face, her tiny little body. I had guns that weighed more than she did. The next thing I knew, Hope was pressing Joy against my chest. My heart galloped. “Wait a sec.”

“You’re fine. Just hold her with your left arm, like this”-she pulled my forearm across Joy’s rounded belly-“and slide your right arm under her butt. Perfect. She likes to face the front so she can see what’s going on.”

Joy made a funny noise, then turned her head to stare at me. Were her eyes scared? Did she sense my fear? Would she take advantage of my inexperience and squirm out of my arms?

Something else caught her interest, and she looked away.

Whew. I didn’t bounce her or adjust my position. At all. I was statue aunt.

Hope beamed. “See? Is that so bad?”

“Umm. No.”

“So, after me ’n’ Joy and Jake move out of the main house, are you gonna come clean about the guy you’ve been seein’ on the sly?”

“What guy?”

She smirked. “Nice try, but I even know who it is.”

I ignored the spike in my pulse. “Do tell, little sis.”

Hope whispered, “Bobby Sprague.”

“Eww. That’s gross.” Bobby Sprague was the fat, mean, stupid kid that everyone had hated. As an adult he was still fat, mean, and stupid, and I avoided him like Sophie’s bran-pumpkin muffins.

Joy grunted and wiggled. My pulse spiked again. “Umm, Hope? I think Poopy’s trying to escape.”

“C’mere, baby girl. We’ve taken up enough of Aunt Mercy’s time.” Hope plucked Joy from my arms. “And stop calling her Poopy.”

For the next hour, I paced, although it appeared I was mingling. My cheeks ached from smiling. Geneva and the election crew were falsely upbeat, so I suspected either Rollie or Kit had an inside source for the preliminary election results.

Things weren’t looking good for team Gunderson.

The ten o’clock news came on. Few elections were taking place in West River, so it wouldn’t take long to learn the results.

The room went still as the information scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

Winner, Eagle River County sheriff race: Mason Dawson def. Mercy Gunderson.

I lost?

The screen didn’t change.

Yes, I lost. In the county I was born in. In the county my father had served for two and a half decades.

Dawson won with a margin of 70 percent to 30 percent of the votes.

Disappointment floated around me so thick I could’ve choked on it. Any semblance of a smile was long gone-on my face and everyone else’s.

Don’t be a sore loser, girlie; he won fair and square.

Thanks for that pep talk, now, Dad.

I knew I’d have to call Dawson and concede, but why in the hell did I have to make the call in front of everyone? In the name of good sportsmanship?

Screw that.

I turned my back on the room-I didn’t care if they thought I was hiding my teary face-and flipped open my cell phone to text Dawson.

Congrats. You won. Don’t be a smug prick about it. Official phone call to follow.

My unofficial concession made me feel better, if nothing else.

His immediate answering text read: So noted, and so gracious.

I faced the campaign workers-my family, friends, and locals who’d pinned their hopes on me. I almost wished they’d berate me; it couldn’t be worse than the guilt I was heaping on myself.

Geneva approached me. “You all right?”

“What do you think?”

She leaned forward and whispered, “I think you did better than Bill O’Neil would’ve done.”

I stared at her. Hard. Then it hit me. “You didn’t expect me to win.”

“Of course not.”

“Then why did you-”

“Because the county needed a choice, Mercy. If Dawson had run unopposed, no one in the county would’ve respected him, or his authority, or thought he’d ‘earned’ the right to be sheriff for the next four years.” She squeezed my hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I would’ve loved it if you’d won. But I was looking at the bigger picture.”