“You mean evidence that she was being threatened?” Sandy asked.

“Or blackmailed,” Mercy added, watching the woman carefully.

Sandy’s eyes widened the smallest bit.

“Has Bree done or said anything that made you wonder what was happening in her life?” Mercy asked. “I know you’re the closest of friends. Did she seem off lately? Maybe upset before the vandalism?”

Sandy fingered the bandage on her cheek. “A few weeks ago I found her in tears. She claimed she was simply having a tough day with one of the horses and feeling emotional.” She raised her shoulders. “I’ve cried over less, so I didn’t think much of it. Maybe it was related to those notes. Who knows when she got them?”

“She having any financial issues?” Mercy asked.

“We didn’t talk about things like that. I’d complain when things were tight at the B&B, but she didn’t ever mention money. I assumed her teaching job was sufficient for her and the horses.” She looked at Mercy. “You think she was being blackmailed for money?”

“I looked into her financial records earlier today,” Mercy said. “I didn’t see anything that indicated that. Everything looked pretty normal for a single person. I’ve also requested her credit information.”

Sandy was puzzled. “Why?”

“Standard.” Not really.

The woman’s eyes grew more thoughtful. “Why are you here, Mercy? Aren’t Truman and Deschutes County handling Bree’s attack? Why would you be looking at her bank accounts?”

Mercy exchanged a glance with Truman. His gaze seemed to say, “You opened this can of worms; you handle it.”

“It’s a bit complicated, Sandy . . .” She made a quick decision to not ask Sandy about her background. Yet.

The woman looked at her expectantly.

“Do you know much about Bree’s past? Before she got married and had Lucas?”

“Can’t say I do . . . I know her husband passed away when Lucas was pretty young.”

“She ever talk about who she dated before her husband? Or what she did for work?”

“I think she’s always been a teacher. You could ask Ina. She might know what Bree did before she became her daughter-in-law.”

Why didn’t I think of that?

“Have you heard of the Gamble-Helmet Heist?” Mercy decided to jump in with both feet.

“Who hasn’t? It’s been in the news a lot since they found that body.” She looked from Mercy to Truman. “What’s that have to do with Bree?”

“We’re following a possible lead,” Mercy stated. “Bree might have known one or more of the men.” Keep it vague.

Sandy’s red brows shot up. She winced and touched a bruise near her hairline. “Wow. She’s never mentioned anything like that to me. Did she live near one of them? Or work with one?”

“We don’t know,” Mercy answered. “We don’t have much information.”

“What is the point of Bree knowing—” Sandy stopped talking and confusion covered her face. “I don’t get it. I assume you’re investigating her attack, but what would that have to do with an ancient robbery?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out . . . We haven’t found a connection.”

“Then why are you looking?” Her annoyed gaze focused on Mercy.

“I can’t disclose much,” said Mercy, putting on her business face. “But I can tell you that the murder of Tabitha Huff led us to this point. She talked to Bree . . . She talked to you too.”

“She did,” agreed Sandy.

“The reporter was doing a follow-up on the old robbery. We’re looking into Bree’s background because the reporter met with her. It’s been hard to find any records for Bree thirty years ago.” Mercy paused, holding Sandy’s gaze. “It’s been hard to find any for you either.”

Sandy didn’t move. No facial change. No shift in her gaze.

“You’re looking at my past because a reporter talked to me,” she said slowly.

“A murdered reporter.”

“You think I murdered her?” Shock weighted her tone.

Samuel unfolded his arms. “Wait a minute—”

“Not now, Samuel,” Truman ordered. The officer snapped his jaw shut, but his eyes burned daggers at Truman.

“That’s not what I said,” Mercy answered Sandy, keeping her tone calm. “I’m asking why you’re so hard to find on paper thirty years ago. I know you were Jada Kerns when you were married and Jada Glover before that.”

Sandy paled, and her mouth opened the slightest bit.

“I can’t find much on Jada Glover at all,” Mercy added.

Anger flashed in Sandy’s eyes.

“I was eighteen when I got married. I didn’t have the name for long.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “I grew up poor. We had absolutely nothing. When it was time for me to get my driver’s license, no one could find my birth certificate. I remember being terrified that the government wouldn’t believe I existed. I even wondered if I was who my parents said I was. It took months to straighten out.” She turned haunted eyes on Mercy. “Does that answer your paper problem?”

Samuel stepped forward and set a gentle hand on Sandy’s shoulder. Her hand slipped up to grip it, her gaze never leaving Mercy’s.

“That explains things quite a bit. Thank you,” Mercy answered calmly. “But it doesn’t explain why I’m having the same problem with Bree.”

“I can’t help you with that,” Sandy snapped. “I’ve only known her for about ten years.”

Mercy said nothing.

Sandy did the same, their gazes locked.

Truman cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sandy. You’ve helped a lot.”

Sandy turned to Truman and stood, her legs slightly shaky. “I’ll fill out the paperwork to press charges against Lionel, and then I’m going back to the hospital. I don’t need Ina to babysit me.”

She turned and left without a word to Mercy. Samuel raised a single brow as he looked at both her and Truman, then followed her down the hall.

Mercy blew out a breath. “I don’t know if she’ll speak to me again.” The thought of losing Sandy’s friendship hurt, twisting a knife in a fresh place in her heart.

“She’ll come around,” Truman said evenly.

“No, maybe men can do that, but not women. I broke a level of trust between us that will be near impossible to rebuild. I dug into her history, and she thinks I accused her of murder.” She frowned. “Which isn’t what I meant to do at all.”

“What do you think of her as the possible driver?”

Mercy shifted gears in her brain, shoving the hurt away. “Her reaction felt genuine when I mentioned Bree might know one of the robbers. She didn’t grab that bait at all. If she’s a liar, she’s awfully good.”

“Could Bree’s attacker be the same person as Tabitha’s killer?” Truman asked.

“That’s a question I’ve wondered about since Bree’s attack,” said Mercy. “It’s a possibility, but outside of the two women meeting, I’ve found no other connection. Do you think anyone else is in danger?”

“If we follow Tabitha’s path, that would be everyone in town.” His face darkened. “Including Ollie and Kaylie. And you.”

“Don’t forget yourself.”

Truman shrugged one shoulder. “Where does that leave us with Bree?”

Mercy thought. “Waiting for Bree to wake up and tell us who attacked her. Or waiting for results from the list of red trucks.”

Both were silent for a long moment.

“I’d put my money on the truck,” said Truman, his eyes sad.

“Me too,” Mercy agreed. Bree’s medical condition was up in the air. She could have memory loss from the attack.

Or she might lie and state she didn’t know the person.

“I’ll show these images around town,” Truman said, shuffling the papers back into the folder.

“I’m headed back to the office. I’ll call Evan and see if he needs more manpower to follow up on the list of trucks.”

“Be careful,” he ordered, coming around to kiss her goodbye.

“Right back at you.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Mercy couldn’t get Sandy’s shocked face out of her mind.

She sped back toward her office, mentally going through Sandy’s interview and still feeling sad that her questioning might have ruined their friendship.

Tabitha is dead. Bree nearly was.

Mercy had been doing her job.

But damn, her female friends were few and far between.

She gave a short laugh that echoed in her Tahoe. Since when have I worried about maintaining friendships?

Sometime over the past few months, they’d become important. She’d planted roots. Roots that had replaced the ones she’d ripped out years ago.

My father ripped out those roots, not me.

That wasn’t completely true. She’d nursed her role as victim after her father had ousted her from the family. A little effort on her part might have repaired most of that break years ago.

Might have.

She pushed the what-if scenario out of her head. For years that type of thinking had dominated her spare time, and she wasn’t about to get caught up in it now.

Focus on the case.

She asked her vehicle to call Art Juergen. Listening to the phone ring, she refused to worry that she was stepping over a department line again.

If I have a question, I should be able to ask.

“Hello?”

“Art. It’s Mercy. You have a minute?”

“Always for you.”

“We found an odd notation in Tabitha Huff’s notes that I wanted to run by you.”

“Go for it.”

“Did you ever consider that the getaway driver was female?”