| |
The ride was only a couple blocks but, based on a previous experience, Mercy expected a hair-raising trip. Then again, her recent shock might have dulled her senses because she didn’t blink when the car bounced over the curb.
“I appreciate your help,” Mercy told Gertie after she parked in the drive. “I’m afraid to call my grandmother and lay this on her plate. She’s already upset that I’m restricted to Sinful. I’d rather not tell her about this, unless it’s necessary.”
“I understand,” Gertie replied as they exited the car and walked to her back door. “I know she’s very concerned about her grandchildren. She once told me you and Loyal are her favorite grandchildren.”
“Really?” Mercy stopped short, surprised by the news. Grammy never let on—Where did that sudden breeze come from? Mercy looked around, puzzled by the puff that ruffled her hair. Before she could say more, Gertie tackled her to the ground and drew a weapon from her purse.
“Stay down,” she hissed.
Stunned, Mercy pointed to the bag. “You pack more than fruit and trashy novels.”
Gertie shimmied across the ground to the Cadillac and used it as a shield before poking her head out cautiously. “Stay low and crawl to the house as fast as you can,” she told Mercy. “I’ll cover you.” When Mercy just gaped, Gertie barked, “Get your ass in gear, unless you want me to tell Grammy you’ve been murdered!”
Mercy nodded and did as Gertie commanded, shocked and surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor. While Mercy huddled near the door, Gertie slipped around the car and scanned the area. Then she followed Mercy and pushed her through the back door, locking it behind them before rounding the first floor to close the drapes and blinds.
“Stay away from the windows,” she ordered sternly, and Mercy wondered about the radical change in Gertie’s behavior. She was no longer the sweet, soft-spoken and sometimes forgetful senior Mercy had recently met. The Gertie patrolling her house with a dangerous weapon and snapping out commands seemed to be a different woman.
“I already sent Ida Belle an urgent text,” she told Mercy. “Reinforcements will be here soon.”
“Reinforcements? Why?”
“Someone just shot at you! Didn’t you hear what I said outside?” Gertie looked concerned when Mercy’s eyes twitched rapidly. “Don’t you dare faint on me! Wait until Ida Belle gets here.”
Mercy smiled unexpectedly and asked, “Will she break my fall?”
“Will who break your fall?” Ida Belle asked, the nose of her gun rounding the corner before her face. Behind her, Fortune continuously scanned for suspicious activity.
“Ida Belle has a key,” Gertie explained before Mercy questioned if the shooter might get in without her being aware of it. “I heard them coming.”
“I’m surprised your hair didn’t trap the bullet,” Ida Belle said when she saw Mercy. “I wonder if we can get ballistics from the hole it left.”
“She’s joking,” Gertie said when Mercy anxiously patted her hair.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Mercy asked.
Gertie, Fortune, and Ida Belle exchanged a fast look, and Gertie said, “Let me call Moses to get started on cleaning your room first.” Behind Mercy’s back, she bugged her eyes at Ida Belle and Fortune, shaking her head. While she arranged with Mo to clean the room, the other women kept Mercy entertained with stories about the morning services in the park.
When Gertie finished her call, she cleared her throat, and Ida Belle nodded in silent agreement. She already knew what was on Gertie’s mind. “Mercy, we should discuss your situation before calling the police.”
“It’s the marshal, isn’t it?” Mercy asked. Seeing their confused expressions, she explained. “Do you think he’s an imposter too? Do you think he shot at me?”
“How hard did you bump your head?” Ida Belle asked. “No one said anything about the marshal. What makes you think he’s not legitimate?”
Mercy pulled the card from her bag and handed it to Ida Belle to examine. “The seal is different.”
Fortune took the card from Ida Belle, studied it, then passed it to Gertie. “I don’t understand,” Fortune said. “It’s different from what?”
“From the one on Marshal Stallings’ picture. They used a government-issued photo for that, didn’t they, Gertie?” Mercy asked her friend.
“I believe so, but I saw nothing out of place,” she admitted.
“Most people wouldn’t, but I notice details in patterns,” Mercy said. “The difference was slight, and I thought maybe they printed the picture on watermarked paper. But now I realize that symbol must have been on the photo they copied, not just the paper. Kind of like a state ID with a watermark.”
“You’re sure there was a difference?” Fortune asked.
Mercy nodded and pointed out a small detail on Agent Latimer’s card. “The eagle’s wingtips didn’t reach the circle’s edge like they do on this card.”
“So which one is official?” Fortune asked.
“I don’t know,” Mercy said. “But if these came from a knitting pattern, I could tell you which one had the mistakes by looking at the instructions.”
Ida Belle became sidetracked. “Oh, my God! You knit?” She rolled her eyes at Gertie and said, “Just like Sandy-Sue. What’s wrong with young women these days?”
“Who’s Sandy-Sue?” Mercy inquired.
“Never mind. We’ll explain later. For now, I’m not sure it’s safe to call Marshal Latimer,” Gertie said. “Until we know which man is the imposter, you need to stay out of sight.”
Fortune nodded. “Whoever took a shot at you probably thinks you saw something last night.” She stood. “I’ll take a quick look around the neighborhood, but it’s doubtful the shooter is lingering.”
“Be careful,” Mercy said to Fortune. She didn’t understand why the others weren’t more concerned for her safety.
“She has law enforcement training.” Ida Belle brushed off Fortune’s CIA training. The carefully worded story of Fortune’s background could wait for another day. “While she’s out, we should check the US Marshals’ website.” Ten minutes later she stated, “Well, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“You think?” Gertie huffed indignantly.
She tipped her head at Mercy, who looked worried and inquired, “Latimer and Stallings are imposters? Neither of their seals match the website.”
“Don’t get your hair stuck in a flatiron,” Ida Belle replied. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for it.” She lowered her voice and muttered, “Like that bump on your head and the vacant look in your eyes.”
Before Gertie could hush her, Fortune returned. “All clear,” she announced and then Ida Belle told her what they had discovered.
“We haven’t eaten,” Gertie reminded them when Ida Belle finished. “Mercy, why don’t you take a shower while I fix lunch?”
Mercy quickly accepted the offer, happy to wash off the grass stains and dirt. Soon she rejoined them with a clean face and her frizzy hair tamed.
“You look human,” Ida Belle teased. “Have you tried showering before your dates? Or did you scare Spencer off with your usual crazed look?”
Mercy’s brows went straight. “I haven’t had a date since I arrived,” she said stiffly. Over her shoulder, Gertie made the OK sign to Ida Belle. Keeping ahead of the Sinful grapevine of gossip was always prudent. Particularly with newcomers like Mercy because it reduced the chances of unexpected mayhem. Sinful found enough trouble on its own.
Over lunch, they discussed Mercy’s situation and decided she should lie low until the threat passed.
“You’re not safe at the motel,” Fortune said.
“Or here,” Gertie added. They all turned to Ida Belle.
“Hell, no,” she stated bluntly. “Whoever took that shot probably saw Fortune and me arrive. He’ll have an eye on our houses.”
“That makes sense,” Mercy admitted. “How about the bed-and-breakfast?”
“How stupid do you imagine the sniper is?” Ida Belle asked, shaking her head. “No, you need to get out of Sinful.”
“Hey, what about the FBI?” Gertie asked. “Maybe they’d be willing to offer Mercy protection. After all, it’s their fault she’s stuck in Sinful.”
Fortune snorted. “She’s just a pawn, and they aren’t really out anything if she gets killed.” Her eyes flipped sideways to Mercy at the silence that followed her statement, and she cleared her throat. “I’m just looking at the practical side of things.”
“She’s right,” Ida Belle said. “If the FBI gets involved, it will end up as a pissing match between them and the Marshals Service.”
Mercy waved her fingers. “I hope the resolution doesn’t include me returning to Denver in an urn.”
“Oh, would you prefer to be shipped home in a casket?” Ida Belle asked. “Because it’s more expensive since airlines don’t give the discounts they used to.” Fortune coughed to cover the snicker that escaped when she saw Mercy’s face.
“I prefer a trip that doesn’t involve the cargo bay,” Mercy squawked. “As in—I get a real seat because I’m not dead!”
“Of course you do,” Gertie said, patting her hand and frowning at Ida Belle. “So what are your suggestions for a safe place?” Gertie’s glance moved between Fortune and Ida Belle.
“How about Number Two?” Fortune said.
“What’s that?” Mercy demanded. “Because it sounds like—well, you know!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ida Belle said, bugging her eyes slightly at Fortune. “Number Two is simply the second in a row of small islands north of Sinful. It has no permanent residents. Just camps set up by the local fisherman.”
“Oh.” Mercy closed one eye thoughtfully. “I take it these camps are primitive?”
Ida Belle tilted her head and looked at Mercy from the corner of her eyes. “Is that a problem?”
Gertie interrupted. “How can you even ask that? You’ve seen her hair, Ida Belle.”
“I have a solution,” Fortune offered. “Gertie, just hand me that big knife. Mercy, rest your head on the table and don’t move.”
Mercy slapped her hands to her head. “Primitive isn’t a problem,” she said. “Are you sure no one will find me there? What if I need help? Or spot an alligator?”
“Just stay away from the bayou, and you’ll be fine,” Ida Belle said. “No one goes there this time of year, so you’ll have it to yourself. You can go out tonight on Gertie’s boat.”
“Are you nuts? I’ve seen maps of this area,” Mercy said. “I think I’d prefer a fast bullet to getting lost and starving, or having an accident and becoming an alligator meal.”
Fortune chuckled. “Gertie wouldn’t lend her boat to a rookie or send you out by yourself. But none of us can take you. If the hitman is watching, he’ll know something is up.”
“Leave it to me,” Gertie said. “I’ll make plans to keep him distracted so Mercy can sneak out. Walter can take Mercy to the island.”
“What should I pack?” Mercy said.
“Don’t bother,” Ida Belle told her. “I’ll let you use one of my Go bags. You’ll be all set for a few days.” She leaned over and looked at Mercy’s shoes. “Gertie can lend you a pair of boots. The island can be slightly muddy.”
Fortune rolled her eyes, and Gertie offered a silent prayer asking for forgiveness. Mercy would find out soon enough that Ida Belle’s term “slightly muddy” wasn’t just misleading—it was a bald-faced lie.