Mercy Read online

  She had taken a room at the Inn because she did not want to see Cameron MacDonald again. She knew this was unlikely in a town of less than two thousand people, especially since she was working with his wife, but that did not keep her from setting her distance.

  She stood in front of the dresser, peering into the antique mirror. Her face seemed bronzed and foggy; and her mouth was wide and straight, the way it always was. Her lips no longer looked swollen, as they had after Cam had dropped her off at the flower shop. When she discovered that Allie had gone out, Mia locked the front door and stood in front of the bathroom mirror in the back of the shop, holding her fingertips to her mouth as if she could keep the sensitivity at a peak.

  She began to rummage through the drawers of the nightstand and the dresser, not so much because she expected to find anything but simply because it was what one always did when settling into a stock hotel room. There was a votive candle in the bottom drawer of the dresser that smelled heavily of peaches, and a King James Bible--King James of Scotland, she now knew--in the nightstand to the left of the double bed.

  Under the Bible was a stack of paper imprinted with the town seal, and a small, chewed-off pencil. Mia lit the votive candle, then took the paper and pencil and sat down on the bed, using the Bible as a lap desk.

  Cameron, she wrote, because she liked the length of his name, I have been thinking of you. She thought of the fairness of his skin, and the way the sun brought to life the rich autumn colors in his hair. She remembered how, when he thought he had frightened her with the gun, he had gathered her close so that her head was pressed against his chest. She had listened to the rhythm of his heart, so remarkably strong that Mia believed her head was being pushed fractionally away with every beat.

  Mia picked up the pencil again and crossed out what she had written. Cameron, she began again, I have been thinking of nothing but you. Then she stood up and fed the paper to the flame of the votive candle, watching the traces of her folly fall to ash.

  Allie closed the flower shop early and drove to Angus's house, which stood beside a cornfield chat belonged to Darby Mac. He was the only farmer in Wheelock, nearly as old as Angus himself, and had been called Darby Mac all his adult life, in an effort to keep at bay the jokes about Old MacDonalds farm. In late September, the corn was quite high, almost hiding Angus's house from view. Allie glanced out the window at the field, and then slowed as she noticed the high color spotting the stalks. A bright red Mylar balloon emblazoned with Congratulations! bobbed in the light breeze. There were ordinary balloons too, pink and white and yellow, and a silver string of letters that spelled Happy Anniversary stretched the length of the front row of corn.

  Angus opened his front door before she knocked. "How festive," she said, still looking over her shoulder at the corn.

  "Aye, well, Darby Mac says it'll keep off the crows."

  Somehow, Allie felt disappointed. For maybe the slightest moment she had imagined there was a celebration under way, a party just inside Angus's door.

  "Lassie," Angus said, "are ye going to be stayin' out or in?"

  Allie turned and stepped inside. "Is Jamie ready?"

  Angus's house could politely be described as Spartan. With the exception of a hearth rug Allie herself had braided for him and a wing chair he'd had sent from the Great House at Carrymuir, there was little decorative furniture. He had a kitchen table, but no chairs, insisting he did not want to linger over dinner when the only person to hold a conversation with was himself. The mantel over the fireplace was empty, and the conspicuous absence of pictures on the walls only called more attention to the tiny brass frame on the side table that held a postcard of the mountains and rolling glen he'd always called home.

  "Jamie's as ready as he'll ever be," Angus said. He picked up an umbrella from a stand by the door and rapped it against the ceiling. "Jamie, lad," he yelled. "It's Allie come to see ye."

  Jamie came down the narrow stairs quietly, twisting a coat that must have been Angus's in his hands. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he said brusquely.

  Allie smiled at him. "You're going to have to get out sooner or later," she reminded him. "Where's that MacDonald pride I've heard about all these years?"

  Jamie shrugged himself into the coat, a shapeless tweedy brown jacket that was inches too short at the sleeves. Allie turned to Angus. "You're sure you don't want to come?"

  Angus snorted. "To a lecture about hell?" He shook his head. "I'm old enough. Why tempt fate?"

  Allie kissed him on the cheek and walked out the door. She was settled in the car, adjusting her seat belt, when she realized that Jamie was still standing outside, his fingers clutching the handle of the passenger-side door. She unrolled the window. "You don't want to be late," she said, and then she saw the direction he was gazing.

  She watched a breath of wind stir the rainbow of balloons. "I've never seen anything like this," Jamie said.

  Allie turned the ignition. "Darby Mac says it works."

  Jamie sat down and pulled the door shut. He stared straight out the window. "You know, when I got to Angus's house yesterday, the farmer only had that one balloon. The Congratulations! ." He smirked. "I thought it was for me."

  Allie pressed her foot on the brake to slow the car, and turned to stare at Jamie. "Well," she said, "you never know."

  The arraignment of James MacDonald had created such a stir in the sleepy little town that anyone who might have attended Verona MacBean's reading from her book on the nature of hell completely forgot it had been scheduled. Consequently, the Friends of the Library had judiciously postponed the reading until today, asking Allie to keep the three centerpieces in her cooler overnight. And because she'd agreed to do so without any additional charge, Verona herself had given Allie two tickets to the event.

  They were small black rectangles, printed with gold lettering. "Wheelock's Daughter, Verona MacBean," they said. "Reading from her critically acclaimed book, Damnation in the '90s: To Hell and Back." had, of course, offered Cam a ticket, but he had politely declined. Even if he had the time to go, he wouldn't need more than a smile to gain admission; it was one of the perks of being Chief of Police. "Maybe I'll meet you there," he had said, pulling on his socks that morning. "I wouldn't mind seeing how Verona turned out."

  "Then I'll just find another date. There are plenty of men in this town who'd like to escort me to a lecture on hell." Cam laughed. "You've already asked Angus?"

  Allie tossed her head. "Who says it has to be Angus? Maybe I'll take Jamie."

  At her words, Cam had gone still. He'd glanced up at her, his eyes dark. She thought he would become angry, or flat out forbid her to go, but instead he simply nodded. "Maybe you should," he'd agreed.

  Allie pulled up to the library and parked in a spot at the curb. She walked in and handed her ticket to the lady at the front of the conference room, turning to ask Jamie where he wanted to sit. He was standing awkwardly in front of the woman, who had started to walk away.

  "Excuse me," Allie said, grabbing the ticket from Jamie and ripping it in half and then dragging him into the room. She tapped the woman's back. "Is there a problem?"

  The woman glanced at Jamie and then looked away. "I don't think it's entirely proper for him to be here," she said, loud enough to make others turn their heads.

  "My cousin has not been convicted by a court of law. He's a guest of this town."

  "That doesn't mean we have to like it." Allie whirled around to find Jock Farquhason, a thin, reedy bank teller, staring her down.

  "Let's go." Jamie started to tug at the sleeve of Allies sweater.

  "Absolutely not," she hissed. She led Jamie to a table at the front of the room. It became crowded in a matter of minutes, and although some people nodded to Jamie as they passed, no one else came to sit beside them--those unwilling to cast the first stones didn't want their lot thrown in with a mercy killer, either.

  Allie did not realize that Cam had seen the whole thing. He was standing in the back of the room,