Mercy Read online

  With a feral cry, James MacDonald ripped out of Cam's grasp and ran to the other side of the truck. He pulled the sergeant away from the door, throwing him backward with the bodily force that a tall, strong man learns to keep in check. "Don't you touch her," he screamed at Zandy, his fists clenched, his teeth obscenely white against mottled skin. He turned back to the door and wrenched it open, and that was when Cam saw the door hadn't been stuck, but locked; that James MacDonald had ripped it from its bearings. He caught the body of his wife as it slumped up against him; pressed his cheek against hers. He spoke against the white curve of her neck. "Don't you touch her," he whispered.

  Cam's eyes met Zandy's over the hood of the truck. He started to walk around to the passenger side as Zandy moved closer to James MacDonald. But James did not resist as Cam pulled him out of the cab of the truck. "Mr. MacDonald, I'm going to have to put you under arrest." He snapped handcuffs over the man's wrists. "Uh, Sergeant," he said, nodding at the body in the truck, "you want to take care of this?"

  James began to strain against the handcuffs. "No," he whispered to Cam. "You can't."

  Cam had to lean close to hear him. "We've got to go inside, Mr. MacDonald."

  "Please don't leave her alone with him."

  Out of the corner of his eye, Cam saw Allie step out of the crowd. She was shivering as she walked up to them, and she did not look Cam in the eye. "I'm Allie MacDonald," she said. "I'm Cam's wife." She laid her hand on James's arm. "I can stay with Maggie, if you'd like."

  James looked her over, and then nodded his head. Cam let his breath out in a long sigh, and motioned for Zandy to hold James's arm. Then Cam steered Allie away from the truck. "You don't really want to do this," he said. "You could be implicated as a witness when he goes to trial."

  "Oh, Cam," Allie whispered. "You're not really going to arrest him, are you?"

  Cam grabbed her upper arms. "He killed a woman, Allie." "But he came to you for protection."

  Cam snorted. "That's a little like locking the barn after the horse has run out."

  Allie squared her shoulders. "I'd just listen to his story, if I were you. It's obvious that he loved her."

  Cam bowed his head. "Still," he said, "that isn't going to bring her back to life."

  James MacDonald glanced one last time at the still and lovely body of his wife in the front seat of his truck and remembered his wedding day eleven years earlier, during which everything had gone wrong.

  Maggie had picked Memorial Day weekend, hoping to stand outside for the ceremony, but the balmy weather that was forecast had dissolved into torrential rain. Wanting privacy, they'd opted for a justice of the peace, and had made an appointment. But they showed up at the man's door only to be told by his wife that he'd come down with the stomach flu, and so Jamie had driven from Cummington to the next town to the next, trying to find someone who hadn't gone away for the holiday and who would be willing to marry them.

  By the time Jamie and Maggie were standing in the front parlor of a justice of the peace in Great Barrington, the cuffs of Jamie's trousers were soaked from puddles and Maggie's bouquet of violets was limp over her fist. In the background, they could hear the splintered laughter of the justice's guests, who were having a free-for-all Memorial Day cookout in the warm, dry confines of his garage. "We are gathered here," the justice of the peace said, "to . . . Oh, shit."

  Maggie's head had snapped up. Her hand, tucked inside Jamie's, shook a little.

  Jamie realized then that she was waiting for him to ask, on her behalf, if there was a problem. Chauvinistic and old-world as it might have been, nothing more clearly drove home to Jamie what it was going to mean to be a husband. He would be Maggie's mouthpiece. And at other times, she might speak for him. "Is something wrong?" he had asked.

  The justice of the peace squinted over James's shoulder. "Witness," he said. "Can't do it without one." He cupped his hands and yelled in the general direction of the garage, until a sweaty, wild-eyed man appeared in the doorway holding a Coors. "Jesus," the man said. "You don't have to shout." He thrust the can into the justice's hand.

  "Not now, Tom," the justice said.

  Tom frowned. "I thought you yelled for a beer."

  "I yelled Come here."

  "Excuse me," Jamie interrupted. "Could we get going again?"

  Tom was wearing a Chicago Bulls tank top and Lycra biking shorts that outlined his belly. A loose, wet smile splayed across his face. "Hey," he said, looking from Jamie to Maggie. "You getting hitched?"

  The justice asked him to just sit down in the corner and be quiet, and he'd put his name on the marriage license in a few minutes.

  "No way," Tom said. He grabbed Maggie's free hand, scattering her violets, and yanked her away from Jamie. "You got to do a wedding right, or you don't do it at all." With a quick jerk he anchored Maggie to his side. "I'll give you away, honey," he said. "We'll do a whole grand entrance."

  At that point Jamie did not want the man's name on his marriage license, much less his hands on his fiancee. But before he could object, Maggie smiled easily. "That would be lovely," she said to Tom, although she was looking at Jamie. Let's just get it over with, her eyes seemed to be saying, so that we can laugh about it later.

  Jamie thought of the women he had dated, their images shifting like smoke. Some had told him their plans for an elaborate marriage on the second or third date; one had even drawn him a sketch on a cocktail napkin of a wedding gown she'd had made up and stored in the back of her closet, just in case. Not one of the women he'd known in his past would have made it through this fiasco of a wedding without being reduced to tears. Not one of the women he'd known in his past could hold a candle to Maggie.

  He had never really asked her to marry him, he realized. They had simply both assumed that it was going to happen.

  "Under the Boardwalk" was blaring from the garage as Maggie, on Tom's arm, began to walk across Che small parlor. Her heels crushed the violets she'd dropped on Che way out. Her perfume was overshadowed by the alcoholic cloud surrounding the man beside her. Next to Jamie, the justice of the peace began to flip through his book, having lost his place.

  Maggie reached Jamie's side and slipped her arm through his. He could feel her shaking, so he patted her hand gently. He would apologize to her for this. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

  "We are gathered here . . ." Che justice of the peace said.

  "For the free beer," Tom finished.

  Maggie covered her mouth with her hand, and then burst into laughter. Her head tipped back so that Jamie could see the long, smooth line of her throat, and the spill of russet hair over her shoulders. There were tears in her eyes; Jamie thought it made them seem like jewels.

  "Marriage," the justice recited sternly, "is not something to be entered into lightly and unadvisedly."

  "I'm sorry," Maggie said, trying to compose herself. She tightened her hand on Jamie's and looked down at her shoes and snorted, then bit down on her lip.

  The justice began to speak, but Jamie didn't listen. He had turned to face Maggie. Beyond her was not a glittering ballroom or the hallowed glass panel of a church, but a weaving line of people doing the bunny hop and a barbecue chat belched out large drafts of smoke.

  He realized that there was nowhere else on earth he would have rather been.

  Suddenly Jamie went cold. Maggie must have sensed it, because she dropped his hand and placed her palm against his cheek, whispering, "What is it?"

  He shook his head. He, who could have told Maggie anything, did not know how to put into words this feeling: Did you ever look down at yourself and realize that finally you had it all? Did you ever feel that everything was so right in your life you'd have nowhere to go but downhill?

  Misunderstanding, Maggie touched her fingers to his mouth. "I'm fine," she assured him. "This is fine."

  He nodded once, a jerk of his head. He pushed away his thoughts and concentrated on the hope he'd been fed from his own wife's hand.