Mercy Creek by M. E. Browning

Author:M. E. Browning [Browning, M. E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

24

Five months after the divorce and Jo was still sleeping in her old bedroom in the home she’d grown up in. She dropped her backpack by the nightstand. At least she’d retired the air mattress she’d slept on when she first moved out of her house—the home she’d found, but that her ex kept, along with the master bedroom furniture. She’d taken the pieces from the guest room and tried not to dwell on the irony. The rest of her life was packed away in boxes in the garage, waiting for the day she’d find her own place to buy.

Until then, well, here she was. Stalled.

She removed her stud earrings and dropped them on the Wedgwood blue saucer on her dresser and then ran her finger over the raised cream-colored leaves that twined along the edge. The matching teacup and saucer set was one of the few extravagances her mother had ever allowed herself, and she’d sipped her tea from it every morning. Jo was eleven when she broke the cup.

Lena’s age.

The day’s events had followed Jo home. Normally by this stage in an investigation, things were supposed to start making sense. Instead, she found herself digging through a mound of lies: a father who lied about his alibi, a sister who lied about who she was with, the paper delivery guy who’d lied about personally knowing the occupants of Tilda’s townhouse—and in an unrelated twist might have sexually assaulted Marisa. Then there was the unidentified man whose exit from the livestock pavilion suspiciously followed on the heels of Marisa’s entry. And while it wasn’t a part of the investigation, the offer of the promotion muddied everything.

She fished the small key from her rear pocket and placed it next to her earrings. Dust from the mesa clung to her clothes. She kicked out of her boots and exchanged her dirty clothes for a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Only one thing currently under her control could improve this night, and she tiptoed toward the kitchen.

Joseph Charles Wyatt snored gently in his recliner in the living room. He’d taken to parking himself in his favorite chair and listening to the police scanner on the nights she was late coming home. It was the surest sign of their recent and fragile detente.

She’d wanted to talk to him. Settle something that bothered her. Maybe it was just as well he was sleeping. Some dirt was best left unturned.

The fireplace was dark on such a hot night, but a James Cagney movie played low on the television and bathed her father in flickering shades of gray. More salt than pepper sprinkled his close-cropped hair these days. A crooked nose dominated his face. The chiseled cheeks of his youth were now gaunt. Her namesake, the man she’d once wanted to emulate, had grown old.

The day she’d been sworn in as an Echo Valley police officer, she’d dressed in an empty locker room and tucked two photos into the lining of her ballistic vest. After

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