Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [114]
The room went still as the information scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
Winner, Eagle River County sheriff race: Mason Dawson def. Mercy Gunderson.
I lost?
The screen didn’t change.
Yes, I lost. In the county I was born in. In the county my father had served for two and a half decades.
Dawson won with a margin of 70 percent to 30 percent of the votes.
Disappointment floated around me so thick I could’ve choked on it. Any semblance of a smile was long gone—on my face and everyone else’s.
Don’t be a sore loser, girlie; he won fair and square.
Thanks for that pep talk, now, Dad.
I knew I’d have to call Dawson and concede, but why in the hell did I have to make the call in front of everyone? In the name of good sportsmanship?
Screw that.
I turned my back on the room—I didn’t care if they thought I was hiding my teary face—and flipped open my cell phone to text Dawson.
Congrats. You won. Don’t be a smug prick about it. Official phone call to follow.
My unofficial concession made me feel better, if nothing else.
His immediate answering text read: So noted, and so gracious.
I faced the campaign workers—my family, friends, and locals who’d pinned their hopes on me. I almost wished they’d berate me; it couldn’t be worse than the guilt I was heaping on myself.
Geneva approached me. “You all right?”
“What do you think?”
She leaned forward and whispered, “I think you did better than Bill O’Neil would’ve done.”
I stared at her. Hard. Then it hit me. “You didn’t expect me to win.”
“Of course not.”
“Then why did you—”
“Because the county needed a choice, Mercy. If Dawson had run unopposed, no one in the county would’ve respected him, or his authority, or thought he’d ‘earned’ the right to be sheriff for the next four years.” She squeezed my hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I would’ve loved it if you’d won. But I was looking at the bigger picture.”
“You sure you’ve never been an army war strategist?”
Geneva smiled. “I have six children. Knowing the right strategy is a necessity. Now that your guilt commitment is over, here’s some advice. Allow yourself to have something that doesn’t owe a damn thing to your father’s legacy, the Gunderson Ranch, or your military history. Dawson’s really not a bad guy. And now that I think about it, he is your type.”
“What type?”
“A cowboy in uniform.” She whistled to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up, Mercy is making the call.”
I started to call him but realized people might be suspicious if I had Dawson on speed dial. “Who has the number?”
Only I saw Geneva roll her eyes.
Kit handed me a piece of paper. “Here.”
I hesitated. “Look, I appreciate that you all put your trust and faith in me. I’m disappointed that I lost. But the voters of the county have spoken. Dawson won. So I’d appreciate it if you give Sheriff Dawson your full support so we can keep the county united and move on. I know I will be behind him one hundred percent.”
The clapping following my impromptu speech actually sounded genuine and not perfunctory.
I punched in the numbers and hit Dial.
Dawson answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Sheriff Dawson. Candidate Mercy Gunderson officially conceding this election and wishing you the best of luck in the next four years serving the community and Eagle River County as sheriff.”
“Thank you, Miz Gunderson. Your father would’ve been proud that you stepped up and filled in as a replacement candidate for Deputy O’Neil on such short notice.”
“Thank you.”
The conversation ended quickly.
My family and friends left without saying good-bye. Even the campaign workers were scared off by my don’t-fuck-with-me vibe, and I found myself alone with Leo as he locked up.
I trudged to the parking lot behind the building, feeling more melancholy than I imagined.
He won. You lost. Get over it.
Yeah, but I deserved to wallow for more than thirty lousy minutes, didn’t I?
I heard a noise and looked up from staring at my feet.
One sodium light flickered above