Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [30]
“Sure.” I have an eye for detail, which Dawson had counted on. As I rambled, I figured he might get a hand cramp. Served him right. If he wanted no stones left unturned, I’d give him a rockslide of information.
But I wouldn’t offer up details about my previous relationship with the victim, unless he specifically asked me.
Dawson kept writing long after I answered his last question. He paged back through his notes before tucking the notebook in his desk drawer. He addressed John-John. “I appreciate your cooperation. Let me know as soon as you’ve completed your lists.”
“You’ve got it, Sheriff.”
I asked, “Has the victim’s family been notified?”
“Yes. They’ve requested immediate transport back to North Dakota.”
“Is Titan Oil taking care of the costs of transporting the body? Or is the family?”
Dawson gave me an odd look. “Why does it matter?”
“It just does.”
“That’s a crap answer, Mercy.”
Oh, so now he was addressing me by my first name? “Fine. You know how I feel about Titan Oil and what they’re trying to do in this county. It’d reflect even more poorly on them, after they’ve claimed to be such a family-friendly company, if word got out that they balked at paying to send their field operative back home after he was brutally murdered while in their employ.”
“How would ‘word get out’?”
I shrugged. “People talk. Maybe locals will think twice about going to work for Titan Oil when it’s obvious the company doesn’t give a damn what happens to their employees. Maybe then they’ll shitcan their plans to destroy our county and move on.”
“Mercy,” John-John warned.
“As far as I know, the coroner is doing the exam at Clausen’s Funeral Home today, and Clausen’s is transporting the body. Don’t know who’s paying for it.”
The lighting tubes above us buzzed in the silence.
“If that’s all?” John-John said.
When the sheriff nodded at John-John, we both stood.
But I had one more question. Before I could speak, my boss grabbed my elbow and hustled me out.
In the parking lot, I jerked out of his hold. “Since when do you manhandle me?”
“Since you were gearing up to spar with Dawson even though our business with him was done,” he retorted.
“Maybe I just wanted to ask when it became county policy to hire a racist receptionist.”
“Doll, I get treated worse than that in my own bar. Let it go.” He kissed my forehead. “But, thank you, kola.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll come to the bar and get the other lists in a few hours so Dawson can get going on this case.”
I stopped at Besler’s grocery store and loaded up on single-girl supplies. Coffee. Soda. Peanut butter. Apples. Crackers. Batteries. On an end cap I noticed a display of Memorial Day remembrances, including a red, white, and blue stuffed frog. What the hell a puffy patriotic frog had to do with Memorial Day, I didn’t know. But the bug-eyed critter was cute, and Joy might like it, so I tossed it in the cart.
My self-congratulation on avoiding eye contact with anyone was premature. Effie Markham bumped her cart into mine to get my attention.
“Why, Mercy Gunderson, I didn’t expect to see you out and about after you found a man bludgeoned to death last night.”
I started to correct her that J-Hawk had been shot and sliced up, not bludgeoned, but she kept talking.
“And you poor thing, finding another body. What’s that? The fourth one since you’ve been home?”
“The third,” I said tightly.
“You seem to have the worst luck.” Effie leaned closer and confided, “Pity that man was murdered, but I’m not surprised. His presence was . . . unwanted, and I hope Titan Oil takes notice.”
The he-got-what-he-deserved attitude wasn’t new, or surprising, but it set me on edge. “Your concern is noted, Effie.”
I raced to the checkout line and hoped my back-off vibe would keep other nosy busybodies at bay.
While I deposited the bags in the truck bed, my cart made a break for freedom. A man stepped out from between two parked cars and snagged the runaway before it smashed into a Gran Torino.
The cart savior was none other than the Indian hottie who’d been drinking