Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [40]
Rollie’s shrewd gaze watched as John-John retreated.
Kit looked longingly at the bottles of booze behind me.
Geneva reached for a straw and stirred her soda.
I decided to pick them off one by one, choosing Rollie first. “Why are you involved? You and my dad weren’t exactly best buddies.”
“I ain’t best buddies with Dawson either. I don’t know him.” He offered me a challenging look. “But I do know you, Mercy. I know you have ability, and integrity, and, most important, roots here. You’d do a great job as sheriff. Not only would you try to live up to your father’s expectations, you’d live up to the expectations you’ve always had for yourself.”
Uncomfortable with any type of praise, I looked away.
Kiki fiddled with her glass and spoke without my prompting. “From the law enforcement perspective, I can tell you I loved working for Wyatt Gunderson. He taught me how to be a good, honest cop. He taught me pride isn’t a bad thing when it’s deserved. He was constantly striving to make us all better public servants because he never forgot who paid our salary. He was a tough man, but a fair man. He cared about people in the community. Being sheriff wasn’t just his job, it was his life.”
Murmurs of assent.
“I see a lot of Wyatt in you, Mercy. We all do.”
My hands clenched into fists, a little appalled they were laying it on so thick with the “your father” line of guilt.
“I’ve embraced Dawson’s way of doing things. Some I’ve agreed with, some I’ve disagreed with, though never publicly,” Kiki added.
“Why don’t you step up to the plate, Deputy Moore? You have the experience and community commitment.”
Kiki seemed shocked by my suggestion. “God, no. I’m a better Indian than a chief.” She turned to Rollie. “Umm. No offense.”
“Speaking of Indian . . . since you finally enrolled in the tribe, you’d get the Indian vote,” Rollie pointed out.
“Don’t discount all the people who listened to you lay into them oil people at the first town hall meeting,” Kit said.
Another situation I’d found myself in that was out of my realm. But the underhanded way Titan Oil set up the meeting with the affected landowners, during calving season, had made me see red.
And why had this call to duty happened now? Despite their claims that I’d be a chip off the Wyatt Gunderson block, Dad had never said he wanted me to follow in his footsteps for law enforcement. He’d wanted me to follow in his footsteps and keep the ranch alive.
He did both, why can’t you?
Could I see myself slipping on the uniform and the ugly hat every morning? Strapping on my gun and a set of handcuffs? Hadn’t I just left that regimented life?
“You running for sheriff shows the whole county you care, Mercy,” Geneva said.
Kiki said, “I know your dad would be behind you.”
“You’d be good for the community,” Kit added.
“And this would be good for you,” Rollie said.
“You’ve given her enough to think about.” John-John’s gaze darted between them. “Mercy doesn’t have to decide at twelve-thirty after she’s worked a full shift. When do you have to have her answer?”
“We’ve got forty-eight hours to find a replacement.”
“Why so fast?” I asked.
“The ballots are scheduled for printing in three days, according to the county regulations for providing absentee ballots.”
“Well, then she has some time to think it over.” John-John set his hands on my shoulders. “Get your stuff and go on home, doll. I’ll close up and keep your wannabe campaign managers occupied until you’re gone.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is. You’ve had enough shitty things happen to you in the parking lot of this bar. You don’t need harassment from your friends added to the list.”
I kissed John-John’s cheek and whispered, “Thank you.”
As I putted home in the old ranch truck, I wished I’d driven my Viper. I had the overwhelming urge to drive as fast and as far away from Eagle River County as I dared.
My headlights reflected off Dawson’s truck parked under the carport, and I wondered if I was hallucinating.