Before Ollie joined their lives, a medium pizza would have fed both her and Truman. It was even enough for the nights Kaylie ate with them. Now they ordered the giant size, and Mercy worried it wouldn’t be enough. Pizza mysteriously evaporated around Ollie.

Shep gave a low whine at Ollie’s feet, his eyes pleading. “Later,” Ollie told his dog, intent on his food.

“How late is Kaylie studying at her friend’s?” Truman asked.

“She promised me she’d be home by nine.” Mercy checked the time. “I promised the same.” She had a half hour to eat before she needed to leave.

“What’s your opinion on Art Juergen after spending the day with him?” Truman asked between bites. “Is he going to be any help?”

“Definitely,” stated Mercy. “He knows the case inside and out.”

Truman eyed her. “What happened? I hear a but in there.”

Mercy looked straight at him. “I guess I should mention that I had a date with him one time.” Her lips twisted with amusement.

He flinched. “Wait. He’s retired. Isn’t he . . . old?”

“Yes, he’s older than me by about twenty-five years.”

“Why only one date?”

She saw only curiosity in his eyes, no jealousy. “I was rather antisocial.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I only liked him as a friend—and the age difference was a big thing to me. Does that make me a horrible person?” The guilt felt as fresh as it had when she’d turned down a second date.

“No. You can’t make yourself feel something for another person.” He paused. “Am I giving my fiancée dating advice?”

She snorted. “I learned today that the armored car driver’s life hasn’t been the same since the robbery. It really screwed him up, and he still can’t cope with it.”

“That sucks,” Truman told her. “Does his lack of coping skills explain why you smell like pot?”

“Maybe. Could be for medical reasons too.”

“Did the driver offer any new information?”

Mercy was silent for a moment, remembering Chandler’s words. “The Shane Gamble he described didn’t sound like the same man I met or the one who is portrayed in all the other interviews.”

“How accurate could Gary Chandler be? He only saw the guy during the most stressful minutes in his life.”

“Most stressful in Gamble’s life too,” Mercy added. “Anyway, it struck me as weird. It was the first time I’d heard that Gamble had lashed out at his friends.”

Ollie set his pizza slice down and broke off a corner of crust for Shep. Mercy watched, waiting for the rest of the slice to vanish into Ollie’s perpetually hollow stomach and for the boy to take another. Instead he picked morosely at his slice. He gave another chunk to his dog and then popped a tiny piece of pepperoni in his mouth. She glanced at Truman. He was focused on his own food and didn’t seem to notice Ollie.

“On the way home from the Chandler interview, Art suggested I contact the police in Prince George,” she said.

Truman stopped chewing and wrinkled his forehead. “Canada?”

“Yes. There were several leads of sightings from there during the first year after the robbery. More in that single city than from anywhere else outside Oregon. They all fizzled out to nothing, but Art told me he’s always had a feeling about the location. He’s hoping a new look might get us somewhere.”

“Sounds like a good place to start,” agreed Truman.

“Sounds like a faraway place to start,” groused Mercy. “I know this is essentially a cold case, but I’d rather focus my time around here. There’re plenty of people nearby to interview again—like the Mull family. Eddie drove to Salem today to inform Ellis Mull’s parents.” She checked Ollie, who didn’t flinch at the name of the skeleton he’d discovered. But he still was picking at his first piece of pizza. “Eddie said the parents were relieved to finally know what’d happened to their son. One of Mull’s sisters was there and claimed she’d always known he was dead since he never contacted any of them. According to her, they were a close family, and the lack of contact was completely out of character.”

“Are you going to interview each one of them?”

“Eventually. I’ll give them a little more time to absorb the news.”

“What else is on your list?” Truman asked.

Mercy wasn’t listening. “Ollie, is the pizza okay?” Ollie was usually quiet, but tonight he was utterly silent.

He jerked on his stool, his concentration clearly elsewhere. “It’s good.”

“Typically you’ve finished three pieces by now.” A picked-over half slice still sat on his plate.

Truman leaned forward to look past Mercy at Ollie. “You sick?”

“Nah. Just a weird day. I’m fine.” He crammed the rest of his slice in his mouth with a nervous glance at Mercy.

If her brothers didn’t eat at Ollie’s age, it meant they were sick or . . . nothing else; only illness kept them from food. But Ollie wasn’t like her brothers. “What’s bugging you? Was it because I mentioned Ellis Mull?”

“You talked about him?”

Not Mull.

Truman elbowed her and gave her a leave-him-alone look. Mercy acquiesced. She was used to Kaylie needing a little prodding to spill her troubles. Ollie would talk when he was ready. A soft chime made her reach for her purse and check her phone. “A text from Kaylie,” she told the others. “She says she found something I need to read.” Mercy waited for the next text, and her heart fell as she read it. “Ugh. Kaylie sent me a link to the Midnight Voice.”

Ollie leaned toward her, trying to see her screen. “What is it?”

“I don’t know yet.” Mercy’s lungs tightened as she waited for the page to load. “It can’t be anything good. I refused to talk to one of their reporters this morning.” Mercy scanned the story. “Shit.”

“What?” Ollie practically stuck his head between her and the phone. She turned away.

“What’s going on in the sleepy tiny town of Eagle’s Nest, Oregon?” Mercy read out loud. “Ancient secrets are crawling out of the woods in the forms of skeletons and money bags.” She choked on a cough. “Give me a break. The reporter is the one I met this morning.”

Truman chuckled. “Think anyone will believe when a tabloid is actually printing the truth?”

“She states that the skeleton found was related to the robbery and could possibly be the first step in solving a thirty-year-old mystery.”

“True,” stated Truman.

“She also writes that the money bags were confirmed as being from the robbery.”

“Also true. You sure that’s a tabloid?”

Positive. Mercy took a deep breath. “She points out that the FBI brought an agent out of retirement to help the current lead agent. That this ‘backwoods FBI agent’—me—‘could be bumbling the biggest mystery in thirty years. Is she capable of handling it?’” Fury rocked through her. The reporter hadn’t been able to find more on the investigation, so she’d dug into Mercy instead. “She’s striking back at me for refusing to talk to her today.”

“She’s a bitch,” Ollie stated clearly.

Both Mercy and Truman turned in surprise toward the teen. I’ve never heard him talk like that. Ollie’s eyes were heated, and understanding swamped Mercy. “You met her.”

He lifted his chin and nodded. “She followed me. Tried to talk to me at lunch. I didn’t tell her anything.” His eyes narrowed as he met Mercy’s gaze. “She knew you spend the night here sometimes, and she hinted that you’d regret not speaking with her.”

Mercy glanced at the article on her phone. “I don’t regret it, but I am rather pissed at her.”

“I should have told you . . . Maybe you could have stopped the article. It’s been on my mind all afternoon.” He sagged on his stool.

“I sincerely doubt anything I could have said would have stopped her. It’s not your fault.” Mercy patted him on the shoulder, hating to see him so down on himself. “Did she think this article would win her an interview with me? I’d also like to know why she’s the first one on the story.”

“She said she got an anonymous message through Twitter,” Ollie stated.

“What else did you learn at lunch?” Mercy asked in surprise.

Ollie shrugged. “She’s determined.”

“But why did someone contact her at the Midnight Voice when they could have tried CNN or Fox?”

“Maybe they did and were ignored,” suggested Truman. “How did Kaylie find that article? Don’t tell me she reads that rag.”

“She has online alerts set up for my name. Yours too.” Mercy slid off the stool and paced in the small kitchen. “Who tipped off the reporter? One of the county deputies? Someone at the medical examiner’s? Who else knew about the money bags?”

“My guys have mentioned the remains a time or two, but they don’t know about the robbery connection.”

“Shane Gamble knows what we found.” Mercy halted her pacing, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. “I told him.”

“He wouldn’t have access to Twitter,” Truman pointed out.

“He can make phone calls. He could have someone else do it for him.”

“But what’s his motivation?” Truman asked. “He’s sitting in prison. Finding the other thieves won’t affect him. He’s not going anywhere.”

“He’s complicated,” Mercy told Truman. “He loves a game and he loves attention. Dammit! I gave him confidential information on a silver platter, and I bet he’s using it to stir things up. He’s bored and needs entertainment.”