Chasing Mercy

Chapter 1

“Someone’s trying to kill my father.” Sarah Lynn Francis’s blonde curls shook in emphasis, her blue eyes shining behind unshed tears. Perched on the edge of one of the visitor chairs, she radiated determination.

I sat back in my seat, amid the clutter of my ruined business and bankruptcy papers. Attempted murder didn’t come across my desk very often, and this woman with her fashionable espadrille sandals and authentic Coach bag knew how to lay on the drama. “Have you contacted the authorities?” I asked, trying to look bored even as my investigator’s curiosity beat a tattoo against my chest bone.

“They won’t even listen to me. I’ve got to prove it. My daddy, Henry Francis — you’ve heard of him?” Her shaking voice held the sweet curl of a Georgia peach. When I shook my head, her lips pulled into a tiny pout. “He’s only one of the best defense lawyers south of the border. Anyway, he’s been in and out of the hospital with stage three lung cancer. Daddy moved north to stay with us when he was diagnosed, and at the time, I thought it was the best thing,” she said, her eyelashes drooping. “I would take care of him. Which was how things were in the beginning. Then he heard about this church from some television interview, saying that they believe that if people just trusted God, they’d be healed.”

I took a swallow of my warm Pepsi, wishing I’d had the money to pay this month’s electric bill. The office sweltered in the early evening sun. Sweat slid over my back and between my breasts, while Sarah Lynn looked as though she’d just stepped off of a modeling shoot. Did the woman have pores?

“Who’s trying to kill your father?” I stood up, hoping she’d get to the point. I only had a half hour to get last year’s financials to my attorney’s assistant before she clocked out for the night, and this woman was holding me up. I’d felt sorry for her, standing outside my door with my dog-eared card in hand and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She’d pulled my card off of a cork board in a grocery store and determined I was the answer to her prayers. But I’d only stopped in at my office to grab the paperwork, and now I’d been suckered into a horse and pony show by the sound of it.

“This church. The pastor.” She tossed a brochure on my desk, and upon closer inspection, I realized it was last Sunday’s bulletin. She flipped it to the back, a magenta nail tapping at a photo. “This man. Hugh Gardener. He’s the one who’s convinced my father that his entry into a trial cancer drug program is foolish. I’ve one week to convince Daddy otherwise, before the lab takes his name off the list and give his spot in the trial to someone else. This drug they are testing could save his life.”

She said it with such conviction, I wondered if they had indeed cured cancer and my refusal to read or listen to the news had left me out of the loop. I dropped my gaze to the bulletin. The pastor’s smile only enhanced his beautiful face, one that would be at home on any runway. “What is the church telling your father? That God will heal him if he gives them enough money or something?” I reached for the desk drawer, responding to my growling stomach, but I’d cleaned out my last Snickers bar a few days ago. Checking my watch, I noted I had twenty-five minutes left.

Biting her lip, she appeared crestfallen. “No, it’s nothing like that.” Tears overwhelmed her again, but she didn’t give in easily. “This is bullshit!” she screeched. Given her oh-so-proper veneer, I had a sneaky suspicion she’d have to be pressed pretty hard to use foul language. She ripped another tissue from her purse, mopping furiously at her still impressively perfect makeup. “Look, I’ve been Southern Baptist all of my life, and even I know heaven ain’t a drive-through service. I’ve got to prove to Daddy that this man is a fraud. But I need help.”

“And how do you think I can help?” I shuffled the necessary papers into a manilla folder, then rounded the desk and leaned back against it. While I admired her drive, even understood her frustration, this wasn’t my kind of case. “How do you think you can prove that? Isn’t it all based on faith anyway?”