Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One

by Gray, Shelley Shepard

  Cookies and drink forgotten, she rested her neck against the back of the bench and closed her eyes.

  But instead of finding relief, memories of Perry filtered through.

  Perry walking by her side. Sipping lemonade with her in the kitchen.

  Then later, Perry laughing at her.

  Just weeks before they’d broken up, he’d teased her about all sorts of things. Including her somewhat restrained and quiet ways. Though it used to be something he’d liked about her, all of a sudden it was yet another part of her that he’d found fault with.

  “Lydia, why do you have to be so serious all the time? I tell you what, sometimes being with you is like being with my maiden aunt,” he’d said one evening at the end of a singing. “You need to learn to cut loose and have a good time.”

  “Like you?” she’d snapped. His cynical looks, and the way he’d find the one thing she wasn’t good at and point it out—it made her feel on edge and exposed.

  “Of course like me,” he’d answered, his whole posture becoming more argumentative. Aggressive. “Come on, Lydia,” he’d goaded as they’d walked farther and farther into the cornstalks and away from everyone else’s curious stares. “You need to loosen up or you’re going lose me to somebody else.”

  She’d opened her mouth and drew in a breath. She’d fully intended to tell him exactly what she’d thought about his attitude toward her. But before she could get a word out, he’d leaned close and kissed her. Hard.

  She’d lifted her hands to his shoulders to steady herself before pushing him away. But instead of feeling her push, he’d taken it as an invitation to pull her closer.

  And though she’d never intended to kiss him. Or to embrace him. Though she’d intended to chide him for being so forward . . . she’d kissed him back.

  And then had felt so ashamed of her behavior that she couldn’t break things off. She tried to convince herself that she still loved him. After all, only a wanton woman would behave in that manner with a man she had begun to distrust.

  And surely that couldn’t be her. That was not how her mother had raised her to be.

  Perry, being Perry, had recognized her weakness and had laughed. “I told you you were gonna have to change. And now you are! You learn quickly,” he said with a grin. “Why, the Lydia I used to know would have never done something like that.”

  Because his words were true, she’d kept silent. But was she really changing, or was Perry bringing out a dark side of her that had always been hidden inside . . . waiting and lurking for the right time to come to surface?

  Had she become the type of woman to kiss men out in the open? Had she become the type of person who took more risks than she should?

  “Lydia? Hey, Lydia, are you asleep?”

  With a jerk, she popped her head up and opened her eyes. Stared at the English boy standing in front of her. “Walker?”

  It was hard to see his eyes under the brim of his baseball cap, but the lift of his lips relayed that she’d made the correct guess. “Yeah. It’s kind of a surprise I’m here, huh?”

  Lydia blinked hard, trying to come to terms that Walker was standing in her rose garden, looking for all the world like he was nervous to be speaking with her. “I’m surprised. I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other,” she finally said. “Not since I saw you at Schrock’s in December . . .” Her voice drifted off before she allowed herself to finish the thought. No way did she want to think about that evening again.

  Filling the silence, he said, “I’m back at work there.”

  “I heard. Why?” she blurted. She would have thought Walker would get a job someplace else. Someplace without all the memories.

  Looking uncomfortable, he shrugged. “Once Perry was gone, it didn’t seem like such a bad place. Plus, they were hiring. I just had to promise Mr. Schrock that I wouldn’t take off again before giving notice.”

  “Ah.”

  It was awkward, looking up at him. When she started to stand up, he stepped forward. “Hey, I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes. Your sister Becky said you were out here and that you could probably talk. That is, if you have time.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “Do you have time?”

  “I have time, sure.” It wasn’t like she could say she didn’t. After all, only a lazy girl with time on her hands would pass the afternoon dozing in a garden.

  “Thanks.”

  His voice was deep and a little hoarse sounding. She wondered if the tone was new, or if he was feeling just as awkward as she.

  “Perhaps you’d like to sit? I think there’s room for two on this bench. It would seem kind of odd for us to talk this way, with me down here and you up there.” She attempted to smile, though her stomach was turning into knots.

  He would have stopped by for one reason, only: to talk about Perry.

  But still he hesitated.

  She didn’t blame him. There wasn’t much room for two, not really. But even if their legs brushed against each other, it would be less disturbing than if he remained standing in front of her, looming over her like an overgrown bush.

  “Come sit down, Englischer,” she said, putting in the Englischer title to make him grin.

  It worked. “Englischer, huh?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “And here I thought you were the type of girl who treated everyone so politely.”

  “I am being polite. Mighty polite. After all, an Englischer is what you are.”

  “And here I thought I was so much more than that,” he murmured.

  As soon as she scooted over, he sat down next to her. His presence sent little bursts of tension through her spine. Up close, Walker was even more handsome. He was wearing faded jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, and a snug-fitting T-shirt. She remembered someone saying that he’d been the star pitcher for the high school baseball team.

  And now that the hint of tension was gone, she wanted to avoid the reason for his visit for as long as possible. Struggling to remember much about him, she tilted her head to one side. “It’s been a while since we saw each other. Are you still taking college courses?”

  “Yeah. Well, I mean, I’m at the community college over in Paducah. I thought I’d go a couple of years there before transferring to somewhere bigger. It’s easier to pay for.” He shifted the cap. Now he stared at her directly. His eyes, so brown, the color of melted chocolate, met her gaze, making her blush.

  “Ah.” Of course, his plans were foreign to her. No Amish boy she knew had plans to go to college.

  “And you? What are you doing now?”

  With dismay, Lydia realized that in a lot of ways nothing had changed. “Nothing new. I’m still working at our family’s greenhouse. I just sat down after working all day.”

  “And here you are, still outside? Around roses, no less.”

  His voice didn’t sound condescending. No, it sounded a little amused. Maybe more than a little amused. “I guess I can’t stay away from plants,” she quipped. As soon as she heard her words, she ached to yank them back. It probably wasn’t possible to speak more childishly!

  But instead of making a face, Walker merely nodded. “It’s good you like plants. I remember Perry talking about your family owning this big greenhouse. It’s a popular one, isn’t it?” Before she could answer, he continued. “One day, maybe you could show me around. I mean, it looks like a real nice place.”

  “I’m surprised Perry told you anything about the greenhouse. He didn’t care for it.”

  “Well, of course he didn’t. I mean, it was Perry, right? He didn’t like much.”

  That was so true. While they’d been courting, he’d become harder and harder to read . . . and harder and harder to please. She’d thought he’d only been that way with her.

  Perhaps not.

  And just like that, her anxiety rose. She really didn’t want to have to talk about Perry with anyone else. He was dead. What could she do?

  Dead. Not passed away. Not lifted into heaven. Dead.


  It sounded so harsh. Disrespectful.

  Though her blood felt like it was turning cold, she shrugged. No way did she want Walker to guess how affected she was by Perry’s death. His murder was shocking. Never had anyone been killed in their community. The violence stained them all, changing what they knew into something dirty and foreign.

  But so were her feelings about him. She should be only mourning his loss, not thinking about how he’d made her feel the last time she saw him. She shook her head, refusing to allow herself to go there.

  Walker cleared his throat. “I came over here, thinking we should talk about Perry. You know, see what each other remembers about him.”

  “I don’t see why we need to share stories.”

  “You know, the sheriff asked some city detective to help him investigate. I think maybe they’re thinking someone who knew Perry killed him. Someone like . . . us.”

  She’d gotten that feeling as well. The detective had raised all sorts of suspicions in her head and made her feel uneasy. “I know about Mr. Reynolds. He came over and asked me questions. When I told him I knew nothing, he left. So now I doubt he will contact me again.”

  “Oh, no, Lydia. He didn’t leave. He’s still here, and he’s still asking a lot of questions. After he talked to you, he went to the store and asked me about a hundred questions about Perry. I didn’t think he would ever leave . . .”

  “And did you have much to tell him?”

  For the first time, he looked disturbed. “I don’t know. I answered him as best I could. I didn’t really have a choice. He’s with the police, you know?” After glancing toward the kitchen door, he lowered his voice. “The detective wanted to know about the people Perry started hanging around. He kept asking me about what I knew about Perry’s private life. About the things Perry didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “What did you tell him?” she asked, flushing as they both realized she hadn’t asked what he knew.

  What he’d told and what he knew were two very different things.

  “I said I didn’t know much,” he said after a moment. “And that’s true. I don’t know much.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  “Honestly? I doubt it.” His eyes darted away, as if he was reluctant to meet her gaze. When he faced her again, he asked the inevitable. “You know, Detective Reynolds asked about you, too, Lydia. I think he’s starting to get the idea that there was a whole lot more to Perry than most people realized. And a heck of a lot more than we want to admit.”

  Lydia knew that to be true. But even if it was, it didn’t mean she had to get involved. “I bet the detective will go away soon. He’s from Ohio, right?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he’s going back there until he solves this,” Walker said slowly. “Actually . . . I think he might come back here and talk to you some more.”

  “He shouldn’t. I told him I didn’t know anything.”

  With a grunt, Walker stood up. “Listen, I don’t know how much you knew about Perry’s secrets. But if you knew even half as much as I do, you need to listen to me. If we don’t keep our stories straight, we’re going to get burned.”

  Even though she knew what he meant, she played dumb, if only to gain a few precious seconds to process everything. “Burned?”

  His voice turned kind. Almost patient. “You know . . . caught. We’re going to become real suspects.”

  Perhaps they should keep their stories straight, especially about that evening in December. But if they did, it might mean that Walker had something to hide. And what if what he was hiding was dangerous? What if he had something to do with Perry’s death and he was lying?

  She really didn’t know all that much about him.

  Shaking her head, she got to her feet. “Well, thank you for the warning.”

  His jaw looked set as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ballpoint pen. “Give me your hand.”

  She did as he asked. Cradling her hand in his right, he wrote a series of numbers on her palm with his left hand. When he was finished, he curved her fingers over, making a fist.

  Hiding the numbers from view.

  “That’s my cell phone number. When you’re ready to talk to me about what you really know . . . or about what we saw in December . . . don’t come to the store or call my house. Call this number.”

  She didn’t need to ask why he wanted any conversation between them to be kept secret. She felt the same way. Their town was too small to be able to count on privacy. It didn’t matter if he was English and she was Amish.

  Someone in their circles would notice them talking together and comment on it. “And then?”

  “And then, we’ll figure out a way to talk. Without the detective finding out.”

  She couldn’t help but touch his arm with her unmarked hand. “I think if we do talk it should be out in the open,” she said, changing her mind about meeting. “Otherwise, we’ll raise suspicions.”

  “Fine, we’ll meet in the open.”

  His voice was so clipped, yet another wave of unease filtered through her. “Walker, do you think, really think, we need to be so worried?”

  Instead of moving away from her hand, he stepped closer, making her full palm curve around his bicep. “Lydia, I think if the detective realizes that all of us knew Perry better than we’re saying, things are going to get really complicated. More complicated than either of us can imagine. And that makes me really worried.”

  Walker turned and walked away before Lydia could think of any retort that made sense.

  Instead, she sat back down on the bench and tried to calm her shaking nerves. She had known things were going to get discovered sooner than later. She’d known it as certainly as she had known Perry wasn’t the right man for her.

  She’d just hoped the truth would come out at a far later date.

  “Lydia, is everything all right?” her mother called out from behind the screen door.

  “It’s fine.” Thinking quickly, she said, “That was just my friend Walker. He stopped by to say hello, that’s all.”

  Her mother leaned closer to the screen door—so close that her nose was pressed up against it. “I didn’t know you were friends with any Englischer boys.”

  “I’m not. I mean I’m not friends with very many. But Walker is nice.”

  “Is he now? And how old might he be?”

  “I don’t know, Mamm.” And because it was yet another thing that she didn’t know about in her life, her voice turned sharper. “Truly, muddah. He only came by to see how I was doing. See, he knew Perry, too. And the detective has spoken to him also.”

  “Well, unlike that Englischer, you had nothing to do with Perry’s disappearance.”

  So that was how they were going to refer to Perry’s death. “Walker did not, either.”

  “But you can’t be sure, can you?”

  “I can be sure that I trust him as much as anyone else. He’s a nice man, Mamm.” And she could also be sure that he was hiding information. Just like she was.

  “Perhaps,” her mother said before turning away in an uncharacteristically quiet fashion.

  Ten minutes later, after she heard her mother leave the kitchen, Lydia hurried to her room. She carefully wrote down the phone number on the back of an old Christmas card, then locked herself in the bathroom and scrubbed her hand until it was raw.

  At least the numbers were gone.

  If only the memories could be erased as easily.

  When they’d first started courting, Perry had been sweet and had brought her daisies and had blushed when he talked to her. He’d had a faint Kentucky drawl that had mixed with his Amish accent, creating a soothing, lilting cadence. She’d liked to just listen to him talk.

  Back then, she’d been sure that Perry was the man for her. She’d gone to sleep dreaming about weddings and days spent walking by his side.

  And then, practically overnight, Perry wasn’t so sweet at all.

  He’d yell at her. And show up late. A
nd his accented voice developed a hard edge to it that hurt her feelings.

  She began to avoid him.

  And then they had fought about his new dreams and her old-fashioned values. Just remembering how he’d teased her about not wanting to do more than kiss him good night caused her to tremble. The way he’d grabbed her upper arms and trapped her next to his body. The way his kisses had turned painful and his heated gaze had turned cool when she’d pushed him away. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep, preferring to inhale the residual tang of Pine-Sol and bleach on her hands than to recall the sharp scent of rain-soaked leaves that surrounded their feet in the woods.

  When she had prayed that she’d never see Perry again.

  But that prayer hadn’t come true.

  Chapter 5

  “Perry could ride a unicycle, juggle three oranges at a time, and run faster than you could ever imagine. He always thought it a shame that none of that mattered in the real world.”

  ABRAHAM BORNTRAGER

  Walker had no idea if his visit with Lydia had been a mistake or not. Saying she was reserved was putting it mildly. The girl had seemed to keep every single emotion she was feeling to herself. As he drove his old Chevy truck off of the Planks’ property and hit the state highway, he played their conversation over and over in his head.

  “I don’t see why we need to share stories. The detective will leave soon.”

  The words had fallen from Lydia’s lips like they’d been recorded messages—tinny and canned sounding. Could she have sounded any more guarded or wary?

  Had she been afraid of him? Or was this her normal way of conversing? And if it was, what had Perry even seen in her?

  Probably that she was, well . . . beautiful.

  The opinion caught him off guard. Back when Perry had dated her and their paths had crossed, Walker didn’t remember her being that way. But now that he thought about it—maybe he’d never taken a good look at her. The first time he’d met Lydia had been when Perry had been standing by her side. As soon as Walker had heard the word “courting” he’d taken an emotional step backward.