“If you are not going to go to work, you need to do your chores. You have obligations to our home.”
It had been that way all her life. Her mother talked about God and how He guided their lives. She talked about how each person in the family had a special place where he or she belonged, and how they all needed to do their part to keep the house and business running.
But at the moment, she didn’t feel as if she belonged anywhere. Lydia straightened up and with a determined voice answered. “I don’t think I’ll be doing my chores today.”
“Lydia, you must! You are still a member of the family.”
Unable to hold her tongue any longer, she spoke. “Am I? Am I really? As far as I’m concerned, I’m the girl you’ve lied to for years. Years!”
And with that, she ran inside and grabbed her purse from the top of the kitchen table. Her parents followed on her heels, but then stopped when she pulled open the front door.
“Lydia? Please come back and talk to us about this!” her mother called out.
Refusing to answer, Lydia pulled the screen door shut and let it slam behind her. As she heard her parents voices rise, she kept walking. Within seconds, she reached the end of their property. Taking a left, she passed the Yoders’ herd of cows, and heard the faint roar of the waters running in Crooked Creek.
In the weak morning light, the dark woods around the creek beckoned her. There, she could get lost on one of the many trails and paths that ran along the water. Picking up her pace, she rushed forward. And, to her surprise, didn’t have the desire to look back at all. In fact, at that moment, she wished she could keep walking forever.
To get far, far away. As far away as possible. Then she would figure out what to do next.
Chapter 8
“The thing about Perry was that he never seemed Amish to me. ’Course, in a lot of ways he didn’t seem like anything at all. He was just Perry, for better or worse.”
WALKER ANDERSON
Yeah?” Walker said into his cell phone after hastily grabbing it from amid the clutter atop his dresser.
He heard a faint rustling in the background, then a throat clearing.
“Walker? Is that you?”
A curious buzz rang through him as he recognized the voice. Low and sweet and faintly accented. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. “This is Lydia, right?”
“Yes.” Pure relief filled her tone. “I was afraid I’d read the number wrong. Is this a bad time to talk?”
“Not at all. You called at the perfect time.”
“Ah. Gut. I mean, good.” Her voice was rushed but still thready-sounding. Far less sure than when they’d spoken face-to-face.
“Walker, when you said that you were willing to meet me to talk about things, did you mean it?”
“Sure I did.” Of course, while he had meant it, he wouldn’t have bet a nickel that she’d take him up on it.
“Then could we meet? Soon?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Running a finger along the only empty area on his messy desk, he cleared his throat. Realizing that she was most likely outside at one of the Amish phone booths that some families shared, he said, “Did something new happen? Did Detective Reynolds make you scared or something?”
“Something did happen, but it wasn’t with the police detective. This is more personal.”
“Is it about Perry?”
“No,” she said after a moment’s pause. “It’s just that, well . . . something came up that has surprised me very much. My mind is so muddled, I’ve realized that I need to talk it through. To, ah, someone who isn’t Amish.”
Walker was as confused by her statements as he was by the way she was choosing him to confide in. They hardly knew each other. “And I’m the only non-Amish person you know?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why me and not somebody else?” He could almost feel her apprehension through the air. But he wasn’t going to give her an easy way out. No way did he want to agree to meet her alone, just to get blindsided. He’d had enough of that with Abby—she was a champion at finding any excuse to corner him in order to talk about her problems.
“Because of everything with Perry, and the way you know how much I’m struggling with his secrets, you might be the only person who could understand.”
She sounded so upset, he quit questioning her. “How about we meet tomorrow afternoon?”
“I could do that . . . if you wouldn’t mind picking me up at my family’s nursery?”
Picking her up sounded like a date. And though that wasn’t what she meant, warning bells went off in his head. Picking her up would give anyone who saw them together a reason to ask questions.
She seemed to realize that. “I could also meet you in town at the Pizza Hut around five. Would that work better for you?”
“Yeah. That works better for me.” The Pizza Hut was on North Main, one of the closest streets to Highway 60 and the Amish community. From her house to the Pizza Hut, it was only five or seven minutes by car. But by buggy or bike, it could take almost an hour. Maybe even longer if she was walking. “Lydia, are you sure you can get there?”
“It won’t be a problem.”
Used to worrying about Abby, he almost asked Lydia how she was going to get to town. But then he stopped himself. How she got to Marion wasn’t his business. In addition, now that plans were set, he was a little uncomfortable with the idea that an Amish girl was going to meet him there.
“Lydia . . . listen, I don’t know what I was thinking. I can pick you up at the nursery. Do you want me there at five or earlier? I can come as early as two.”
After another moment, she blurted, “If you could pick me up at three, I would be grateful. Danke, Walker. I mean, thank you.”
After they discussed directions, they hung up, and he found himself staring at the phone. There had been a lot of background noise. He wondered where she’d called from.
What could have happened in her life that would change her whole demeanor so much?
Only one thing came to mind—Perry. Even though she said her reason for meeting didn’t have anything to do with him, Walker figured it had to, at least indirectly.
After all, what did they have in common besides Perry?
Or maybe it was that he felt like his mind was never all that far from Perry. Not even after all this time.
Perry had always been happy-go-lucky, but there was a point when he just started pushing boundaries . . .
Back when they’d been working behind the front counter together, during a lull, Perry had casually opened the cash drawer, pulled out a twenty, and stuffed it into his front pocket.
“Perry, what the heck are you doing?” he’d asked. “You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can,” Perry said simply. “I just did.”
“But you can’t steal from Mr. Schrock.”
“He ain’t never going to miss it.”
“Yeah, he is.” Walker knew he would when he counted the cash drawer at the end of the night.
“What are you going to do about it? Get the twenty back? Fight me for it? Go tell Jacob?” He’d grinned with open amusement. Daring Walker to fight him. To tell.
“I don’t want to do anything—”
“Gut. Then don’t.” More softly, Perry said, “It’s just a twenty, Walker. I’ve taken a couple before and old Schrock’s never said a word.”
“I can’t believe you’re stealing.”
“Oh, Walker, who would’ve believed that out of the two of us, you’d be the one who was so honest. So sweet and good?” His voice had turned syrupy.
Walker had been very sure that Mr. Schrock would have never believed him over Perry.
So, to his shame, he didn’t do anything. He’d been too afraid that Mr. Schrock wouldn’t believe him. That Perry would find a way to get back at him.
He’d even been worried about his reputation. No one wanted to be known as the kid who tattled on his friends.
S
o he’d held his tongue and hadn’t said a word. And as each day passed, Walker had stood by and watched things get worse. And it had. More money went missing.
Yeah, that day with the cash box had been the first of many bizarre things that happened between them.
And that had forced Walker to put as much space between him and Perry as possible.
In the end, he’d quit.
Because by then, he’d felt like spending time with Perry meant lying to just about everyone he knew.
Luke Reynolds was lonely. His leg hurt, it never seemed to stop raining, and while the folks in the county were friendly enough, most kept their distance. So much that he was starting think that he had a sign on his back that told everyone to stay far away from him, like he was a leper or something.
As he took the front left booth at the Marion Café, he pretended to find interest in the menu. It was difficult to do, though. There was little on the laminated cardboard he hadn’t already tried.
“I’m waiting for the day you ignore the menu completely,” his server said around a saucy smile. “If I was a betting woman, I’d say we’ve got about two more visits before you take the plunge.”
“Only two more visits, huh?” He looked at the fortyish woman with the salt-and-pepper hair with some amusement. “What do you think I’ll do then?”
“What everyone else does, of course. Tell me you want the usual.” She grinned, displaying a full set of crooked teeth stained by years of tobacco. “Then it will be up to me to do the remembering.”
Glancing at her name tag, he said, “ Nancy, that’s my problem. I don’t know what my usual even is.”
To his surprise, she sat down across from him, her snug uniform pulling at the buttons running down her chest. “That’s because you’re too easy to please, detective. Most folks want what they want. You seem to be just fine thinking about things awhile.”
“I’ll have the roast beef sandwich.”
“With fries or soup today? Soup’s vegetable.”
“Any good?”
She shrugged. “Good enough.”
“I’ll take the soup.”
She slid out of the booth. “It’ll come right up.” After two steps, she paused, her white-soled shoes squeaking slightly. “And detective? . . .”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you be takin’ it personally, now.”
“Take what personally?”
“The way everyone’s keepin’ their distance and such.”
Luke was vaguely embarrassed that his outcast status was so visible. “So the rudeness is intentional?”
“Yep. More or less.” When he raised a brow, she prattled on. “No one’s aiming to be rude, honey. Just standoffish, that’s all. Nobody wants a fella like you peeking into their private life. Some things are better left undisturbed, you know?”
He supposed that made sense—to someone who liked to keep his head buried in the ground. “I can’t ignore a murder.”
“The boy was Amish, though.”
Luke was familiar enough with the workings of the community to know that meant next to nothing. Most people knew everyone else. “He worked at Schrock’s Variety, which is close to town. Anyone could have had something to do with it. Or they could know something.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“People can’t cover up a crime, Nancy.”
“No one else wants to cover anything bad up, neither,” she said in a rush. “But, you know, there’s a big difference between wanting justice and digging up old hurts. Don’tcha think?”
The way she phrased the words caught him off guard. There was something in her tone—something almost eager, almost pleading—that he couldn’t leave alone. “You think finding Perry’s killer is going to dig up someone’s old hurts around here? Why is that?”
“Perry had been a good boy, but over the years, he changed,” she said baldly. “I’ve heard round that some folks want to pretend otherwise, but that’s the honest truth. He wasn’t good, and he wasn’t planning on getting better anytime soon. And because of that, folks started giving him wide berth.”
“How wide a berth? Nancy, did you think Perry dangerous?”
Before he could ask more, another customer called her and she turned away. Leaving him with more questions than he’d had before.
When he looked around him again, he noticed that more than a handful of people had come into the diner, and not a one of them seemed eager to look his way.
With a sigh, Luke flattened out the menu and stared at it again, trying to pretend he hadn’t just done that moments before.
He needed to help out Mose as quickly as he could, then get on out of Crittenden County. He was too comfortable in the city to ever get used to acres of rolling hills and miles of fields and woods. The Amish community just north of Marion felt particularly confining. The roads were narrow and winding, the streets and shops barely marked well enough for a stranger to see. Interspersed with the Amish homes were a wild array of brand new oak and stone farmhouses and abandoned trailers.
And the people, while pleasant enough, didn’t seem to have much use for a city detective from Cincinnati. More often than not, level stares met his questions, making what should have been a rather routine investigation something far more challenging.
As Mose had tried to tell him.
Luke realized now that he should have listened.
Chapter 9
“Perry’s eyes were deep hazel. Never green, never brown. It was as if God had chosen that particular shade just for him.”
LYDIA PLANK
Lydia hadn’t meant to thank him for picking her up and taking her to Pizza Hut. Actually, she hadn’t meant to thank him for agreeing to meet her. After all, she’d already thanked him on the phone. More than once. Being so grateful for a kind gesture seemed too eager, too weak.
But when Walker looked at her the way he did—his gaze solid and slow, his expression carefully guarded but searching, her mouth started running off in spite of herself. “I hope all this wasn’t too much trouble for you. Picking me up and going to get pizza I mean,” she blurted.
When he glanced her way, she rambled on. “Pizza Hut is kind of out of the way.”
“Not if you have a car.”
“Oh. Jah. For sure. I mean . . . I suppose not.”
As if he sensed his manner was making her jumpy, he winced. “Hey—I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been sounding kind of rude.” He cleared his throat, illustrating that for him, too, this conversation was turning completely awkward.
After shaking his head, he smiled slightly. “What I’m trying to say is that it was no trouble at all. I told you it wouldn’t be.”
“I’m glad of that.”
They spent the rest of the drive in silence. When they passed a pair of Amish girls that Lydia knew from school, Lydia made sure she kept her face averted.
Walker seemed to be just fine with her keeping quiet. She kept waiting for him to play with the knobs on his dashboard, to turn on the radio or something. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply drove with one hand on the wheel and the other propped on top of the open window.
The cool air fanned her cheeks and made her feel more at ease.
After he parked his truck, he opened the restaurant door for her and guided her in. A couple of people who were sitting in booths looked at them strangely, but no one said a word.
When the hostess guided them to a booth in a back corner, Lydia felt her spine relax. The last thing she wanted was to sit at one of the square tables in the middle of the restaurant. There, they’d be on display, for better or worse.
After they sat down and were handed menus, Walker looked at her in that direct way of his. “Sorry, I was a little late picking you up. Did that cause problems?”
“Nee. I mean, no.” Now she was the one stumbling over her words. “I didn’t have to wait long at all.” Actually, she’d been ready a full thirty minutes early, feeling like it would be terribly rude to make him wait for her.
/> Instead, he’d come ten minutes late, causing her to wait on the bench at the front of the nursery. Just like she had nothing better to do. Reuben had berated her for sitting around but she’d told him to mind his own business. Her parents, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word. She could tell they were disappointed by her choices. But there was no need for him to know that.
Walker seemed satisfied with her answer, flipping open the menu and scanning it. “So, what pizza do you like?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
His head popped up. “Which one do you usually get?”
“I haven’t eaten here before.”
She waited, half prepared to answer his questions about why she chose a place to meet that she’d never been to before.
But instead of launching into a barrage of questions, he grinned. “Oh, boy. Well then, get ready for the best pizza you’ve ever had in your life.”
She laughed. When she looked at him, finding the strength to meet his eyes and act, well, normal, she saw his own soften. Suddenly, she began to have hope that this idea to meet hadn’t been the worst idea ever. Perhaps if they could laugh about pizza, there was enough of a connection between the two of them to inspire trust.
And she so needed to trust someone.
“I’ll look forward to trying it.”
“Want to get pepperoni? It’s my favorite.”
“If it’s your favorite, I’m sure I’ll like it verra much.” She was just about to ask about the salad bar when their waitress approached. She was wearing a pair of snug dark denim jeans and a fitted T-shirt.
And a smile that seemed just for Walker.
“Hey, Walker,” she drawled with what Lydia was sure was a flirty smile. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked over and saw you sitting here. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Not since high school,” he replied.
“Forever.”
“So, uh, Kim, how’ve you been?”
“Good. I’m good.” Her smile widened as she cracked her gum. “Time goes by so fast, don’t it? It seems like just yesterday we were in chemistry class together.” She shook her head wryly. “I can’t believe it sometimes.”
Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One Page 7
