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

by Gray, Shelley Shepard

  This time it was Walker who looked struck dumb. “You thought Abby and me were together?”

  “You came together. It was an honest mistake.” She shook her head from the pesky cobwebs that had threatened to overtake her good sense. “I am sorry for my confusion. Abby, I am Lydia Plank. It is good to meet you.”

  Around them, the rain and the wind increased, so much so that the water spattered on their clothes even though at least a foot of covering protected them from the rain. Well, Lydia at least was still getting a good drenching.

  “Hey, you’re getting soaked,” Walker said. “Come closer.”

  Next thing she knew, he was circling her waist with his hand and pulling her toward him.

  Rather, toward him and Abby.

  The moment she was steady on her feet, he stepped back. “No reason to stand so far apart, right?”

  “Right. Of course.” His innocent touch had disturbed her as much as the pang of jealously she’d felt when she’d seen them together.

  In order to push those unwelcome feelings away, she focused on the girl staring at her wide-eyed. “Why did you want to meet me?”

  “Oh. Um. I don’t know.”

  Walker winked. “I told you she was blunt, Abby. Tell her the truth.”

  “I think I want to become Amish,” Abby said.

  The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Now, why on earth would you want to do that?”

  Abby looked taken aback. So did Walker.

  But Lydia held her ground. “Do you have a reason?”

  “I want to be Amish because I think I’d fit in better.”

  The Amish community was a Christian one. And forgiving of others, for sure. But that didn’t mean they didn’t have strict rules by which to abide. Lydia couldn’t imagine the typical teenager knowingly adopting them. “I’m confused. You don’t fit in with . . .”

  “She’s having a hard time at school,” Walker explained, resting one of his hands on Abby’s shoulder.

  As Lydia watched, his touch seemed to calm his sister. “She doesn’t really fit in,” he murmured. “And now that everyone only thinks of her as the girl who found the dead guy, it’s gotten worse. She’s withdrawn . . .” His voice drifted off. “I don’t know if she is thinking about being Amish because she wants to live like her grandparents, or just escape from the situation she’s in.”

  “Ah.” Lydia didn’t know what to say. After all, she didn’t know the girl. And had never walked in her shoes.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Abby asked. “You don’t get why I would think about changing my life.”

  “I understand about changing your life. But as for wanting to become Amish? I do not. Being Amish isn’t for making new friends, you know.”

  “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to find out where I feel best. Have you ever wished for that? To find something that’s been missing?”

  That’s been missing.

  “Jah. I have wished for that. Lately, I’m been looking for parts of my past, pieces that are missing in my life.”

  “For things you don’t remember?”

  “For things that happened to me when I was but a boppli—a babe,” she corrected. “I don’t expect to remember what happened, but I do hope to at least learn some details about what happened to me.”

  Walker’s gaze held steady. “You have every right to want to know the truth,” he said softly. Then he turned and looked pointedly at Abby. “And this is definitely none of your business.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.” Abby swallowed hard. “Lydia, can I ask you an Amish question?”

  She braced herself. “Of course.”

  “I’ve already told her you may not want to answer any of her questions,” Walker interjected. “So don’t feel obligated to answer.”

  “Now you have me curious, Abby. Go ahead and ask.” As she waited, Lydia prepared herself to be asked about the pins on her dress. Or her white kapp. Or what she ate. Or why she stopped going to school at fourteen.

  Abby breathed deep. “Okay. Here goes: Why do you like being Amish?”

  The question caught Lydia off guard. “Do you mean what do I like?” she asked, deliberately misunderstanding the question. Just to give herself an added second or so. “Do you mean about our buggies and no electricity?”

  This time it was Abby who looked put out. “No,” she said, impatience running through her tone. “My grandparents are Amish. I know all about the way they live. But what I don’t know is how they feel about it. Do you like being Amish, Lydia?”

  Well, that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Did she like where she was, who she was—the parts she knew of herself?

  With a burst of awareness, she knew that she was just like Abby. Confused about who she was and who she should be.

  And confused about why she was confused, which was the most disturbing of all.

  “I don’t know,” she finally replied.

  Realizing right then and there that she hadn’t given a reply at all.

  Chapter 17

  “For most of his life, Perry was a good brother to his sister, and a good son to us. That’s really all a parent can ask of a child. Ain’t it so?”

  ABRAHAM BORNTRAGER

  Our boy, he was not perfect, but he was not who you are making him out to be,” Mr. Borntrager stated firmly. “I am certain of that.”

  With effort, Luke held his tongue. He’d been through this scenario countless times. It was never easy telling loved ones about crimes the departed had committed. And it was even harder when it was necessary to try to get more information about the deceased.

  No one ever liked to speak ill of the dead—that was one thing that seemed to cross all lines. It didn’t matter how old a person was, or what their religion, or even if they were man or woman. Everyone wanted to suddenly pretend that the person they were mourning was better than they remembered.

  Luke supposed he’d done the same thing.

  For most of his life, he’d reconfigured his father’s memory into something he could be proud of. As the years passed, his father had become kinder and more understanding. Luke sometimes revised his father’s work history, too. He hadn’t been full of excuses for not finding work. No, he’d just been laid off. For a really long time.

  And he’d only yelled at his children because he was stressed, not because he had few parenting skills.

  So, yeah, he understood Mr. Borntrager’s feelings. But there also came a time when facts had to be acknowledged and justice served.

  “I’m sure Perry had his good qualities, sir. I’m not disputing that. But the fact is, there are enough people who witnessed him hanging out with known drug pushers that I’m afraid I have to accept that he was mixed up in some dangerous business.”

  Before his eyes, Mrs. Borntrager crumbled. “You don’t think they are lying?” she asked weakly. “I mean, maybe they were jealous of him for some reason?”

  “People aren’t jealous of drug dealers, ma’am.” When she winced, he felt bad, but still, he continued. “I’d like to search his room again. If you don’t mind.”

  Mr. Borntrager obviously did. “Mose already did that,” he retorted, getting clumsily to his feet. “Mr. Reynolds, you’ve already been in there, too.”

  “I realize that. However, I’d still like to search it again.”

  Mr. Borntrager stood rooted to his spot, effectively blocking Luke’s way. “I don’t have time to stand around and watch you search. Chores haveta get done.”

  “I understand. Actually, I’d prefer to look around on my own. I want to look in Deborah’s room as well.”

  “But why? Deborah ain’t here.” Mrs. Borntrager’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “She might have known something but didn’t tell you.” He paused. “Where is she, again?”

  “She’s in Charm,” Mr. Borntrager said. “In Ohio.”

  Luke pretended he was looking through his notes, though he remembered the detail. “D
eborah left soon after Perry’s body was found. Isn’t that right?”

  “My parents live in Charm. The visit had been planned for months,” her father replied with a defiant edge in his voice.

  “Plus, it has been hard on Deborah,” her mother said. “She’s lost her brother, you know.”

  Luke stepped closer to the stairs. “I know this is upsetting, but you need to let me do my job,” Luke said.

  “Maybe it’s God’s will that we’ll never know the truth,” Mrs. Borntrager whispered. “Maybe that’s why this investigation has been so difficult. Our son is in the ground. No matter what you discover in his room, it won’t bring Perry back. You should listen to the Lord.”

  “I believe the Lord guides my life, ma’am. And because of that, I believe he gave me the skills to do my job. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go on up to his room.”

  For a moment, both parents stood together, a solid wall against him. Fear was etched in their eyes, as was lingering pain and a flash of irritation. It was becoming obvious that the Borntragers wanted Luke or Mose to produce Perry’s murderer out of thin air, then send him to trial and get him convicted. All without involving them or delving into Perry’s character.

  Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. He needed to dig deeper into Perry’s life in order to discover exactly who he’d been hanging out with. Doing that meant he was almost sure to uncover some of Perry’s activities that his parents didn’t know about.

  The Borntragers slowly moved apart. Neither met his gaze as he stepped through them and slowly climbed the stairs, his left leg hurting more than ever.

  The clamber of his boots echoed on each step as he climbed the staircase.

  He remembered the upstairs being very small, and his impression didn’t change as he surveyed the narrow hallway branching out into two cubby-sized rooms. Though he knew the left belonged to Perry, he opened the right door. There he saw a room so pristine and sparse, it looked as if a nun had taken up residence. A twin-sized bed rested next to the far wall. Only two other small pieces of furniture kept company with it—a bedside table and a chest of drawers made out of oak. Looking closer, he noticed a figurine with a quote from Matthew written below it. Saw a stack of books.

  This had to be Deborah’s room. Luke wondered why it was so empty. Had she kept it this way, or had her mother put most of her belongings away?

  Or had she taken most of her things to Charm? And if she’d done that, how long was she planning to stay in Ohio?

  Thankful that no footsteps had followed him upstairs, he crossed the room and opened the thin drawer of the bedside table, hoping against hope that he’d suddenly find a stash of receipts or a hastily handwritten note addressed to Perry.

  Inside, he did find a stack of birthday cards to Deborah. He sorted through them, but didn’t find anything of interest besides a pad of paper with hearts and the initials J.S. written on it, then hastily scribbled over.

  Quietly, he left the room and crossed the hall. Then opened Perry’s door and walked right into another world. Whereas most of the house was Plain, Perry’s looked very close to an English boy’s room. Clothes hung on pegs—homemade trousers with suspenders, jeans, and T-shirts. Books of all kinds littered his desk and a wobbly-looking bookshelf. History texts lay between a Bible and a pair of current paperback bestsellers. On his desk were pencils, pens, scribbled sheets of paper, and a few pennies.

  Three quilts piled on the bed. A pair of boots stood at attention to the side. A shade was halfway up the window, letting in the bright sunlight, casting shadows on most everything else.

  Luke wondered about the differences in the two bedrooms. Wondered about the English clothes that were out in plain sight. And wondered if any of it would help him at all.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. He sat back down at the desk and began going through every book and sheet of paper again. He only stopped when he found a letter signed “Frannie.”

  Abby watched Lydia walk to her front steps and then disappear into her house with a feeling of loss. The whole afternoon hadn’t been anything like she’d imagined it would be. She’d thought she’d feel included and eager to be more like Lydia.

  Instead, she only had more questions.

  “You’ve been quiet for five whole minutes,” Walker said as he shifted into reverse, glanced out the mirror, then backed down the driveway. “I would’ve thought you’d be talking nonstop.”

  “I guess I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Why not? Lydia answered all your questions?”

  “No.” Abby struggled to put her mishmash of emotions into the right words. But her efforts were futile. “I thought she’d be happier or something,” she finally muttered.

  “Happier about what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess since she’s older and Amish and everything . . . I was hoping she’d seem more content with her life. But she seems just as confused about her life as me. I didn’t expect that.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, waiting for him to tease her about what she said.

  But to her surprise, he looked contemplative. “I think Lydia has a lot on her mind. Just because she’s Amish, doesn’t mean her life is problem-free.”

  “I know the Amish have problems, too, Walker.” She frowned. “Do you think Lydia is still upset about P-Perry?” Gosh, she still could barely say his name.

  “Probably. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He stopped at the light and turned on his right blinker. “She found out some things about her family that she didn’t know before. Some pretty heavy stuff.”

  Abby was dying to get details, but she knew if she pushed Walker wouldn’t tell her anything. “Well, I thought she’d at least be happy being Amish.”

  Finally came the bark of laughter she’d been expecting. “Your problem, Abby Anderson, is that you want easy answers to hard questions.”

  “Not all the time.”

  “A lot of the time you do. You’ve always been that way. You’ve always asked ‘why’ about a hundred times a day. And you’ve wanted your answers immediately.”

  Stung, she said, “Well, one thing that was really obvious was how much you two like each other.”

  He stiffened. “I’ve told you we’re not dating, Abby.”

  “Oh, I know that. But you’re also not just friends. You’re more than that.” When he didn’t reply, she pushed. “Have you two always been close?”

  “What do you mean, ‘always’?”

  “I mean, even back when she was dating Perry . . . did you like her?”

  “I didn’t know her.”

  “Really? I thought sometimes all of you hung out together.”

  “Not really.”

  Remembering last December—remembering hearing something about how a group of them had run into each other by chance but had ended up hanging out for hours—she said, “But weren’t you all together around New Year’s?”

  Next to her, his posture became rigid and his expression turned glacial, telling her without a doubt that she’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business.”

  Walker said nothing more until he pulled the truck into their driveway. “Abby, maybe your problem isn’t that you’re not Amish,” he said with icy contempt. “Maybe it’s your mouth. You say too much and ask too many questions and expect people to give you information that’s none of your business.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do,” he interrupted. “You do this all the time. Don’t ask me to take you to see Lydia again.”

  “Walker, you know I didn’t mean to upset her or get too pushy—” What she wanted to say was that she didn’t mean to push him so much.

  “But you did,” he snapped. “You did, like you always do.”

  And with that, he unbuckled his seat belt, pulled his keys out of the ignition, and left the truck with her still sitting in it.

  Abby sat in the cab for a long time afterward. Watch
ing it rain. Thinking about the way Lydia and Walker pretended not to stare at each other.

  Thinking about her brother’s reaction to her simple comment about New Year’s.

  Right about when Perry Borntrager went missing. Did her brother know more than he was letting on?

  Chapter 18

  “I was only afraid of Perry when I thought he would hurt me. And that happened only one time.”

  LYDIA PLANK

  Sweat trickled down her spine in rhythm to her motions. Every time Lydia pulled hard on a dandelion weed, another drop of perspiration fell. The inevitability of her dress becoming soaked to her skin seemed to mirror the painful changes that were happening in her life.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the fact that she wasn’t who she’d always believed herself to be.

  That somewhere out in the world, there was a woman who’d given birth to her and then gave her away.

  Added to the mix of emotions was the strange turn of events with Walker Anderson. To her shame, Lydia knew she was attracted to him. The mischievous spark in his eyes and tempting grin had captured her heart and held on tight. Each time they spoke, there was a sense of integrity and honesty that drew her closer to him.

  She couldn’t have ignored him if she’d tried.

  How could so much have changed within a year? Walker Anderson wasn’t the kind of man she’d hoped to marry. Perry had been.

  As far as she’d known, Perry was a catch. Perry was handsome and a little mischievous. She’d loved that he hadn’t been quiet or too serious. But he had a dark side she’d never imagined. He’d liked to shock her, whether it was his stories about drinking and smoking, or . . . the way he’d tried to force himself on her.

  Though it was the hottest morning in memory, she felt her skin chill as she remembered how harsh and bitter he had been when she’d pushed him away.

  “Stop, Perry!” she practically screamed, pulling her dress down back below her knees.

  After another shove, he rolled her to her side. Breathing heavy, he’d turned his head and watched her in the dim light as she’d fastened her dress better. Straightened her hair and repinned her kapp. “You needn’t act so frightened, Lydia,” he said. “I wasna going to hurt you.”