But he had. Fighting tears, she scrambled to her feet. “I need to go home.”
He laughed. “Like that? You better wait a bit, or everyone’s gonna ask you when the wedding is. You look like we’ve been rolling in the grass.”
She backed off. “I would never marry you,” she’d called over her shoulder before darting through the trees.
The walk home was scary. It was already dark, and the shortcut that was easy during the day was confusing at night. She’d fallen more than once.
But once she’d gotten home, she waited forever, until she was able to sneak in through the back door and run up to her room.
Because Perry had been right. No one would ever believe she hadn’t been rolling around in the grass.
Even if it hadn’t been by choice.
Pulling another weed, she grimaced. In spite of Perry’s warnings, she’d kept what had happened a secret, afraid that Reuben would find out. Or her parents.
Yes, for sure, Perry had turned out to be so different than who they’d all thought he was.
Wiping her brow, she forced herself to think of someone else. Maybe underneath Walker’s Englishness . . . he was everything she’d ever hoped a man would be.
She didn’t understand why he was in her life at the same time her past was falling apart. She’d rather not be dealing with her attraction to Walker, Perry’s murder, and her mysterious adoption all at the same time, but that choice didn’t seem to be up to her. As always, it was up to God.
All she could do was trust that the Lord had timed these changes in her life for a reason, and He no doubt expected her to come to terms with them with honesty and forbearance. If possible.
Was it possible? Another drop of sweat rolled down her back, chilling her skin as Lydia sought to untangle her emotions. Back and forth she weighed her choices about what to do next. She could pretend the news about being adopted didn’t bother her. She could pretend that she wasn’t still mourning the loss of Perry.
She could stop thinking about Walker Anderson.
She grabbed another unwanted weed’s stem and yanked hard.
“Lydia?”
With a gasp, she dropped the weed and looked up toward the voice. “Detective Reynolds? Whatever are you doing here?”
“I need to ask you some more questions, Lydia.”
“More?” This was what she and Walker had been afraid of . . .
“I know you’re tired of them, but there’s not much I can do about that. I need your help if you can give it.”
She shook her head, hoping to clear the cobwebs. “Nee, it’s all right. I, um, am fine with the questions. I just was surprised to see you, that’s all.” She scrambled to her feet.
He gestured to the pile of weeds at her feet. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“Always. Weeds are a gardener’s worst enemy, I fear.” Then, remembering her manners, she cleared her throat. “Would you care for something to drink? Or perhaps you’d like to sit inside?” Sitting inside would open their conversation to other ears, but at that moment, she didn’t mind. The detective had such a way of setting her nerves on edge. Maybe if her family was around she’d feel safer.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather sit out here. I’ve been inside a lot today.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She motioned to the nearby benches. “Please sit down.”
He limped to a nearby bench and took a seat. “Lydia, I was searching through Perry’s room and came across a name I hope you will recognize.”
“What is the name?”
“Frannie.” He studied her carefully, his gaze never wavering. “Do you know a Frannie?”
“I know of a few, but only one very well. I know a Frannie Eicher.” She sat down on the ground, now finding comfort in the earth’s heat as she contemplated the name. “She works at the bed and breakfast.”
“Owns it now.” He looked a little disgruntled. Or perhaps dismayed? “As a matter of fact, I’m staying at her place. At the Yellow Bird Inn.”
Lydia grew even more wary. “If you’re staying at her inn, why are you asking me questions? Shouldn’t you ask her what you want to know?”
He smiled slightly. “I’ve found over the years that everyone doesn’t always tell me the truth. Because of that, it’s better to get an idea of what answers I’m looking for before I ask any questions. Was Frannie ever involved with Perry?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come now. This is a small community. Everyone pretty much knows everyone else’s business.”
Funny how even memories of the last time she spent alone with Perry made her pulse race and her mouth go dry. “Detective—”
“Just call me Luke, would you?”
“Luke, I’m not really sure if they were courting or not. After Perry and I decided we, ah, didn’t suit, I had kind of a bad patch.” Well, she supposed several weeks of depression could be called that.
When he still stared at her, she continued. “I never really talked to him after we parted ways,” she lied. “I didn’t want to.”
“And nobody told you what he was up to? No one gossiped about who he was seeing?”
Luke sounded skeptical. Well, she supposed she didn’t blame him.
“If they talked about Perry, I didn’t listen.” When he continued to stare at her like she was a blight in his vision, her temper flared. “Detective Reynolds, I am not a bad person. I am just a woman who made a bad choice when it comes to love. Perry broke my heart. I thought we would marry. When I found out he was different than the man I thought him to be, I was terribly distraught. I never wanted to see him again. Or hear about him again. Everyone knew that.”
“It’s a small community. I find it hard to believe you didn’t hear any gossip.”
Instead of replying, she clenched her hands tightly on her lap.
“And what about now? I’ve heard rumors that you’ve been seeing Walker Anderson.”
Lydia was sure if someone had covered her face in pink crayon, it wouldn’t be more flushed looking. She stood up. “Congratulations, Detective. If you’ve become entrenched in our rumor mill, you must have finally become accepted in our community. Perhaps even more than I am.”
But instead of flinching or looking hurt by her mean comment, the detective merely raised a brow. “Just trying to do my job, Lydia.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Well, now. I’m starting to think you are tougher than I thought.”
“I think we all are tougher than we thought, Detective. Pain will do that to you.”
“Look, Lydia. I still need to find answers, and someone is going to have to trust me enough to talk. What do you know about Frannie and Perry?”
“Very little, Detective. Though we know each other, she and I have been busy with our own lives. She’s been busy with the inn, and I’ve been here. Working. And that is the truth.” She turned back around and went back to her weeding.
As she heard the detective shuffle away, she sat back on her heels and sighed.
And realized that she’d become very good at lying.
Luke limped back to his car feeling like ten times the fool, and more than a little bit irritated with a certain Amish woman.
It had been a long time since he’d read somebody so wrong, but he’d definitely misjudged Lydia Plank. Like a young pup, he’d been taken in by a pair of blue eyes, a willowy figure, and an aura of innocence and heartbreak.
Which had led him to stop thinking of her as a suspect and more like a victim—a completely idiotic idea if he ever had one.
Then, while he was neck deep in that paper-thin awe of her, she’d neatly lied to him, he was sure of it. He wasn’t sure about what information she was hiding, but he’d been lied to enough to notice the signs. The shifting eyes, the painfully still posture, the constant evading of questions.
He was still stewing as he waited for a pair of ducks to take their time crossing the road—why they weren’t flying, he didn’t know—when t
he phone rang.
He only had one guess as to who it was. “Mose, not now.”
The feminine laugh that responded nearly caused him to press on the gas and run over a wayward duckling.
“Wow, Luke. Just when I think you can’t take me by surprise . . . you do.”
“Renee. Hey.”
“Well, though you don’t call, I guess it’s good that you still recognize my voice.”
“So, what’s going on?”
“I’ll take that thread of surprise I hear in your tone as a good sign. I’m happy to talk to you, too.”
“Is there are reason you called? I mean, when I left we pretty much agreed that we were through.” His fingers drummed the steering wheel as he veered around the last wandering bird and sped off.
“I just happened to see Nancy last night and she mentioned you’ve got a pile of mail. I thought I’d do a good deed and volunteer to send it to you.”
“You talked to Nancy about my mail?”
“Uh-huh. I mean, we do live in the same complex.” Her voice had turned cooler, less flirty. “Do you want me to stick it all in a mailer and send it to you . . . or I thought maybe I could come out and deliver it in person.”
His stomach clenched. He knew seeing Renee was not what he needed. “That wouldn’t be a good idea, Renee. I’m neck deep in a murder investigation and, well, I don’t think we would have much to say to each other.”
She paused, obviously waiting for an explanation. When he offered none, she spoke. “Oh.”
Luke knew he could apologize and tell her that when he got back to Cincinnati they could try to pick up where things had left off. But what was the point? He and Renee were over, and he had no interest in dating her again.
“Renee, if you could put my mail in an envelope and send it out to me, that would be great. I don’t have my address on me, but I’ll e-mail it to you.”
There was a pause on the other side of the line. A lengthy one. “Okay.”
“Thanks for sending me my mail, Renee. I appreciate your trouble.”
He disconnected before he could reflect further about how distant he felt from Cincinnati. How he hadn’t even thought about all his mail. Or what he’d been missing in the city.
And that realization made him admit the bitter truth: He’d become exactly what Lydia had said he was—he’d become entrenched in Crittenden County.
Chapter 19
“I only heard Perry pray once, and that was when his sister Deborah had been rushed to the hospital.”
WALKER ANDERSON
Walker, I can’t believe you’re helping your sister with this Amish project of hers,” his mom chided as he walked into the kitchen late that night. “I’m not really sure what to think.”
He’d been studying Western Civilization for the last two hours, and he knew he was going to seriously need some caffeine and food if he was going to get in another two hours of study time.
What he didn’t need was to be grilled by his mother about his sister.
“Walker, are you not going to say a thing about this?”
Obviously, he wasn’t going to get any reprieve. With his head halfway in the cupboard, he replied. “Since when is helping Abby a bad thing?” No way was he going to touch that “Amish project” jab.
“Since she told me that she visited your grandparents without an invitation and talked to your grandmother about being Plain.”
No way was he going to let her twist things like that. “Hold on. I was at the table when she told you she’d roped me into taking her. You know that’s what happened. And all I did was drop her off.”
“Oh, of course,” she snapped, the look in her eyes telling a whole different story. “That’s all you did.”
After grabbing a couple of granola bars, he walked over to the refrigerator and started looking for the sodas. Hearing his mom on the verge of losing her temper meant it was time to get out of there, fast.
But he still was going to defend himself. After grabbing two cans of pop, he leaned back against the fridge. “Mom, wait a minute—this isn’t my fault. Abby had these plans on her own, and would have gone whether or not I was there to take her. Besides, they’re our grandparents. It’s not like I took Abby out partying or something.”
“What about when you took her to see that Amish girl?”
His mouth went dry. After debating whether to pop the tab of the first Coke in front of her, he set it on the counter then spoke. “Abby asked if she could go with me when I saw Lydia.”
“So it’s ‘Lydia’ now?”
“That’s her name.”
“You two must be pretty close if you’re already bringing your sister to meet her.”
“I took Abby because she asked, Mom. Abby wanted to talk to an Amish girl around her age.”
“And?”
“And it wasn’t any big deal.”
“Because you always do what Abby asks, right?”
Walker flinched at her sarcasm. This conversation was getting uncomfortable. His mother didn’t do sarcasm. She was always calm and understanding. “Mom, I don’t know why you’re so upset. I haven’t done anything wrong. And as far as I know, neither has Abby.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then drew a long breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Slowly, she got to her feet and looked him in the eye. “I really am sorry I sounded like a shrew, dear.”
“You didn’t sound like a shrew. Besides, Mom, I don’t think Moms who wear toe rings get shrewish.”
She laughed softly, as he’d hoped. Years ago, she’d tried on a gold toe ring at a fancy jewelry store, then much to her embarrassment, hadn’t been able to get it off. Their dad had been so amused, he’d ended up buying it. Ever since, it had served to remind Walker that their mom was, in a lot a ways, just a girl.
Funny how he hadn’t thought about that toe ring in months.
Tapping her bare toes on the wood floor, the bright gold glinting whenever the beam from the fluorescent bulbs hit it just right, his mom sighed again. “I’m so completely frustrated with that girl I don’t know what to do anymore,” she said. “I know discovering Perry’s body was beyond hard on her. But Abby didn’t want counseling, and she doesn’t want to talk to either me or your dad. Now I think things have gotten worse for her at school . . .” She shook her head slowly. “Walker, I just don’t know what to do to help her.”
“For a start, I think you should talk to her instead of yell at me.”
“Maybe.” The sides of her lips turned up in a smile, letting him know that she, too, saw the humor in their situation. “I’m more used to yelling at you, though.”
Walker grinned because he knew that wasn’t the case. Unless he counted a few mishaps when he was in preschool, his childhood had been almost perfect. School and friends and sports had come easy. It had always been Abby who was restless and unhappy.
Which was why, he supposed, he was still trying to come to her rescue. “Grandma and Grandpa really like spending time with Abby, Mom. You know how easy they are to be around. She’s comfortable there.”
“I’m glad she loves James and Francis. But now she’s talking about wanting to become Amish, Walker. That’s just odd.” She lifted her eyebrows and stared at him. Obviously waiting for him to be appalled.
But he wasn’t.
“I know, Mom. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to be Amish, but I don’t think the way Grandma Francis and Grandpa James do things is bad. I like being with them. I like being over at their house a lot. Abby does, too.”
“I know.”
Just when he was about to take his drink and granola bars up to his room, she spoke again. “I don’t resent her wanting to be with your grandparents. I love them, too. I just wish she’d spend more energy on making more friends at school. If she would have tried out for cheerleading like I asked her to, maybe she’d be happier at school. Like you were . . .”
He did an about-face. “You know Abby’s not the cheerleader type, Mom.”
> “She could’ve been if she had wanted to be . . .”
“But that isn’t who she is. You need to let her be herself.” All of a sudden, it felt like God was right there in the room with them, giving him the right words. Helping him help his sister . . . and maybe even himself. “Sometimes we just have to fit where we are meant to, instead of, you know, trying to be something we’re not.”
“And you think maybe that’s what Abby is doing? Trying to find herself?”
“Yes. If Abby is happy, that’s really all that matters, right?”
Her lips pursed. “I’m only trying to help her, Walker. Besides, I don’t know if she realizes just how different her life would be if she became Plain. I think Abby wants to make her life easier, but becoming Amish isn’t the answer.”
On impulse, he set back down his drinks, then reached out and gripped his mother’s shoulder. “Mom, you know Abby is still having trouble sleeping. She’s still upset about discovering Perry’s body. You’ve got to give her some time. She loves you, and she wants you to be happy with her. But I’m getting the feeling that Abby’s tired of being unhappy. I think we need to let her try some new things.”
Her cool, long fingers covered his for a quick second before she looked up at him with a wry expression. “Is it college that’s making you so smart?”
“Western Civ? I don’t think so.” Grabbing his Cokes again, he started back up the stairs.
“So what is?”
He paused. “Maybe Abby is,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “She’s been through a lot. Never had it as easy as I did. But the whole time, she’s kept moving forward, too. Even if it hurts.” When he stopped to think about it, his sister was downright brave.
“I never thought about her like that,” his mother said quietly.
“I hadn’t until lately, and I’m kind of embarrassed about that, too.” He started climbing up the stairs. “But I tell you what, after watching how she’s handled everything she’s been through, I feel like she’s made me smarter. Some days I hope I’m just like her.”
Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One Page 15
