by Marta Perry
“I know Link talked to you about Allen, but you want to hear it from me, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She smiled slightly. “But I was going to try and find some tactful way of bringing it up.”
“No need for that. It’s obvious why you want to know.” Geneva seemed prepared to talk, but the vertical lines between her brows suggested that the subject troubled her. “Allen was a difficult man. I’m not sure anyone really understood him.”
“Not your husband?” She asked tentatively, having gathered that Geneva was a widow.
“Blake least of all. It’s that way with brothers, sometimes. We tried to guard against that with Trey and Link, but I’m not sure we entirely succeeded.”
She’d love to know why, but that was not her business, and she wasn’t going to betray interest in Link to his mother, of all people.
“I didn’t have siblings, so I don’t really understand, I’m afraid.”
“Fight like cats and dogs in private, but present a united front to the world.” Geneva’s face cleared, as if she were remembering something pleasant. “That was always Trey and Link, anyway. As for Allen…” She let that trail off, shaking her head. “I think perhaps he envied Blake, although he’d never admit that.”
“Link said he was a loner,” she prompted.
“He lived all by himself in that house, with just a housekeeper coming in a few days a week to do for him.” Geneva broke off a piece of the sinfully rich sticky bun. “Your mother wasn’t the only person who worked for him in that capacity, but she stayed the longest, I think. Four years, if memory serves.”
That startled her. “Four years? Then she must have gone to work for him when I was little more than a baby.”
“She took you with her, for the most part. I remember dropping some dinner off for Allen one day, and you were playing with some plastic measuring cups on the kitchen floor, good as gold while she cleaned the cabinets.”
She had another image now to add to the small store she had of her mother, and she tucked it away to think about later. “Did you know my mother well?”
Geneva considered. “Not well, but to talk to. She was a very sweet person. You could tell that by her expression.” She tilted her head, studying Marisa’s face. You have that, too. But I thought…”
“Yes? What did you think?” She couldn’t let Geneva stop short.
“That there was a little sadness in her eyes, too. My imagination, maybe. Certainly her face always lit up when she looked at you.”
There was a question to be asked, and she wasn’t sure how to put it. Maybe best just to blurt it out. “What about her relationship with your brother-in-law? Did you ever think…” Her nerve failed her then, and she couldn’t manage the rest of it.
Geneva reached across the glass-topped table to clasp her hand. “Never. There was never anything between them but a business relationship.”
She wanted to believe that, but could she? “How can you be sure of that? They wouldn’t advertise it, if there was.”
“Barbara wouldn’t have taken her child to the house if there’d been anything untoward going on.” Geneva’s voice rang with assurance. “I may not have been close friends with her, but I knew her well enough to be sure of that.”
Tension that had been stretched tight seemed to ease. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“You poor child.” Geneva patted her hand. “I understand how worrying this all is for you. But whatever caused Barbara to pack that suitcase, I’m quite sure it wasn’t Allen.” Her lips quirked. “I doubt that Allan got his nose out of his dusty old history books long enough even to notice that she was a woman.”
“Was she…” Happy, she wanted to say, but who could ever really know that about another person? “You know that she had been Amish, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. As I recall, she was a relative of the Zook family, and she came to visit them. That’s how she met your father.”
She nodded. “I did know that. My grandmother must have told me, because my dad hardly ever talked about her.”
“Too upset, probably. It had to have hurt him terribly, the idea that she would just walk away to go back to her people.”
Marisa shoved aside that image of her mother walking away from her. “For a long time I imagined that she would come back. She’d explain what happened, why she hadn’t been in touch with us, and we’d all be happy again.” She shrugged. “It’s a typical fantasy for a child whose parent has deserted them.”
Geneva’s bright eyes sparkled with tears. “I know. It had to be terrible for you. I remember stopping by the house to see if I could do anything. You were just sitting on the stairs, looking lost. For her to disappear like that, without a word…”
“She intended to leave.” Marisa forced herself to admit the ugly truth. “The suitcase proves that. But if she left, why didn’t she take it with her? And if she didn’t, what happened to her?”
“I wish I had the answer for you.” Geneva leaned toward her, clasping her hand in a warm grip. “I promise we’ll help you all we can. I’ll set up a meeting with Bishop Amos, and I’ll see if any of my Amish friends will talk to me about it, as well.”
“I’m so grateful. Thank you.” At least Geneva’s response wasn’t hampered by official reticence, like the chief’s was, or complicated by emotion she didn’t understand, like Link’s.
“It’s the least I can do.” Geneva sat back, seeming satisfied. “In the meantime, you mustn’t brood about it. But you said that you’d brought some of your work with you to do.”
“The illustrations, yes.” She hadn’t been in touch with her agent in days, and she should do that. “I should get working on them. I’ve never missed a deadline in my career, and I’m not going to start now.”
“Good for you.” Obviously a doer herself, Geneva seemed to approve. “Now, what can we do to help?”
“Nothing that I can think of, but thanks. The setting involves a farm.” The image of Link cutting wood flashed into her mind. “And some scenes in the woods. It’s a simple little story, about a baby chick that gets lost in the woods, and the forest creatures try to help him find a place to live.” She could feel the desire to work on it rising in her. Working would shut out her fears as nothing else could. “The images are a little old-fashioned in style, done in pastels.”
“It sounds charming, and I know just the place. Our neighbors have a working farm, and I’m sure they’d be delighted to let you work there. As for the woods, nothing could be easier. There are acres of woods behind our place. I’ll have Link show you around and help you find just the right spot.”
Link, and that inexplicable flash of attraction between them that she’d been trying to deny since it happened.
“That’s very generous of you, but you don’t need to bother Link with it. I’m sure I can find something suitable without his help.”
“You could. But it would be a blessing if you’d do this for me.”
Marisa was so startled she couldn’t speak, but Geneva plunged on.
“He’s been so preoccupied ever since he got out of the army hospital. He doesn’t think about anything but finishing that house and going away.” Geneva blinked rapidly, as if to hold back tears. “He used to be so outgoing, charming and laughing and never serious for more than a minute at a time. Now he doesn’t talk, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t seem interested in anything.”
“I’m sorry.” Her throat tightened. She’d guessed there had been something wrong with him. Now she knew. “Was he injured?”
Geneva nodded. A tear spilled over, and she dashed it away. “In Afghanistan. Link was with an engineering unit. They were rebuilding a school that had been destroyed, and there was a terrible accident. Well, not an accident. It was blown up.” Geneva blotted tears again and gave a shaky laugh. “If he could hear me now, he’d be furious with me. But you know, as sad as it is, finding that suitcase seems to have brought him back to life. I don’t want him to slip away again. You under
stand, don’t you?”
Marisa nodded. “I do. I’m sorry. But I don’t see how—”
“How a walk in the woods will help?” Geneva finished for her, smile flashing through her tears. “Believe me, I’m thankful for every little thing that pulls my son out of his shell. Even a walk in the woods.”
Marisa couldn’t imagine that her presence and her problems were any antidote for Link’s ills, which sounded very serious indeed. But she could hardly refuse.
“Of course I’ll do it, but Link may not agree.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Geneva said. “I’ll handle him.”
Somehow she didn’t doubt that she would. She was beginning to feel that Geneva Morgan, in spite of her charming, insubstantial manner, was a force to be reckoned with.
BY THE TIME LINK HAD dropped Marisa off, it had been time for lunch, so he’d stopped at home, mainly because it seemed to please his mother to feed him. Then he took off on his deferred errands at the hardware store and the lumber yard.
He glanced at his watch when he got back to what had been Uncle Allen’s house and was now his. Late afternoon, and most of the workday gone, thanks to his getting involved in Marisa Angelo’s troubles. Too late to start anything time-consuming now, but he could unload and organize his work for the next day.
He pulled around to the back and began lugging supplies onto the back porch. He’d barely made a dent in the job when Trey’s truck pulled up behind him and Trey slid out.
“Looks like you could use a hand.” Trey grabbed the end of a two-by-four as Link swung it out. “Is all this for the family room?”
“Most of it. Thanks.” He hated admitting weakness, but the truth was, by this time of the day it was all he could do not to resort to the pain pills the doctor insisted on giving him. “I need to fix a couple of the upstairs windows. The sills are nearly rotted through.”
“I figured as much.” Trey helped him carry a sheet of paneling. “Toward the end, Uncle Allen didn’t seem to care much about anything, including the house. Just shut himself up in his study with his books.”
Link nodded, leaning against the porch rail for a moment’s respite. “He always was kind of that way, wasn’t he? Liked his own company better than anyone else’s.”
“Yeah, but this was even more so.” Trey took off his ball cap, wiped his forehead and put it back on again. “You were away, what with school and the army, so you probably didn’t notice it, but he really turned… Well, Mom calls it eccentric.” He grinned. “Odd was more like it. Didn’t want anyone in the house. I had to twist his arm to let me send someone over to mow the yard.”
The worry that lurked at the back of Link’s mind poked out. “Is there anything in that to make you think he could have been involved in the Angelo woman’s disappearance?”
Trey’s answer didn’t come as quickly as he’d like. Trey actually seemed to be considering that as a possibility.
“I wish I knew,” he said slowly. “I’d like to say that was ridiculous, but I can’t. For Mom’s sake, I hope he wasn’t. She’s been through enough the past couple of years.”
A weight settled on Link’s heart. Dad’s death, thought to be suicide, something that seemed impossible to believe. And then the revelation that someone they’d known all their lives had killed him.
And only a few weeks later, Link had managed to get himself nearly blown to pieces. No, Mom hadn’t had an easy time of it lately.
“Marisa’s not going to give up until she knows the truth.” Link spoke with a sureness that surprised himself. He hadn’t realized he felt that convinced of what Marisa would and wouldn’t do. “If Allen was involved… Well, I don’t think we can keep it quiet.”
“It wouldn’t be right, anyway. Come on, let’s get this stuff unloaded.”
That was Trey, always determined to do what was right, even when it hurt. Just like Dad. Together they carried the rest of Link’s purchases to the porch.
“Thanks for the help.” Link hesitated, but Trey would have to know. “About this situation with Marisa Angelo… I stopped by the station this morning to see if Adam had come up with anything. She came in while I was there.”
“Why?” Trey fired the word, frowning.
“Adam had called her. He wanted her to take a DNA test. It seems the blotches on the suitcase were blood.”
Trey looked as if he’d like to cut loose with some colorful language, but he didn’t. “That’s torn it. It’ll turn into a murder investigation for sure.”
“Not necessarily. Adam says the amount was fairly small—not enough to indicate a fatal wound. But naturally they’ve got to find out if it was Barbara Angelo’s.”
“Yeah.” Trey rubbed the nape of his neck. “I can’t see Adam letting anything slide. He’ll be thinking the police did a lousy job of it twenty-three years ago.”
“Anyway, I drove Marisa to the hospital in Lancaster to have the test done. She told me something I found hard to believe.”
Too bad that just mentioning her name made him think of those moments when he’d been too close to her, the scent of her in his nostrils, the silky hair that had brushed his arm…
Trey lifted an eyebrow. “You going to tell me?”
Good thing Trey had pulled him back from that line of thought. “She’s got the idea someone was watching her room last night. A man, out in the yard at the guest house in the middle of the night. An Amish man.”
“That’s nonsense.” Trey’s first instinct was to reject it, just as Link’s had been. “She must have been dreaming.”
“That’s what I said, but she seemed pretty certain. She also said that the Millers wouldn’t talk to her about her mother. She seemed to think the Amish are hiding something.”
“Then she wasn’t just dreaming, she’s paranoid,” Trey said flatly.
It was what he’d thought himself, but it annoyed him to hear Trey say it.
“Maybe so. Except that when we were walking to the parking lot at the hospital, I happened to see Josiah Esch with his wife and little boy. And Josiah took one look at Marisa and very deliberately went the other way.”
Trey was still for a moment, weighing that. “You sure your imagination isn’t working overtime?”
His temper flared. “Listen, I’d like nothing better than to find out this is all some misunderstanding, but that won’t wash. Something’s going on, and like it or not, it involves us.”
“I don’t like it.” Trey held up his hand to forestall an angry comment. “But you’re right. Even if we could steer clear of the whole thing, you know as well as I do that Mom won’t.”
Link nodded, his momentary anger fizzling away. He and Trey were alike in this. They both wanted to protect their mother from any more hurt. “Any ideas as to how we keep Mom from getting involved?”
Trey looked harassed. “I’ve been trying to figure that one out since Dad died, without much success. But she does seem to assume you’re keeping an eye on Marisa. Maybe that’ll help.”
Keep an eye on Marisa. Stay close to her. “I’ve got a house to renovate, remember?”
“You’re the one who found that suitcase, remember?” Trey turned his question right back on him.
“I should have thrown it in the trash without opening it.”
“You really believe that?” Trey gave him a questioning look.
“No.” He bit off the word, thinking of that photograph of Marisa and her mother. “But maybe we’ll all be wishing that before this is over.” He nodded toward the door. “I could use something cold to drink. You?”
“Sounds good.” Trey followed him toward the door, still frowning, his mind obviously on the problematic possibilities. “You know Mom feels responsible. I wouldn’t put it past her to be scurrying around trying to find things out about Allen, and stirring up a lot of gossip while she does.”
“She’s got your wedding to look forward to,” Link said. “And don’t think Libby and I aren’t grateful for that.” He grinned, thinking of his twin.
“Maybe it’ll distract Mom from both playing detective and our single state.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.” Trey smiled, his eyes softening at the mention of his and Jessica’s wedding. “Once Mom smells orange blossoms, she’ll try to get the whole lot of us married off.”
Link shoved the door open. Just inside he stopped, senses alert. He put out a hand to keep Trey from moving.
“What?” Trey said, his voice quiet.
“Somebody’s been in here.”
Trey looked around the barren room. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “The box on the workbench has been emptied out. I didn’t leave it that way.” He might be careless about some things, but not his equipment. “And there’s insulation pulled loose from that wall.” He pointed to the section next to the fireplace.
“We’d better have a look around.” Trey picked up a length of wood from the workbench, hefting it like a bat. “I’ll check upstairs.”
It was a matter of minutes to check the house, empty except for a few pieces of furniture Link had been meaning to have a dealer come to evaluate and Uncle Allen’s books, which would have to be sorted. No one was in the house, but some books had been pulled from their shelves and a marble-topped table moved across a bedroom.
“Nothing missing?” Trey asked when they reached the family room again.
“Not that I can tell.” He shrugged, annoyed with himself. “I guess I should have locked up when I left to run to the hardware store this morning, but I figured I’d only be gone a half hour or so.”
Trey frowned absently at the fireplace. “Could have been somebody who was just curious. Talk’s been going around, probably getting exaggerated as it goes.”
“Maybe.” That was as likely as anything, so why did he have so much trouble buying it? “I suppose I still should tell Adam.”
“Yes.” Trey growled the word.
Link understood his feelings. No matter how much either of them wanted to be clear of this situation, they couldn’t ignore it. Barbara Angelo’s presence, whatever her relationship to his uncle, would certainly have been less complicated than her disappearance.
