by Alison Stone
Dylan smiled to himself. He lifted the plastic bag in his hand. “I brought us some pie. Flo made peach.”
Mrs. Greene’s eyes shone brightly at her good fortune. “I suppose it’s a good thing I made fresh tea, then, isn’t it?”
A few minutes later, they were sitting at the porch’s corner table enjoying iced tea and peach pie. The stress from the last few days rolled off him. “This tastes like the tea my grandma made. She also added fresh lemons and—” Dylan wrinkled his nose. “What else is in here?”
Mrs. Greene smiled brightly. “I’m not telling.”
“That’s what my grandma used to say.”
“We have to hold on to some of our secrets. Otherwise you young folk might decide we’re taking up oxygen.”
Dylan laughed. Mrs. Greene had a way of telling it like it was.
And Dylan knew all about secrets. His grandmother was the only one who’d shown him compassion and love. His father had ruled with an iron fist and his mother died far too young. In stronger moments, he’d tell his dad he was going to be an FBI agent because he thought it sounded tough. Brave. An FBI agent wouldn’t be afraid of anyone, especially not his own dad.
As a young boy, Dylan had had no one to stick up for him except for his maternal grandmother.
“Maybe your grandmother will share her secret recipe.”
Dylan smiled woefully. “Grandma died when I was twelve.” At that point he’d realized he was alone in this world. For a long time Dylan filled the loneliness with school and then his career in the Bureau.
That was, until Nora was gunned down.
His father’s mocking words—” Yeah, you’ll make a great agent”—scraped across his brain. Then he’d throw back his head and laugh, the silver fillings of his teeth visible in his gaping mouth. The grating sound still rang in his ears. Turns out his father had had the last laugh, after all.
In the end, Dylan Hunter hadn’t been the successful FBI agent he’d thought he’d be. He failed himself. He failed his partner.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Greene said, snapping him out of his reverie, “I’m sure your grandmother would have been very proud of you, a professor.” Mrs. Greene gave him a satisfied smile. “It’s a noble career.” She cocked her head, studying him. “But, if you ask me, you don’t look much like a professor type.” Mrs. Greene had always been so forthcoming, he was surprised she hadn’t told him this before.
“I was an FBI agent before I traded my badge for a tweed coat.” He respected that, although chatty, Mrs. Greene never pried more than he allowed her to.
“Ha! I’ve never seen you wear a tweed coat.”
Dylan ran his finger across his chin. “I’ve been meaning to get one.” They both laughed.
“FBI, huh?” Mrs. Greene seemed to size him up. She pointed at him. “Now, that makes sense.”
He laughed.
“You look more like law enforcement than a professor.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You must be bored to tears here in Apple Creek. Oh.” Her eyes lit up. “Are you here undercover? My sons are in law enforcement. You guys are all adrenaline junkies.”
“I don’t know about that...” His mind flashed back to the night when, nauseous with fear, he found Nora’s lifeless body in the doorway of one of their confidential informants’. She had gone to see the junkie on Dylan’s instructions. The guy had been generally harmless and Dylan suspected his partner might have been able to get the snitch to talk more. She had a way with people.
Instead, Dylan had gotten his rookie partner killed.
How had he misread the situation? How had he not known the informant was dangerous? From that point on, Dylan had made one reckless move after another and had to step away from the Bureau when he almost got himself shot on a collaborative drug raid with the DEA. Right then and there, still with his flak jacket on, he knew he had to take a break. Clear his head before any more blood was on his hands.
“Something bad happened. Made you want to get away.” Mrs. Greene smiled sadly.
“I needed a change.”
“But you miss the work.”
Dylan scooped up the remaining crumbs on his plate with his fork. “No, can’t say I do.” The words rang false in his ears.
“Ah, well, didn’t mean to pry.” She sounded skeptical. Mrs. Greene’s gaze turned toward the street.
A sheriff’s cruiser pulled up in front. Dylan slid his chair back from the table when he noticed Nick climb out and push his hat up on his forehead. “I better see what the deputy wants.”
“How do you know he’s here for you?” Mrs. Greene asked, curiosity lacing her tone.
“Is there any reason the deputy would be here looking for you?” Dylan widened his eyes and smiled.
Mrs. Greene lifted her head to study Deputy Nick Jennings. “Sadly, no.”
Dylan shook his head and laughed. “Excuse me a minute.”
He met Nick on the sidewalk and nodded in greeting. “Do you have any news on the barn party?”
Nick shook his head. “I’ve been quietly keeping an eye on Roger. Don’t want to raise any red flags until we have some real evidence.” He sounded like a man who had been severely disappointed. That happened when your sister told you your good friend had attacked her.
Dylan held up his palms. “Why did you stop by?”
“I appreciate your looking out for Christina. Between my shifts at work and the new baby at home, I’m not able to check in on my little sister like I’d like to.”
“No problem. Summer session doesn’t start for a bit yet. I’ve got nothing but time.” Dylan smiled despite the hum of unease that stretched between the two men.
“The thing is...” The deputy took off his hat and dragged a hand over his head. “Maybe it wasn’t fair of me...”
“No, really, I don’t mind.”
“When I said it wasn’t fair, I wasn’t referring to you.” Nick shot him a sideways glance. “I was referring to my sister.”
Dylan jerked his head back. “Someone has to keep an eye on her.”
Nick ran a hand across his chin, giving it some thought. “You do realize she’d lay into both of us if she heard us talking about her like this?”
Dylan laughed, feeling some of the tension easing away.
“My head tells me my sister is more than capable of standing on her own two feet. She always has been. My parents raised three independent kids. But I don’t want you to hurt her.”
“I don’t plan on it,” Dylan said, bowing his head. The dappled sun, filtering through the spring foliage, danced on the sidewalk at his feet.
“You really did a number on her years ago.”
“That was never my intention.” The half-truth slipped from his lips. What had he intended? Perhaps he had never intended to fall for the pretty young coed in the first place.
The tension crackled in the air. The two men stood as if ready to draw guns in a duel.
“If you hurt her, I will find you,” Nick muttered.
“Good to know.”
Nick gave Dylan a curt nod. He waved to Mrs. Greene, then climbed into his cruiser and drove away.
Dylan’s phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out, not paying attention to the number.
“Hello.”
“Dylan, it’s Christina. I hate to bother you—” The shaky quality of Christina’s voice kept him on edge.
“No, no problem. What is it? Need me to pick you up?”
“Cheryl, Naomi’s friend, stopped at the clinic. I’m worried about Naomi. Can you come down here? Now?”
* * *
Christina sensed Dylan standing in the hallway near the back of the clinic before he said a word. She looked up and smiled briefly, relief washing over her. Funny how she had come to count on him in such a sho
rt time.
His presence felt familiar. Comfortable.
“Hold up a minute.” She made a few notes about her last patient on the digital tablet in front of her, then set it aside. “Thanks for coming here early. I didn’t mean to sound the alarm.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
Christina looked into Dylan’s warm brown eyes and he genuinely seemed to mean it. He seemed more compassionate, less...tough...than he had when she had dated him years ago.
Less to prove.
As a young college student, she had fallen for his take-charge attitude, but it was that exact personality trait that had driven him to leave her behind to pursue his FBI career. He’d still never shared why he had taken a detour into academia, but part of her was afraid to ask. Afraid to learn it was only temporary and that he’d be leaving Apple Creek soon.
Christina held up her index finger. “Let me check the waiting room.” She hustled to the front and found the lobby empty, then came back to find Dylan sitting on the edge of her desk behind the counter.
“What’s going on? I thought you said Cheryl was here.”
“She was, but she was anxious to leave. I figured there was no point making her stay. She said what she had to say.”
“Which was?” Dylan crossed his arms over his dark blue golf shirt. It was a nice color on him. She quickly dismissed the thought.
“Cheryl said she and Naomi had a falling out. She said Naomi wouldn’t talk about the other night—”
“That’s normal, right?” Dylan interjected.
“It can be. But Cheryl said they’d been friends for a while and Naomi was acting strangely. Wouldn’t tell her what it was about. Cheryl thinks she’s hiding something.”
“I don’t understand. Isn’t it normal for Cheryl and Naomi to drift apart? Cheryl’s not Amish and Naomi is. I can’t imagine what they’d have in common, especially if Naomi was committed to being baptized.”
A twinge of guilt gnawed at Christina. Perhaps she had shared too much about Naomi’s life with Dylan over their shared meals. She let her shoulders drop and leaned back, resting her backside on the lower counter across from Dylan. “Cheryl said that Naomi might not be telling the whole truth about the other night at the barn. About the drugs. When I suggested Naomi might not remember things clearly because of the drugs, Cheryl said it was more than that. That Naomi was being particularly evasive.”
“About what?” The intensity rolling off Dylan unnerved her.
“Cheryl thinks Naomi may have gotten the drugs from the clinic.” Christina lifted a shaky hand to her forehead; the news had rocked her to the core. She had trusted Naomi.
She still trusted her. It was only a rumor.
“Do you think she’s capable of stealing drugs?”
Christina’s hand instinctively went to the keys in her pocket. “We keep the drug cabinet locked.” She bit her lower lip. “I’ve had no reason to suspect Naomi of any wrongdoing, but...it wouldn’t be impossible for her to access the drugs. She cleans for me. Maybe if I left it open during a busy moment. Or Georgia...or if Naomi swiped the keys at a moment of inattention.” A band of unease tightened around her lungs, making her dizzy. “It’s all possible.”
Christina worked her lower lip. “The lab got back to me. An antianxiety drug was in Naomi’s system. I checked our medicine log. I’m missing meds.” She bit her bottom lip. “It doesn’t mean she took them. But I don’t know...” She pulled her shoulders up to her ears, then let them drop.
“We’ll figure it out,” Dylan assured her.
“Cheryl’s suggesting Naomi stole the drugs, then took them to the barn party and took too many. Naomi was rushed here unconscious, so it’s possible, but why would Cheryl tell on her good friend now? It seems too convenient.” She ran a hand down her long ponytail. “Or maybe she’s genuinely concerned about her friend’s welfare.”
Christina glanced down the hallway to make sure no one had slipped in the front door. She didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.
“Cheryl claims she’s worried about her. That maybe she’ll do something drastic with the drugs because she doesn’t seem happy.”
“Is there a reason she’s not happy?”
Christina measured her words carefully. She didn’t want to betray Naomi, but she also needed Dylan’s help to reach her. “Cheryl told me Naomi might be pregnant.”
Dylan slumped back, his mouth widening in surprise, as if Christina had shown up on his porch with a bouquet of balloons and an oversized check for a million dollars.
“Wow!” he said, “I thought the Amish were conservative.”
“Generally, but teens are teens. They’re not always thinking about the consequences of their actions.”
“And Cheryl thinks Naomi might hurt herself because she’s in a desperate situation?”
“Yes.” Christina scratched her forehead. “More desperate than most teens because she’s Amish. And Cheryl doesn’t know who the father is. Naomi was tight-lipped about that.”
“And Cheryl wants you to reach out to her?”
“Yes. Naomi doesn’t want her parents to know she’s still associated with the townies, so Cheryl doesn’t think she should go. But if I go to the Mullets’ farm, it might not seem unusual because Naomi works for me.”
Dylan pushed off the edge of the desk and stood in front of Christina. His eyes moved around the space as if trying to process what she had told him.
“Now you’re thinking maybe Naomi took the drugs on her own and you opened an old wound by telling your brother how Roger attacked you.”
Christina bowed her head. “Amazing how well you know me.”
Dylan hooked his finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Regardless of how Naomi was drugged, Roger did attack you. That hasn’t changed.”
“But maybe—”
“No maybes. It was long past time you talked about the attack. You did nothing wrong.”
Christina slipped out from behind the counter, feeling hemmed in. “I honestly don’t know where to go with all this. We have Naomi, who was drugged at a party, and then while we’re trying to find answers, my car is vandalized. I was convinced Roger was trying to threaten me into silence. Maybe bored kids damaged my car. Maybe there are no connections. Maybe I just have a black cloud hanging over my head.”
“There are a lot of unanswered questions. I still think you need to be careful.”
“I will.” She paced the small space between the counter and one of the exam rooms. “Would you come out to the Mullets’ to talk to Naomi with me? We need to get her side of the story.” She lowered her voice. “And if she’s pregnant, she’ll need support and prenatal care.”
“Of course.”
“Let me lock the front door.” Christina dropped her white coat off her shoulders as she walked down the narrow hallway. She drew up short when she noticed Linda Everett, Roger’s wife, sitting in the otherwise empty waiting room.
“Mrs. Everett.” Christina’s feet felt rooted in the worn carpet. A flush washed over her. Had Linda overheard their conversation? She swallowed hard. “How can I help you?”
A tired smile curved the woman’s pale lips. The dark marks under her eyes had grown a deeper shade of purple since Christina had first met her.
“You stopped by the other day and told me if I ever needed anything...” Linda’s voice was hoarse.
“Of course, of course.” Christina flipped her jacket back up on her shoulders and held her hand out. “Come back. What can I do for you?”
Had Roger told his wife about Christina’s accusations? Of course not. She wouldn’t come here if he had.
Christina directed Linda to an empty room and told Dylan she’d be a few minutes. She closed the door and expected Linda’s expression to change to one of anger or rag
e or maybe denial. But all she saw was fear and exhaustion. Maybe this was just a regular visit.
“How can I help you?”
“I have wonderful doctors in Buffalo, but lately I feel like I’m dragging Roger or my sweet son Matt to Buffalo for them to adjust my pain meds. A long, exhausting trip. And Matt hasn’t had his driver’s license that long. And Roger’s so busy with his new job.” She shook her head, as if these thoughts had been keeping her awake at night.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“Maybe you can consult with my doctors. Maybe I won’t have to go all the way to Buffalo for adjustments to my pain medication.”
“You’re uncomfortable?”
The woman furrowed her brows as though to ask if there was any doubt.
Christina understood that the end was approaching. Her heart broke for Linda. And her teenage son.
Not that long ago, Christina had cared for her brother’s mother-in-law during the end stages of cancer. Nick’s mother-in-law had lived a long time with a relatively high quality of life under Christina’s care. Christina had grown more spiritual as she assisted Mrs. Gardner during her last months of life.
But it had also taken a toll. Made Christina realize how fragile life was. How quickly someone’s world could turn upside down.
The reality of life’s fragility made Christina immerse herself even more completely in work. The most control she felt in her life was when she was busy. Helping patients.
Christina turned to Linda, knowing she was in a precarious position, considering she was married to the man who had given Christina nightmares. “I can help you. Whatever you need.”
Linda blinked slowly and a single tear tracked down her cheek. Christina wondered if she owed this woman the truth about her husband. But something made her keep her mouth shut. Linda was already suffering. Knowing her husband was a jerk—if she didn’t already know it—would do nothing for her overall well-being.
Linda dragged her oversized purse onto her lap and fumbled through it. She finally pulled out a business card and handed it to Christina. “This is my doctor in Buffalo.”
