by Marta Perry
The little boys were cheering, jumping up and down with excitement. Clint rolled to his feet, grinning at Timothy.
Timothy pounded him on the back. “Who says we couldn’t get that old thing out? All it took was some muscle. Let’s go wash up and get a drink.”
Rachel smiled, lips quirking as if she was as much amused as pleased. She and the other woman and kids headed for the house, and they followed.
After sluicing cold water over his face and draining two cups of it, brought by the older boy with a shy smile, he reluctantly decided it was time to get back to his real work. Before he could say anything, Bishop Byler grasped his shoulder.
“Gut job. You can help anytime.” He paused. “Maybe our Rachel should show you around the place. In the daylight,” he added. He didn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled in amusement.
He realized Rachel was watching. Her face relaxed in a smile. “I’d best do that before Timothy decides to enlist you to help with any other little chores.”
“Ach, there’s not much to hand. Just a roof to patch on the shed and an ash tree or two needing felled. Ash borer’s been bad lately.” The smile lines around Timothy’s eyes deepened. “Go on now.”
“Yah, Clint’s done enough for one day,” the grandfather put in. “Lunch will be ready when you get back,” he added. He said something to Timothy, and they headed toward the barn.
Rachel gestured to a stand of fruit trees beyond the barn. “Let’s walk out to the orchard.”
He fell into step with her, enjoying the stretch of muscles that had gotten a workout. The whole setting was so deceptively peaceful—the fields gleaming gold in the sunlight, the reds and oranges that had begun to show on the wooded ridges, the quiet, broken only by the lowing of a cow and the twitter of the birds among the branches of the apple trees.
And the woman who walked by his side. He had to force his mind back to business. He had things he had to say, but he’d let Rachel begin the conversation once she felt they were far enough away to be private.
Rachel darted a sidelong, smiling look at him. “You might almost have been Amish in that blue shirt, swinging an ax.”
“Not quite.” He rubbed his chin. “No beard.”
“Only married men have beards. You don’t have a wife someplace, do you? If so...”
“No, I’m unattached,” he said quickly. Was she thinking about the way he’d held her the previous night? For an instant, he could almost feel her body pressed against his again.
Maybe he should apologize. Explain. But what was there to say? He didn’t have any reasonable explanation. He had never before had that unreasoning need to embrace a witness in a case. The feeling was still there—subdued, but ready to jump to life in an instant.
Rachel didn’t pursue the subject. She patted one of the apple trees—an old one, its branches wide and spreading. “Sadie and I used to sit in this tree and exchange secrets when we were kids.” She nodded to another, taller one. “And I climbed too high in that one and was afraid to climb down.”
“How’d you get down? Fall?”
She chuckled. “Not as bad as that. My grandfather talked me down.”
“I can see he’d be good at that. Kind of hard not to do what he says, isn’t it?”
She nodded, and silence fell between them for a moment. Maybe she was at a loss to know how to begin.
When she spoke, her voice was somber. “Is there anything new in the investigation? Anything you’re going to tell me, that is,” she added, giving him a challenging glance.
“You don’t think I’d hold out on you, do you?”
“Yes.” But she smiled.
He certainly didn’t intend to tell her what Logan had thought about his willingness to leave her relatively undisturbed. In the end, he didn’t suppose his partner had been totally convinced, but at least Logan trusted his judgment.
“Logan looked into that partnership business you told me about,” he said abruptly.
Rachel glanced at him, seeming a little startled. “I’d forgotten we talked about it. You know, I’m not sure there was ever anything in it more than Paul’s—” she hesitated, looking for a word “—well, optimism, I guess. He was always so sure his pot of gold was just around the next corner.”
“Common enough with gamblers.”
“I suppose you’ve looked into that, as well as every other aspect of our lives.” Bitterness laced the words, reminding him of the distance that had to exist between them.
“It was a reasonable avenue of investigation under the circumstances.” He hoped he didn’t sound defensive. “Was that what...”
“Broke up our marriage?” She finished the question for him. “I suppose, in a way. He got tired of making promises he never managed to keep. In the end, he just wanted out.” Her lips pressed together, as if she were determined not to say more about the subject of her broken marriage.
He had no good excuse for probing deeper, other than an interest that went beyond his professional responsibilities.
“In any event, Logan talked to Claire about the initial agreement among the four of them.” He frowned. “Would you say she’d be an unbiased source?”
They paused, looking down the slope toward the barn and the old well.
“I don’t know. The four of them were always very close, at least in the early days. I’m not sure any of them could be unbiased about the others.” Quite suddenly her eyes crinkled. “Don’t ask me to be fair about Claire. She’s the kind of woman other women either envy or dislike. Always a bit cool and superior.”
“Popular with men?” he questioned.
“You’d be able to tell that better than I would,” she protested. “But that’s hardly the point. What did she say about their agreement?”
“According to Logan, she implied that it had been a temporary expedient, just to get the company up and running. Salaries and bonuses have taken the place of any idea of shares in the profit.” He studied Rachel’s face. “You’re not surprised?”
“I suppose it was like all those other dreams.” For some reason she stopped abruptly. Frowning, she bent to retrieve the cell phone. “This text came last night.” She thrust the phone into his hand as if eager to have the deed accomplished before she could change her mind.
He was tempted to ask why she hadn’t let him know immediately, but he knew the answer to that one, didn’t he? Rachel was still struggling with what loyalty she owed to Paul. He’d have said she didn’t owe him a thing, but he was probably prejudiced. Besides, she’d never ask him for an opinion. He understood her well enough now to be sure she’d battle it through on her own.
Clint studied the text. Now it was his turn to frown. “That’s it?”
“Not very helpful, is it?”
“It looks that way.” He glanced at her, wondering if she was marshaling a defense of her ex.
“He says he’s sorry, I guess for getting me involved in his problems, but he still doesn’t explain.” She hesitated, her eyes somber. “It almost sounds as if he’s saying goodbye.”
He’d like to ask how she felt about that, but that would be pushing their relationship too far. “It’s not the explanation we’ve been hoping for. What does he mean about a day in June?”
She shook her head, and the breeze caught a strand of hair that pulled loose from the bun. “I guess it’s a reference to our wedding. We wanted an outdoor wedding, so we were married in June at a park outside the city.” She smoothed her hair back with a hand that was slightly unsteady. “It seems a long time ago now.”
“Did you respond to this?” He held the phone out to her.
“I tried again later. Twice.” She didn’t take it. “He hasn’t responded.”
“Try again. Ask him where he is. Tell him we’ll help him settle this so there won’t be a need for the police.”
For a moment Rachel seeme
d to hover on the verge of an argument, but then she took the phone. She keyed in the message, frowned over it and handed it back to him. “Okay?”
Nodding, he hit Send. He didn’t suppose it would be of any more use than Rachel’s other pleas, but it was worth a try.
Putting the phone back in her hand, he paused awkwardly. “Look, I know it’s hard. But I don’t see what else you can do.”
Before she could answer, Clint’s own cell buzzed. He yanked it out. Logan. Now what?
“What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Just a lead that you might run down from where you are.”
He glanced at Rachel. “About what?” He kept his voice guarded.
“A friend of the people who interest us, name of Michael Leonard.” Obviously Logan had picked up on the fact that he was with someone. “Apparently this guy was one of their little group initially, but he broke away from them early on—about the time they were starting the company. Seems like he might have some insight into their inner workings. Worth a visit?”
“Sounds like it.” The chance of an unbiased but knowledgeable opinion on that foursome was worth looking into. “Where is he?”
“Maybe a two-hour drive from you. I figured you may as well check it out since you’re practically there.”
He did some rapid calculating. If he could meet with the man today, it would be perfect. “Okay, text me with the phone number and name, anything else you have. I’ll set it up.”
When he ended the call, he realized Rachel was watching him, openly curious.
“Sorry. Logan came up with someone who might shed some light on a few things we’d like to know.” He hesitated. “Did Paul ever mention someone called Michael Leonard to you?”
She frowned, seeming to scour her memory. “I don’t think so. Who is he?”
“Apparently a college friend of his.” He didn’t want to snub her, but he wasn’t quite ready to confide everything. He glanced at his phone. “I’d like to get in touch with him...”
“And you’d like some privacy,” she finished for him, her lips quirking. “Fine. I’ll start back. Just be sure you come in for lunch when you finish.”
“You don’t need to feed me. That’s not part of the deal, is it?” He smiled to take away any sting in the words.
“You don’t know my grandmother. Don’t try to get out of it, or she’ll be offended.”
“You sound like a teacher I once had. ‘She who must be obeyed,’” he quoted.
“Every teacher worth her salt has a voice like that,” she told him. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be in directly.”
He watched her go, still smiling, until she was out of earshot. Then he punched in the number.
* * *
RACHEL’S SMILE VANISHED as she walked back to the house, trying hard to pull up any connection with the name Clint had mentioned. Michael Leonard. Mike Leonard. She tried it using the nickname, and it roused a faint buzz in her memory. A college friend, according to Clint. She wouldn’t necessarily know him then, but it did seem she’d heard the name.
“There you are.” Grossmammi turned from the stove at the sound of the door. “Is he coming?”
“He’s on his way. He had to make a phone call first.”
“He could have used the telephone in the shanty,” Grossmammi protested. Rachel thought her grandmother was struggling between her innate hospitality and her wariness with a stranger who might cause trouble for her precious granddaughter.
“That’s nice of you.” She gave her grandmother a quick hug. “But I think it was easier just to use the cell phone.”
Grossmammi wrinkled up her nose at that and seemed about to give them her view of cell phones. Sadie, rolling her eyes, intervened.
“Here’s Clint. You sit down, and I’ll get the food on the table.”
Rachel hid a smile at the thought of Clint’s reaction to what Grossmammi considered an appropriate lunch—bowls of steaming chicken pot pie, cooked dried corn, green beans, applesauce, cabbage slaw—she was used to cooking for men who worked out in the fields all day.
Sure enough, Clint came to a stop and stared at the table for just an instant before he recovered. “It smells wonderful in here. And everything looks delicious.”
She had to award him points for not protesting that Grossmammi shouldn’t go to so much trouble. She wouldn’t have appreciated that, but she did know how to react to a compliment, moving her head as if to shake it off but smiling, nonetheless.
“This is my grandmother.” She put her arm around Grossmammi’s waist for a moment.
Clint nodded, smiling at her.
“Right here, Clint.” Timothy pulled out the chair next to his.
The others took their usual places, with Sadie sliding into the chair nearest the stove to handle refills. The baby, plopped on her lap, reached for the spoon and had her small hands wrapped firmly in Sadie’s. A hushing sound reinforced the gesture.
Clint seemed to pick up on it quickly, and he bowed his head along with the others. Whether he expected the silent grace or not, he sat quietly, probably taking a furtive glance to see what to do.
Rachel, used to the time of silent prayer, no longer even needed to watch someone to see when it ended. It was automatic, and at the same moment everyone was moving, picking up serving dishes and starting the food around the table.
Helping the two boys fill their plates, Rachel found her mind occupied with the question of whether to tell Clint that she found the name familiar. Still, it seemed a useless bit of information. Unless and until she remembered something definitive, she couldn’t help. But what did they think this man might be able to tell them about Paul?
When she could attend to the adult conversation again, her grandfather was asking Clint what he’d thought of the town of Echo Falls.
“Seems like a nice place. Friendly people, and I like the settled old buildings and locally owned businesses. I didn’t see any falls, though, until someone pointed them out to me, up on the ridge.”
“Right. The falls isn’t in town at all,” Timothy said. “So they could have named it anything.”
“Ach, what an idea,” Sadie said, offering baby Becky a piece of crust dipped in potpie. “How would folks know to look for the falls if they named the town something else?”
Timothy grinned, used to her teasing. “They could put up a big sign.”
“You can see the falls from up by the orchard if you know where to look,” Rachel said. “It’s near the top of the ridge, but the trees make it hard to see this time of year. There’s a lane that goes up from the neighbor’s place.”
“Makes for a nice walk in the woods, going up there,” Timothy added.
Clint nodded, looking as if he hoped no one was going to suggest a hike today. “With all these miles of wooded hills, you must get good hunting around here.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Sadie said, addressing Clint directly for what might be the first time. “You’ll never get them off the subject.”
She and Sadie exchanged smiles as Grossdaadi and Timothy launched into hunting talk. “Small game season now...” Timothy began.
“Antlered deer season coming up right after Thanksgiving,” Grossdaadi added. “We should be thinking about that soon. You hunt?” This was directed at Clint.
“I used to go all the time with my dad, but it’s been hard to get back there during hunting season the past few years. You probably have better whitetail hunting here than we did out in our area.”
That, of course, reminded Grossdaadi of the year so many family members had gotten their deer that they’d shared the venison with every family in the church. Timothy capped that with the story of last year’s surprise snowfall on the first day of deer season.
Sadie leaned across toward Rachel. “Look at the boys watching them. B
y the time they’re old enough to hunt they’ll be just as bad.”
“Ach, I know full well it’s the time together out in the woods they like, not just the hunting,” Grossmammi said placidly.
“That’s so.” Sadie smiled a little, watching her husband. “Timothy’s that tenderhearted he’s always a little sad when he actually gets a deer. But he still looks forward to it. And venison makes good eating.”
“They’ll talk about it forever,” Grossmammi said. She reached across to put another helping of chicken potpie on Clint’s plate, just as she would for Grossdaadi or Timothy.
It certainly looked as if they would. Even now, Clint was telling the others about building a tree stand with his uncle, and he was as relaxed and at ease as if he’d known them for years.
They looked the same. The thought hit Rachel like a splash of water in the face, and she blinked. There was Clint, a stranger and maybe an adversary, sitting at her grandparents’ table and talking hunting as if he belonged here. And the rest of her family smiling and at ease with him.
She tried not to compare this with the one visit Paul had made here, but she couldn’t help herself. She could still see Paul, stiff and uncomfortable, making stilted conversation with her grandfather. And her family, trying valiantly to accept him for her sake, and all the while wondering what she was thinking of.
It wasn’t a fair comparison, she told herself. But a small voice in the back of her mind had a question. Why? Why isn’t it? Paul came here embarrassed and ready to dislike them. Clint was treating them just like anyone else, and they were responding. They liked him.
Maybe that was the trouble. She liked him, too. Entirely too much for current circumstances.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CLINT DROVE AWAY from the farm, realizing that he was smiling with a pleasure that had no place in the investigation of a case. Still, it was normal to enjoy meeting people as nice as Rachel’s family, wasn’t it? He’d hit it off with the men quickly. Despite the clothes, they had a lot in common with his own father, uncle and grandfather. They’d understand each other, he thought.
