Plain Jeopardy

by Alison Stone

  Grace’s strained expression softened and a tired giggle escaped her lips. “Come in.”

  Conner slid off his snow-covered boots. He took off his hat and hung it on an empty hook. He could imagine the Amish men who had lived here a generation ago coming in from their chores and hanging their wide-brimmed hats on similar hooks in the entryway.

  Grace busied herself in the kitchen. “Want some tea? Or coffee? I only have instant coffee,” she added with a hint of apology. “I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”

  Conner waved his hand. “I’m fine. Don’t bother yourself on my account. I need to get a full report of what happened today.”

  Grace finished filling the teakettle and set it down on the stovetop, but stopped short of turning on the burner. She turned around and leaned her backside against the counter and crossed her arms, not exactly looking receptive. “I don’t know any more than I already told you. I went into the library basement to do research, and someone turned off the lights and knocked over the shelves.”

  Conner leaned his shoulder against the fridge. “You sure you didn’t notice anyone suspicious following you?” She shook her head. “Did anyone know you were going to the library?”

  She glanced up with a thoughtful look in her warm eyes. “Only the ride service I hired to drive me into town.” A weariness had settled in around her eyes.

  Conner ran the back of his hand over his mouth and levered off the refrigerator with his shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”

  Grace blinked slowly, exhaustion evident on her face. “I’ve told you everything already.”

  Realizing Grace was shutting down, he tried to shift the mood. “I thought this B&B was supposed to be an authentic Amish experience.”

  “Um, yeah?” Grace looked up, her fatigue replaced by curiosity.

  Conner jabbed his thumb toward the refrigerator. “Why do you have a fridge in here?”

  Grace shook her head, and a smile pushed at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know. I suppose because it’s convenient. I’m just housesitting. What does that have to do with anything, anyway?”

  He took a step toward her. “You look serious. I thought maybe I could get you to smile. And I think I did. A little, maybe?”

  Grace removed her ponytail and threaded her fingers through her hair, kneading her scalp. “I’ve had a really, really rough day, and even the muted light from the wall sconces that are, in fact, Amish approved, are hurting my eyeballs.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll make it quick.” He slipped the tote from the hook and offered it to her. Apprehension stole across her otherwise bland expression, confirming his suspicions. “What’s in the bag?”

  Grace’s chin dipped as if she were carefully studying the floor.

  “Grace,” he said quietly, and that caught her attention.

  She took the tote from him and their fingers brushed in the exchange. “I’ll show you.”

  She carried the tote to the table next to the windows overlooking the yard and a gorgeous newly constructed barn. The Amish neighbors had all pitched in and had a barn raising to replace the one that had burned down in a horrific fire that nearly killed Grace’s sister. And in that moment, Conner thought about all the hardships Grace had experienced through the tragedies in her family.

  “Your family has had a rough go of it.”

  She gave him a level gaze, then glanced down at the manila folder she had pulled out of her tote. She opened it on the table. A yellowed newspaper clipping fluttered with the motion. “I went into the basement of the library to read the articles that were written about my mother’s murder.” If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he might have missed the small shudder that shook her thin frame.

  Conner sat down on the bench across from her, resting his back against the table. Twisting, he put his elbow on the table. He dragged the top folder toward him. “So, it’s official, you’re going to write an article about your mother’s murder?” The burden weighing on him since Jason had died had lifted a fraction. But another part of him felt guilty. Had he added to Grace’s burden while trying to ease his?

  She smoothed her hand across a yellowed article, avoiding his face. “I’m still looking into the circumstances surrounding Jason Klein’s death.”

  He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Listen, you’ve had a rough day. I’ll follow up and see if the deputies found anything in the basement. See if there’s any video surveillance. Determine who did this.”

  She absentmindedly ran the tip of her finger across her lower lip. “I was thinking...” She opened up each of the manila folders and spread the articles out, and he studied the headlines in big black letters:

  Amish Woman Murdered.

  He scanned down to another.

  No Suspect in Murder.

  “See how big this headline is? The day after my mom died.” He tracked her pink nail across several headlines, the font getting smaller, the articles getting shorter. “This is how it always goes. Big stories, big headlines, until the leads dry up and the story becomes an afterthought. The victim becomes an afterthought in everyone’s mind except those they left behind.”

  He waited, sensing she wasn’t done.

  “That’s why I do what I do. Well, partially... I don’t want people who can’t speak for themselves to be forgotten.”

  “The Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department did everything they could to find your mother’s murderer.”

  Grace closed the manila folder, articles poking out from the bottom and sides. The librarian in the purple dress would probably burst a blood vessel if she knew Grace had smuggled out the articles. “My intention isn’t to malign the sheriff’s department. Not at all. What if a fresh pair of eyes...”

  Conner couldn’t decide why he felt conflicted, when this was exactly what he had hoped she’d do when he set up the meeting between her and his father.

  “I know I was the one who suggested this story, but do you really think it’s a good idea?”

  “Because of today? We don’t know who knocked over the shelves. Maybe it had nothing to do with my mom. No one knows what I was researching. It could have been someone trying to scare me away from the other story. The story even you don’t want me to investigate.” She threaded her fingers and placed them in front of her on the table, on top of the manila folder.

  Frustration weighed on him. “Whether it’s digging into your mom’s death or Jason’s death, someone wants to stop you.”

  “Including you.”

  His intention had been to protect his family. Now, he had a growing need to protect her. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Grace looked up slowly. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m done talking about this for now. I’m really tired.”

  “Okay.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Lock up when I go, and activate the alarm.”

  She stood and followed him to the door. Conner left and waited until he heard the dead bolt snap into place. Without turning around, he lifted his hand to wave. Despite her bravado, he suspected his words had hit their intended mark. If he was unsuccessful in deterring her from her research—whether it be about Jason or her mother—he feared someone else would succeed.

  FIVE

  Studying the oranges and reds of the flames visible through the slats on the wood-burning stove door did little to ease Grace’s nerves. Resting her feet on the hearth, she tried to turn off all the thoughts crowding in on her. Since her sister had wanted guests to experience a somewhat authentic Amish home and the Amish didn’t watch TV, Grace didn’t have the luxury of zoning out in front of one. Conner’s crack about the fridge came to mind. Her sister could run a bed & breakfast without a TV, but a fridge, not so much. Or at least without experiencing a lot of hassle.

  In the short time since she had met Conner when he answered the call of the hit-and-run at the gas station, she
had grown to like the man and his sense of humor, but she didn’t like his message very much. He was beginning to make her paranoid. She couldn’t do her job if she was afraid. When she was on her own, she was very good at dismissing red flags, and she hadn’t been any worse for it.

  After the night in the closet when her former brother-in-law terrorized her big sister, Grace vowed she’d never allow anyone to make her afraid. Not if she could help it.

  Grace turned toward the window at the front of the house. While she was lost in thought, the sun had set, leaving the landscape beyond the front window black.

  Anyone could be out there.

  She tended to have that feeling a lot since she had been left alone to care for the bed & breakfast. She suspected it had more to do with her isolation out here in the country, in the dead of winter, than with anything nefarious.

  At least, she prayed that was the case.

  Pushing to her feet, she wandered to the window and stared out. She had to search past her reflection to see the white blanket of snow, only broken up by tire tracks, footprints and then the main road. Sighing heavily, she reached up for the white roller shade and had to struggle with it to pull it down. Her phone chimed next to the rocker, making her jump.

  She laughed at herself—apparently she didn’t need anyone to make her afraid. Her imagination was doing a perfectly good job of that.

  Grace debated ignoring the phone, then decided against it. Maybe it was her editor. She should probably give him an update. He’d been salivating over the recent turn of events and how her Amish story would generate lots of clicks on their website.

  “Amish is hot,” he kept saying.

  That was the part of the business she didn’t like; however, if she wanted to write full-time, she realized her stories needed to generate revenue for the online news site. An Amish story of any magnitude would generate lots of clicks.

  Pushing that thought aside, she picked up her phone. Surprise rippled through her. Her sister’s radiant face stared up at her from the display, a photo taken at her wedding last spring. Smiling, Grace swiped her finger to answer. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?” A honeymoon they had to delay until after the bed & breakfast’s busy season.

  “Ha! Can’t a big sister check in on her little sister?” Heather said, sounding far more relaxed than when she and Zach had gone racing out the door with all their luggage in tow, afraid they were going to miss their flight out of Buffalo because of the weather. But they’d made it and were now on a three-week cruise somewhere in the southern hemisphere.

  “Why do I feel like you’re checking in on your B&B and not your little sister?” Grace settled back into the rocker and put her feet on the hearth.

  “Can’t I do both?” Heather laughed, and Grace thought she heard Zach saying something in the background. Grace was grateful her sister had finally found a good guy. A really good guy.

  “All is well here.” Grace didn’t want to worry her sister. Hopefully she’d have the car repaired before she got back home. No harm, no foul. Besides, when Heather and Zach left town, Grace was mostly on the mend. They had no idea she was going to be using her recovery-slash-housesit-the-B&B downtime to write a story about an underage party and investigate their murdered mother’s cold case.

  No rest for the weary.

  “You’re not bored? I thought maybe you’d be bored by now. There’s not much to do compared to living in the city, and the cell reception can be spotty sometimes.”

  Grace smiled to herself, feeling a bit deceitful. “No, I’m fine.” I’m investigating two stories, and someone smashed your car and tried to crush me under library shelving. Beyond that... “How’s your trip going?”

  As Heather told Grace about their ports of call and her sunburn, Grace thought she heard something at the back door. A soft scratching that made her freeze mid-rock in the rocking chair, straining to hear over her sister’s update. With the phone pressed to her ear, she slid out of the rocker, crept toward the window over the seating area and tried to see who might be at the back door. Her view was obstructed.

  Scratch-scratch-scratch.

  Grace moved away from the windows and crept to the mudroom, the steady beat of her heart growing louder in her ears.

  “Heather, is there a reason I’m hearing a scratching at the back door?” Grace laughed. Her nerves made it sound like an awkward squeak.

  “Oh, that must be Boots.”

  Grace’s shoulders relaxed. She couldn’t imagine any ax murderer named Boots. “Is Boots a cat?”

  “Of course.” Her sister laughed.

  “How come I’ve never met Boots before? I’ve been here for weeks.”

  “She’s a stray. I thought she was gone for good. Haven’t seen her in months. Thought maybe she had found her way back home. Oh, let her in. She must be freezing out there.”

  Really? Grace kept her thoughts to herself. Her mobile lifestyle meant she was used to caring for herself. Not stray animals.

  “Okay...” Tucking the cell phone awkwardly between her ear and shoulder, she turned off the alarm and worked the lock on the back door. She opened the door a fraction, not quite sure what to expect, and a black cat with white paws slipped in and scampered over to the wood-burning stove and curled up on a pillow on the floor near the hearth that Grace hadn’t noticed before. She turned the lock and followed Boots into the sitting room.

  “She seems pretty comfortable.” The cat licked her paws, effectively ignoring Grace.

  “There’s some cat food in the bottom cabinet by the oven in the kitchen. Boots will usually stay for the night and then want out in the morning. Poor thing was probably frozen out there. Oh, you’re allergic. Maybe—”

  “No, no, it’s okay. I’ll make sure she stays out of my bedroom. I’ll be fine.” Grace studied the cat, seemingly none the worse for wear. “I don’t know how this kitty survived outside. It’s freezing.” A gust of wind beat against the side of the house, emphasizing her point.

  “Your blood has thinned.” Heather laughed. “After this trip, my blood might have thinned, too. The weather has been gorgeous.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You deserve happiness.”

  “Thanks.” After a pause, Heather added, “Is everything okay there? You sound a little subdued.”

  “Yeah,” Grace said before quickly changing the subject. “You’re sure Boots can stay for the night?” She crouched down and ran her hand across the cat’s soft wet fur. “Dad would have never let us have an animal in the house.”

  “That was from his Amish days. Animals live in the barn.” Heather cleared her throat. “It’s hard not to think about Mom and Dad while you’re at Mammy’s old house, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Grace sat back down. Even harder not to think of Mom when I’ve been researching her death.

  “I’ve gotten used to it after time. Mammy’s home feels like my home now.”

  Grace traced the wood grain on the arm of the rocker. “Do you remember Mom?”

  “Yes. Most of my memories seem dreamlike. You were three years younger.”

  “And Rose was just a baby,” Grace said, staring at the flames in the stove. “She probably has no recollection of mom.”

  Heather’s voice grew quiet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Oh, listen to me.” She sat up a little straighter, feeling guilty for bringing up their dead mother while her sister was on her honeymoon. “Did I mention Rose sent me a nice fruit basket to wish me well on my recovery? She was always the thoughtful sister.” She forced a cheery laugh.

  “Who took care of you while you were recovering?” Heather said in mock disbelief. “Rose probably had someone in her office send it.”

  Grace smiled. It was a relief to both of them to know the youngest of the Miller sisters was doing well despite the tragedy that had befallen them as young childre
n.

  Grace stifled a yawn. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

  “Go curl up in bed with a good book. There’s a library in the corner of the sitting room.”

  Grace had noticed the books. Maybe she would.

  “Sounds nice. I might do that. Go enjoy your trip. Don’t worry about things here. I’ve got it under control.”

  Zach yelled, “Hi, Grace!” in the background.

  “Tell him to take care of you.”

  “I will.” Her heart warmed at the smile she detected in her big sister’s voice. Heather’s happiness had been a long time coming.

  * * *

  On his way home, Conner swung by the grocery store to pick up a late dinner. Despite common misconceptions of bachelors living on takeout and cold cereal, Conner preferred to make a healthy dinner at home. The cooking relaxed him, and the food tasted better.

  The automatic doors of the grocery store whooshed open, and a rush of hot air blasted him in the face as he grabbed a shopping basket. He would have offered to bring dinner over to Grace if he hadn’t sensed she wanted time alone.

  He reminded himself that she had a solid lock on the door and an alarm system.

  Deciding that had to be good enough, he wandered through the produce section. He picked up a head of lettuce and inspected it.

  “Exciting dinner plans?”

  Conner turned to see Kevin Schrock, his father’s former undersheriff, leaning one arm on the handle of an empty shopping cart and staring intently at him. Kevin and his father had worked together for years, and both bore the burden of never solving the only murder in Quail Hollow during their tenure.

  “The life of a bachelor.” Conner tossed the head of lettuce into his basket. He figured Kevin didn’t really care what he was doing for dinner; he was merely looking for an opening to talk to him about something else.

  “Don’t I know it.” Kevin sighed. A crooked smile hooked the side of his mouth. “But a young, good-looking guy like you shouldn’t be a bachelor forever. Or at least you could get some pretty girl to offer to cook for you.”