Marta Perry

by Search the Dark

  She’d been so sure the incident was closed after all these years. Who could have imagined that Randal boy would dare to show his face in Deer Run again?

  Her breath came too quickly, and Margo forced herself to relax. She mustn’t upset herself or she’d bring on one of her attacks, and then she wouldn’t be able to do anything to save Meredith from herself.

  Meredith was still in danger of succumbing to Randal’s dubious attractions. Margo didn’t doubt that for a minute. There was simply something about one’s first love that blinded one.

  She glanced at the silver-framed photo of John that stood on the bedside table. John hadn’t liked having it taken—some silly hangover from his Amish upbringing. But she’d had no patience with that foolishness and had insisted.

  Enough of thinking about the past. She had to decide what to do now. Meredith and Rachel had brought up two distasteful matters in their private little chat.

  Why were they so fascinated with Aaron Mast’s death? It had been an accident, pure and simple. Everyone knew that. As for Sarah asking Meredith to look into it—well, that was just ridiculous, and no more than one could expect from her husband’s relatives.

  Meredith couldn’t possibly know anything about what happened the night Aaron drowned in the pond. She hadn’t even been at home. She’d spent the night with another of John’s numerous cousins, at his insistence. If Margo had had her way, Meredith would have had no communication with those people. But John, usually so compliant and eager to please her, had stood firm on that subject.

  Margo sifted through memories. Odd, how some incidents formed landmarks in a person’s mind. She remembered that night clearly because of what had happened early the next morning. She’d gone downstairs to find Bill Kramer, his fishing rod still dangling from his hand, pounding on the back door and insisting on using the telephone because someone was dead in the pond.

  Margo pulled the silky comforter up to her chin. The accident had probably happened in the late evening, people had said. Meredith hadn’t been home, thank goodness. John hadn’t, either. He’d gone back to the harness shop to work on an order.

  Margo’s lips tightened at the remembered grievance. All the men in her family had been professionals—doctor, pharmacist, teacher—but John had insisted on opening his harness business right here in Deer Run. Worse, he’d left her alone in the house the evening that boy had drowned.

  Still, his callousness had an unexpected benefit now. If anyone in the family knew anything about the Mast boy’s death, she would.

  Margo glanced at the window, shielded by the shade Meredith had pulled down. It faced the driveway, down which someone might have walked to reach the creek. People shouldn’t trespass, of course, but they did. And the window would have been open on a summer evening.

  Memories began to stir and shift in her mind. Consider how satisfying it would be if Margo was the one who remembered something important about that night. It would certainly show Meredith she wasn’t the only smart one in the family.

  Margo leaned back against the pillows, indulging in a rosy daydream. Of herself, the heroine of the hour, graciously telling her story to a chosen few. Of Meredith, looking on admiringly.

  As long as she was dreaming, she might just as well dream of a means of getting rid of Zach Randal again, this time for good.

  * * *

  ZACH ARRIVED RIGHT ON TIME for his meeting with the attorney the next day. Evans and Son. The gilt letters on the window of the office weren’t exactly a surprise. Jake Evans had been slotted to go into his father’s law firm from the day he was born, he’d bet.

  Zach paused for a second, his hand on the doorknob, remembering. Jake had been in his class in school, so they were about the same age. There the similarity between them ended.

  Jake had been one of the “in” crowd, the people who lived in the big old houses along Maple Street and Main Street, the ones whose fathers had worn coats and ties to work every day, who never had to wonder if there’d be food in the house.

  The “in” crowd hadn’t had much time for somebody like Zach Randal in those days. He didn’t figure much had changed in that respect, not in Deer Run. He swung the door open and went into the outer office with a determined step.

  The middle-aged receptionist didn’t look familiar, but she eyed him as if his reputation had preceded him. Either that or he didn’t look as good as he’d thought he did after a night’s sleep and a shower and shave.

  “Mr. Randal? One moment please. I’ll let Mr. Evans know you’re here.”

  Her finger moved to a button on her desk, but before she could push it, one of the two doors behind her desk swung open. Jake Evans stood there, giving him a quick, assessing glance before his face eased into a smile.

  “Zach, come on in. It’s been a long time. Good to see you.”

  Zach allowed himself to be ushered into the inner office, where the latest thing in computers seemed to argue with a heavy oak desk that would fit more readily with a fountain pen and legal pad. Zach swept the room with a comprehensive glance, accustomed to sizing up his surroundings swiftly.

  The office was clearly a study in contrasts, with the taste of the elder Evans jockeying for control with that of his son. A small basketball hoop was attached to a black enamel wastepaper basket, and a Phillies ball cap sat rakishly atop a crystal vase on the corner of the bookshelves.

  Jake waved him to a chair and folded his lanky, still-athletic frame into the black leather one behind the desk. He moved like the basketball star he’d been in high school.

  “Is Jeannette Walker making you comfortable at the Willows?” Jake leaned back and seemed to restrain himself from propping his foot on the wastebasket.

  “The place isn’t bad.” He couldn’t blame the setting for Jeannette’s blatant curiosity.

  Just like all of Deer Run and everyone in it. He’d come back because he had to, but given the feelings Meredith had stirred up by a single conversation, he’d be better off to sign whatever papers Jake had for him, get rid of the house and head back to his real life.

  Jake twirled a pen between his fingers, seeming in no hurry to get down to business. “What do you think of Deer Run? Does it look different to you after being away so long?”

  “No.” Zach said the word flatly. “Look, let’s just take care of things so I can get out of here. You didn’t have time for me in high school, and I don’t see any point in making small talk now.”

  Jake was immobile for an instant, and then one eyebrow edged its way upward. “I hope I’ve grown up a little since high school,” he said, apparently not taking offense. His grin flickered. “Not that my father would agree with that. He still looks at me and sees the kid who embarrassed him by asking both the Hamilton twins to the senior prom.” He glanced toward the wall beyond which, Zach assumed, lay the senior Mr. Evans’s office.

  “That must have caused quite a stir.” He remembered the Hamilton twins—identical daughters of the then mayor. But he didn’t remember the prom. “Afraid I was gone by then.”

  “Right.” Jake’s gaze slid away from his, as if he was embarrassed he’d mentioned the prom. He shuffled through a file folder on the desk. “Well, to business.”

  Zach nodded, the movement curt. He didn’t want any side excursions into high school memories. He had intended to take Meredith to their senior prom, going so far as to sell his beat-up old car in order to have enough money to do it right. But fate, in the shape of Margo King, had intervened.

  “You know that the house went to your stepmother after your father’s death, of course,” Jake said, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  He nodded. The only surprising thing was that Wally Randal had hung on to enough money to pay the taxes and keep from losing the place altogether.

  “I’m not sure why the property comes to me,” he said. “I’m not related to
Ruth.”

  Jake shrugged. “I guess she didn’t have any other family. Her will was clear enough. Everything goes to you. Unfortunately, as I mentioned in my letter, the house is badly run-down. If you want to sell—”

  “Definitely,” Zach interrupted him. “As soon as possible. Can you refer me to a real estate agent?”

  Jake frowned, his frank, open face looking suddenly older. “To tell you the truth, I doubt you could find anyone to take it on. It’s in such bad shape I don’t know how you’re going to find a buyer.”

  Zach could only stare at him. He’d ignored the place since he’d heard that he owned it. Now, it seemed, he was going to pay the penalty for that.

  “You’re telling me that I own a worthless piece of property, and I won’t be able to get rid of it.” He glared at Jake, who returned the look with interest.

  “You’ll recall that I sent you several letters asking you to come back and deal with the place. You didn’t.”

  So it was his fault. He’d like to deny it, if he could think of anyone else to blame, but he couldn’t.

  “Okay.” Zach blew out a long breath. “Where do I go from here?” If he stopped paying the taxes, the place would eventually go up for sheriff’s sale, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. It would be proof that he was trash, just as the good people of Deer Run had always supposed.

  “As I see it, you could either do the minimum amount of repair work to make the place saleable.” There might be a trace of sympathy in Jake’s face. “Or you could have the house demolished and try to sell the lot.”

  Either way, his legacy was going to cost him. The old man would be laughing his head off, if he knew about this from wherever he’d ended up.

  “You have an opinion about which?” Zach raised an eyebrow.

  Jake shook his head. Yes, that was definitely sympathy in his expression. “Sorry. That’s not for me to make a recommendation. If you want the opinion of someone in real estate, you ought to talk to Colin McDonald. You remember him from high school, don’t you?”

  Zach nodded. Another one of the “in” crowd. Presumably they’d all stayed here, where they could be big fish in a small pond. “I’ll give him a try.”

  Jake reached across the desk, holding out a set of keys. “In the meantime, I’d suggest that the first thing you ought to do would be to take a look for yourself.”

  Zach forced himself to take the keys, fighting down a wave of nausea. That wasn’t the first thing he wanted to do. It was the last thing.

  * * *

  IF SHE CONCENTRATED on what Sarah had asked of her, Meredith decided, she might be able to keep her mind off Zach. She would not let herself wonder why she hadn’t seen him since the previous day, or what he was finding to do in Deer Run.

  Reminding herself of her good intention, Meredith walked quickly down Main Street and turned up Church. Church Street, named for the two houses of worship which faced one another on opposite sides, sloped gently uphill to Maple, where Victor Hammond, heir to the Hammond Grocery chain, had built a dream house for his wife, Laura.

  There would be no taking over the comfortable old Victorian house where Victor’s parents had lived. Gossip had it that Victor had been so surprised and pleased when Laura accepted him that he’d have given her anything, including the ultra-modern home that now sat uneasily among its more traditional neighbors.

  Since no place in Deer Run was too far to walk to, Meredith had walked. The problem was going to be finding Laura both at home and accessible. The secondary problem was having some believable reason for dropping in on her.

  Well, she’d create some logical excuse for her presence. If she were going to find out anything else about Aaron’s death after all these years, Laura was the obvious place to start.

  The clearing at the dam had been the meeting place for Laura and Aaron’s ill-fated romance. The curiosity of three ten-year-old girls had been more than up to unraveling that little secret. They’d known, and they’d been awed by the Romeo-and-Juliet story of Amish and Englisch—their golden knight involved with the most beautiful girl in the valley.

  But Aaron had died at the dam, and Laura had never been the same since. That had to add up to something. Perhaps Laura had broken up with him and he’d taken his life in a moment of despair, or maybe he’d been showing off for Laura and had fallen, to be caught up in the treacherous swirling waters. Try as she might, Meredith couldn’t come up with any other likely alternatives.

  Meredith approached the wrought-iron gate and stopped, hand on the cool metal. The grounds surrounding the house were professionally cared for, she felt sure. She couldn’t picture Victor cruising along on a riding mower, or Laura deadheading the chrysanthemums.

  Meredith’s breath caught. It looked as if the way had been paved for her. Laura, her face hidden by a floppy-brimmed hat and a pair of dark glasses, sat on a wrought-iron garden bench, motionless. Was she admiring the gold and bronze of the mums, or staring into space?

  Even as she watched, Laura stood. She paused, as if she’d forgotten what she was about to do, and then drifted wraithlike along the path between the rosebushes.

  She wouldn’t get a better chance. Meredith slipped through the gate and hurried toward the rose garden.

  “Laura?”

  Laura turned at the sound of her name, her expression, or what Meredith could see of it with the barrier of the glasses and hat, oddly stiff. For an instant she seemed about to speak but instead made a gesture, which Meredith decided to interpret as an invitation to join her.

  “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by without calling first,” Meredith said.

  “Of course not.” The polite words took a visible effort. “It’s always nice to see you, Meredith.” Laura pulled off the dark glasses, managing a smile. “I was just enjoying...” The sentence trailed off, as if it took too much effort, and she gestured vaguely at the roses.

  “Your roses have been beautiful this year.” They were about past their prime now, a sentiment that could apply equally well to Laura.

  What had become of the prettiest girl in the valley? In recent years, Meredith had thought Laura resembled a child’s fashion doll with her perfect face, perfect hair and perfect clothes. Today she looked...empty. There seemed no life at all in the blue eyes half-hidden by drooping lids.

  “Yes, lovely,” Laura repeated. “The gardener does it all.” She cupped one overblown blossom in her hand. “You wanted...” Again the sentence trailed off.

  Fortunately the flowers had given Meredith a reasonable excuse for her presence. “The church women’s group is having a flower stand at the Amish school auction tomorrow. If you’d like to donate some of your blossoms, it would be appreciated. I could come by early tomorrow and pick them up.”

  All of that was true, although not, strictly speaking, her reason for being here. Still, she was bending the truth for a good cause, wasn’t she?

  Laura nodded, her attention still on the rose in her hand. “Fine, fine.” Her fingers tightened on the rose, and with a quick wrench she pulled it off. The flower disintegrated in her hand, petals scattering on the flagstone path.

  The sudden violence of the gesture made Meredith’s stomach twist. She tried to think of something to say, but came up empty. If she intended to bring up Aaron, she’d better do it.

  “These are too perfect,” Laura announced. She caught another of the full red blossoms and subjected it to the same fate.

  “You...don’t care for the red ones?” That was an inane question, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

  “Too perfect,” Laura said again. She reached out as if to destroy another bloom, but then her hand fell to her side, the animation draining away as quickly as it had come.

  “I wanted to ask you...” Meredith began.

  “The little white roses grow wild along th
e edge of the field.” Laura swung on her, frowning. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, feeling as if she’d stumbled into some dark version of Wonderland. Everyone knew the wild roses that grew with abandon if given a chance. They practically had to be firebombed to be gotten rid of.

  “Those are real roses, don’t you think?” Laura’s expression turned dreamy. “Aaron brought me those.” She smiled. “You remember. He’d scratched his hand on the thorns, but he said it was worth it. I kissed it to make it better. You remember, don’t you?” Her tone demanded an answer.

  “Yes, I remember,” she soothed. “That’s a nice memory.”

  Why was Laura so insistent that she remember? Maybe she was thinking of the three young girls following her and Aaron around that summer. They’d never given away those secret meetings between Laura and her Amish lover. Maybe that idea had planted itself in Laura’s apparently scrambled thought processes.

  “I remember a lot about that summer,” she went on, watching Laura’s face for a reaction. “Aaron really loved you.”

  “Yes.” Laura’s smile was dreamy, and she stroked her cheek with one of the despised roses. “He loved me. We were going to get married. But then—” She stopped, her expression shifting in an instant. “It all changed. Why did it change?” She grasped Meredith’s arm, her nails digging into the skin. “Why did it change?”

  “I don’t know.” Meredith fought to keep her voice soft. “Why did it?”

  “I don’t know, either.” Laura’s face crumpled like the roses. “That last night...”

  “What about that last night?” Her heart thudded in her ears.

  “That night—” Laura’s breath caught on a sob.

  “It’s all right, Laura. Don’t worry about it.” Meredith put her arm around Laura’s waist.

  She was ashamed of herself, tormenting this poor creature by asking questions. And yet, even though she’d come here for that reason, she hadn’t had to bring up the subject. It was as if her presence was enough to send Laura’s thoughts back to that lost summer.