Hide in Plain Sight

by Marta Perry

  “The point is that if Grams wants to stay at Unger House, I’m ready to help her do it. The bed-and-break-fast seemed like the logical answer.” She rubbed the wrinkle that formed between her brows. “My getting hurt wasn’t part of the plan, but I still think if they’d let me go home, we could work it out. Emma’s a good cook, and if I’m there to supervise—”

  “Absolutely not.” That was one thing she was sure of in this situation. “I’ve talked to the doctors. You need rest, healing and therapy, in that order. No coming home until they give the okay.”

  Rachel looked at her steadily. “If I do that, how is Grams going to get the inn ready to open? She can’t do it herself. Just making all the decisions, let alone the work—”

  “She won’t be doing it by herself.” She’d reached the point she’d probably known all along she would. This wasn’t her dream, but she couldn’t let her family down. “I’ll stay and do my best to get the inn off the ground.”

  She could only hope that she wouldn’t have to sacrifice her job in order to do it.

  FIVE

  Andrea hurried through the center hallway toward the rear of the house, pausing in the small room that had been first a summer kitchen, then later a playroom for her and her sisters. They’d loved the huge fireplace, big enough to roast a whole side of beef. They’d pretended they were Cinderella, sweeping the hearth. Come to think of it, Caroline had always gotten to play Cinderella. She’d been the wicked stepmother.

  That was how Rachel had made her feel at her suggestion of selling Unger House—like the wicked stepmother. That stung, with its implication that Rachel cared more, understood more, than she did. She still thought selling was the logical solution, but she was smart enough to know when a plan, logical or not, didn’t stand a chance of success.

  So she was heading to the hardware store with Cal, putting off the two things she was least eager to do today. Confronting her grandmother about the financial situation, for one. And then telling her boss she needed a leave of absence. Knowing him, she’d be lucky if he didn’t simply give her a choice—her family or her job.

  Something winced inside her at that. She deserved that promotion. She’d worked hard for it, sacrificing everything else in her drive to succeed. It wasn’t fair that she might lose it now.

  She pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. “Emma, do you need anything—”

  She stopped, nerves jumping. Emma was not in sight, but a man stood with his back to her—tall, broad, black pants and a black jacket, his hand in a drawer of the hutch that held the everyday china.

  “What are you doing?” The edge to her voice was put there by fear, but she wouldn’t give in to the feeling. Wouldn’t let herself think about the dark figure that had shoved her into the toolshed. It was broad daylight now, and she wasn’t afraid.

  The man froze, then turned slowly toward her. It was like watching a mountain move. His face became visible, and something jolted inside her. The face was oddly unformed, as if a sculptor had started working on it and then walked away, uninterested in finishing. Blue eyes, rounded cheeks like a child’s…

  Emma hurried in from the pantry, her white apron fluttering, eyes worried behind wire-rimmed glasses. “What are you doing, Levi? You remember Andrea, don’t you?”

  “I remember him.” Andrea tried to soften her embarrassment with a smile. Of course. She should have recognized him at once. Emma’s oldest son was two years older than she was chronologically. Mentally, he was still the child he’d been long ago. “How are you, Levi?”

  “Say good day,” Emma prompted, but he just shook his head, taking a step back until he bumped the hutch.

  “That’s all right,” Andrea said, trying to smooth over the uncomfortable moment. “Maybe later Levi will want to talk to me.”

  Levi’s round blue eyes filled with tears. With an incoherent sound, he turned and ran from the kitchen, the screen door slamming behind him.

  She could kick herself. “I’m so sorry.” She turned to Emma. “I didn’t mean to upset him that way.”

  “He will be fine.” Emma didn’t seem upset. “He just needs time to get used to new people.”

  “Doesn’t he remember me?” Her own childhood memories were flooding back faster and faster, no matter how much she tried to block them out.

  Emma shook her head. “He knows you, for sure. He just doesn’t understand about how people change. I’ll tell him a couple of times about how you’re Andrea all grown-up. He’ll be fine.”

  Certainly Emma didn’t seem worried about the incident. Her oval face, innocent of makeup, was as serene as always. Whatever grief she’d endured over Levi’s condition had long ago been accepted as God’s will, the way she’d accept a lightning strike that hit the barn or a bumper crop of tomatoes to take to market as God’s will.

  Andrea went to press her cheek against Emma’s, affection surging within her. Maybe she’d be a better person if she had a little of that kind of acceptance.

  “Well, you tell Levi I was happy to see him, anyway.” She dismissed that flare of apprehension that had gripped her when she’d seen him at the hutch. “Rachel was just reminding me of the big snowstorm, when we came to your house in the sleigh. Levi helped his father drive the horses, I remember.”

  “Ach, I will tell him.” Emma beamed at the reminiscence, rubbing her hands on the full skirt of her plain, wine-colored dress. “He will remember that, he will.”

  They’d all played together then—Amish and English—it hadn’t mattered to the children. Emma’s oldest daughter, Sarah, had been her exact age. She’d longed go to school with Sarah in the simple white schoolhouse down the road, instead of getting on the yellow school bus for the trip to the consolidated elementary.

  “How is Sarah? Married, I know from my grandmother.”

  “Married with six young ones of her own, and training to be a midwife, besides.” Emma’s pride was manifest, though she’d never admit it.

  “Please greet her for me, too.” They’d all grown and gone their separate ways. Only Levi had remained, a child still, but in a man’s body. “I’m going to the hardware store with Cal to get some new lights and locks. I wondered if you needed anything.”

  Emma’s plump face paled. “Locks? Why? Has something happened?”

  She’d assumed Grams would have mentioned it, but possibly they hadn’t had a chance to talk before Grams set off for the hospital.

  “We had a prowler last night.” She didn’t want to alarm Emma, but surely it was better that she know. “He tried to get into the old toolshed.”

  “Did you—did you get a look at this person?” Emma’s hands twisted together under her apron.

  She shook her head, sorry now that she’d mentioned it. She didn’t want to distress Emma. Probably she, like Grams, still thought of this area as perfectly safe.

  “He ran away when he heard the dog and the sirens.” Maybe it was just as well not to mention her closer encounter with the man. “We’re going to put up brighter lighting in the grounds. Hopefully that will keep any troublemakers away.”

  “Ja.” Emma pulled open the door under the sink, peering inside. “Ja, maybe it will. I can’t think of anything that I need from the store.”

  Andrea hesitated a moment, studying the tense lines of Emma’s shoulders under the dark dress, the averted face. The thought of a prowler had upset her more than expected, but Andrea didn’t know what to do to ease her mind.

  “Don’t worry about it, please, Emma. I’m sure the lights will solve the problem. And if you’re concerned about walking back and forth to the farm, I’d be happy to drive you.”

  “No, no.” Emma whisked that offer away with a sweeping gesture. “I am fine. No one will bother me.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, but Andrea frowned as she walked to the door. They couldn’t afford to have Emma upset. Grams needed her more than she ever had.

  They both did, if they were really going to open the inn on time, and
though she could hardly believe it of herself, it seemed she was committed to this crazy venture.

  From his perch on the stone wall that wound along the patio, Cal watched the black-clad figure vanish from sight around the barn. He and Levi had reached the point that Levi would sometimes speak to him, but today he’d rushed past without a word. Something had upset him, obviously.

  Cal latched his hands around his knee. Andrea had said she’d meet him, and he’d guess she was the type to be on time. So he’d come a bit early, not wanting to give her a reason to say he’d kept her waiting.

  Sure enough, she hurried out the back door, checking her watch as she did. She looked up, saw him and came toward him at a more deliberate pace.

  “Sorry. Have you been waiting?”

  “Only for a couple of minutes.” He got up leisurely. “I saw Levi come running out.”

  “I suppose you think I frightened him.”

  He held both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Peace. That wasn’t aimed at you. I know how shy he is. It’s taken months to get him to the point of nodding at me.”

  A faint flush touched her cheeks. “I guess that did sound pretty defensive, didn’t it? I was startled that Levi didn’t seem to remember me.”

  He fell into step beside her as they walked toward the stone garage that had started life as a stable. “I take it you knew him when you were children.”

  What had she been like as a child? Flax hair in braids, he supposed, probably bossing the others around because she was the oldest.

  She nodded, those green eyes seeming fixed on something far away. “They were our neighbors. Emma’s daughter Sarah was my closest friend.” She shook her head. “It seems odd now, when I think of it. As if it happened in a different world.”

  That, he thought, was the most unguarded thing she’d said to him yet. “I suppose it was, in a way. Childhood, I mean.”

  “The differences didn’t seem so great to a child. We drove my grandfather crazy by talking in the low German dialect the Zook children used at home.”

  “He didn’t like that?” He gestured her toward the truck. When she hesitated, he opened the passenger door for her. “We may as well take this. Rachel’s compact doesn’t have much trunk room.”

  She nodded, climbing in. When he slid behind the wheel, she went on as if the interruption hadn’t happened.

  “I’m not really sure why he objected. His family was what the Amish call ‘fancy’ German, just as they call themselves the ‘plain folk.’” She shrugged. “He didn’t insist—maybe he knew that would just make us more determined. Or maybe he saw that Emma’s family was good for us.” Some faint shadow crossed her face at that.

  “Sounds as if you and your sisters had a good childhood here,” he said lightly. “I was an urban kid, myself. Never saw a real cow until I was twelve.”

  “Good?” Again that shadow. “Yes, I guess. Until it ended.”

  He glanced toward her. “Ended sounds rather final.”

  She blinked, and he could almost see her realizing that she’d said more to him than she’d intended. She shrugged, seeming to try for a casual movement.

  “Everyone outgrows being a kid. Can we get what we need at Clymer’s Hardware, or do we have to go farther?”

  Obviously the subject was closed. Maybe only the encounter with Levi had opened her that much. Something had happened to put a period to that innocent time, maybe the same thing that had kept her away from here for so long. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to tell him.

  So be it. He wouldn’t pry, any more than he wanted someone prying into his life. “Clymer’s. I know your grandmother likes to use local businesses if she can.”

  “Fine.”

  He pulled into the lot next to the frame building with old-fashioned gilt lettering on the glass windows. He loved going into the village hardware store. It was nice to be in a place where people knew your name, as the song said.

  Clymer’s was as much a center for male gossip as the grocery store was for female gossip, in the way of small towns. Here they’d be talking about who needed new fencing and how the alfalfa was coming along.

  Andrea slid out quickly, and he followed her to the door. She stepped inside, pausing as if getting her bearings.

  “Lighting fixtures are in the back.” He nodded toward the aisle.

  Detouring around kegs of nails and the coil of rope that hung handy to be measured off, they headed back to where sample fixtures hung, gleaming palely in the daylight. Ted Clymer looked up from the counter where he was working a crossword puzzle and raised a hand in greeting. Ted seemed to figure if his customers needed any help, they’d ask for it. Otherwise, he left them alone.

  Andrea came to a halt in the midst of racks of light fixtures. She turned toward him. “I’m not too proud to admit when I’m out of my depth. What do you think we need?”

  Since he’d already decided, he was relieved that they weren’t going to argue about it. He chose two brands and set the boxes in front of her. “Either one of these would do the job.”

  “Which do you recommend?”

  He put his hand on the more expensive brand. “This will cost more to begin with, but it’s higher rated. Still, the other one will serve.”

  She shook her head decisively. “I don’t want to worry that they’ll have to be replaced in a couple of years. How many do you think we need to cover the area?”

  “I’d say six would do it.” He glanced at the racks. “Ted doesn’t have that many out, but he probably has more in the back.”

  She picked up the box. “I’ll ask him to get them while you’re picking out the locks.” Her smile flickered. “You don’t need to ask my opinion. Just get what you think will work best.”

  So apparently Andrea trusted him in that, at least, and she wasn’t grudging the money spent on something her grandmother needed. He watched her walk toward the counter. Even in khaki pants and a fitted denim jacket, she had just enough of an urban flair to let you know she didn’t belong here.

  Too bad. Because Katherine would like having her around, not because it mattered to him.

  It took a few minutes to find locks that satisfied him. Nothing would keep out a really determined thief, but these would discourage anyone who was looking for a lock that could be popped quickly and quietly.

  He headed back to the counter, his hands full, but checked when he saw the person who stood next to Andrea, talking away as if they were old friends. Margaret Allen. He’d be willing to bet that no legitimate errand had brought her into the hardware store. It was far more likely that she’d spotted them from across the street and decided to check up on the competition.

  He approached and dropped the locks on the counter, their clatter interrupting the conversation. “That’s it for us, Ted. Ring us up.”

  He turned, forcing a smile. “Hello, Margaret. How’s business?”

  She returned the smile with one that had syrup oozing off it. Margaret looked, he always thought, like a well-fed, self-satisfied cat, and never so much as when she was asserting her position as the owner of the finest inn in the county. Just how far would she go to maintain that status? The question had begun pricking at the back of his mind lately.

  “How nice to see you, Cal. I was just telling Andrea how wonderful it is of her to come and help her grandmother at such a sad time. Poor Rachel. I’m afraid all their visions of starting a bed-and-breakfast will be lost. Still, I always say that every cloud has a silver lining, and I’m sure in the end, this disappointment will be for the best. Don’t you agree, Andrea?”

  Andrea looked a little dazed at the flood of saccharine. “Yes, I mean—”

  “We have to go.” He handed Andrea the credit card Ted had been patiently holding out. “Lots to do. Nice seeing you, Margaret.” He scooped up boxes, handing the bag containing the locks to Andrea, and nudged her toward the door.

  She shot him an annoyed look. “I’m glad to have met you, Ms. Allen. I’ll tell my sister you asked about h
er.”

  They reached the pickup, and he started loading fixtures quickly, not having any desire to hang around for another interrogation from Margaret.

  Andrea dropped the bag with the locks into the pickup bed. “You didn’t have to be rude to that poor woman. She was just expressing her concern.”

  “Right.” He shook his head. “That was Margaret Allen.” He pointed to the Georgian mansion across the street with its twin weeping willows overhanging the wrought iron fence. “That Margaret Allen, owner of The Willows bed-and-breakfast.”

  “She said she was a friend of my grandmother’s.” Andrea climbed in, frowning at him as he got behind the wheel. “Maybe she did gush a bit, but I’m sure she meant well.”

  “A bit?” He lifted an eyebrow. “You looked as if you were drowning in it.”

  Her lips twitched. “Just because she runs another B and B, that doesn’t make her the enemy.”

  “In her mind, it does. Believe me. She takes pride in having the only inn in Churchville, and she doesn’t like to share the limelight, or the tourist dollars, with anyone.” He pulled out onto Main Street for the short drive home.

  “Surely there’s enough tourist trade to go around.”

  He shrugged. “Ask Rachel, if you don’t believe me. She’s the one who’s had to deal with her. The other B and B operators in the county have been supportive, by and large, but Margaret created one problem after another.”

  “What could she do? Surely you don’t think she was our prowler.”

  That was a thought that hadn’t occurred to him, and he filed it for future consideration. “I don’t see her wandering around in the dark, no, but she has played dirty. Complaints to the township zoning board, complaints to the tourist bureau, complaints to the bed-and-breakfast owners association. All couched in such sickeningly sweet language you’d think she was doing them a favor by putting up roadblocks.”

  “Maybe she was.” It was said so softly he almost missed it.

  “Is that what you’ll tell your grandmother when you bail and leave them on their own?” The edge in his voice startled him. He hadn’t meant to say that.