The Search (17 page)

“Be sure and tell your parents hello from me.”

“You can tell them yourself on Sunday.”

Lydia stilled. “Perhaps.”

“Is something wrong?”

Lydia and Walker exchanged glances. “No, it's just that we might be pretty busy for the next few months.”

Deborah raised her eyebrows but tried to keep the promise to herself of not badgering them about their relationship.

“There's a group of Amish in the next county over who are New.”

“New?”

“New Order,” Lydia explained, coloring slightly. “Walker and I decided to go visit with them for a few Sundays. And I'm going to attend Walker's church. And we might also visit the Mennonite one, too.”

“We want to be a part of each others' lives . . . but we're having a bit of difficulty about making a decision.”

Lydia bit her lip. “Meshing our faiths and interests is a difficult thing.”

Resting a hand over Lydia's, Walker continued. “I want to be part of Lydia's life and world. But I'm not quite sure if I can embrace everything your order does,” Walker said slowly. “I talked to my grandparents about it. They're the ones who suggested that we try out different churches.”

Deborah was shocked. “Is this allowed?”

Lydia shrugged. “I don't know. No one is real happy about the idea, but after Perry . . .” Her voice drifted off. “I think there's a part of my parents that understands each person has to go on their own walk with God.”

“Just because someone is different from you, it doesn't mean he or she is wrong,” Deborah murmured, thinking about her parents' unyielding views for everyone but Perry.

“Exactly,” Walker said. “I don't know if belonging to this ‘new order' is the right step for us. Or if we should become Mennonite.”

“Or if I should become more of a part of Walker's English world,” Lydia murmured.

“Luckily, our families are being pretty understanding. They seem to understand that it is something we need to investigate.”

“You're lucky, Lydia,” Deborah blurted. Deborah could never imagine her parents ever being so open.

“My parents like Walker very much,” Lydia said with a quick smile.

“I'm happy for the both of you,” she said, meaning every word.

“Danke,”
Lydia said. “Now, where were you off to?”

“Oh, nowhere, just going out for a walk.”

“You should stop by the store and see the pups,” Walker said. “They're worth a long walk.”

For a moment, she considered lying and telling Walker that she'd stop over soon. But she was tired of lies, and at the moment, very tired of pretending to be happier than she was. “I'm afraid Jacob doesn't want me to be there,” she said lightly.

“He doesn't want you at the store?” Walker asked.

“Definitely not at the store.”

“Oh, surely you misunderstood,” Lydia said quickly.

Walker nodded. “Yeah. I bet you just—”

“I didn't misunderstand. He told me, Walker.” She held up a hand when it looked like Walker was going to argue the point. “But that's okay with me.” Of course it wasn't, but what could she say?

“Even if it's okay, I'll talk to him,” Walker said. “I know Mr. and Mrs. Schrock would be really upset if they heard about this.”

“Please don't tell them!”

“Oh, I won't. I just meant, I bet he didn't realize how you'd take it. Or how it would sound. I mean, no one blames you for Perry's actions, Deborah.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be. Jacob, well, he's having a really hard time. That's all.”

What none of them said was that they'd all been going through a very hard time. Everyone who'd ever known Perry had been affected by his life and his death.

“I know. Like I said, I'm fine. And, goodness . . . I had better get on home. I'm sure my
mamm
will be wondering why I haven't shown up to help her with supper.”

After saying goodbye, she turned and walked back toward home . . . thinking about the changes both Walker and Lydia seemed willing to make for their relationship—thinking about the note she'd removed from Perry's bedside table in order to protect Jacob.

She wondered if Jacob would still hate her if he ever found out what she'd done for him.

Chapter 22

“The first time I took Perry hunting, he was nine years old. Three hours in, he raised his rifle and shot an eight-point buck. He never wanted to hunt again—don't know why.”

A
BRAHAM
B
ORNTRAGER

M
ose's criticism was sharp and to the point. “Wow, Reynolds. Just when you think you can't make things worse, you do. In spades.”

They were sitting in Mose's cluttered kitchen eating Trail bologna sandwiches and canned vegetable soup. “Thanks. So glad you had time to tell me what you really think.”

After taking another bite of a sandwich liberally slathered with mustard, and hastily swallowing it with a gulp of chocolate milk, Mose replied with a dry look, “Can't help it. Someone had to say it. You really put your foot in it this time. I thought you would have been a bit more smooth with the women.”

He didn't even attempt to temper his sarcasm. “Obviously, I'm not smooth.”

“At all.”

It was on the tip of Luke's tongue to argue. But he didn't have the energy or the inclination. Mose was right. He could have handled his conversation with Frannie a dozen better ways than he had.

Though, if he were honest, he would have to admit that he didn't know if it would have ended any differently. “I know I hurt her feelings. I get that. But I had no choice. I had to ask her about the sunglasses. And she had been lying to us about her last conversation with Perry.”

“That is all true,” he said around a spoonful of soup. “For sure.”

“Those sunglasses might be a lead. I had to know.” Luke took a bite of his sandwich, wishing that he could settle down and approach things as calmly as Mose seemed to do. “Hey, what did you find out from the DEA?”

Mose stretched his arms like they were sitting at the park, watching a ball game. “Well, when I talked to Chris Ellis, you know, the man in Frannie's house from the Drug Enforcement Agency?”

“I remember him,” Luke said sarcastically. “You're talking about the guy who just got the stuffing beat out of him by a mysterious group of men in a blacked-out Suburban, right? The guy you never told me was working undercover?”

Mose shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn't supposed to share the news, Luke.”

“Not even with me?”

“Not even with you.” After a moment, Mose shrugged. “Anyway, when I was visiting with Chris, he told me that the dealers had recently taken to needing a new signal to meet.”

Everything fell into place. “You think that's what the sunglasses were?”

“Un-huh. In some places, sunglasses like those would be a dime a dozen. Here in Crittenden County? Not so much.” He cleared his throat. “I happened to look them up on the Internet, on eBay and Amazon.com. Those glasses can go for over four or five hundred dollars, Luke.”

Mose said the amount like he could never have imagined such a thing, but after living in Cincinnati and not only dealing with the wealthy folks in the city but also some of the well-off drug lords in the area, five-hundred-dollar sunglasses weren't shocking. Luke had seen some at the Oakley store at Kenwood Mall priced at over a grand. “That makes sense.”

“Shame that Perry wanted Frannie to have a pair, though.” Mose scratched his closely trimmed beard. “What do you think Perry's motivation was? Give a gift to his girl for cheap . . . or that he wanted her to start carrying drugs for him?”

“I couldn't tell you. I never met the kid.” Luke's voice hardened. “But I do know that Frannie never would have done such a thing.”

“My money is on the business aspect of it,” Mose said after another two bites of sandwich and a slurp of soup. “Perry might have still had feelings for Frannie, but those men he was dealing with aren't easy or flexible.”

“If Chris's body is any indication, they aren't shy about using pressure, either.”

After pushing his plate to the center of the table, Mose stretched out his legs. “So, we now know who Perry was working for. We know that the men who beat up Chris had been his contacts. So is our murder solved? Did one of those men who beat up our DEA officer decide Perry Borntrager wasn't worth the trouble to beat and decide just to put him out of his misery?”

Remembering Chris's bruises, Luke pursed his lips. “I'm just not sure. Perry was hit on the back of the head, then his body was hidden. I could see these guys beating him to death, then laying him out so everyone could see.” Holding out a finger, he made another point. “And, Chris had been beaten up pretty good. With Perry, if they were going to prove a point, they wouldn't have only hit his head with a brick or a rock. Perry would have had a heck of a lot more bruising.”

“Maybe they just wanted to kill him?”

“But if they wanted him dead right away, why not simply shoot him?”

“So if it wasn't them, who could it be?”

“Between you and me, Mose . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I still have no idea.”

Mose closed his eyes. “I was afraid you would say that.”

F
rannie was keeping company with a pot of hot tea when Chris Ellis trudged down the stairs, looking as if his whole body was in pain.

It probably was.

“May I get you something to eat or drink before you go?” she asked when he set his duffle bag down by the door.

“You're not going to try to keep me here?”

“I've given up forcing my guests to stay where they don't want to be.”

“It's not that I don't want to be here. It's nothing personal.”

“I know that, Chris. Giving you something to eat before you leave is the least I can do.”

“All right. I've got to wait for my ride, anyway.”

She looked at him curiously. “I thought you had a car.”

“I did, but I can't take it with me. By now the guys who picked me up earlier have probably marked it.”

“What are you going to do with it? It isn't going to stay here, is it?” She hoped not, the last thing she wanted was to see any of those scary men lurking around the inn late at night.

“When I get picked up, another pair of officers are going to dispose of the vehicle.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Please don't worry. Yet another man is going to stay here with you for the next forty-eight hours. Just to make sure you are safe.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I never thought I'd have to worry about such things in Crittenden County.”

“I know it's hard. Chin up, though, 'kay? You're not alone in this.”

She appreciated that. “If you can promise that you won't go away, I will keep my chin up,” she called over her shoulder as she led the way into the kitchen.

“I can promise that the agency will be by your side even if I won't be here.”

After motioning him to a chair, she opened up her oven and pulled out a surprise for him. “Look what I've got—cinnamon rolls!”

Chris visibly blanched. “Did you make those?”

“Beth did.”

“Ah.”

Feeling a little awkward, but not sure why, she said, “Are you upset that these weren't made by me . . . or that Beth made them?”

“I'm not upset.”

“Chin up, yes?” She said the words on purpose, hoping to create a bit of recognition in his eyes.

He exhaled deeply. “You're not going to give up, are you?”

“I'm a woman who owns my own business. I can't give up easily. If I did, I think I would fall apart. I surely wouldn't have an inn.”

“All right. You got me. I was in here when Beth made those rolls. I . . . cleaned up the kitchen for her. That's all.”

“Beth is a good woman. She's my friend.”

“She said you two were close.”

Frannie pulled out a spatula and carefully cut out a generous portion for him.

When she put the plate in front of him, he half smiled. “These smell great.”

“I think so, too. I was so thankful to have them to come home to. I don't know if you realized this, but Beth is a terrible cook. Usually.”

“Believe me, I know she doesn't cook much.”

Frannie looked at him encouragingly. More than ready to hear a fun story about their time together. But Chris didn't expand on his statement. Instead, he seemed intent on eating his treat as quickly as possible.

She took an exploratory bite and almost groaned. Not only were the rolls delicious, but they were better than hers.

Or maybe they just tasted better because she hadn't had to go to all the trouble to knead and roll out the dough?

“So, do you have a message you'd like me to tell Beth? If you do, I'll be glad to pass it on . . .”

“There is no message.”

She was a little surprised by his harsh tone. “Okay . . .”

“Sorry. I am what I am, Frannie.”

“You're a good man.”

“I didn't say I wasn't. It's just that I have no place in my life for a woman like Beth.”

“Like Beth?”

“Not only is she Amish, but she's sheltered. And sweet. My life wouldn't mesh with hers. Ever.” He raised his chin and met her gaze. “You know I'm right.”

She knew. This man was in a terribly dangerous line of work, and seemed to live his life pretending to be other people, too. Living with such a man would be a difficult thing. A scary thing.

“You are right.”

Chris looked like he was about to explain himself some more when there was a knock at the door. A hard rap. She froze.

Without hesitation, Chris pulled a gun out from the small of his back.

She gasped.

He spun to face her. “Stay here,” he ordered, his expression dark and fierce. “Don't move.”

He turned and walked toward the front of the house before she even had time to nod.

A cold sweat trickled down her back, matching the tears slowly running down her cheeks. She wanted to be brave, but she was afraid. Afraid for Chris and afraid for her beloved inn.

But selfishly, she was also very afraid for herself. What if the men overpowered Chris? What if they hurt him again, and then found her and hurt her, too?

Her hands were shaking now. With a grimace, she folded her arms over her chest. What she needed to do was relax and trust Chris to do his job and keep her safe.

And to trust in God, of course!

Feeling hopeful for the very first time, she walked over to the back door of the kitchen. The one that led to her little vegetable and herb garden. Though Chris had asked that she not move, surely he wouldn't mind if she stood by the door?

The moment she looked out the window that made up the top of the door, she felt her spirit lift. The sun was shining brightly. Casting a warm, optimistic glow over the whole property.

Reminding her to always have hope, because tomorrow was a brand new day—a day when anything could happen.

Closing her eyes, she said a fervent prayer. “Thank you, Lord, for giving me protection, and for helping me during each day. Thank you for giving me strength. And please be with Chris, too.”

There. It was a clumsy, hasty prayer. Not the kind of prayer she liked to say at all. But what could she do?

Opening her eyes, she sighed happily. Yes, everything was surely going to be all right.

Jah
. Just fine. Her heartbeat slowed and she started breathing more evenly.

Until she spied a man's face looking right back at her, on the other side of the glass.