The Search (3 page)

He walked on, finally taking a seat where Abby Anderson had said she'd smoked a cigarette and tried to fit in with the wrong crowd.

Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what the scene had been like, back when someone had taken a young man's life, carted him across this field, and dumped him in a well.

He tried to imagine what the guys who'd done it had been thinking. Were they angry?

Just doing a job?

Looking off into the distance, he mentally traced a path from the woods, to the area where Mose had decided they'd carried him.

He started walking. Looking around for stones, trash, anything else that could provide enlightenment. Soon after, he tripped, wrenching his leg.

As he fell on his backside, he gasped and silently cursed, wishing his leg would finally work.

Getting up to his feet wasn't easy. He was going to be back on crutches and icing his knee all night to help with the swelling.

Well, this was probably no less than he deserved, out here by himself. Rolling to his side, he braced himself on his hands, trying to balance his weight so he could get up.

Doing all this, he almost missed the pair of black sunglasses just inches from his right hand. Scooting over, he grabbed a handkerchief from his back pocket, then picked them up.

Black Oakleys. Expensive. Maybe they wouldn't stand out somewhere like Boulder, Colorado, or Miami. But in a rural place like Crittenden County? . . . They would have stood out like a cop from Cincinnati.

It was his first real break, he was sure of it then. Though, he had no idea whose they were . . . not Frannie Eicher's, of course.

The glasses belonged to someone, but Luke wasn't holding his breath. Too much time had passed already. It was very likely that any number of people could have left a pair of expensive designer sunglasses behind. However, his gut had told him he was on to something.

He leaned back in his chair. “Any chance you've sent those sunglasses to the lab to be checked for fingerprints?”

Mose eyed him over his pair of reading glasses. “I told ya I did, Luke. Just like I told ya I went around and got fingerprint samples of most everyone who'd ever talked to Perry in his lifetime.”

Luke felt his neck heat up. He would've never asked his partner in Cincinnati if he'd actually done what he'd said he was going to. “Sorry. I just want to do things right.”

“I do too, Luke.” Mose took a breath, looking about to remind Luke that he wasn't a fool, when his cell phone went off.

After checking the screen, Mose answered, turning all business.

When Luke spied the look of concern on his old friend's features, he pushed aside his apology and got ready to lend assistance.

“You sure?” Mose asked after a moment. “They need help? All righty, then. Keep me posted.” After he hung up, he leveled a glance Luke's way. “Well, speak of the devil.”

“What happened?”

“That was Melissa, the dispatcher. Have you met her? Kind of a large woman. President of the PTA?”

Mose could talk a gnat's ear off, if gnats had ears. “What
happened,
Mose?”

“Melissa just heard from Jason Black. He's an ambulance driver, you know—”

“I don't know Jason or Melissa.” Mose's slow way of talking, combined with his penchant for sharing stories about everyone and their brother was driving him crazy. “
What.
Do. You. Know?”

“Oh. Jason's driving Frannie Eicher to the hospital right now.”

Immediately, Luke feared the worst. “Did someone hurt her? Does this have something to do with Perry's death?”

Mose shook his head. “Oh, no. She was involved in a kitchen accident. She owns the bed and breakfast, you know . . .”

“I know! Of course, I know! Is she okay?”

“That I do not know.” Mose brushed a hand over his face. “Jason said she looks bad. Well, her face does.”

“Why?”

“It seems that a glass or something shattered, and the pieces flew into her face. There was blood everywhere.” He paused. “Jason said a couple of the shards got an eye real good. It might be nothing, but you never know, ain't so?”

Mose only used an Amish expression like that when he was rattled, which only heightened Luke's worry.

His stay at Frannie's Yellow Bird Inn had been frustrating. Frannie had been so eager and attentive, he'd felt stifled. They'd definitely butted heads a time or two. But when she'd admitted to dating Perry briefly, he'd moved out. It had been the right thing to do.

Yet, even though they'd had their differences, he couldn't ignore the many attractive things about her. She was inquisitive and caring, and would have been downright cover-model pretty if she'd been the type of woman to care about such things. Thinking about her beautiful face covered in cuts made his breath catch.

“I bet she's in a lot of pain. Does she have family? Did anyone go in the ambulance with her?”

“Family? Well now, let's see. She has an older sister who lives in Michigan, and her father is here in Marion. Jason said most likely Frannie will be in surgery after they admit her to the hospital. In a little while, I'll stop by her father's house and see if he wants a ride.” He paused and looked at Luke. “Hey, you want to go with us?”

Luke knew he couldn't wait for Mose to finish his meal, talk to Frannie's father, and then meander to the hospital.

The panic that mixed in with the dismay that was bubbling forward was as much of a surprise as the news. “I need to go there now.”

Mose waved a hand. “It wasn't a crime. Like I said, just an accident. There's no investigating needed. Guess Frannie was talking with Beth Byler when it happened. Hey, do you know Beth? Her real name is Elizabeth, but I'm sure I don't know anyone who calls her by that.” He drummed his fingers on the table again. “Maybe her mother?”

Mose's rambling was going to send him over the edge. Luke stood up. “Which hospital?”

“Our only hospital, of course. Crittenden County Hospital. It's on West Gum.” His face went slack as he caught sight of Luke's determined expression. “You're really going to go over there? Right this minute?”

Luke was already putting on his rain slicker. “I am. I've got to get over there as soon as possible.”

“Why?”

Luke didn't know why. All he knew was that if Frannie Eicher was going into surgery, he didn't want her to be alone.

“I just do.” While Mose continued to study him like he'd just presented him with another mystery, Luke turned and walked out the door.

Chapter 2

“Sure I knew that Frannie hoped Perry was the right man for her. But he wasn't. Never would he have been good enough for Frannie.”

B
ETH
B
YLER

W
ith her heart in her throat, Elizabeth Byler—Beth to her friends—watched the ambulance carry Frannie away. As the sirens blared and the bright blue and red lights flashed down Main Street, she stood on the front porch and prayed for both Frannie's well-being and the emergency workers' patience and abilities.

All of them would have to be at their best. Frannie was in a terrible way, for sure. Though the EMTs had checked her pulse and heartbeat and had started an IV drip, they had done little else.

Well, as far as Beth could tell.

After they'd very gingerly put Frannie on a stretcher, then carefully carried her to the ambulance, Beth asked why they hadn't done more for Frannie's hurt face.

“We can't take a chance on making things worse, miss,” a burly man in a crisp white shirt explained. “We want to wait for the surgeons at the hospital.”

What he said made sense. But as she was standing off to the side while the EMTs efficiently packed up the ambulance, she heard them whisper. And with each technical word and warning, the knot in her stomach grew bigger.

She figured it wasn't going to take a surgeon to determine that things with Frannie's right eye were really bad. There was a good size cut on the outside of it and a whole lot of swelling, too.

After the siren's blare faded, and she said goodbye to the few neighbors who had run up to see what was the matter, she went back inside Frannie's little yellow bed-and-breakfast. When she closed the heavy oak door behind her, she sighed, strangely discomfited by the sudden silence. With Frannie, one never had to worry too much about things being quiet.

Frannie was a gregarious sort, to be sure. Pleasant to be around, ready with an easy smile and conversation. Perfect for the host of a B&B.

With some dismay, she was reminded of just how different Frannie's manner was from her own. With children, she felt always easy and free, full of laughter.

With adults, though, she'd always been far more reserved.

“Well, you don't need to be good at chatting with strangers to be good at cleaning,” Beth chided herself. In the midst of the commotion, she'd promised she'd hold down the fort until Frannie could come back. She was determined to keep her promise even though she didn't have the first idea of what to do to keep things running.

A quick search located some kitchen gloves. After her hands were protected, she got to work picking up large pieces of glass, sweeping up shards, and wiping up the blood that seemed to have spattered everywhere.

Not wanting to risk the food, she threw all the mini quiches, cooked and uncooked, into the trash. Just thinking about making sixty pastry cups again made her exhausted.

“Well, there's no hope for that,” she told herself reasonably as she put out more margarine to make a new batch. Of course, that brought forth a whole new nest of problems. She could cook just about anything . . . as long as she had a recipe.

Did Frannie even use a recipe book? From the time she and Frannie first met, her best friend had cooked well. Not once had Beth paid attention to how Frannie had known what to do. Beth had been as uninterested in Frannie's recipes as Frannie had been in Beth's many babysitting jobs.

But now she didn't have a choice.

Panic surged forward as she felt the Lord gently remind her that sometimes it wasn't the best idea to make promises that were difficult to keep. What was she going to do if she couldn't make those quiches? Or the muffins Frannie was so proud of?

Or the granola? Frannie was mighty proud of her inn's granola, and rightfully so. The granola was a crunchy mixture of brown sugar and oats, raisins, dried cranberries and dates, too. Sweat beaded her brow, showing Beth once again that blood and accidents and ambulances didn't affect her half as much as an empty bowl of granola.

“Hey . . . is everything all right?”

She looked over her shoulder at the English man who leaned against the doorway. He had crystal blue eyes that were peering at her curiously, and an arrogant-looking posture that was in direct contrast with his question. Instead of looking like he wanted to help, he looked like he was counting on her not being able to do anything.

His arms were crossed over a scruffy-looking T-shirt hanging over a pair of jeans that had a rip in one of the knees. He was tan and fit and sure of himself. And all at once, he seemed to symbolize everything that had gone wrong over the last three hours.
“Nee,”
she finally replied. “I'm afraid everything is not all right. Frannie had to go to the hospital.”

“Frannie?”

“Frannie Eicher. She owns this place.” Glaring at him, she said, “You are a guest here, yes?”

“Oh. I am, but I never paid too much attention to the woman's name.”

“Well, the woman you never paid too much attention to has gotten hurt.”

He scowled. “Hey, I booked the room through the Internet, and got in late last night. We spoke with each other only long enough for me to give her my credit card and for her to hand me a key. I wasn't about to start making friends at midnight.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” Feeling rather shrewish, Beth forced herself to explain a little bit. “I'm Beth Byler. I'm a friend of Frannie Eicher's. I don't know much about her guests.” Or running a bed-and-breakfast, for that matter.

Now that things were smoothed over a bit, he wandered in, his heavy tan boots looking dusty, but luckily not tracking any dirt on the freshly mopped floor. “So, is she hurt badly?”

Beth hesitated. What was appropriate to share? She realized that she'd never paid too much attention to how Frannie dealt with her guests. “I'm afraid she's hurt bad. Some glass got into her eye. An ambulance carried her away.”

“I saw that.” He looked around, taking an extra second or two to stare at the lone stick of butter in the bowl. “So, do you need some help in here? This place looks like it was turned upside down. I can help you clean up, if you really need it.”

Perhaps it was his confident tone and the way he said “really.” Or because he was pointing out the obvious. Whatever the reason, his offer rubbed her the wrong way. “There's no need to help me clean. You're a guest.”

“And you're not?”

“No. Like I said, I'm a friend of Frannie's.” The moment she said the words, she wished she could have taken them right back. She sounded prissy and full of herself. As if she was someone's maiden aunt.

He leaned against the doorjamb, making Beth realize that he was a lot younger than she'd first thought. “So how does one become a friend of yours?”

If she hadn't been so stunned at the question she probably would have stood there with her mouth open. But instead, she glared. “What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one.”

“Why? Are you looking for friends?”

“Maybe. I just got here. I could use a friend or two.”

“As could we all.”

“I hope you're not always this suspicious of newcomers. You know I might be here for a while. I'm thinking about moving here permanently.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Seemed like a good idea,” he said, sounding like he was taking great pains to keep purposely vague.

Which she did not appreciate. She was rattled and worried about her friend. And worried about her promise to Frannie. The last thing in the world she needed was a secretive guest who spoke in riddles! “I'm surprised you even found us on the map. We're pretty out of the way.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I mean nothing ever happens here.”

“Short of that guy being murdered, huh?”

Her breath caught. No one she knew spoke of Perry—or the mystery surrounding his life and death—unless it was in whispered tones in private.

Or under duress. She shivered. “How do you even know about Perry?”

“Why do you sound so surprised that I brought him up? Is his death a secret?”

“It's just that no one likes to talk about what happened.”

“Just want to pretend it didn't happen, do you?”

She couldn't lie. “Sometimes,” she said shortly. Wondering selfishly why she'd ever decided to come to Frannie's on a day off, anyway.

Why she'd had to be the one to promise things that she couldn't deliver.

Why she had to be the person volleying words back and forth with a man who was so evasive, it was bordering on scary.

Something flickered in his face. “That's too bad.”

“That I don't want to think about Perry's death all the time? I think it's a normal reaction . . . Mr.? . . . I'm sorry I don't know your name.”

“That's because I didn't tell you,” he replied, turning to leave. Then he paused, just as if he'd suddenly changed his mind. “What do you know about the quarry?”

She froze. “Not much.”

“It looks pretty big.”

“It's not a part of town that I get to much.” But what she didn't say was that her brother spent a lot of time there. Near the entrance to the quarry was an old, abandoned trailer, and that was where Eli used to buy drugs from Perry Borntrager.

Until Perry had gone missing.

Now she didn't know where he bought drugs. He'd taken off to parts unknown and broken her heart.

“What are you not telling me?” His tone had become harder, his easy cadence now clipped.

Making her even more wary.

She hoped he was safe to be around. She wished she didn't feel so awkward and scared, standing alone with him in the kitchen.

“What is it?” he asked. “What is wrong?”

“Not a thing is wrong,” she lied. After all, why would she tell this man things she'd never told anyone? “If you don't mind, I'd like you to move along. I have things to bake. Well, things to bake if I can find a recipe book. Dear Lord, please let Frannie have used a recipe book.”

Only after he turned away and finally left did she realize that she'd never learned his name. She didn't even know how long he was staying at the inn.

The knot in her stomach hardened, threatening to overtake her. The fear that she'd tried to hold at bay rose as she realized that she didn't know how Frannie was, she couldn't cook very well, and she had no idea what to do next.

“Oh, please get better quick, Frannie,” she whispered. “If you don't come back soon, I don't know what is going to happen.”

Only after she said her prayers did she allow herself to fear for the worst.

She was now going to be living in the same building as this
Englischer
stranger, who seemed far too interested in things that weren't any of his business.