Vanish in Plain Sight (18 page)

“We’ll find him. He usually makes an appearance
at these events. If not, I’ll make sure Owen Barclay rounds him up for us. Owen is the manager here, and he’s very supportive of the association.”

“Would he have known Allen?”

Geneva looked startled. “I suppose he would.” She gave a slight shake to her head. “It’s just hard to believe that any of these people might have guilty knowledge.”

Surveying the well-dressed, obviously well-heeled group, many of them in the category euphemistically called seniors, Marisa had her own doubts. Still, a person might have helpful knowledge without having been involved.

“I hope Metzger will be open with us. Maybe it would be better to leave him to Link.”

“Nonsense.” Geneva squeezed her arm. “You have every reason for asking questions about that day. And with me there, he’ll have to answer.”

What might have sounded arrogant coming from anyone else was just the simple truth from Geneva. She was so used to her position in this community that she took it for granted. Metzger wouldn’t refuse to cooperate if she was present.

“Geneva, how good to see you.” The man who approached, both hands out to clasp Geneva’s, was probably in his late forties, well-groomed and well dressed in a gray pinstripe suit that matched the artistic graying at his temples. He had the jovial, welcoming expression of the born extrovert.

“Goodness, Owen, you make it sound as if I
haven’t been around for years. You know I never miss a meeting.” She evaded the embrace he obviously intended with what seemed the ease of long practice. “I’d like to introduce my guest. Marisa, this is Owen Barclay, manager of the Springville Inn.”

“Ms. Angelo, isn’t it?” He clasped the hand Marisa offered in both of his. “I’ve heard about your visit. One of the perils of small-town life, I’m afraid. Everyone knows your business.”

She smiled, extricating her hand from his overlong grip. “Sometimes I think everyone knows more than I do.”

“Marisa would really appreciate talking to anyone who remembers her mother.” Geneva seized the opportunity. “I’m sure you do, Owen.”

“I?” Barclay took a half step back. “Why would you think I’d know her?”

Was that alarm in his eyes? Marisa couldn’t be sure.

“She was my brother-in-law’s housekeeper for a time. You must have seen her when you went to meetings at Allen’s place.” Geneva threw herself into investigating with a little too much gusto.

“Meetings?” The dark eyes were veiled now, giving nothing away. “I’m not sure I ever attended any meetings there. Historical-association events, would they have been?”

“Perhaps.” Geneva gave him what she probably hoped was an enigmatic smile.

“I can’t say I remember—ah, I see those appetizer
trays need refilling. Let me get the girls working on them.” He faded toward the back precincts of the inn.

Geneva stared after him. “You know, I think I actually unnerved him. I wouldn’t have believed it of Owen. He’s always seemed so careful of his reputation.”

Marisa squeezed her arm. “We shouldn’t discuss him here. Someone might be listening.”

“Nonsense,” Geneva said briskly, not bothering to lower her voice at all. “They’re all too entranced with the sound of their own voices.”

Geneva might prove to be a dangerous ally if she kept on this way. Fortunately, Leo Frost approached, and the twinkle in his eyes told Marisa he’d overheard.

“I’ll have you know I prefer the sound of your voice to my own,” he said, taking Geneva’s arm. “Ladies, you look as if you need drinks and hors d’oeuvres.”

“An iced tea for me.” Geneva allowed herself to be led toward the table set up with beverages and appetizers. “I must say, Leo, that Owen Barclay—”

“Who else should I meet?” Marisa said, trying to head off anything too indiscreet.

“There are several old-timers in the association who knew Allen.” Leo caught on quickly. Apparently he was used to dealing with Geneva. “I’ll see who I can round up.” He slipped into the crowd.

Marisa picked up a glass of iced tea from the table.
“Let’s save any discussion until afterward, all right? That way we won’t have to—” She stopped, her stomach lurching. “Isn’t that the district attorney?”

“Preston Connelly?” Geneva peered around. The DA stood in front of the brick fireplace, one elbow on the mantel, gesturing as he talked to a circle of people. “Probably. He used to be more active in the association. Now he generally just shows up when he’s running for reelection.”

“I hope that’s not what you say about me.” The woman who spoke was probably about Geneva’s age, but where Geneva was all quicksilver and charm, this woman looked solid and sensible…like someone’s grandmother, who would be more comfortable in the kitchen baking cookies. “Geneva, I see you’re as indiscreet as ever. At least you had sense enough not to wear blue jeans to this event.”

“Give me credit for some manners, Judith.” Geneva waved a hand toward Marisa. “I’d like to introduce Marisa Angelo. Marisa, this is Judge Judith Waller. For all I know, she may be up for reelection.”

The woman extended a strong, square hand. “I’m not, as it happens. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marisa. I’ve heard about you.” She must have detected something in Marisa’s expression, because she gave a rueful smile. “Sorry. That’s a terrible thing to say to someone on first meeting, but news does get around.”

“So I’ve heard.” She was still getting used to
the idea that this maternal-looking woman was a judge.

“I hoped Geneva would bring you tonight. I remember your mother.” She eyed Marisa. “You don’t favor her a great deal.”

“I guess not. How did you know my mother?” This was the first non-Amish person, other than the Morgans, who’d admitted knowing Barbara, and she couldn’t imagine how their paths would have crossed.

“I met her when I went to some meeting or other at Allen Morgan’s place. She made the best apple walnut cake I’d ever had, and I asked her for the recipe. I still make it, especially this time of year when local apples are in.”

As far as she could remember, she’d never met a judge before, but she’d certainly never expect to be discussing recipes with one. “I’d love to have that recipe, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Not at all.” She waved her drink, which sloshed just short of spilling. “You’re staying at Geneva’s, aren’t you? I’ll email it to her.”

“Good,” Geneva said briskly. “About those meetings at Allen’s place—what did you say those were?”

“I didn’t.” Judge Waller smiled. “But as I recall, we were discussing plans for an historic display at the library for Founders’ Day. Allen wasn’t much use on the practical matters, of course, but he did have a solid grasp of the early history of the township,
to say nothing of a better library than the historical association.”

“He never could resist an old book,” Geneva said. “Acted as if they were his children.”

Judge Waller nodded. “Speaking of which, I understand Lincoln is clearing the house. You will ask him to donate those reference books to the association, won’t you?”

She was looking right at Marisa, as if assuming that she had anything to say about it.

“I…I think he’s mentioned something like that. Geneva would really be the one to talk to him.”

“He’ll consider doing that,” Geneva said. “After we’ve gone through all of them, of course. He’s brought the most interesting ones to the house…Allen’s old diaries and that sort of thing.” Her voice seemed to ring above the surrounding hum of talk.

Marisa promptly choked on her iced tea. Maybe just as well, since that created a diversion. Geneva really was a loose cannon, announcing something like that here, of all places. She knew perfectly well there was only one journal.

Marisa realized Leo was the person patting her back and attempted a recovery. “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong way.”

“Would you like a glass of water? Geneva, why don’t you see if you can catch a waitress and get a glass of water for Marisa?” Leo’s effort to distract Geneva was a little blatant, but it seemed to work. Geneva scurried off toward the kitchen.

“Trying to keep her discreet, Leo?” Judge Waller chuckled. “Good luck with that. Anyway, everyone in the township knows that Barbara Angelo’s suitcase was found in the wall of Allen Morgan’s house, and half the small boys are hoping to find a body. Naturally you’re interested in anyone who might have been there around that time.”

Here was plain speaking with a vengeance. Before Marisa could word a response, Leo intervened. “It’s a good thing we don’t elect judges based on tact, Judith.”

She shrugged. “I call ’em like I see ’em. Always have. Still, Marisa, I forgot about Barbara being your mother. I apologize.”

“That’s all right.” But if the woman valued plain speaking, she shouldn’t object to a straightforward question. “Do you have any ideas about what happened?”

Ms. Waller smiled, displaying a strong set of teeth. “Since the matter could conceivably come before me officially, I’d better have no ideas at all. But I do have a word of advice.” She included Leo in her glance. “Don’t play detective. If there is a case, let the police and the district attorney’s office handle it. Adam Byler is quite competent, and while Preston Connelly is a bit too political for my taste, he does know his job.” She paused, her glance again going from Leo to Marisa. “Poking into it yourselves… Well, that might prove to be dangerous.”

Seizing a drink, she forged a path into the crowd, which parted in front of her as she went.

Marisa turned to Leo. “Was that conversation as odd as I thought it was?”

“Rather strange.” He was frowning. “But at the moment, I’m wondering where Geneva has gotten to. Do you see her?”

Marisa scanned the room, nerves jangling. Geneva…what on earth was she up to now? Link had been right to be concerned about how this would go. “There she is, over by the hotel desk.” Her relief faded when she realized what Geneva was doing. She was deep in conversation with a man whose suit lapel bore a Springville Inn identification pin. There was no doubt in Marisa’s mind that it was Brad Metzger.

Leo spotted her as well and gave an exasperated snort. “That woman will be the death of me. We’d better get over there.”

When they reached Geneva, she had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

“Here she is now. Marisa, this is Bradley Metzger. He’s the young man Tom Sylvester was telling you about, and he’ll be happy to talk with you.”

How much had Geneva revealed in her artless chatter already? “That’s good of you, Mr. Metzger.”

“Brad, please. As I told Mrs. Morgan, I’m glad to help in any way I can.” He gave a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Slight and blond, he had a boyish look that belied his age, which must
be over forty. He certainly didn’t fit her image of a construction worker.

“Thank you. I understand you worked on the project at Allen Morgan’s house that September my mother disappeared.”

He nodded. “That’s right. I was just out of high school, actually, and construction was a stopgap job until I found something more suited to my talents.”

“I see.” Obviously he considered working at the inn better than working with his hands. “According to Mr. Sylvester, on the day that my mother vanished, he was called away. He left you and another man to continue work on the drywall.” Maybe it wasn’t tactful to bring up that Sylvester had expected them to finish it.

“That’s right. Len Barnhart and I. The two of us stayed until quitting time.”

“Was my mother there the whole time?”

He glanced down, lashes hiding his eyes. “I’m not sure. We were working in the addition, you see, and she was someplace in the house. I remember she was in the kitchen for a while, because she brought us a pitcher of lemonade.”

“And did you finish the drywall?” Leo put the question.

“Not all of it. That was too big a job for two men.”

This last was added quickly, as if someone had questioned it.

“Was my mother still there when you left?” She
held her breath. This might be as close as she’d come to reconstructing that last afternoon.

He frowned, seeming to concentrate. “Well, I’m not positive, you understand. I know she was there when we were having lunch, because that’s when she brought the lemonade. And she must have been there a bit later, because she had a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Her heart jolted.

He nodded. “I happened to be taking a smoke break, standing at the window. Somebody was outside, talking to her through the kitchen door.”

“Did you see who it was?” Urgency must have shown in her voice.

“He was turned away from me, so I didn’t get a really good look. About all I can say is that it was a man. Oh, and he was Amish.”

Amish. Her breath caught. Barbara had told her cousin she was in trouble. She’d brought a suitcase with her to work that day. And an Amish man had come to see her that afternoon. Ezra Weis? Her cousin William? Or someone else Marisa didn’t know about?

L
INK PACED ACROSS
the living room and back again, glancing out the front windows as he passed, watching for headlights announcing that Mom and Marisa were back. Stupid, to be so stressed about their being out at night. This was Springville, not New York City.

Given the things that had been happening, he didn’t actually find that very comforting. Bad things could hit innocent people anywhere, anytime. Nobody knew that better than he did.

His thoughts slid backward in time…back to Afghanistan. When they’d started rebuilding the school, they’d been told that four young girls had been killed in the original attack.

His heart twisted. Innocents, living in a dangerous place. At least he and his men had been professionals, out to do a difficult job.

The nightmares hadn’t come in over a week, maybe because he’d been so preoccupied with the present danger. Was that the cure for post-traumatic stress—to get involved in something equally dangerous? He’d hate to think so.

Please…
But he found he didn’t know where that instinctive prayer was going.
Please let me forget?
That was the coward’s way out.
Please protect Mom and Marisa?
That he could say with a whole heart.

He made another circuit of the living room, earning a glare from Trey, who was trying, or pretending, to read the newspaper.

“Mom won’t thank you for wearing a hole in that rug.” Trey tossed the paper aside. “What are you so jittery about? Nothing can happen to them at the historic-association dinner except that they might get bored into a coma.”

“I’d have said nothing could happen to Marisa at the Miller’s guest house. And it’s a dark ride back from town. I should have taken them and picked them up.”

“You offered, remember? And Mom said that when she got old enough to require a chauffeur, she’d hire her own.”

“Right.” The memory of his mother’s expression provided a moment of humor, but it was short-lived. “You know Mom. Do you actually imagine she’s being discreet? We have to face the possibility that someone at that meeting tonight could have been involved in Barbara Angelo’s disappearance.”

Could have been the person who attacked Marisa.

His hands clenched. He’d been a fool to put his arms around her this afternoon. A fool to let himself think he loved her.

At least he hadn’t said those words to her. It was bad enough saying them to himself.

“You can relax,” Trey said. “I see the reflection of the lights.”

Link spun, staring out the window. Sure enough, the car was coming down the driveway. He suppressed the urge to go out and meet them. He’d been giving himself away far too much where his feelings for Marisa were concerned.

He heard the slam of the car doors, followed by their footsteps crossing the porch.

“We’re home.” Mom sounded exuberant. “I knew you boys would be waiting up for us.”

“It’s only nine-thirty, Mom.” Trey gave her a quick hug.

“Really? I’d have said that speech lasted for at least three hours.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Marisa followed them into the living room. “I found it rather interesting.”

“That’s because you haven’t heard Gerald Price’s lecture on the Underground Railroad several hundred times,” Mom said. “You’d think he’d want to freshen up his research, at least.”

“Enough with the speech critique. How did you make out?” He looked questioningly at Marisa. She looked tired. “You’re hurting, aren’t you?”

“I’ll take something. I’ll be fine.” She sat down in the corner of the sofa with a barely suppressed
sigh. “As for the more crucial aspect of the evening…well, it was interesting, wasn’t it?” She glanced at his mother.

“It certainly was.” Mom perched on the arm of the sofa, looking like a hummingbird pausing in flight. “Everyone we talked to acted suspiciously. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were all in on Allen’s little group.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, and you can’t go around saying things like that,” Trey said. “I don’t want to have Jessica defending you on a libel suit.”

Mom waved that away. “Owen Barclay certainly found an excuse to dash away when I asked him about meetings at Allen’s house. Why would he do that if he didn’t know anything?”

“Probably because he thought you’d turned dotty,” Trey said. “You mean you came right out and asked him?”

“She did.” A ghost of a smile flickered across Marisa’s face. “And you should have heard her with the judge.”

“Judith Waller? Is she still active in the association?” He remembered Judge Waller from his misspent youth, when the thought of appearing before her and trying to explain himself had discouraged some of his crazier ideas.

“Somewhat.” Mom’s forehead wrinkled. “You know, that was odd. She jumped right into talking
about Marisa’s mother before I’d had a chance to bring it up.”

“I’m sure it’s just because she knew who I was.” Marisa rubbed her shoulder absently.

“You ought to go to bed,” he said roughly.

“I’m fine.” She smiled at him, and behind the smile he read the memory of those moments when he’d held her and comforted her as she wept.

“No, but Judith did mention attending a meeting at Allen’s house, saying that was where she’d met Barbara. She claimed it was a historical-association committee,” she added darkly.

“Could have been,” Trey said. “You’re always going to committee meetings. Why shouldn’t she?”

“Well, I think—”

It was a sign of how wiped out she was that Marisa actually interrupted his mother. “Brad’s revelation was more important, it seems to me.” The fine lines around her eyes deepened, and he knew it wasn’t anything good. “He remembered that day. He claimed that sometime in the afternoon, he saw my mother talking with an Amish man outside the kitchen door.”

“I see.” He kept his voice noncommittal with an effort and sat down next to her on the sofa. “Did he recognize the man?”

“No. Apparently he didn’t get a look at his face. But if she took her suitcase with her that day…” Her voice died out, as if she didn’t want to think about what that meant.

A love triangle? But that wasn’t the only possibility. “We know she was frightened about something,” he said. “And we know she was considering asking William Zook for help. It’s possible he came to talk to her there.”

“That’s true.” The look she gave him contained gratitude, probably because he hadn’t jumped to the obvious conclusion.

“Or it might have been Ezra Weis,” Trey said. “We know he was hanging around the Miller place at night. He could be afraid of what Marisa might find out about him.”

Marisa’s hand clenched…the only sign that prospect upset her. “It’s possible. But since she told Elizabeth she was thinking of contacting William, that seems more likely.”

“Either way, I’m thinking it’s something Adam should be told,” Trey said. “He can question people more effectively than we can.”

Link moved his hand on the sofa, so that it brushed Marisa’s, feeling the tension radiating from her. “Trey may be right. You said William wouldn’t talk to you, but I don’t think he’ll refuse to talk to Adam.”

He sensed her resistance. Finally she nodded.

“All right. Tomorrow. I’m too tired to think right now.”

“Sure thing,” Trey said. “Before you go up to bed, there’s something I’ve been meaning to show the two of you. When we were talking about the raven symbol, I forgot I still had this. It’s the pendant Bobby
Stephens had, the one he apparently thought was his connection to the Brotherhood.”

He held out something that dangled from his hand. Link reached for it, feeling an odd revulsion as it touched his hand. He stared at the stylized symbol, memory stirring.

“With this new information, maybe we don’t have to worry about—”

“Where did you get this?” Link rasped the words, hardly able to form them.

“I told you. Bobby had it. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost.” He had better control of himself now, but dread was pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“But I’ve seen this before, or one just like it.”

“What? Where?” Trey sounded rattled, and Trey didn’t rattle easily.

Link sucked in a breath. “You remember the day I climbed down into the quarry? The day you had to pull me out?”

Trey nodded. Link could feel Marisa’s gaze on him, but he didn’t want to look at her, afraid she might guess at his half-formed fear.

“I made it as far as the mouth of the cave before I realized I couldn’t get any farther. Libby kept yelling at me to come back, but I was delaying, not wanting to give up. I started looking around for something to prove I’d been there. That’s when I spotted it. A tile,
just like this one, half buried in the mud on the path outside the cave.”

“What? Are you sure?” Trey grabbed the tile, staring at it as if it had answers. “What happened to it?”

“I stuck it in my pocket. Then I realized I couldn’t get back up, and Libby started getting upset. I think it kicked around in my dresser for a while, but I don’t remember.” He met his brother’s gaze. “More important, what was it doing there?”

Trey didn’t speak for a moment, but Link could tell that his brother’s thoughts were running along the same train his were. If this crazy story of the Brotherhood was connected to Barbara’s disappearance—face it, to her death—then…

“How could anyone get a body down there?” Trey’s voice was as harsh as his had been.

Marisa gasped, her hand going up to cover her lips.

“I’m sorry,” Trey said instantly. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes. You did.” Her voice was steadier than he’d have imagined it could be. “You think my mother died that day. You’re probably right. I don’t see any other explanation.”

His mother moved closer to Marisa, putting her arm around her gently. “If that’s what you think, well, it would have been possible. There used to be an easy path down into the quarry. After it was closed by a rock slide, we put up the barricades.”

“When, Mom?” Trey’s tone was urgent. “When did that rockslide happen?”

He saw the startled realization in his mother’s face.

“Why…I don’t know, not exactly. But your father discovered it while he was taking a walk, and he came back and told me. I remember…” She got up suddenly and hurried out of the room.

“Where is she going?”

He patted Marisa’s hand. “To look for Dad’s property notebook from that month. He was meticulous about things like that. He’d have jotted the information down when he discovered it.”

His mother was back in moments, holding the familiar brown leather notebook. She flipped through pages and then stopped, her face tightening.

“Here it is. ‘Rocks have blocked the quarry path.

No point in trying to clear it. Put up a temporary barricade, but I’ll get someone to fix a more permanent one.’” She looked up. “It’s dated September 30 of that year.”

“So someone could have…” Trey began, stopping when Link shook his head.

He cleared his throat. “We’ll have to check it out. Maybe it’s best to see for ourselves before we get a full-scale police operation going.”

Link nodded. His fingers wrapped around Marisa’s, holding on tight. “We’ll have a look first thing in the morning.”

M
ARISA WALKED BESIDE
Jessica through the orchard the next morning. Ahead of them, Trey and Link wore hiking boots and carried ropes looped over their shoulders.

She glanced at Jessica’s somber expression. “Is this dangerous?” She kept her voice low, not wanting Link to hear.

“Not really, as long as they’re careful.” Geneva, close behind them, answered. “I still wish they’d let me bring the dog. He may be old, but he’d sound the alert if there are any snakes around.”

There was something else to worry about. “Maybe we should have called Adam and let him handle this.”

“If we had, the news would have been all over the township in about a minute.” Jessica’s forehead wrinkled, and Marisa realized that she was worried, too. “Trey didn’t want a stampede of people in here until we know for sure if…”

She let that trail off, but Marisa knew what she’d intended to say.

“If my mother’s body is there. That’s what we’re all thinking, isn’t it?”

Jessica shook her head. “The rational part of me says we’re building a lot on something that might be pure coincidence.”

“But it all fits,” Geneva said. “Allen’s comments in his journal, his obvious fear and anguish over something, the tile Link found, the date of the rock slide.”

“Not really evidence.” Jessica’s lawyer’s outlook was evident. “But, yes, we have to look into it.”

They fell silent. Marisa suspected that each of the other women was preoccupied with her own worries over where this was taking them, as she was. If they found nothing, that would simply be another dead end in a series of dead ends.

And if they did find what they all so obviously feared, she’d be plunged into grief and confronted with ever more serious problems.
Where are you, Dad? Oh, Lord, I’m so worried about him. Please…

But did she really want to pray that she’d hear from him? She didn’t have much confidence in her ability to keep that from the police, and what would happen then?

The woods closed around them, and they were forced into single file. The trees were alive with birdsong and movement, seeming to clash with the fear that hung over her. From what she remembered of that earlier trip into the woods, it wasn’t far to the quarry path. Her chest tightened, as if her heart were being compressed. They’d know. Before long, they would know.

Link’s tension was evident in every move he made.

He gestured toward the fallen log where she’d been sketching the day the shots were fired. Showing Trey the spot, she supposed. She expected to feel that fear
again, but her apprehension was completely absorbed by what they’d find at the end of this trek.

“I’ve never seen the quarry,” Jessica said. “Trey said he’d bring me up here sometime this fall, but I didn’t expect it to be under these circumstances.” She touched Marisa’s hand lightly. “I’m sorry. I can imagine what you must be feeling.”

“For the most part, I just want to know. No matter how bad it is, knowing is better than wondering.”