Murder in Plain Sight (7 page)

Geneva took the plate from her hands. “Not at all. Becky and I have it under control.” She nodded toward the young girl in Amish dress who’d been helping her in the kitchen. “Go on, now.” She made shooing motions. “I’m sure you want to chat with the others.”

Chat? Well, she could talk to Trey, she supposed, but there was no guarantee that wouldn’t end in an argument. The men had already gone into the living room, so she followed them.

Trey and Leo were deep in conversation in one corner of the room, while Bobby Stephens stared absently out the French doors. Geneva had said that Bobby “found” her for the case. Maybe this was her opportunity to find out exactly how they’d hit upon using her.

At her approach, he gave her a tentative smile. “Just admiring Geneva’s garden.” He nodded at the flower beds beyond the French doors.

“Lovely,” she agreed. “I gather you’re good friends with the Morgan family.”

He gave an odd shrug that seemed to move only one shoulder. “You could say that. I work for them, of course, but I like to think our relationship goes deeper than that. If it hadn’t been for Trey, I doubt I’d have survived high school.”

“Really?” She suspected he wanted to tell her that story, or he wouldn’t have brought it up.

He nodded. “Back then I was small for my age and too smart for my own good. Born to be picked on, I guess.”

“Not by Trey?”

He looked shocked. “Of course not. He’s not that kind of person. He noticed, you see. No one else did, but Trey noticed. He put a stop to it. And we’ve been friends ever since.”

It was the sort of thing Trey would do, she supposed. His urge to take care of people extended beyond his mother. Jessica might find it annoying, but Bobby obviously hadn’t.

“You work for Morgan Enterprises, I understand?” She made it a question. She’d intended to find out a little more about the Morgan businesses but hadn’t been able to fit that into her day.

“Financial vice president,” he said, a trace of
pride in his voice. “Trey is CEO, of course. It’s a private corporation, solely owned by the family.”

“Trey mentioned that you do a good bit of business in real estate.” Here was a chance to check up on that aspect of Trey’s story about the barn, at least.

Bobby nodded. “That was a big interest of Trey’s father. He was concerned that farmland would be gobbled up by careless developers, so he started buying up tracts years ago as they came on the market. Some have been sold to farmers, others held for future development. He wasn’t opposed to development, you see.” Bobby sounded very earnest. “He just wanted to be sure it was done in the right way.”

“Now it’s all up to Trey, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s what he intended to do all his life. He probably didn’t really need an MBA from Wharton to handle the company, but it was what he wanted. And what his father wanted for him, too.”

Bobby’s words gave her a few more pieces to the puzzle of who Trey Morgan was. But she didn’t want to give the impression she was pumping him about Trey. “I understand I have you to thank for hiring me for this case.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Not exactly. I mean, Geneva was insistent that I hire a Philadelphia firm. I was familiar with Henderson, Dawes and Henderson from some estate work they’d handled, so I called. I suppose they felt you were the best person for the job.”

“I see.” Everyone seemed to have a different version of this story. Still, Bobby was the one who’d made the call, so he should know. “Well, thank you anyway. I guess you’re still indirectly responsible.”

His smile was deprecating, as if to say he had done nothing. “How is the case shaping up, or shouldn’t I ask? I can’t help but be interested.”

He wasn’t shouting angrily at her, but his avid expression when he asked about the case repelled her as much as those people at the county jail. “I’m afraid I really can’t talk about it.”

“Well, no. I suppose not. I guess you’ll be looking for a plea bargain, under the circumstances.”

She pasted a smile on her face. “As I said, I can’t discuss it. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She took a step back, turned and nearly walked into Trey.

J
ESSICA LOOKED,
Trey decided, as if she needed to be rescued from Bobby, who tended to go on and on
about the business until people’s eyes glazed over. He put out a hand to steady her when she wobbled a bit on those high heels she insisted on wearing. She didn’t need it, probably, but…

But what was he thinking? The last thing he should do was admit attraction to this woman.

He managed a noncommittal smile. “I hate to steal you away from Bobby, but I’d like a private word.”

“Sure, sure.” Bobby ran a hand over his hair, as if it needed taming. It didn’t. “I’ll just…” He let the sentence die out and backed away.

Jessica treated him to a frowning look. “That wasn’t very polite.”

“Bobby doesn’t mind.” He opened the French door that led out onto the patio. “Let’s take a closer look at the garden.”

She stared at him for a moment, and he thought she’d argue. Then, with a short nod, she stepped out onto the flagstones. He closed the door, and the cool evening enveloped them.

“My mother’s roses are at their best right now.” He ushered her a few more steps away from the door, intent on not being overheard.

“Beautiful.” She cupped a yellow bloom in
her hand, bending to smell it. “What’s this one called?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Well, then, suppose we stop pretending you brought me out here to admire the rose garden.” She straightened, her eyes challenging him. “What do you want?”

All right, no small talk. “Did you see the local newspaper today?”

“Not today.” She looked slightly confused, as if that wasn’t what she’d expected.

He handed her the paper he had clutched in one fist, shaking it out. “Take a look.” He didn’t want to see it again himself. He’d rather forget it, but he couldn’t.

Jessica held the paper up to catch the light that filtered out from the living room. “You and your mother with Thomas’s parents, arriving at the courthouse. I’d have expected them to use one of Thomas.”

Irritation filled him at Jessica’s cool reaction. “This is exactly what I was afraid of—something that ties my mother publicly to this business.”

Jessica tossed the paper onto the garden bench. “How, exactly, am I supposed to control what the newspaper prints?”

Common sense said she was right. It didn’t help his disposition. “You can’t. I just—”

“You just wanted to blame somebody, and I was handy.”

He gritted his teeth. “If you hadn’t taken the case, my mother wouldn’t be involved.”

“Do you really think that? Judging by the persistence I’ve seen in her, I doubt she’d let something like that stop her.” Her lips curved. “I couldn’t even turn her down for supper tonight.”

“Did you want to?” His annoyance was slipping away. Stupid to hang on to it, when he knew it made no rational sense.

“I was beat, to tell the truth.” She sat down on the bench, as if to illustrate the point. “But tonight’s dinner was far better than anything I’d have gotten in the coffee shop at the Willow Brook Motel.”

“I told you so.” He sat down next to her. “But I know what you mean about my mother. When she’s set her heart on something, she’s relentless. Like water on stone.”

“That’s not a bad quality.” She gestured toward the newspaper. “I don’t know much about small country places, but I can’t imagine anyone being angry with your mother for supporting those poor parents.”

“I couldn’t imagine anyone slashing your tires, either, but it happened.”

“Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder at the lengthening shadows on the lawn and shivered a little. “It seems out of place here, but I guess that kind of irrational violence can happen anywhere.”

“A couple of years ago, I’d have said this place was a last refuge of peace.” He stopped, wishing he hadn’t said it. Jessica didn’t need to see that far into him—into the terrible riddle of his father’s suicide. She just needed to finish her work as quietly as possible and get out of here.

“If you’re that upset at the photo in the paper, why did you take Thomas’s parents to the courthouse? For that matter, why did you jump into helping when you heard about the arraignment? You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.” He said the words first and then thought about them, but they were true. He’d had to. Everything about his upbringing had prepared him for that. “I mean, I knew my mother would want to take Thomas’s parents, and I certainly wasn’t going to let her go alone.”

“Is that all there was to it?” She linked her
hands around her knee, seeming ready to stay there indefinitely.

“I suppose not,” he admitted. “Do your friends enjoy being cross-examined about their motives?”

“My friends…” She stopped. “My private life has nothing to do with this.”

“Sorry,” he said. “My mother did teach me not to ask personal questions. I just forgot for a moment.”

She shrugged, glancing over her shoulder again. “Forget it. If that’s all…”

“Not quite.” He said the words reluctantly. He didn’t want to say them at all, but he’d promised. “Aaron and Molly Esch sent over a message that they’re ready to talk with you anytime. I said I’d take you over there tomorrow.” She’d think he was arranging things without asking again. “Is that okay with you?” he added, hoping to avert an explosion.

“I suppose so,” she said slowly. For once, she didn’t seem to take offense. “I probably should have gone to see them today. They must have been confused about the arraignment.”

“Yes. I tried to reassure them, but it’ll come better from you.”

“At the risk of saying something personal, you
seem to be involving yourself even more. For my client’s sake, I appreciate it, but if you’re hoping to influence Thomas’s parents in some way affecting the case—”

“Of course not.” He snapped the answer, but in his heart he knew he wasn’t really annoyed with her but with the situation. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand this, but the Morgan family has always looked out for people around here.”

Her eyebrows lifted again, making him aware of just how laserlike those blue eyes could be, even in the dusk. “Like a feudal lord?”

His jaw tightened. “Like a friend. To the Amish especially. My father used to say that the Amish may not always realize it, but they need English friends. Thomas’s family is totally unprepared to cope with his trial, so it’s my responsibility to help them.”

He waited. If she had a smart remark for that…

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she put her hand on his arm. He seemed to feel that touch running along his skin, carrying warmth, setting his mind spinning. Her eyes widened. Darkened. For an instant she leaned toward him, and the air sizzled.

She snatched her hand away as if she’d touched a hot stove. “I…I’m glad. I mean, that you’ll go with me to see Thomas’s parents. That will be very helpful.” She rose, as if she couldn’t wait to put some space between them. “Maybe we should go inside.”

Maybe they should. And maybe he should stop putting himself in situations where he was alone with her.

W
HAT WAS WRONG WITH HER?
Jessica kept a smile on her face as she said goodbye to everyone, but once she got into her car and started back toward the lane, the expression slid away.

How could she have let that happen? She took a deep breath and focused on the turn to the two-lane blacktop road. The Morgan place was several miles from the village of Springville, and the road wasn’t much traveled, it seemed. No other cars came along to distract her with their lights. She was alone, and at the moment that gave her too much time to think.

She tried telling herself that nothing had happened. Or that, if there had been some spark when she touched Trey, it had been entirely on her side, and he hadn’t noticed a thing.

Wrong, said the judicial little voice at the back of her mind. Wrong on all counts.

It had happened, and it hadn’t been just her. Trey
had most definitely noticed it, too. When she’d scrambled to her feet and headed into the house, she’d seen the same stunned expression on his face that must have been on hers.

She took another breath, blew it out on a long exhale and tried to relax tense muscles. All right, face it. There had been a spark of attraction between them. A very strong spark. More like a flare gun.

For the most part, she kept her relationships on the light side, going out casually with people who were as wedded to their jobs as she was. People who would understand.

Not that she had any intention of letting something develop with Trey. Trey was still just as annoying, just as bossy, just as sure he was right as he’d been before.

She couldn’t be attracted to him, for more reasons that she could enumerate. For one thing—

A deer bounded across the road in front of her, and she slammed on the brakes, catching a glimpse of the white tail as it vanished into the cornfield on the opposite side of the road. Her heart pounded with the suddenness of the animal’s appearance, coming out of the dark and vanishing just as quickly.

She gripped the steering wheel and drove more slowly, eyes alert for movement on the berm of the road. As for Trey…she learned when she was just a kid that trusting someone with her heart wasn’t wise or safe. She’d figured that out the day her father shipped her off to boarding school as if she were an inconvenient package, separating her from the woman who’d been the only mother figure she’d ever know. She’d learned to control her emotions, not let her emotions control her.

Sure, she thought about marrying someday. Having a family. But she wouldn’t approach that on the basis most people did. She’d use her mind, not just her heart.

She’d file that bit of attraction to Trey under the category of “Foolish Mistakes” and concentrate on the case.

She fished her cell phone out of her bag and checked for messages. None, but she’d promised to give Sara a call tonight. She almost pushed the button but dropped the cell phone on the seat instead. All she’d need was to have her attention distracted when another deer decided to wander onto the road. Or a skunk. Or a rhinoceros. Who knew what kind of wildlife they had around here?

The blackness all around her was beginning to
make her nervous. She hadn’t seen another light in miles, only the narrow ribbon of blacktop, shining as far as her headlights reached.

She switched on the radio, found nothing but hard rock and country, and switched it back off again. She must be almost to Springville. She just couldn’t see the lights of the small town for the black bulk of the hillside.

Even as she thought that, a pair of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror. The car accelerated, gaining on her quickly. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Was that idiot going to pass on this winding road? To be fair, it might be perfectly familiar to him. He could be fuming at the sedate thirty-five she was going.

She steered closer to the edge of the road, giving him more passing room, but apparently that wasn’t his intention. He slowed about two car lengths behind her, keeping pace with her.

That was normal. That was what any safe driver would do. But for some reason the pair of lights, glaring at her from her mirror in the midst of all that darkness, began to get on her nerves.

Stupid, she scolded herself.
You’re just not used to the country, that’s all. Get you away from streetlights and traffic signals, and you panic.

The stern lecture settled her nerves, but she was still glad when she rounded the flank of the hillside and the lights of Springville came into view. Once she got a bit closer, there’d be enough light to see the car behind her.

But that wasn’t to be. The car turned off at the next intersection. All she could say for sure was that it was a car, not a truck, and it was dark in color.

The car didn’t mean anything, any more than that ridiculous attraction she’d felt for Trey meant anything.

She drove down Springville’s main street, turned in at the sign for the Willow Brook Motel and drove around to the back toward her unit. The motel must be full tonight. Most of the spaces were taken, and a laundry truck took up the one in front of her unit.

Annoyed, she went around the first rank of cars in the lot, finally finding a space two rows back. She slid out, locked the car and headed for the motel.

Her briefcase—she’d left it in the trunk. Annoyed with herself, she stopped—and heard an echo of her step, as if someone else were in the lot, someone who stopped when she did.

Nonsense, she told herself briskly. An image of the knife stuck in her tire slid unpleasantly into her mind, like a snake slithering out from beneath a rock.

She would not let that vandalism turn her into a basket case. She walked quickly back to the car, took the briefcase from the trunk and slammed the lid defiantly.

Several large motor homes were parked in the middle row of the lot. Why would someone want to stay at the Willow Brook Motel when his or her home on wheels had all the modern conveniences? Maybe RV drivers got the urge to spread out once in a while. She walked between two of them, their high sides forming a tunnel, and heard it again.

It wasn’t an echo. Footsteps. Distinct footsteps, keeping level with her on the far side of the motor home. A chill slithered down her back. Maybe it was nothing, but it paid to take precautions, especially after the incident with her tires. If someone would slash her tires, what might he do to her?

She reached into the pocket of her bag where her cell phone lived. Her fingers groped fruitlessly, and her stomach cramped. The phone wasn’t there. It was on the seat in the car, where she’d dropped it.

Going back for it wasn’t an option, not when she was aware of the person on the far side of the motor home. His footsteps had stopped when hers did, and she could almost imagine that she heard him breathing.

She pulled the key card from her bag, making sure she had it turned in the right direction. Then, before she could scare herself into immobility, she started walking again. When she stepped into the open, the other person would, too. She’d see that it was someone perfectly innocent, some late traveler headed for his or her room.

But when she stepped into the lane, the other person didn’t. He stayed where he was, invisible in the shadow of the vehicle.

Then the shadow moved, and panic swept over her. She spun and ran for her room, unable to hear anyone for the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears, too breathless to cry out. She reached the door, shoved the key card in and stumbled inside.

She slammed the door and shoved the bolt home. She could breathe. Had she just made a complete idiot of herself? Probably.

Not turning the lights on, she sidled to the window and moved the drape just enough to peer out. If she’d imagined this…but she hadn’t. Beside
the motor home she saw a shadow shift, detach itself and then move backward, disappearing into the darker shadows beyond.

S
HE HADN’T CALLED
the police, and Jessica was still wondering whether that decision had been the right one the next morning. They’d have come, but even after the incident with her tires, how seriously would they have taken her account?

Someone followed you in the parking lot, Ms. Langdon? Can you describe that person? Oh, all you saw was a shadow.

She could imagine the looks they’d exchange over that. No, she’d done the right thing. Maybe it had been nothing more than someone else going to his or her room.

She’d called Sara instead, and Sara’s common sense had reassured her. Jessica frowned. She’d intended to ask Sara to do a little research for her on past cases involving the Amish, but she’d forgotten after that episode in the parking lot. She’d have to try to catch up with her later.

Trey’s truck pulled up, and she hurried out to meet him, double-checking to be sure the door locked behind her. She’d said she could drive herself to this meeting with Thomas’s parents, but Trey
and his mother between them had battered down all her arguments. Besides, she didn’t doubt that the Esch family would talk more freely with him there.

“Good morning.” She slid in quickly, circumventing his move to get out and open the door for her. “You’re right on time.”

“My father taught me to be punctual.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And my mother taught me to open a door for a lady.”

“I’m perfectly capable of opening a truck door,” she said.

She couldn’t keep from glancing toward the spot where she’d realized someone was there, keeping step with her in the darkness. But it wasn’t dark now, and the motor homes had vanished, their drivers off on their travels, presumably.

She turned back around in her seat, feeling Trey’s gaze on her. She didn’t intend to tell him, any more than she’d told the police, but for a completely different set of reasons.

Trey might believe her. And if he did…well, he’d jump in and try to take control, of course. She’d learned that much about him already. After that treacherous moment of weakness she’d felt with him last night, she had to keep her guard up.

“Is something wrong?” Trey frowned as he pulled out onto the street from the parking lot. “You look as if you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

She hadn’t. “I’m fine.”

She would not appear weak in front of him. She’d started learning self-reliance the day she’d gone, a weeping eight-year-old, to boarding school. She wasn’t going to regress now.

“You sure?” She could almost feel his gaze probing.

“Positive.” She managed a smile. “Is it far to the Esch place?”

“Just a couple of miles down the road from our house.” He didn’t sound convinced, but at least he’d accepted her answer.

“Any words of wisdom about dealing with these people?”

He shot her a cold look. “First off, don’t say ‘these people’ in that condescending way.”

“I didn’t mean—I don’t look down on them. I just don’t understand them.”

“Amish aren’t all the same.” He sounded exasperated with her. Or annoyed. “They may dress alike and look alike, but they’re individuals. Aaron, Thomas’s father, has always been pretty strict with him, maybe because Thomas is the oldest child.
Molly, his mother, well, I’d say she dotes on him a bit, maybe for the same reason.”

She was tempted to ask if the same was true between him and his parents, but she didn’t quite dare.

“There are seven younger children.”

“Seven?” she murmured.

He grinned. “The Amish tend to have big families. I’m not sure how many of them you’ll meet today. Aaron and Molly are trying to protect the younger ones from this. Oh, and Amos Long will be there. He’s the bishop of the local congregation.”

That news landed on her with a thud. “After our experience with the minister, I don’t think I want a bishop mixed up in this case. It’s complicated enough as it is.”

“Trust me, you do want Bishop Amos involved. Without his urging, I doubt Aaron would even have agreed to talk with you. Aaron’s pretty hidebound, and the Amish don’t get involved with the law.”

She kept hearing that, and it was starting to exasperate her. “I appreciate the bishop’s influence, but in my experience, religion and the courtroom don’t mix well.”

“You can’t separate the Amish from their religion.” Trey’s expression was that of someone
pushing a rock up a steep hill—the rock in this case being her ignorance of Amish culture, she supposed. “They are Amish because of what they believe.”

“Even so—”

“Look, I’m not saying this will come into the case.” His tone said exactly the opposite. “But you’d do well to accept any help the bishop offers.” He made the turn onto Dale Road. “Not far now.”

He’d be relieved to be out of her company—that much was clear from his voice. She was tempted to feel the same, except for one thing. Right at the moment she needed Trey.

He turned into a rough gravel lane leading between two fields. Brown-and-white cows looked up curiously as the vehicle passed then lowered their heads to continue munching.

Trey stopped the truck behind a gray Amish buggy. Maybe alerted by the dust they’d raised coming down the lane, a small group stood on the front porch. Motionless, their faces impassive, they waited.

Swallowing the qualms she felt, Jessica slid from the car. She hesitated at the edge of the grass until Trey took her arm and propelled her forward.

“Jessica, you remember Aaron Esch, Thomas’s
father, and Molly, his mother. This is Bishop Amos Long. That’s Elizabeth, Thomas’s sister. Everyone, this is Jessica Langdon.”

Thomas’s mother nodded, her face as pale and strained as it had been in the courtroom. His father stood as if carved out of stone. The sister, who must have been about fifteen or so, gave her a tentative smile.

Only the bishop, his face widening into a smile, came forward, extending his hand.

Jessica shook hands, surprised by the strength of his grip. The bishop had to be well up in years, with a weathered, lined face and an impressively long white beard, but the lively curiosity in his eyes belied his age.

“Wilcom, Jessica. Wilcom. You are the lawyer who is going to help our Thomas.”

“I’m trying my best, sir.” She wasn’t sure how one addressed an Amish bishop, but that seemed a safe choice. Obviously, he didn’t share the minister’s opinion of her involvement.