The Search (10 page)

With some dismay, she realized her hands were shaking. She could never have imagined anyone would think she was capable of doing such a thing.

She paused, half waiting for him to rush to her defense. Half waiting for him to tell her that of course no one would ever think she could harm another person. After all, she was a nurturing sort.

But the sheriff didn't respond. Only continued to scribble on his notepad.

Panic engulfed her. “Sheriff Kramer, you believe me, don'tcha?” Tension infused her voice as she rushed on. “You agree that I could never harm Perry. You agree that I'm not capable of hurting him. Right?”

Instead of nodding he looked directly at her. “Besides you wanting to go home . . . what did you and Perry talk about? Do you remember?”

Unfortunately, she remembered every bit of their conversation so clearly it could have been stamped into her head. “Perry, he wanted me to change. And to think about moving.”

Sheriff Kramer, busy writing, stopped. “Change, how?”

“He wanted me to leave the order. He wanted me to change who I was,” she explained in a rush. “Perry wanted me to become English and follow him to wherever he wanted to go.” Of course, she'd realized that those things were just the beginning. She knew that if she couldn't change to suit his new life, she'd lose him.

“And what did you say when he asked you to change? To leave Crittenden County?”

“I told him I didn't want to leave. And that I didn't want to become English,” she confessed. “I said that I liked who I was, and that I had thought he'd liked me, too.”

Though she was talking to the sheriff and not a girlfriend, she finally voiced the private worries she'd been harboring. “Why did he ask me to court him if he didn't like who I was in the first place? It makes no sense.”

Sheriff Kramer crossed his legs.

She knew he was waiting. “I told Perry that I couldn't move. I told him that I loved my bed-and-breakfast and was hoping it would become a success.”

“And Perry, did he understand your reasons?”

She shook her head slowly. Even now his dismissal of everything that was important to her stung like a slap in the face. “Not at all. He said it was destined for failure. That no tourists would come to Crittenden County.”

“Ah.”

Frannie watched him pull the cap off the pen and scribble more on his paper. And the butterflies got worse in her stomach. She didn't want to remember any more. She wanted to pretend that the rest of what had happened could be erased.

As she continued to hesitate, he eyed her. “And then what happened, Frannie? After he asked you to change, after you told him you wanted to leave . . . what happened?”

He wanted answers. She knew she had two choices. She could either tell the complete truth—tell Sheriff Kramer about the sunglasses that Perry gave her, tell how she'd tossed them into the woods because she'd been hurt and confused.

Or she could tell only half of the truth. Say that she ran.

If she told the full story, it would undoubtedly bring more questions. Questions about where he got the sunglasses, about the
Englischers
he was spending time with who she knew nothing about. If she never mentioned throwing the sunglasses or running into Jacob Schrock . . . if she said she just went home, perhaps Sheriff Kramer would be satisfied and leave. Leave her in peace. Maybe then she wouldn't have to think about the whole incident anymore.

Maybe then she could finally move on. And not have a smidge of guilt.

There really wasn't a choice.

“Then what happened?” she repeated, attempting to smile. “Oh, nothing much. After I told him I wouldn't change and wouldn't move, he was angry and upset. So I turned away and ran.”

He leaned forward. “And what did he do? Did he follow?”

“I don't know what he did, Sheriff. I never looked back.” Her voice had been even and calm. It almost sounded truthful, even to her ears.

He looked at her sharply. “You are sure that is everything that happened?”

“Yes, Sheriff. That is all,” she lied. No longer caring if she was going to get into trouble later for lying. No longer caring what Sheriff Kramer thought of her anymore.

All that mattered right that minute was that she find a way to get the sheriff to leave her room. Even sitting by herself in a beige hospital room would be better than remembering the look on Perry's face when she'd tossed those sunglasses into the woods.

Two minutes later, he fulfilled her wish and got to his feet. “If you happen to remember anything else, use that card I gave you and call me. Or you could tell Luke, too.” Without waiting for her response, he shuffled out, his manner looking exhausted.

He didn't even say goodbye.

It left her unsettled and anxious, worse than she'd felt after Micah had left earlier.

Oh, how she just wanted to go home and return to her regular routine. She wanted to wait on guests at the inn and pretend that nothing mattered except cleaning rooms, making coffee, organizing the linen closets.

Five minutes after the curtains parted and his footsteps faded away, Frannie could still feel the sting of unshed tears in her eyes, her nose. A puddle welled in her good eye, and she absently wondered if crying would hurt her injured one. She didn't care—there was nothing she could to stop the tears from spilling over.

She cried softly, hoping all the while that the patient on the other side of the curtain had been asleep and hadn't heard her conversation with Mose. Or at the very least, wouldn't comment on it if she had.

Chapter 12

“This would be a better world if everyone were as good as he wished his neighbor was.”

A
ARON
S
CHROCK

I
was beginning to think you were determined to stay a stranger. Staying away ain't no way to get to know people,” Mr. Schrock chided when Luke wandered into the family store just minutes before closing.

The comment was said in jest, but the words caught Luke off guard. His first days in Crittenden County had been difficult. No one had spoken to him—in fact most had gone out of their way to avoid him. But little by little, folks were starting to warm up. Now it even seemed that some folks were determined for him to become a part of the community, at least for a little while.

“I never wanted to be a stranger here,” Luke said. “I just thought it would be a good idea if I waited a while in between visits.”

“And why is that?”

“Because,” he quipped, looking around the store, “I have learned that you never know what will pop out from the ceiling or run across my feet when I visit your store!”

“Come now, things aren't that bad.”

“You've got more going on in this place than an amusement park. I needed to give myself some time for my heart to recover.” He gave an exaggerated wince. “A man can only take so much, you know.”

Rocking back on his heels, Mr. Schrock chuckled. “I guess some men are more able to handle an exciting life than others.”

“Without a doubt.” Thinking about what the other men on his squad would think about his efforts to fit in, Luke shook his head. He'd only been in Marion three weeks, but he'd noticed changes in his habits and demeanor. He was listening more to his heart and his internal clock. Rising earlier without the need for an alarm, and ending his days earlier. When the sky darkened and the streets turned still, he found himself looking forward to a stretch of peace and quiet.

He was making friends, too—or at least the first steps of friendship—in the most unlikely places. Never would he have imagined he'd feel so relaxed around an Amish owner of the most unusual general store in the state.

He wasn't sure how he should feel about these changes. He didn't belong here—his life was in the city. But it felt oddly like he was laying down roots. It was unsettling, but only because he didn't seem to mind.

“So, how are the guinea pigs doing? Any more of them on the loose?”

“They're all sold, though no thanks to them. One of 'em in particular seemed determined to remain hidden. Every time we tried to catch the fellow, he'd dart away. Finally had to move one of the shelves, then chase the rascal until Walker could grab him.”

Luke could only imagine what the man had thought of that chore. “Good thing it worked.”

“Oh, for sure.” He grunted. “Wife was getting right tired of that critter, I'll tell you that.”

“I can't say I blame the little guy all that much. Being free does have a certain appeal, I suppose.”

“So does having a home,” Mr. Schrock replied. “Those little pigs should have realized that they were going to good homes. If they'd been calmer and less pesky, they could have lived like kings.” A line formed between his brows. “You know what they say? . . . ‘Don't grumble because you don't have what you want, be thankful you don't get what you deserve.' ”

Amused by both Mr. Schrock's latest bit of Amish wisdom, and the idea of a wayward guinea pig living like a king, Luke said, “How was the little guy when you finally caught up with him?”

“Hungry as a boar. He 'bout bit Walker's finger off when he captured him. That boy needed a good-sized bandage.” Mr. Schrock grimaced at the memory as he rested his elbows on the counter. “Now, what can I help you with? Need some cottage cheese, by chance?”

Cottage cheese? “No. Uh, not today. Actually, I was hoping I might have a word with Jacob.”

Mr. Schrock straightened, all traces of amusement and congeniality vanishing in a heartbeat. “My son?”

“Yes,” Luke said smoothly. “Is he here? I heard he returned from his trip.”

“
Jah. Jah
. . . he's back.”

Though he got his answer, Luke noticed he wasn't getting much else. The warm bond that had been floating between them dissipated like a cold wind. Now Mr. Schrock was in full protective-parent mode.

It didn't matter if a man's child was six, twenty-six, or forty-six. If a detective was asking about him, men clammed up. Right before Luke's eyes, Mr. Schrock straightened and turned statuelike. Instead of offering more information, he eyed Luke apprehensively.

Pushing aside a momentary punch of hurt, Luke reminded himself that he'd been foolish to think that he'd made a real connection with the man. With this town.

So he pulled out years of experience and mirrored the older man's expression. Becoming still, pretending he didn't notice what had just happened between them.

“So, where's Jacob been? I'm afraid I never did hear that.”

“He was just out working,” Mr. Schrock said quickly. “He was doing some work in Lexington. Important work.”

“Important?”

Mr. Schrock's chin raised. “Store business.”

“Ah. Right.” Luke smiled tightly as he realized that he'd just been fed a line. “Where is he now?”

“This minute?”

“Yes, sir. This minute.”

“He's in the back.” After a pause, Mr. Schrock said, “Would you like to talk with him up here? Or out in the parking lot like you did with Walker?” His eyes brightened. “Or how about I just tell him that you want to see him later on. Maybe tomorrow?”

A sixth sense told Luke that he had better not give the man any time to speak privately with his son. “If you don't mind, I'll follow you to the back and ask Jacob where he'd like to talk.”

“That's not necessary.”

“I'm afraid it is.” Stepping forward, Luke motioned Mr. Schrock on with a wave of his hand. “Go on, Mr. Schrock. I'll follow you.” He kept his voice pleasant. But he'd had enough of secrecy and half-truths.

He had a job to do and a promise to keep to Mose. Therefore, he stood unwavering as Mr. Schrock reluctantly started walking toward the back.

They passed through rows of shelves jam-packed with candies and cans and handmade clocks and baskets, through a brightly painted white door, and into a jumbled storeroom loaded with so much merchandise that it made the front of the store look almost empty.

In the midst of the clutter were two desks and three or four old Adirondack chairs in various stages of disrepair.

A young man who looked to be about twenty years old was sitting in one of them. He looked up from the catalog he was reading when they entered.

His father walked to his side. “Jacob, this here is Detective Reynolds. He's in town to help figure out who killed Perry. He wants to speak with you.”

Jacob stood up. “All right.”

Luke's first impression of the young man was that he looked nothing like his father. Neither his eyes, his jaw, or even his manner mirrored his dad. Where Aaron Schrock reminded one slightly of an elf, Jacob was taller and his shoulders broader. He had dark hair and dark, heavily lashed eyes. In addition, he seemed to have a strong confidence that far surpassed his father's.

With a look of interest, not wariness, he walked forward.

Luke put out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Jacob. I'm Luke Reynolds.”

“He's from the city,” Mr. Schrock interjected. “From Cincinnati.”

Jacob shook Luke's hand. “I've heard you were in town. So, you're here investigating Perry's death?”

Luke nodded. “That's right. I'd like to talk to you for a bit, Jacob.”

“All right.”

Mr. Schrock moved closer to his son. “Detective, I think it would be better if Jacob came to see you tomorrow. He's just in now, you know. Tired, too. Tomorrow, he'll be more rested.”

Jacob's cheeks flushed red. “I'm fine. I can meet with you now, Detective. It's no trouble at all.”

Mr. Schrock frowned. “But Jacob—”

“No sense in waitin', it won't be easier tomorrow.” Pointing to a narrow corridor with a steel door at the end of it, he said to Luke, “We've got a pen of puppies outside in the shade. I need to feed them and give them a little exercise. Do you mind if we talk there?”

Puppies on the loose sounded like a prescription for distraction. The last thing he needed was to have Jacob's attention diverted now that he finally was able to meet with him face-to-face. “Will you be able to talk outside?”

“Yeah.” With a meaningful look at his father, Jacob headed toward the door. “I promise, out here it will be just the two of us. And the puppies are no trouble.” He smiled for a moment. “Only a little rambunctious.”

Still in protective mode, Mr. Schrock stepped forward as if to block Luke's way. “Jacob—”

Jacob turned around. “Daed, I'm not a child. I've got things handled. Now, go on up to the front before someone comes in and thinks no one works here.”

Only when his father turned and walked back to the front of the store did Jacob continue on his way.