The Search (14 page)

“And?”

Unable to say the truth, unable to mention the letter she'd found in Perry's bedside table, Deborah shrugged and lied yet again. “And then? And then I try my best to blame no one at all.”

Seemingly satisfied, Abby forked another piece of pie.

And Deborah wondered if she was becoming more and more like her brother with every day.

Chapter 17

“I used to know the name of just about every person in Crittenden County . . . until Perry started hanging around those men from the city. Then I was glad some folks were strangers.”

W
ALKER
A
NDERSON

T
here was something wrong with Beth.

From the moment Frannie had walked in and had taken a good look at her friend's expression, she'd known something was off. Beth's expression was distant, and her questions and comments awkward.

It was if they were strangers—or as if Beth was walking through a dark cloud.

Whatever the problem was, Frannie was determined to get to the bottom of it.

But first, she needed rest. Her eyes were so tired that she was struggling to keep them open. As soon as she had made a wonderful cup of hot tea, she went to bed and lay down. Moments later her eyes drifted closed and she was settled into the bed for a quick nap.

It happened to last for two hours.

When she woke up, Frannie went in search of her friend. She discovered Beth sitting in one of the uncomfortable ladder-back chairs lining the front parlor's walls. Beth was sitting perfectly still, staring hard at the front door. So intently, in fact, that she jumped when Frannie entered the room.

“Bethy, are you okay?” she asked.

“I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Beth still hadn't moved a muscle. “For starters, you're sitting in front of the door like a beagle needing to be let out,” she teased.

Beth rolled her eyes. “I wasn't staring at the door.”

Still attempting to discover the source of her discomfort, Frannie said, “It's okay with me if you were . . . are you waiting on someone?”

“Not at all,” she said quickly. “Who would I be looking for, anyway?”

“I'm not sure,” she said slowly. “But I've never seen you look so tense or worried, Beth.” Racking her brain, she said, “Did something go wrong with the inn that you're worried about telling me?”

Beth bit her lip. For a moment, Frannie was sure she was going to come clean, to tell her that a sink was clogged, or she'd messed up a bill, or had forgotten a reservation. But instead, Beth stoically remained silent.

“Beth,” she said kindly, “Just so you know . . . if something did happen, I would never get upset. I've made a lot of mistakes myself—so many, that I've learned that nothing is so bad that it can't be fixed.”

“I haven't done anything wrong, Frannie.”

Well, that settled it. The inn might be running smoothly, but everything was certainly not all right. Frannie knew it in her bones as surely as she knew she'd always have a scar near her eye.

However, it looked like Beth was intent on keeping whatever was bothering her a secret, too. And though Frannie couldn't understand why, and because she owed Beth so much, she attempted to be a little more joyful and carefree than she felt. “Do you know where my hand mirror is?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see my face, of course.”

Something clicked in Beth's expression and she stood up abruptly. “I don't think seeing your face would be a good idea.”

“No one at the hospital would let me see just how bad the damage is. It's time, I think. Go find me a mirror, would you?”

She hesitated, glancing at the door again warily. Like she was afraid it was about to blow open or something.

“Please, Beth?”

“Oh,
jah.
Sure.” Moments later, she returned with the mirror and with obvious reluctance, handed it to Frannie.

She held it up and gasped—all her worries and concerns about Beth and her secrets vanishing the moment she saw the great many bandages and black stitches covering her face. And the bruises from the surgery.

“I look like a pincushion!” Frannie exclaimed, unable to temper herself. “A giant pincushion with scary black thread sticking out of it.” She hated to sound so sad and sorry for herself, but the reality was worse than her imaginings.

She hated to feel so vain, but she now was certain that she would never look like her old self again. Forever, she would be marked with red lines—a constant reminder of a silly accident that could have been prevented.

Oh, but she couldn't believe that Luke had never once told her how ugly she was!

Feelings for him warred. She felt grateful that he'd been so thoughtful to not say a word about her wounds, but dismayed that he'd been able to hide the damage so well.

Or . . . maybe he'd never thought she was pretty in the first place? If that had been the case, then perhaps he hadn't even seen her cuts as anything to be concerned about.

“Come, now, ” Beth said with a smile. “You look nothing like a pincushion. More like a scary doll that's been mended too many times.”

Leave it to Beth to pull her out of her pity party and coax a smile! Tilting her head from one side to the other, she had to agree with the doll comparison. Her face did indeed look like it had been chewed on and then hastily repaired. “I suppose I do kind of look like a torn-up doll destined for the rag bin,” she grudgingly said. Casting a look Beth's way, she felt a small measure of relief. At least her little outburst had shaken off Beth's worries. “I cannot wait until the stitches are removed. I look horrible.”

“Nonsense. You don't look horrible. Besides, mended dolls are the favorites, don't you think? They were in my
haus
.”

Frannie rolled her eyes. “I'll remember that,
danke
.”

“Anytime, friend.”

The sweet tone in Beth's voice reminded her of just how much she had to thank Beth for. Not only had she called for the ambulance, but she'd cleaned up after accident, and had even given up a few days of her own job to keep things running at the inn.

“How can I ever thank you enough for all you've done?”

Beth's gaze warmed, then the light dimmed as her gaze darted away. “That's the good thing about us, Frannie. You don't need to thank me at all. Friends help each other.”

Beth had a point. There was no way Frannie could repay Beth for her friendship, and it would hurt them both to try.

“Instead of me thanking you nonstop, how about you finally fill me in on everything that's been going on here instead?”

Once again, a shadow felt around Beth's eyes. “Don't you want to rest first?”

“I just woke up.”

Beth blinked, making Frannie realize that she'd been in such a state that she'd already forgotten her nap. “I know . . . but maybe you still need to take it easy?”

Now she was truly getting worried. “I've done nothing except sit on a small bed in a beige room. I definitely do not want to rest right now.”

“But the detective said you were supposed to rest.”

“And I will. But come now, Beth. Don't be stingy. This inn is like my child. Give me some news. What food did you make?” She paused, remembering how much Beth was ill at ease in the kitchen. “Were you able to cook anything?”

“You don't need to sound so skeptical. Yes, I cooked.” After a pause, she added, “Lydia came over to help, too.”

“That's
gut
. Did everything turn out all right?”

A slow smile lit her lips. “I baked the best cinnamon rolls this side of the Mississippi.”

“Did you, now?”

“I found your cookbook and followed the directions exactly.”

“Cookbook?”

“Yes, the cookbook. You do have them, you know.”

“I know, I'm just trying to imagine where you found one.”

Beth's eyebrows rose. “There were several on the back bookshelves. And one in particular that looked well used. It was black and red and had a torn cover.”

Frannie had almost forgotten about that. Now the memories flooded back . . . of her Aunt Penny pushing it her way with a sad smile when she'd been so sick with cancer. “The book was Aunt Penny's.”

“You didn't mind me using it, did you? It was full of recipes for foods you seem to make often.”

“You know, I'd forgotten about that book. It's been years since I followed a recipe. Those family recipes are all in my head.”

“Since nothing was in my head—of the cooking nature—I was very glad for it. I made those rolls and some more quiches, and a fruit salad, too. Oh, and some apricot scones.”

“Scones?”

“They're in the cookbook, Frannie. You really should read it.”

Rather than debate the cookbook some more, Frannie attempted once again to discover the source of Beth's uneasiness.

And that's when she realized that not once had Beth mentioned their newest guest. “Hey, Beth, is Chris Ellis still staying here?”

To her surprise, Beth's expression stilled. “I think so.”

“Think?”

“Well, he left yesterday and I haven't seen him since. But his things are still in his room, so I don't think he's gone for good.”

Beth's report was very peculiar. Frannie didn't understand how she could be so unaware of one of the guests' comings and goings. Frustrated, her head was starting to pound. “I could have sworn that he booked a room for a whole week. Did he say what he was doing?” Maybe he'd decided to go explore another town for a day?

Beth shook her head with a quick jerk. “He . . . he didn't have a chance. But I hope he'll be coming back.”

Beth was speaking in so many riddles that Frannie was becoming annoyed. “I don't understand what you're talking about, Beth.”

“All right. Yesterday, some men came and he left with them.”

Some men? Beth made it sound like she didn't trust them. Playing detective, Frannie sought more information. “All right. Did he give you any clues about what they were doing?” Sometimes guests asked for maps of the area.

“He wasn't able to.” Tears began to fall down Beth's cheeks. “It was so awful. And what's worse, I don't think he wanted to go with them.”

Her mouth went dry. “How do you know that?”

“He looked really worried when he got into the truck with them. He looked like he wanted to escape but couldn't.” Her voice lowered. “Actually, I think he was protecting me.”

What was Beth talking about? Perhaps she was becoming way too involved in the goings on of the guests?

“Look, a lot of things happen between people that you may not agree with,” she said as patiently as she could, “but that doesn't mean we spy on them. Everyone has the right to their privacy.”

“I didn't spy on him. All I did was stand at the window and watch them leave.”

“People don't like that. Maybe he got upset with you about that, and now he's never coming back.” There was a good chance that Beth's curiosity had made him feel uncomfortable. Remembering how upset Luke had been when she'd been too interested in his comings and goings, she frowned.

Full of indignation, Beth said, “It wasn't like that, Frannie. I had started to talk a little with Chris. We had a connection, of sorts.”

“What was it like, then?”

“Chris is different. I think he was keeping secrets from me.”

“Just because he was staying here didn't mean he had to become your friend, Beth.”

“Stop. You're not listening to me.” Looking very agitated now, she glared at Frannie. “I am not as silly or naïve as you think I am. I may only watch children for a living, but I know when someone is evading the truth, and that's what Chris was doing.”

Now she felt horrible. “I am sorry, Beth. I didn't mean to make you upset. Please go on, and I'll be quiet.”

After taking a fortifying deep breath, Beth continued. “When I asked him things, like where was he working or what was he doing here, he never gave me a straight answer.”

“That does sound strange.”

“And these men who came to see him, they didn't look like they were friends of his, either.” Her voice rose. “And now he's gone and I don't know what to do.”

Stunned, Frannie stared hard at Beth. “I don't know what to do either . . .”

“But wait, it gets worse.”

“What else happened?”

“I . . . I got your master keys and went into his room.”

Frannie closed her eyes. Oh, but this was not good. “Beth—”

“I only went inside to try to figure out who he was, what he was.” She rushed forward. “I found a gun, Frannie.”

“A gun?”

“He had a gun and it's sitting upstairs, and he might have needed it to fight those men who took him away.” She breathed in and out deeply. “Oh, Frannie. I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life.”

“Nee,”
she said weakly. “I don't imagine so.”

A chill passed through Frannie. She'd thought coming home would be wonderful. She'd thought all of her worries that she'd harbored in the hospital would disappear and she'd feel the sense of peace that always infused her when she stepped through the front door of her little inn.

But now, instead of feeling better, she felt only more confused and stressed.

Suddenly she longed for her hospital roommate and her chatty laughter and playful comments.

But all she had now was a missing guest and a distraught best friend. And no earthly idea of how to make any of it better.

Chapter 18

“Perry had the kind of smile that could light up the world. He had the same type of temper, I'm afraid.”

F
RANNIE
E
ICHER

L
uke pulled into an empty space at the end of small parking lot. As the car idled, he kept his foot on the brake and seriously contemplated putting the car back into gear and driving away.

It had been just hours since he'd last seen Frannie. He didn't want to question her now, but he didn't have a choice. The latest update from Mose had made avoidance impossible.

Besides, he'd come to Crittenden County to solve a crime, not to make friends. Certainly not to begin a romantic relationship!

He grimaced as every word from his conversation with Mose echoed in his head.

“I got some news for ya, Luke,” he'd said. “I'm afraid it concerns Frannie.”

“What happened? Did she get an infection at the hospital?”

“No . . . it ain't nothing like that. I heard from the ballistics lab. They identified two sets of fingerprints on those sunglasses you found, Luke.”

Finally the lead he'd been waiting for! “And?”

“Perry's are on them . . . but Frannie's are, too.”

“Frannie?” He ached to ask if Mose was sure, but he didn't dare question his friend's information. Mose wouldn't have told him about the fingerprints if he wasn't sure.

“You'll have to get her side of the story, Luke, but if I had to take a stab at it, I'd say Perry probably tried to give them to Frannie, she held them, then for some reason gave them back.” Continuing slowly, he said, “Who knows? Maybe she even tossed them on the ground.”

They'd talked for a few more minutes, Luke feeling more angry and betrayed with every second. He'd been a fool to not question Frannie more attentively . He'd been questioning Mose's abilities, when all the time he'd been slowly letting himself be so charmed by Frannie that he'd accepted her story far too easily. Just like some rookie cop with a chip on his shoulder.

Still stewing on it, Luke drummed his fingers on his steering wheel and prepared to steel himself against her injuries. And from her blue eyes.

When his phone chirped, he put the car into park, and picked up his cell in relief. Any excuse to procrastinate was welcome. “Hey, Mose. Great to hear from you.”

“I haven't been greeted like that since my grandmother was still living,” Mose quipped.

Embarrassed that Mose was right—he'd answered the line like his buddy was his long-lost cousin—Luke asked, “Most people aren't that happy to hear from you? Not even your mom?”

Mose chuckled. “Luke, most folks start worrying about parking tickets and speed traps when I call them out of the blue. But my
mamm
? Well, she always focuses on my bachelor status.”

Luke smiled. “My mom only pointed out my flaws when she was trying to make me feel guilty so she could get me to do something I didn't want to do.”

“My
mamm
's good at that, too. She can name my failings quicker than most folks can say
jackrabbit
. So . . . care to tell me what brought on your happy greeting?”

“Our earlier conversation.”

Immediately, Mose's tone turned businesslike. “You still thinking about the sunglasses?”

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair, wishing time would slow down so he wouldn't feel like he had no choice about what to do next. “I'm getting ready to question Frannie about those Oakleys.”

Mose sighed. “I'm not sure what those sunglasses have to do with Perry's death, but her not telling us the whole story has wasted quite a bit of precious time.”

Luke frowned. The whole scenario was bizarre. The expensive designer sunglasses had been a strange item to find, strange for Perry to own, and strange for Frannie to lie about. It made something that might have been a peculiar quirk into something of importance. “I hope she has a good reason for not telling you about them.”

“Think she'll tell you the whole story now?”

“I hope so.” But what did it mean when a woman he was starting to have feelings for lied to him during an investigation?

It was a good warning to himself. He had to stop thinking that any relationships he made here could be long-lasting. If he let himself believe such things, he was only going to get hurt. Solemnly, he said, “I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that she lied to me, Mose.”

“She didn't lie to you. She lied to me,” he corrected. “There's a difference.”

“It's the same thing.”

“Think so?” Mose said slowly. “For me, I'm not so sure about . . .” There was a noise in the background, followed by some angry chattering and a door clanging. “Uh-oh. I gotta go, Luke,” Mose blurted before he disconnected with a click.

For a moment, Luke imagined what his friend was dealing with. Any altercation—no matter how small—could always be a danger. He took a moment to pray for Mose's safety. He'd made the mistake when he'd first arrived to think that nothing dangerous happened in this small area of western Kentucky. Now he was coming to find out he couldn't have been more full of himself. Or more wrong.

A job in law enforcement wasn't easy, whether one was patrolling the highways and interstates, working in the housing projects in Cincinnati, or being a sheriff in a rural spot like Crittenden County.

Mose had cases other than just Perry's murder. And Luke had a whole career to get back to in Cincinnati. He definitely needed to remember that.

He needed to solve this case, stop letting his feelings about acceptance get in the way of his job, and go talk to Frannie. And he intended to stop treating her like some lovesick pup and to start viewing her like the suspect she was.

Finally accepting the inevitable, he jumped out of his truck and strode to the Yellow Bird Inn's front door. What had to be done had to be done. He needed to ignore his feelings for her and force Frannie to be completely forthcoming about the last time she saw Perry Borntrager.

Even if it ruined their relationship.

W
hen Frannie opened the door, all of Luke's intentions were immediately forgotten. Her face—what wasn't bruised and bandaged and sewn together—was white as a sheet. “Frannie, what's wrong?”

“So much,” she said as she reached out for him, tears bright in her eyes. “Oh, Luke, please. You've got to come in and help us.”

Pushing aside his new resolve, he pulled her to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. Her body trembled against his and she felt as cold as ice. Seeking to calm her, he rubbed her shoulders and pressed his lips to her forehead. Little by little, she relaxed against him.

Only then did he realize they were still standing in an open doorway. And that what they were doing was probably not a good idea.

“Let's go inside,” he murmured, pulling away from her.

Frannie blinked. “Oh! Yes, yes of course.” Abruptly, she turned away and led him into the living room. There he saw her friend standing to one side, looking even more agitated than Frannie.

“This is Beth,” Frannie said. “Beth Byler. She is my friend.”

“Good to meet you. Now, what's going on?” he asked.

After a wary nod from Frannie, Beth spoke. “A guest was taken away, I think against his will yesterday. He still hasn't returned and I am
verra
worried.”

“Say again?” he asked. Surely they weren't talking about a kidnapping happening right here in Crittenden County?

Frannie grabbed his hand and gave it a little shake. “Luke, listen!”

He kept his mouth shut as she directed him to the couch because she was still holding his hand, and still looking like she was shaken three ways to Sunday.

But he still needed some information. “Frannie, maybe you and Beth could backtrack a bit?”

Stepping away, Frannie took a deep breath. “All right. Well, first off, I have a guest staying here named Chris.”

Opening up his notebook, he flipped to a clean page. “Chris what?” he asked, his pen hovering over the notepaper.

“Chris Ellis,” Frannie said impatiently. “He had just arrived before I went into the hospital.”

“Okay . . .”

“But, see, Beth thought he was shifty. He wouldn't tell Beth where he was working and left for long hours at a time.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Beth nodded. “I didn't trust him. He worried me.”

Before Luke could dig for more information, Frannie continued in a rush. “Then, yesterday three men came here to talk to Chris.”

“But he didn't want to see them at all,” Beth said. “I didn't blame him. They were scary.”

“But he still went, because he was upset that they came here to the inn,” Frannie said. “He got into their car and drove away.”

“And he hasn't returned yet,” Beth said. “I'm afraid something very bad has happened to him.”

Luke wrote more notes quickly. “Any idea where they went? Did they mention anything?”

Beth shook her head. “
Nee!
Last night, I was so worried, I went into his guest room, even though I shouldn't have . . . and found papers having to do with Perry . . . and a gun.”

Luke blinked as all the assurances he was about to utter flew out the window.

Frannie placed a slim hand on his forearm. “Luke, I know Beth shouldn't have gone in his room. We both know that it was wrong. But the gun worries me.”

“It worries me, too,” he said honestly. “After you finish telling me what you know, I'll talk to Mose about obtaining a search warrant.” Since they were already knee-deep in the mess, he said, “Do you remember anything on the papers you read, Beth?”

“They were letters. With lots of initials. Places with initials.”

Initial places? “I'm sorry. I don't understand.”

“I don't know what they mean, either.” Her eyes widened. “But perhaps they stand for something?”

“Do you remember any of the letters?”

With a pleased expression, she nodded. “The papers had the letters ATF and DEA.” She bit her lip. “Do those mean anything to you?”

“Yep. The letters stand for Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

The women looked more confused than ever, but things were starting to make sense to Luke. Both of those agencies could have a lot to do with Perry, and a lot to do with why Chris had left.

But what he didn't know was which side Chris was on—or what to tell the two women sitting across from him who were scared to death.