Marta Perry - Murder in Plain Sight

“I guess you’d know, then. So, were they?”

“Peggy would like for Thomas to be her special come-calling friend. I think Thomas liked her, but one of his friends liked her, too. So it was hard.”

An Amish teenage love triangle? She couldn’t make that fit, either. But she had an idea she knew who the friend was. “This friend…was it Jacob Stoltzfus?”

Elizabeth looked relieved that she already knew. “Ja, that’s so. Thomas wouldn’t want to cause trouble for a friend.”

No, he wouldn’t. But Peggy had impressed her as a young woman who knew her own mind and would make it up without any regard for male egos.

It was a sidelight that complicated matters. But how it fit into Thomas alone in a barn with a murdered woman, she couldn’t imagine.

BY EVENING, TREY HAD battled his way to the conclusion that he was being unreasonable. It didn’t come easily-he was ruefully aware of that. Was he really so accustomed to everyone’s good opinion of him that he couldn’t tolerate anything else? That was a humbling thought.

And as if that wasn’t enough, his mother informed him, rather accusingly, that Jessica was talking about moving back to the motel in the morning. Clearly Mom thought that was his fault.

He found Jessica sitting in the corner of the sofa in the family room, intent on her laptop screen.

“Still working?”

She looked up at his words, face startled. She glanced at her watch. “I guess it is getting late. I was trying to find something about this.” She touched, with one finger, the object that lay on the end table next to her-that odd little tile she’d gotten from Cherry’s friend.

“Any luck?” He leaned on the back of the sofa, close enough to smell the faint fragrance of her hair, and tried to focus on the screen.

“Nothing.” She stretched, the movement bringing her even closer, so that her hair brushed his fingers. “I hope Leo has better luck.”

“He will,” he assured her, hoping he was right. “Leo’s forgotten more about the history and folklore of this region than most people ever knew. He’ll track it down.”

“It’s not familiar to you? I mean, other than from your father’s collection?” She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes more green than blue in this light, like a pond in summer with the trees reflecting in it.

It took him a moment to wrench his gaze away and look at the tile instead. He frowned at it.

“It seems vaguely familiar, that’s all I can say.” A memory teased at the corners of his mind, like something slithering out of the shadows, and was gone again. “Leo will know.” He shoved the subject aside to focus on her face. “What’s this I hear about you moving out?”

Her gaze slid away from his. “I just think it’s time I got back on my own.” She flexed her hand. “My wrist is well enough that I can drive again, so there’s no reason to impose.”

“It wouldn’t, by any chance, be because I acted like an idiot today?”

“No, of course not.” Her denial was too quick. “I mean, did you?”

He grinned, coming around to sit down next to her. “Too late. You know I did.”

“You thought I was accusing you of something.” She said the words carefully. “I was only-”

“You were doing your job,” he finished for her. “I’m too used to people’s good opinion of me, maybe. It stung, that you considered I might have been running around with Cherry and keeping it quiet.”

“Because Blake Morgan the Third wouldn’t do that.”

“It sounds a little pompous when you put it like that.”

“You’re not pompous.” She closed the laptop and set it aside. “Just sure of yourself. Sure of your place here.”

She said that almost wistfully, as if she envied him that. Maybe she did. Given what she’d said to him about her early life, shipped off to boarding schools and camps, there probably hadn’t been much sense of a solid place to cling to.

“I’ve always known where I belonged. What my future held.” He said it slowly, feeling his way. “Maybe it sounds hopelessly old-fashioned, but Morgans are important to this community. My father…I never wanted more than to be the kind of man my father was.” His throat tightened on the words.

“His suicide hurt you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t understand it. I still don’t. Mom says he was troubled about something else. I didn’t see that.” His voice thickened. He didn’t talk about this, not to anyone. But Jessica wasn’t just anyone. He knew that as surely as he knew anything.

“You’re not blaming yourself, are you? If your father didn’t talk about it to your mother, he wouldn’t have to you, would he?”

“Probably not.” He stared absently at the braided rug. “And what could have pushed him to suicide, other than his illness?” He shifted his gaze to her. “If you heard about a suicide like that, not knowing anyone involved, what would you think?”

Her eyes showed so clearly that she didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to risk hurting him. “I don’t know. Debts, I suppose. Or depression, mental illness. Or some scandal that was about to be revealed.”

“That’s the list I’ve come up with, too. But any of those things would have come out.” He shook his head, trying to shake off the feelings that clung like cobwebs. “Anyway, I just have to carry on, but there’s a hole where something sure and solid used to be. Like stepping through a familiar doorway and finding yourself falling into a well.”

It was a relief to say the words. He hadn’t been able to, not to anyone else. He’d had to take his father’s place, to be the rock everyone could depend on.

“I’m sorry.” Jessica’s voice was very soft. She touched his cheek, turning his face toward hers. “I’ve never known anything like your relationship with your father, so I can’t claim to understand. But when I was sent away, on my own, all my security was gone. It was like I was walking a tightrope without a safety net.” Tears glimmered in her eyes, like rain on still water. “I do understand the feeling.”

He put his hand over hers where it lay against his cheek, feeling the warmth and comfort that flowed from her. He turned his face slightly, so that her palm was over his lips, and he kissed it. There was a pulse beating in her wrist, and it seemed to be beating in him, as well.

He turned, drawing her into his arms, and kissed her. The familiar lamplit room receded, the sounds of the old house faded. His responsibilities, her duty…they’d be waiting, but for now there was nothing beyond the two of them.

PREDICTABLY, TREY WAS still arguing with Jessica when he followed her down the hall to Leo’s office the next day.

“There is no reason for you to move back to the motel.” It was probably the thirtieth time he’d said that, with an increased edge of irritation to his voice with each repetition. “Especially now.” His fingers closed over hers warmly.

She returned the pressure of his hand, feeling warmth and caring flooding through her. “Maybe because of that.” She paused, her hand on the door, knowing there was something she had to say before she lost the will. “Trey, we’ve moved a long way in a very short time.”

“Yes.” He brushed her face, a featherlight touch, his eyes darkening. “Too far? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She shook her head. Impossible to deny her feelings. “Just that I have a job to do now. I have to concentrate on that. Afterward…”

“Afterward.” There was a promise in his gaze. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“What?”

“ We have a job to do. Not just you.” He pulled the door open. “We’re all involved. Especially me.”