Marta Perry - Murder in Plain Sight

The first book in the Amish Suspense series, 2010

I’d like to express my gratitude to all of those whose expertise, patience and generosity helped me in the writing of this book: to Erik Wesner, whose Amish America blog is enormously helpful; to Donald Kraybill and John Hostetler, whose books are the definitive works on Amish life; to my daughter-in-law, Karen Johnson, for legal advice; and to my family, for giving me a rich heritage on which to draw.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing to read the first book in my new Amish suspense series set in the Pennsylvania Dutch country, which I know and love. I enjoy writing about the unique traditions of my native Pennsylvania, especially since I’m able to draw on my own Pennsylvania Dutch background.

The difficulties the Plain People face in dealing with the outside world’s legal institutions aren’t readily understood by our litigious society. It would be hard to find more law-abiding people than the Amish, but they do not easily turn to the law when things go wrong, perhaps because of their history of persecution by the law in Europe. They fled to Pennsylvania to escape that, forming communities that rarely have anything to do with the legal system. They don’t sue each other and are reluctant to seek legal help even when accused. It’s something that I’ve seen close-up from time to time in my area, and that experience, when outsiders had to step in to form a defense, has inspired this story.

I hope you’ll let me know how you feel about my book, and I’d love to send you a signed bookmark or my brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. You can write to me at HQN Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, email me at marta@martaperry.com, or visit me on the web at www.martaperry.com.

Blessings,

Marta

Amish Youth Arrested in Murder

SPRINGVILLE, PA-The body of a local woman was discovered early Sunday morning in a remote barn in rural Lancaster County. The woman, whom police say had apparently been beaten to death, has been identified as Cherry Wilson, 24, of Springville. Police have detained a young man who was found at the scene. Thomas Esch, 19, of Spring Township, son of a local Amish family, is being questioned in connection with the death. Police declined to say what the motive might have been in the grisly crime.

In what appears to be a related incident, an unidentified older woman was warned away from the suspect by police. She apparently attempted to interfere when the suspect was being taken into police headquarters. No further information about this incident was released by the police spokesperson.

A SUMMONS TO THE OFFICE of Dwight Henderson, senior partner in the Philadelphia law firm of Henderson, Dawes and Henderson, seldom resulted in good news for a junior associate, but Jessica Langdon didn’t intend to let her apprehension show. Assuming her most professional expression, she straightened her suit jacket with icy fingers then tapped lightly and opened the door.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Henderson?”

Henderson frowned across the expanse of a massive mahogany desk, balancing a gold fountain pen between his forefingers. He let the engraved pen drop to the desktop and nodded to the chair across from him.

The penalty box. That was how she’d thought of that seat recently. She sat, smoothing her skirt down over her knees.

Center City’s skyline, seen through a wide window, made an impressive backdrop, not that Henderson needed any help to impress. Over sixty, he had a heavily lined face that no expensive facial treatments could make resemble anything but a bulldog’s, a shining bald dome that reflected the light from the window, and a pair of remote, piercing dark eyes. Whatever his appearance said, he was a highly successful attorney whose clients could afford, and got, the best.

Jessica waited out the frowning silence that had such a demoralizing effect on reluctant witnesses on the few occasions when Henderson Senior deigned to appear in court himself. Henderson had summoned her. It was for him to speak first.

“Your time here has not been particularly successful, has it, Ms. Langdon?”

That didn’t seem to require an answer. Her heart sank. This was it, then. Termination. She tried not to think of her father’s reaction. A superior-court judge tended to expect better of his only child.

“After the business with the Clements boy…”

The Clements boy, as Henderson called him, was the sixteen-year-old scion of one of the firm’s wealthiest clients, currently embarked on an escalating pattern of vandalism and violence. Her comment that perhaps he should for once have to face the consequences of his actions had not been well received.

“…to say nothing of your failure in the Altmiller matter…”

She had to bite her tongue at that. Dwight Henderson Junior had dropped the ball in that situation, but it had been made abundantly clear that her duty was to accept the blame and say nothing. Dwight Henderson’s son could not possibly have mishandled a case. Junior associates fell on their swords.

“…only my respect for your father has allowed…”

Her father, Theodore Belmont Langdon, superior-court judge and law-school crony of Dwight Senior. His influence had secured this position for her, but it was apparently not enough to ensure that she stayed.

Henderson cleared his throat. “However, a case has come up which you’ve been requested to handle.” He shoved a file folder across the desk.

She was so astonished that his words took a moment to sink in. She picked up the folder by its edges. Some response seemed called for. “Yes, sir?”

“You’ll have to drive to Lancaster County immediately to deal with the matter. The Morgan family has decided to fund the defense for this unfortunate young man. Take your lead from them as to how to handle the case. It shouldn’t involve anything more complicated than negotiating a plea bargain.”

“May I ask-”

“That’s all, Ms. Langdon. Satisfy the Morgan family, and perhaps…”

He let that trail off, but she got the message. Perhaps we won’t be letting you go.

She’d like a little more information, but his peremptory gesture sent her to the door. She escaped, clutching the file to her chest. She’d have to trust that its contents could salvage the remnants of her career.

FACE IT-SHE WAS LOST. Jessica glared at the GPS system that was supposed to get her wherever she needed to go. It worked fine in Philadelphia, or out on the interstate. But once she’d gotten entangled in a network of narrow roads that wound past neat farms and through patches of woods, the system seemed to get as lost as she was. At the moment, it was blinking, its automated voice informing her that it was recalculating the route. Unfortunately, it had been doing so for the past ten minutes.

She slowed the car, pulling off onto the graveled verge, and reached for a map. Since she didn’t know where she was, it seemed unlikely that the map would help her much. The last road sign she’d seen had marked an even narrower road than this one, called Creek Road. No Creek Road appeared on the map. It was undoubtedly one of the many thin, unnamed lines that wound through Lancaster County, presumably connecting the apparently endless patchwork of dairy farms.