Alison Stone - Plain Jeopardy

“I’m sorry you had a bad experience with a reporter. I have no intention of making anyone look bad.” Her only motivation was to reveal the truth. Let the rest of the chips fall where they may.

The retired sheriff grumbled under his breath, perhaps understanding more than most how these things worked.

Grace picked up a French fry and distractedly dipped it into the glob of ketchup she had squirted onto her paper plate. “I understand you put a lot of time into my mother’s case. Why was this one more difficult than most?” She knew from her journalism career that all cases weren’t neatly wrapped up.

Conner’s father folded the corner of the takeout wrapper from his hamburger. “Murder is rare in Quail Hollow. Some might say I was out of my depth. I worked that case harder than I’d ever worked anything before. Or since.” There was a faraway quality to his voice. “The best lead we had was a man who had been traveling through town. Eventually, we tracked him down, but he had a solid alibi. Rumors cropped up that there was another stranger in town. The locals needed to believe it was an outsider. It grew harder and harder to separate fact from fiction. But that’s where we still are all these years later. A vagrant passing through town killed Sarah Miller.”

“Were there any other suspects?”

The two retired law enforcement officers exchanged a subtle glance that she might have missed if she hadn’t been so observant. A heaviness weighed on her chest, making the room feel close. When neither of them answered, she pressed, “What aren’t you telling me?” A cold pool of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. “What?”

Kevin drummed his fingers on the table. She guessed it was a nervous habit. “In a murder investigation, the person closest to the victim is usually investigated.”

She tossed aside the French fry and wiped her hands on a napkin. “That’s not unusual.” She shrugged, trying to act casual when her insides were rioting. Her sweet father. Her mother’s murder had destroyed him. “You cleared my father and then moved on to this stranger passing through Quail Hollow.” Her gaze shifted between the two men. Holding her breath, she waited for reassurance. Of course they’d cleared her father. Hadn’t they?

Kevin finished chewing a bite of his burger and swallowed. “Your father moved out of town before we could one hundred percent clear him.”

“Well, that’s only partially true.” Harry leaned forward and gave her a reassuring smile. “I knew your father a bit from town before your mother’s murder. Your father and mother used to sell corn at the farmers market on the weekends. He was a friendly man. Talkative. You girls were his little helpers. After your mother’s murder, he shut down. Her death broke him.” He pressed his lips together. “Even though we never officially cleared him, my gut told me that he could never have hurt Sarah. Never.”

A lump of emotion clogged her throat. “Thank you.” She averted her gaze, fearing she’d lose it if she didn’t. This was the price of looking into her family’s story, the reason she had avoided it all these years. The reason she’d probably leave here today and forget she ever came.

“What else can you tell Grace about the time surrounding her mother’s death?” Conner asked the question Grace was now afraid to, because she was uncertain she could afford the emotional toll.

“The night Sarah disappeared, she had taken the horse and wagon into town to drop off a few pies. She had sold them to the diner. She left you girls home with your grandmother. A few people noticed her in town, but didn’t see anything or anyone suspicious. She never came home.”

She never came home.

Pinpricks of dread washed over Grace’s scalp as if she were reliving her mother’s last moments. She had vague memories of hanging out at the farmers market. Maybe the memories had been dreams, yet the images were vivid: the long dresses of the Amish women, the farmers’ work boots and the fancy shoes of the Englisch. The occasional dog would lick her sticky fingers after she devoured a piece of apple strudel. The farmers’ market was the highlight of the week. She figured the only reason she had those memories was because of how quickly her life had changed.

Amish to outsider.

Before versus after.

Conner’s father glanced over at his former coworker. “Anything else to add?”

“No. Not really. It was a shame we never found the guilty party. It was like he vanished into the night.”

“You mentioned a reporter at the time...” Grace watched the former sheriff flinch.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “She worked for the now-defunct Quail Hollow Gazette. She was like a dog with a bone. Relentless.”

“Do you know if she still lives in Quail Hollow?” Grace asked, hope blossoming. Another piece of the puzzle.

Can I really do this?

Kevin leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can’t be sure. I believe she had some health issues and moved away to live with her daughter down south. Away from this cold.”

“I imagine they have her articles on file at the library,” Grace said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I’ll do some digging.”

After they finished eating, Grace and Conner carried the paper plates and glasses into the kitchen. Grace leaned on the counter while Conner put the glasses in the dishwasher. “I’m not sure I’m ready to look into my mother’s murder.”

Conner slowly closed the dishwasher door and turned to face her. “Your mother’s sudden death had to be really tough on you. Leaving this community must have made it that much harder.”

“I often wondered how my life would have been if I had grown up Amish. I look at the Amish men and women in town and try to imagine the path not taken. Sometimes I wonder if this was all part of God’s bigger plan.” Heat crept up her face. “Don’t get me wrong—I’d do anything to have my mom back. Yet no one could have predicted how her death changed everything about my life. Not all of it bad.” She slowly ran a hand through her hair. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it?”

“No, life’s twists and turns are hard to understand sometimes.” He took a step closer to her, and she didn’t move. “But some tragedies don’t have any redeeming qualities.”

“You’re talking about Jason’s death.”

He nodded, a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I’m asking you not to continue to write about the death of my cousin’s son. It’s hard for our family, especially his mom. She lost her son and her husband in the course of a year. She’s spiraling out of control. She’s distraught.”

A knot twisted in Grace’s stomach. “I’m sympathetic. I really am, but you can’t compare the two cases. Jason drove under the influence. He made a choice.” She shifted away from the counter and glanced out the back window overlooking the snow-covered yard. The evening light was about to fade. “This is my job.” Grace wondered how many times they’d go round and round on this topic.

“Everyone has a job to do.” Grace spun around to find Kevin Schrock resting his shoulder on the doorway of the kitchen. “And sometimes it’s best not to mix business with personal.” How long had he been eavesdropping?

Kevin seemed unfazed that he had interrupted their private conversation. “His dad allowed your mother’s case to get to him. Ruined his marriage.” He pushed off the doorway and strolled into the room. “You have to trust your gut on these things. If you don’t think you can live with what you find, maybe it’s a story better left untold.”

Grace stared at him, wondering which story he thought was better left untold.

* * *

A few days later, since her sister’s car was still in the collision shop, Grace called the number for a car service in town. The Amish often hired drivers to get them from place to place when taking a horse and buggy wasn’t feasible. The local district’s Ordnung allowed the Amish to ride in the vans, but they couldn’t own cars or drive themselves.