Murder in Plain Sight

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HER? Jessica kept a smile on her face as she said goodbye to everyone, but once she got into her car and started back toward the lane, the expression slid away.

How could she have let that happen? She took a deep breath and focused on the turn to the two-lane blacktop road. The Morgan place was several miles from the village of Springville, and the road wasn’t much traveled, it seemed. No other cars came along to distract her with their lights. She was alone, and at the moment that gave her too much time to think.

She tried telling herself that nothing had happened. Or that, if there had been some spark when she touched Trey, it had been entirely on her side, and he hadn’t noticed a thing.

Wrong, said the judicial little voice at the back of her mind. Wrong on all counts.

It had happened, and it hadn’t been just her. Trey had most definitely noticed it, too. When she’d scrambled to her feet and headed into the house, she’d seen the same stunned expression on his face that must have been on hers.

She took another breath, blew it out on a long exhale and tried to relax tense muscles. All right, face it. There had been a spark of attraction between them. A very strong spark. More like a flare gun.

For the most part, she kept her relationships on the light side, going out casually with people who were as wedded to their jobs as she was. People who would understand.

Not that she had any intention of letting something develop with Trey. Trey was still just as annoying, just as bossy, just as sure he was right as he’d been before.

She couldn’t be attracted to him, for more reasons that she could enumerate. For one thing-

A deer bounded across the road in front of her, and she slammed on the brakes, catching a glimpse of the white tail as it vanished into the cornfield on the opposite side of the road. Her heart pounded with the suddenness of the animal’s appearance, coming out of the dark and vanishing just as quickly.

She gripped the steering wheel and drove more slowly, eyes alert for movement on the berm of the road. As for Trey…she learned when she was just a kid that trusting someone with her heart wasn’t wise or safe. She’d figured that out the day her father shipped her off to boarding school as if she were an inconvenient package, separating her from the woman who’d been the only mother figure she’d ever know. She’d learned to control her emotions, not let her emotions control her.

Sure, she thought about marrying someday. Having a family. But she wouldn’t approach that on the basis most people did. She’d use her mind, not just her heart.

She’d file that bit of attraction to Trey under the category of “Foolish Mistakes” and concentrate on the case.

She fished her cell phone out of her bag and checked for messages. None, but she’d promised to give Sara a call tonight. She almost pushed the button but dropped the cell phone on the seat instead. All she’d need was to have her attention distracted when another deer decided to wander onto the road. Or a skunk. Or a rhinoceros. Who knew what kind of wildlife they had around here?

The blackness all around her was beginning to make her nervous. She hadn’t seen another light in miles, only the narrow ribbon of blacktop, shining as far as her headlights reached.

She switched on the radio, found nothing but hard rock and country, and switched it back off again. She must be almost to Springville. She just couldn’t see the lights of the small town for the black bulk of the hillside.

Even as she thought that, a pair of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror. The car accelerated, gaining on her quickly. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Was that idiot going to pass on this winding road? To be fair, it might be perfectly familiar to him. He could be fuming at the sedate thirty-five she was going.

She steered closer to the edge of the road, giving him more passing room, but apparently that wasn’t his intention. He slowed about two car lengths behind her, keeping pace with her.

That was normal. That was what any safe driver would do. But for some reason the pair of lights, glaring at her from her mirror in the midst of all that darkness, began to get on her nerves.

Stupid, she scolded herself. You’re just not used to the country, that’s all. Get you away from streetlights and traffic signals, and you panic.

The stern lecture settled her nerves, but she was still glad when she rounded the flank of the hillside and the lights of Springville came into view. Once she got a bit closer, there’d be enough light to see the car behind her.

But that wasn’t to be. The car turned off at the next intersection. All she could say for sure was that it was a car, not a truck, and it was dark in color.

The car didn’t mean anything, any more than that ridiculous attraction she’d felt for Trey meant anything.

She drove down Springville’s main street, turned in at the sign for the Willow Brook Motel and drove around to the back toward her unit. The motel must be full tonight. Most of the spaces were taken, and a laundry truck took up the one in front of her unit.

Annoyed, she went around the first rank of cars in the lot, finally finding a space two rows back. She slid out, locked the car and headed for the motel.

Her briefcase-she’d left it in the trunk. Annoyed with herself, she stopped-and heard an echo of her step, as if someone else were in the lot, someone who stopped when she did.

Nonsense, she told herself briskly. An image of the knife stuck in her tire slid unpleasantly into her mind, like a snake slithering out from beneath a rock.

She would not let that vandalism turn her into a basket case. She walked quickly back to the car, took the briefcase from the trunk and slammed the lid defiantly.

Several large motor homes were parked in the middle row of the lot. Why would someone want to stay at the Willow Brook Motel when his or her home on wheels had all the modern conveniences? Maybe RV drivers got the urge to spread out once in a while. She walked between two of them, their high sides forming a tunnel, and heard it again.

It wasn’t an echo. Footsteps. Distinct footsteps, keeping level with her on the far side of the motor home. A chill slithered down her back. Maybe it was nothing, but it paid to take precautions, especially after the incident with her tires. If someone would slash her tires, what might he do to her?

She reached into the pocket of her bag where her cell phone lived. Her fingers groped fruitlessly, and her stomach cramped. The phone wasn’t there. It was on the seat in the car, where she’d dropped it.

Going back for it wasn’t an option, not when she was aware of the person on the far side of the motor home. His footsteps had stopped when hers did, and she could almost imagine that she heard him breathing.

She pulled the key card from her bag, making sure she had it turned in the right direction. Then, before she could scare herself into immobility, she started walking again. When she stepped into the open, the other person would, too. She’d see that it was someone perfectly innocent, some late traveler headed for his or her room.

But when she stepped into the lane, the other person didn’t. He stayed where he was, invisible in the shadow of the vehicle.

Then the shadow moved, and panic swept over her. She spun and ran for her room, unable to hear anyone for the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears, too breathless to cry out. She reached the door, shoved the key card in and stumbled inside.

She slammed the door and shoved the bolt home. She could breathe. Had she just made a complete idiot of herself? Probably.

Not turning the lights on, she sidled to the window and moved the drape just enough to peer out. If she’d imagined this…but she hadn’t. Beside the motor home she saw a shadow shift, detach itself and then move backward, disappearing into the darker shadows beyond.

SHE HADN’T CALLED the police, and Jessica was still wondering whether that decision had been the right one the next morning. They’d have come, but even after the incident with her tires, how seriously would they have taken her account?

Someone followed you in the parking lot, Ms. Langdon? Can you describe that person? Oh, all you saw was a shadow.

She could imagine the looks they’d exchange over that. No, she’d done the right thing. Maybe it had been nothing more than someone else going to his or her room.

She’d called Sara instead, and Sara’s common sense had reassured her. Jessica frowned. She’d intended to ask Sara to do a little research for her on past cases involving the Amish, but she’d forgotten after that episode in the parking lot. She’d have to try to catch up with her later.

Trey’s truck pulled up, and she hurried out to meet him, double-checking to be sure the door locked behind her. She’d said she could drive herself to this meeting with Thomas’s parents, but Trey and his mother between them had battered down all her arguments. Besides, she didn’t doubt that the Esch family would talk more freely with him there.

“Good morning.” She slid in quickly, circumventing his move to get out and open the door for her. “You’re right on time.”

“My father taught me to be punctual.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And my mother taught me to open a door for a lady.”

“I’m perfectly capable of opening a truck door,” she said.

She couldn’t keep from glancing toward the spot where she’d realized someone was there, keeping step with her in the darkness. But it wasn’t dark now, and the motor homes had vanished, their drivers off on their travels, presumably.

She turned back around in her seat, feeling Trey’s gaze on her. She didn’t intend to tell him, any more than she’d told the police, but for a completely different set of reasons.

Trey might believe her. And if he did…well, he’d jump in and try to take control, of course. She’d learned that much about him already. After that treacherous moment of weakness she’d felt with him last night, she had to keep her guard up.

“Is something wrong?” Trey frowned as he pulled out onto the street from the parking lot. “You look as if you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

She hadn’t. “I’m fine.”

She would not appear weak in front of him. She’d started learning self-reliance the day she’d gone, a weeping eight-year-old, to boarding school. She wasn’t going to regress now.

“You sure?” She could almost feel his gaze probing.

“Positive.” She managed a smile. “Is it far to the Esch place?”

“Just a couple of miles down the road from our house.” He didn’t sound convinced, but at least he’d accepted her answer.

“Any words of wisdom about dealing with these people?”

He shot her a cold look. “First off, don’t say ‘these people’ in that condescending way.”

“I didn’t mean-I don’t look down on them. I just don’t understand them.”

“Amish aren’t all the same.” He sounded exasperated with her. Or annoyed. “They may dress alike and look alike, but they’re individuals. Aaron, Thomas’s father, has always been pretty strict with him, maybe because Thomas is the oldest child. Molly, his mother, well, I’d say she dotes on him a bit, maybe for the same reason.”

She was tempted to ask if the same was true between him and his parents, but she didn’t quite dare.

“There are seven younger children.”

“Seven?” she murmured.

He grinned. “The Amish tend to have big families. I’m not sure how many of them you’ll meet today. Aaron and Molly are trying to protect the younger ones from this. Oh, and Amos Long will be there. He’s the bishop of the local congregation.”

That news landed on her with a thud. “After our experience with the minister, I don’t think I want a bishop mixed up in this case. It’s complicated enough as it is.”

“Trust me, you do want Bishop Amos involved. Without his urging, I doubt Aaron would even have agreed to talk with you. Aaron’s pretty hidebound, and the Amish don’t get involved with the law.”

She kept hearing that, and it was starting to exasperate her. “I appreciate the bishop’s influence, but in my experience, religion and the courtroom don’t mix well.”

“You can’t separate the Amish from their religion.” Trey’s expression was that of someone pushing a rock up a steep hill-the rock in this case being her ignorance of Amish culture, she supposed. “They are Amish because of what they believe.”

“Even so-”

“Look, I’m not saying this will come into the case.” His tone said exactly the opposite. “But you’d do well to accept any help the bishop offers.” He made the turn onto Dale Road. “Not far now.”

He’d be relieved to be out of her company-that much was clear from his voice. She was tempted to feel the same, except for one thing. Right at the moment she needed Trey.

He turned into a rough gravel lane leading between two fields. Brown-and-white cows looked up curiously as the vehicle passed then lowered their heads to continue munching.

Trey stopped the truck behind a gray Amish buggy. Maybe alerted by the dust they’d raised coming down the lane, a small group stood on the front porch. Motionless, their faces impassive, they waited.

Swallowing the qualms she felt, Jessica slid from the car. She hesitated at the edge of the grass until Trey took her arm and propelled her forward.

“Jessica, you remember Aaron Esch, Thomas’s father, and Molly, his mother. This is Bishop Amos Long. That’s Elizabeth, Thomas’s sister. Everyone, this is Jessica Langdon.”

Thomas’s mother nodded, her face as pale and strained as it had been in the courtroom. His father stood as if carved out of stone. The sister, who must have been about fifteen or so, gave her a tentative smile.

Only the bishop, his face widening into a smile, came forward, extending his hand.

Jessica shook hands, surprised by the strength of his grip. The bishop had to be well up in years, with a weathered, lined face and an impressively long white beard, but the lively curiosity in his eyes belied his age.

“Wilcom, Jessica. Wilcom. You are the lawyer who is going to help our Thomas.”

“I’m trying my best, sir.” She wasn’t sure how one addressed an Amish bishop, but that seemed a safe choice. Obviously, he didn’t share the minister’s opinion of her involvement.

“Bishop Amos,” Trey murmured in her ear.

“Komm, komm.” The bishop waved them into the house as if he were the host. “We must talk. Molly has the rest of the young ones busy so they will not hear.”

Jessica had already glimpsed a small face peering at them from the barn behind the farmhouse, and another popped up from the vegetable garden momentarily and disappeared again. She had a feeling if she looked hard enough, she’d spot a few more, but already she and Trey were being ushered into the living room.

She took a quick glance around, hoping she didn’t appear too curious. It looked like any farmhouse living room, she supposed, with bright braided rugs on polished wood floors and a tall bookcase next to a couch. No television, though, and the only ornament on the walls was a large, framed family tree.

She took the chair Bishop Amos pulled out for her, and Trey sat down next to her. Trey looked solemn, which befitted the occasion, but relaxed and at ease.

No butterflies danced in his stomach, obviously. Now that she was here, how was she going to communicate with the family? The father sat like a statue, and both the females stared down at their hands, folded in their laps, their prayer caps like white birds on their heads.

“Now.” Bishop Amos settled himself in a highbacked rocking chair. “You must tell us how we can help you with Thomas’s defense.”

The father stirred slightly at that. “It is not fitting. Amish do not hire lawyers.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Bishop Amos beat her to it. “You did not hire the lawyer. The Morgan family did, and we should be thankful.”

“The Ordnung says…”

Bishop Amos leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The Ordnung is meant to show us how to live separate from the world. It is not meant to allow one of our young ones to go to jail for a wrong he didn’t do. When we are forced into the English courts, we must accept the help of those who understand.”

The weight and pace of the words, combined with the bishop’s grave stare, would have convinced her, had she been the target. Aaron stared back for a moment. Then he bowed his head in apparent agreement.

Her tension eased, but… “I appreciate your cooperation. When I met Ezra Burkhalter at the county jail, he led me to believe that my help wasn’t welcome.”

The lines in Bishop Amos’s face seemed to deepen. “Amish are not all alike,” he said, in an echo of Trey’s words. “Brother Ezra and I do not agree on this matter.”

“And the rest of your congregation?”

“Each has his own opinion,” he said. “That is only right. I trust that Aaron and Molly will be guided by me in this trouble.”

She hoped so, but she didn’t miss the tightening of Aaron’s lips at the words.

The bishop looked at her as if to say that they were ready for her questions. She took a small notebook from her bag.

“Why don’t you start by telling me a little about Thomas? I’ve only seen him in the jail setting, and it would help to know how he is in his ordinary life.”

“He is a gut boy.” Aaron took control. “He works the farm with me. He is a gut worker.” He looked at Trey, as if for confirmation.

Trey nodded. “Yes, he’s certainly a hard worker. My mother thinks a lot of him.”

The mother glanced up, as if she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure she should. Jessica nodded at her encouragingly.

“Thomas likes to work for Geneva,” she said softly. “She was always kind to him. Talked to him while they worked.”

He was a good boy. Everyone loved him. Except that the community, to say nothing of the D.A., was sure he’d committed an ugly crime.

“What about this…running around time that Trey told me about? Did Thomas give you any reason to worry about what he was doing?”

“No.” Aaron snapped off the word. “He did what young people always do, but soon he would settle down. He wouldn’t be gettin’ involved with an English girl. He knew better.”

The mother nodded. But the sister-there was a quick, unguarded flash in Elizabeth’s blue eyes. Then she lowered her face again, studying her hands, clasped on her apron.

“Elizabeth, do you know anything about who Thomas ran around with?”

Before the girl could answer, Aaron answered for her. “Elizabeth knows nothing.”

“I know which Amish young people Thomas ran around with. I have made a list for you.” The bishop took a piece of yellow lined paper from his pocket and passed it to Trey. “Trey can take you to see them. I will tell them to talk with you.”

Trey nodded, scanning the list. “Do you know where they’re likely to be getting together? They might speak more freely if their parents aren’t around.” He pocketed the list instead of handing it to her.

She suppressed a flare of irritation. “That’s probably true.”

“Ja, I suppose it is.” Bishop Amos’s voice was heavy with regret for that fact. “They will be at Miller’s barn on Friday night.”

“Fine. We’ll be there,” Trey said, not bothering to consult her.

He was right. That just annoyed her even more. “Do any of you know what time Thomas left here on Saturday night? Or where he intended to go?”

“He went after the milking and the evening chores were done.” Aaron looked surprised that she needed to ask such a thing. “He said he was meeting Jacob Stoltzfus and some other boys.”

“What time would it be when the evening chores were finished?” she asked, trying for patience.

“I did not pay heed to the clock,” Aaron said.

“About eight, it was.” Elizabeth murmured the words and then lapsed into silence again.

Elizabeth, Jessica thought, might know more than she was saying about her brother’s activities. The problem would be getting her away from her parents in order to hear it.

“And you don’t know anything else about where he went?”

Aaron’s face tightened still more, if that were possible. “In the morning, we saw that he had not come home. It was not a church Sunday, so we thought he stayed over at a friend’s house.”

He couldn’t have called, of course.

“We knew nothing until the police came.” Thomas’s mother finally spoke, and when she raised her face, Jessica saw the anguish hidden behind the stoic facade. “When will my boy come home? Can’t you tell them that they are wrong about him?”

She’d thought she was hardened to the inevitable conviction of families that their child could not be guilty, but Molly’s pain sliced into her.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” she said gently. She leaned forward to touch the woman’s hand. “I will do the best I can for him.” For a moment they were eye-to-eye, hands clasped, differences in age and culture and education falling away to leave only the caring of two women.

Realizing the others were watching, Jessica straightened. “Is there anything that you’d like to ask me?”

The Esch family didn’t speak, but the bishop nodded. Jessica turned her attention to him.

“I have heard talk of a plea bargain,” he said.

“What is that?” Aaron asked, his tone sharp.

“A plea bargain is an offer from the district attorney to settle the case without a jury trial.” Jessica couldn’t help noticing that Trey had tensed. He’d be in favor of that, of course. Anything that would get the case, and his mother’s involvement in it, out of the public eye. “The D.A. could offer a deal to Thomas, saying he’d reduce the charge if Thomas pled guilty.”

“Thomas should do that,” Aaron said immediately.

She studied his face, wishing she could read behind the stoic expression to the person. “Do you believe he killed Cherry Wilson?”

“No.” The single negative was oddly convincing.

“Then why would you want him to confess?” She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. She didn’t understand these people, and they didn’t understand the law. That didn’t make for a good mix.

“He has brought shame to the community. If he went with that woman…” Aaron stopped. “He must confess that.”

“To the church, ja,” the bishop said. “That is not what concerns the law.”

Aaron looked unconvinced.

“First off, the D.A. hasn’t offered a deal, and I don’t think he’s going to.” Why should he? He had a great case and an election coming up. “And even if he did make an offer, Thomas would have to say he killed Cherry Wilson. The best Thomas could hope for would probably be eight to twelve years in a state prison.”

Molly seemed to choke on a sob, and Elizabeth’s face was as white as the cap that covered her hair.

“I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Jessica softened her tone. “But you have to understand how serious this is.”

Bishop Amos nodded gravely. “Denke. It is best to understand.” He touched Aaron’s shoulder lightly. “We must deal with the law first, with God’s help and Jessica’s. Once Thomas has been cleared of his terrible charge, he will make things right with the church, ain’t so?”

Aaron nodded.

Jessica felt herself relax, just a little. At least they seemed ready to go along with her recommendations. Or, more likely, their bishop’s.

“You’ll want to know what happens next,” she said. “There will be at least one pretrial conference, at which the judge will meet with me and the district attorney. That’s to decide some legal questions of procedure, and Thomas doesn’t have to be there. I’ll be working on building a case for Thomas, so I’ll see him often. And you can go to the jail to see him, if you want, during visitor’s hours. Or if there’s anything you want me to take him, I’ll be glad to do that.”

“Would you? I could make some snickerdoodles. They are his favorite cookies.” The mother looked relieved at having something concrete to do.

“I’m sure he’ll like that. You can let me know…” She stopped, remembering they didn’t have a telephone.

“I’ll come by tomorrow and pick them up,” Trey said quickly.

She’d have to be satisfied for the moment, but Jessica couldn’t dismiss the feeling that Elizabeth, at least, knew more than she’d said. She glanced at the girl, who had her arm around her mother’s waist and was talking to her softly.

Not now. But at some point, she’d have to find out what Elizabeth knew. She suspected it couldn’t be anything good.