Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One (2 page)

“I know. But you can’t change how things are.”

“I wish you were going to be the one questioned instead of me. You knew Perry. You knew him really well.”

Walker swallowed hard. He and Perry had met when they’d both taken part-time jobs at the Schrock’s Variety Store. Even though Perry was Amish, they’d clicked and become fast friends.

Perry had a reserved manner but a dry sense of humor. His dark hair and hazel eyes had attracted girls like bees to honey. And for a time, Walker and the Schrocks’ son Jacob had been with him constantly. But then Perry had started dating Lydia Plank. Then had started keeping secrets. As the weeks passed, he’d become more serious, more short-tempered. Developed a short fuse.

When Lydia broke up with Perry, Walker hadn’t blamed her. He’d told her that, too. She was too good for Perry.

But then the downward spiral began in earnest. Perry began skipping work and started hanging out with a lot of new people, new people Walker didn’t trust. Some of these people were from the county, but others were new faces, people he’d never seen before in their small community.

Finally, when Walker learned some of Perry’s secrets, he’d quit working at Schrock’s and vowed never to associate with the guy again. A lump formed in his throat as he remembered how he’d stopped by Schrock’s at the end of December and had seen Perry, Jacob, and Lydia for the first time in months. He hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough.

“Walker?” Abby said. “You okay?”

Walker shook his head and turned toward his sister. “Sure.”

She bit her lip. “I heard the police are questioning people about Perry. All they asked me was how I found him.” She blinked hard. “You don’t think they’ll come talk to me anymore, do you?”

“No.” Walker figured if the police started digging around Perry’s past, there was only one person in the Anderson family who they would seek out. And that would be him.

He was going to have to figure out how to keep that from happening.

Chapter 2

“When we all heard that Perry was gone, I thought he’d left town. And you know what? I was relieved. I wasn’t the only one to feel that way, either.”

W
ALKER
A
NDERSON

L
ydia’s hands were shaking by the time the
Englischer
rose from the bench.

“I am sorry I’ve frightened you,” he said. “I promise, that wasn’t my intent.”

Lydia looked down at her hands instead of replying. They still trembled, so much so that she was having a difficult time grasping the edge of her apron like she always did when she felt agitated.

The detective stepped forward, obviously uneasy. “I don’t want to leave you alone like this. Is there someone who I could take you to?”

His voice, so terribly kind, made her finally lift her head and meet his gaze. She noticed for the first time that he had green eyes and a scar above his left eyebrow. “I will be perfectly fine here.” By herself.

He blinked at her cool tone. “All right, then. I’ll be going.”

She said nothing as he awkwardly turned and limped toward the parking lot. The uneven ground was doing him no favors. It was obvious he was finding the journey painful.

Well, now they were both in pain, she thought uncharitably. She hadn’t liked his questions about Perry one bit. Nor had she appreciated the way he’d talked to her.

Or how he’d looked at her like she knew more than she was saying.

Both his voice and his manner conveyed that he thought she was worldly, that she knew more about what happened outside of the quiet comfort of her home and her town than she let on. As if she was hiding things. Information.

“Have you ever taken drugs, Lydia?”

She’d been so taken aback by the question she had hardly done more than shaken her head in dismay.

“Are you positive? You won’t be in trouble if you’ve tried a couple of things. Pot? Meth?” He waited a moment. “Pills, maybe?”

“Nee.”

“You sure? I’m not lookin’ to get you in trouble here . . . I just need to know.”

Of course, she’d finally found her voice and had told him in no uncertain terms that she had most certainly not taken drugs. Ever.

But instead of looking at her with a new respect, the detective had only seemed more troubled. Like she’d given him the wrong answer.

How could that be? Hands still shaking, she tucked them under her black apron. She needed to get control of herself. Had to. If she didn’t, more questions would be asked that she didn’t want to answer.

“Lydia, you need to get back to work, child. We are open now.”

Startled, she turned to see her father watching her at the edge of the slate walkway leading to the greenhouses. “
Jah,
Daed.”

Work came first. Always.

Standing up, she went back into the greenhouse and hastily cleaned up the soil she’d scattered on the floor when the detective had shown up. After claiming the broom hanging on the wall, she deftly took care of the crumbs and went ahead and cleaned off the steppingstones that ran through the middle of the greenhouse as well.

Lydia had always found it silly to pay so much attention to dirt in the greenhouse when their whole business was dirt and plants. But her mother was a stickler for organization and order. She didn’t want any dirt to settle where it didn’t belong.

She’d just put up the broom when the door opened and customers entered.
“Wilkum,”
she said. “May I help you?”

“Hello, Lydia. We’re looking for some tomato and pepper seedlings,” Mrs. Brown, one of their best customers, replied. “What do you have?”

“Several varieties of both,” she said with a shaky smile. “The seedlings are over here. I’ll show you.”

And so it began. Another day of pretending that nothing was wrong.

Even though Perry was gone forever.

L
uke Reynolds knew it did no good to continually blame the pair of teens whose shenanigans had injured his leg. During all his years on the police force, he’d never had to do much more than look like he was about to draw his weapon, and no matter how misguided, the teens had backed off—and none had
ever
gone on to cause so much damage in such a short amount of time. They’d stolen a Camry, led him on an eighteen-mile chase through the streets of Cincinnati, caused a four-car pileup, and then accidently shot him in the leg.

But it didn’t help to hold a grudge.

He was trying to rely on faith to get him through this hard stretch. He believed that everything happened for a reason—even the difficult, painful things. It wasn’t the Lord’s job to explain things in detail.

And here in Kentucky, away from Renee, his on-again, off-again girlfriend, his mind felt clearer. Maybe it was breathing the humid, thick, woodsy-smelling air instead of city smog and exhaust fumes. Maybe it was the slower pace. Here in Crittenden County, no one seemed to be in much of a hurry.

No matter what it was, he was healing, his mind was clearer, and his outlook on life was improving.

But on a day like today, when the weather was cool, and the damp rain made the bones in his leg feel like they were breaking apart instead of fusing together, Luke was tempted to blame someone for his troubles.

Otherwise, he was going to descend even deeper into depression.

And that depression was the only reason he’d taken Mose’s call a week ago. That, and the fact that he genuinely liked the guy. He was plainspoken and easy to get along with, and had a great sense of humor. The darker the situation, the more morbid the guy’s jokes became. And though most people would find his quips off-putting, Luke knew the jokes were part of the territory.

If you didn’t try to find some humor in the difficult things seen or heard while on the force, the job would be just too much.

Like his conversation with Lydia Plank.

The girl was as pretty as a picture and had been as wary and nervous around him as anyone he’d ever interviewed.

Actually, she’d been so innocent-seeming, he realized that he’d forgotten that there were people out in the world who weren’t actively trying to take advantage of him or the system.

It was really too bad she was a suspect in Perry Borntrager’s death.

Luke had just pulled out of the greenhouse’s gravel driveway and was negotiating his way down the narrow road, past another Amish farm and a rundown, rusting single-wide, when his cell phone rang.

“How’s it goin’, Luke?” Mose’s voice boomed in his ear.

As he stopped for a buggy to pass in front of him, and as he thought about the mess of questions he had about the case, he chuckled softly. “It’s going.”

“Finding your way around the county?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re using my directions, not that Garmin contraption, right?”

“I’m sticking to your directions like glue,” Luke quipped, remembering how he’d gotten lost on a long stretch of windy road with no signs for miles, the Garmin squawking “Recalculating” every ten feet. “Just got done visiting with Lydia Plank for a bit. Off to go see Walker Anderson now.”

“That Lydia’s a sweetie, ain’t she?”

“You know her, Mose?” She’d made it seem like they were strangers.

“Oh, sure.” Mose’s voice turned fond as he continued on. “I remember when she was just a little thing. Back when Lydia was only four or five, why, she used to hang on to Ann’s, her momma’s, sleeve when she worked . . . why sometimes I even went to the Planks’ nursery just to get a peek of her. She had a smile that would light up the sky, she did.”

Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He was both amused and slightly disturbed by his friend’s reminiscing. The investigation needed to come first, not the guy’s reflections on the past.

And though he’d at first let his buddy tell stories, Luke felt it was time to remind Mose which of them had a uniform full of medals and commendations and who was wasting away on the back roads of Kentucky. Speaking his mind, he said, “It’s comments like that that make me real glad you called me, Mose. You’re too close to the community. Lydia’s a suspect.”

“I know but, shoot, I just can’t imagine her doing anything so evil.”

“Everyone has the propensity for evil, Mose. Even the Bible states that.”

As Mose grumbled, Luke stopped at a four-way, waited a bit for another horse and buggy to cross the intersection, then glanced at Mose’s hand-drawn map. He needed to get off of Fords Ferry Road and head into Marion. Crittenden County seemed to be made up of the most winding, hilly roads he’d ever seen in his life.

“So . . . where do you plan to go after you visit with Walker?”

Luke could just imagine his friend eyeing a map and practically charting his progress, mile by mile. “Mose, are you going to be making this a habit? Because I didn’t expect you to be checking up on me like I was a new recruit.”

“I’m not checkin’,” he grumbled. “Just interested.”

“Just
really
interested.”

“Hey, you know I wanted to go with you today.”

“And you know why I asked you to stay back. I’ll find out a whole lot more if I act new and dumb. I can ask questions about all this better than you.” Luke paused. “And you know I’m right, Mose. That’s why you called me on the case.”

“I know. But these are my people.”

Something about that phrase struck Luke in his heart. Had he ever felt like that in Cincinnati? That the people he’d sworn to serve and protect were his responsibility, not just a job?

“So, Luke, do ya need any information about Walker Anderson?”

His friend sounded so hopeful, Luke couldn’t help but grin as he clicked on his turn signal. “I think you’ve told me all I need to know. Walker’s working at Schrock’s Variety, right?”

“He is.” His voice warmed. “He’s a good kid, Luke. Hardworking. Handsome. You’re going to be quite taken with the boy, mark my words.”

“I don’t want to date him, Mose. I’m looking for information, right?”

“Of course, right. Well, I’m sure you’ll soon find out plenty about Walker.” After a pause, he added, “Now, something that you might not know is that Walker quit that job a while back and only recently got back on board. I’d be curious as to why he did that.”

After glancing at Mose’s directions again, and taking two quick right turns, he focused on his friend’s comment. “Isn’t he in college? Maybe he decided doing both was too much and then got a handle on things.”

“Maybe, but that don’t seem likely. I’d bet money that there’s a story there.”

“I’ll do some asking, then.”

“And I’d also be curious about how well he knows Lydia. And maybe I’d even try to ask him about—”

“Thanks, Mose,” he said quickly, cutting him off. “I’ll check in with you later.”

“You sure you don’t—”

“Positive.” He chuckled and disconnected, cutting off Mose’s comments. Taking a breath, he put both hands on the wheel and concentrated more fully as he turned right onto South Main Street, the main thoroughfare of Marion.

He passed the Marion Café and the courthouse. Noticed a spring flower display in one of the small gift shops that lined the street. Stopped and smiled at a mother and her two children at a crosswalk.

The streets were by no means crowded by city standards and he felt his mind drifting back to Lydia Plank. She was a pretty young woman, graced with wide-set eyes and a slim, willowy figure. Her manner had been sweet. Until he’d rattled her good. Then she’d become far more quiet and withdrawn. And far less talkative.

He pulled into the parking lot in front of Schrock’s Variety and walked in, prepared for anything.

Except for what he found.

“Duck!” a voice called out the moment he opened the front door.

Obediently, Luke ducked, but was taken aback by the next order.

“Close the door behind you, man!”

“Huh?”

“Hurry, English, or you’re going to let the chicken out!”

He shut the door just as a squawk erupted right by his ear. Like the city boy he was, Luke ducked down again and attempted to crouch lower.

“Crouch” being all a matter of opinion. His leg hurt like the dickens and he was becoming more afraid of either getting embarrassingly stuck on the floor or being pecked by an angry bird. “What’s that bird doing in here?” he called out as he heard another angry squawk and the crashing of cans.

“It’s a hen, English. And we’re sellin’ her, of course.”

As the Amish man darted and grabbed, a younger voice entered into the conversation. “The latch on the cage got loose, mister. And don’t worry. This doesn’t happen all that often.”

The “all that often” comment sounded foreboding. “I hope not.” Finally brave enough to lift his head, he saw a pair of men looking at him with humor shining in their eyes. The younger one was dressed like any other kid his age, in a T-shirt, jeans, and boots. Beside him was an Amish man with a graying beard, wire-rimmed glasses, and an irritated chicken in his arms.

“Listen. I’m going to stand up now. There aren’t any more birds on the loose, are there?”

“Not presently.”

As gracefully as he could, Luke attempted to get to his feet. But he needed something to grip in order to take the weight off his right leg as he straightened and, of course, there was nothing around.

“Need a hand?” the boy asked.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind, I could literally use your hand,” he admitted, swallowing his pride. “My leg’s busted.”

The boy looked at his black and stainless steel brace attached with Velcro over his khakis and grimaced. “That stinks. Did you break it?”

“Gunshot.”

The look of grimace turned to fascination as he strode forward. “Really? Wow. Were you in Afghanistan?”

“No. Cincinnati,” Luke said dryly as he gripped the kid’s well-built, thick arm and carefully pulled himself up to his feet. “I’m a cop. I was chasing some kids who didn’t want to be caught. Turns out one kid’s gun was faster than my feet.”

“Wow.” The boy looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but he stepped away the moment Luke was steady on his feet.

“I’m better now, it’s just a little stiff.”

“What are you doing here in Kentucky? Just visiting?”