Murder in Plain Sight (13 page)

“Jess…”

Jonas caught his hand when he would have reached for her. “Careful.”

He tried to wrench away, but Jonas’s grip turned to iron.

“Your cell phone, Trey. We must call the rescue squad.”

He was right, of course. Trey’s mind seemed to have stopped working. He pulled the phone from his pocket, flipped it open, handed it to Jonas.

Sarah, Jonas’s wife, bent over Jessica. Her hands moved, gentle and competent, over the limp form, and she talked softly all the while, as if Jessica would be comforted by her voice.

Trey sucked in a breath. She was unconscious. That had to be bad. He clasped one hand in his, trying to warm it. “Jess, it’s going to be all right.”

“Ja, it will.” Jonas put a big hand on his shoulder. “Let my Sarah tend to her. She’s seen more bumps and bruises and broken bones than most with our kids. She knows what to do better than us, ain’t so?”

He managed a nod. Sarah was undoubtedly more skilled than he was. Even now one of the girls came running with a blanket, which she tucked around Jessica.

Jonas gave a quick order, and several boys rushed out, grabbing lanterns as they went. “They will run down to the road, show the rescue squad where to turn. We’d best make sure there’s plenty of space for them to bring the ambulance right into the barn.”

“Ja.” Peggy Byler took care of the kids, directing some to move the tables back, others to move any buggies that might block the way.

Even as the kids scattered, Trey heard the wail of a siren in the distance growing steadily louder. He willed it to move faster, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. Jessica would be all right. She had to be.

Half an hour later he waited impatiently in the emergency room waiting area. He paced across the room and stopped at the window. With the
darkness outside and the bright lights within, it formed a mirror, reflecting the empty chairs along the wall and the reception desk, beyond which were the double doors into the treatment area. Jessica was back there, somewhere.

His jaw tensed. That moment when he’d seen her fall—he didn’t think he would ever get that image out of his head.

He forced his fists to unclench. The paramedics had been reassuring. Jessica herself, coming to just about the time they arrived, had insisted she was fine.

He hadn’t believed her. Her white face, the pain that darkened her eyes…no, he hadn’t believed she was all right. If he hadn’t stopped to talk to Jonas—

The outer doors swished open. Leo, his hair ruffled and his tie askew, rushed in, coming to grasp his sleeve.

“Trey. Your mother called with some garbled story about Jessica being hurt.”

Trey shook his head. “Not so garbled. But how did my mother find out about it? I didn’t want her to worry.”

“You should know by now that Geneva learns everything, sooner or later.”

“Usually sooner.” Trey rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re treating Jessica now. The paramedics didn’t seem to think it was too serious, but she hit her head when she fell, lost consciousness for several minutes.”

Some of the anxiety faded from Leo’s eyes. “She’ll be all right?”

“I think so.” He prayed so. “My mother—”

“Is on her way right now,” Leo finished for him. “I couldn’t dissuade her, but at least I got her to agree to have Bobby drive her. She sounded so upset I didn’t think she should be behind the wheel.”

“Thanks.” His hand rested for a moment on the older man’s shoulder. “That was good of you.”

Leo shrugged the words off. “What exactly happened? You were at Miller’s tonight, weren’t you?”

“We were sitting in the loft, watching the singing.” It seemed days ago now. “I went down to get something to drink, and she…fell.”

Fell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to speak the suspicion that filled his mind.

Running footsteps, and the door whished again. His mother rushed across the room to envelop him
in a warm embrace. “Is Jessica all right? What do the doctors say?”

He hugged her back. “Mom, there was no need for you to come. I can take care of everything.”

Bobby approached. “How is Jessica? Did someone… How did she get hurt?”

He’d almost said what Trey had been thinking. Did someone? “She fell from the barn loft. She was conscious when the paramedics got there, so I don’t think it’s too serious.”

“That’s a relief. I’d hate to think of anything happening to her. I’ll stay and take Geneva home—”

“That’s okay.” They didn’t need any more people hanging around. “Thanks, Bobby, for bringing her. I’ll see that my mother gets home. Even though she shouldn’t be here.”

Bobby nodded, fading out the door as his mother turned a stern look on him.

“Nonsense.” Her brisk tone belied the worry that drew her brows together. “If a woman is hurt, she wants another woman around. Now, where is she?”

“Back in the treatment area. But you can’t…”

She was already marching toward the reception desk. Whatever she said, it must have worked,
because a moment later they were being ushered back through the double doors.

Leo put a hand on his arm to slow his pace. “What really happened?”

“I’m not sure.” Trey shook his head in frustration. “A stack of hay bales fell, knocking her off the edge of the loft.”

Leo considered. “It could happen.”

“It could, I guess. But I don’t think I’d ever see the day that Jonas Miller would stack bales so clumsily that they’d topple over.”

Leo’s frown deepened, the corners of his lips compressing. “Who would do that? You didn’t see anyone?”

“No. So unless—”

Ahead of them, his mother disappeared into a curtained cubicle. He hurried his steps, letting the rest of that thought slip away.

He was holding his breath as he brushed the white curtain aside. Jessica sat on the edge of a bed, her left arm in a sling. She looked at him and smiled, and he expelled the breath in a relieved sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course she’s not okay.” Mom was scolding,
as she did when she was worried. “Goodness, just look at her. What a thing to happen.”

“It’s not serious,” Jessica said, patting her hand as if Mom were the one who needed to be comforted. “One sprained wrist, a nice assortment of bruises and a mild concussion. I’d say I got off pretty lightly.”

He didn’t shift his gaze from hers. “You gave us quite a scare.”

She attempted another smile, but it seemed to tremble on her lips. “I imagine this is one singing the kids won’t soon forget.”

“Or me.” He wasn’t touching her, and the words were as casual as they could be. But a world of emotion was sizzling between them, so strong he was surprised no one else in the room could feel it.

“One thing’s certain,” his mother declared. “You’re not going back to that motel tonight. You’re coming home with us, where I can take care of you.”

“You don’t need to…” Jessica began, but Trey shook his head at her.

“Don’t argue this one, Counselor. You’ll lose.”

“Well, now, I’d suggest that I drive Geneva to the motel to pick up whatever Jessica might need,”
Leo said. “That way Trey can take her straight to the farm and get her comfortable.”

“Good idea. I’ll go pull the truck around whenever they’re ready to release you.” His gaze still clung to hers. “Right?” If she argued, he just might pick her up and carry her to the truck.

She touched the side of her head gingerly. “Right.”

A
LL
T
REY COULD THINK,
when he jogged out to the truck and pulled up at the emergency room entrance, was that he had to get Jessica someplace safe. Home. Once she was there, once he knew nothing else could happen to her, he could think this whole thing through.

The light over the E.R. door made a bright pool of illumination, surrounded by shadows. And he was jumping at those shadows, scanning the shrubbery as if someone lurked there.

The doors slid silently open, and he jumped out of the truck as a nurse pushed a wheelchair through. Jessica, pale in the artificial light, looked as if it took an effort to hold her head up. His mother and Leo emerged behind them, Mom still talking. Nerves, probably. She’d always been a pillar of strength when any of them damaged themselves, saving her reaction for afterward.

“You go along to the motel, Mom. We’ll see you back at the house.”

Leo, meeting his eyes for an instant, took her by the arm. “Come on, Geneva. Jessica will want her things so she can get settled comfortably for the night.”

Jessica rose, the nurse steadying her. “I can—”

Before she could insist that she could climb into the cab by herself, he picked her up, sliding her into the passenger seat without a word. He pulled the seat belt down and watched as she fastened it, then he closed the door and called out his thanks to the nurse, who was already headed back inside.

Once in the truck, he took a careful look at her. “Ready?”

She managed a faint smile. “I’m well enough to sit here. Honest.”

“I know your head must be pounding.” He drove carefully down the hospital drive. “I’ll take it easy.”

“Actually, thanks to the medication, it’s down to a dull roar.” She touched her head with cautious fingers. “I don’t know what it was, but I think it’ll make me sleep tonight.” She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, her lashes making dark crescents against her cheeks.

The urge to talk about what had happened was strong, but he managed to beat it down. “Let yourself drift off, if you want. I’ll wake you when we get to the house.”

Jessica was obviously in no shape to go over the accident again tonight. Besides, what could she add to what he knew himself?

The hay bales had toppled over. Despite his doubts, he had to admit that it could have happened accidentally. Vibrations, maybe, caused by the number of people going in and out of the barn. Or she’d leaned on it, somehow dislodging a bale.

Trouble was, he didn’t believe any of that. If someone had been up there in the loft, watching them, biding his time until Jessica was alone…

He glanced toward her. He didn’t like thinking that way, but they couldn’t ignore the warning notes she’d received. Someone wanted Jessica off the case. How far would they go to make that happen?

He sensed, rather than saw, her move. “Are you okay? Am I going too fast?”

“You’re fine. I’m just feeling guilty, coming in on your mother like this.”

“There’s nothing my mother likes better than company. And at least—”

“At least what?” she asked, when he didn’t finish the thought.

“At least while someone’s there with her, she won’t be as apt to do something foolish.”

“Your mother doesn’t strike me as a foolish person.” Jessica’s voice stiffened.

“My mother is one of the sanest people I know,” he said. “But she imagines she can do almost anything she thinks of. A month ago I found her up on a ladder, trying to move a bird’s nest from the eaves. Sam was at the bottom of the ladder, trying to follow her up. It’s a wonder they didn’t both break their necks.”

He said it lightly, but he couldn’t forget the panic he’d felt when he rounded the house and saw her. He’d already lost his father too early. He didn’t intend to lose his mother.

“That does sound a little rash. But if there was no one else to do it…”

“There were a dozen people within a mile radius who’d have run over to help her. She just didn’t want to ask.”

“I can understand that, I think.” Jessica’s voice was drowsy. “She doesn’t want to be a burden.”

“She could never be a burden.” He almost snapped the words. Jessica was the last person in the world he should expect would be on his side. She was as independent as his mother, and probably twice as stubborn.

She fell silent, and he thought she did doze a little. When he pulled up at the front door, she stirred. “There already?”

He nodded. “Don’t move. I’ll come around and help you down.”

Predictably, she already had the door open and was starting to slide out when he reached her. He caught her around the waist and lowered her gently to the pavement.

“How do you think that would feel when your feet hit the ground?” he scolded.

“Not too great,” she admitted. She steadied herself, holding on to his arms. “I can walk.”

“Stubborn,” he muttered, and she looked up and smiled at him.

“Just a little.”

With his arm around her waist, they made short work of the distance to the door. As he put his key in the lock, Sam greeted them with a single, full-throated bark.

“Good boy,” he said as they went in. He guided
Jessica down the hallway to the family room. “Let’s settle you on the sofa in the family room until Mom arrives. She’ll insist on fussing over you. Take my advice and let her. It’s easier than arguing about it.”

“Right.” She sank down on the sofa with a little sigh, and she didn’t object when he guided her to lean against a pillow and lifted her legs to the sofa.

He pulled the knitted afghan off the back of the sofa and tucked it over her. “Do you want anything? Some tea, maybe?”

“I’ll wait and let your mother fix it.”

“Now you’ve got the idea,” he said approvingly. He pulled the hassock over so that he could sit down next to her. “I’m sure your mother would be the same way. It comes with the territory.”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze slid away from his. “My mother died when I was two.”

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t help it—he put his hand over hers where it lay on the covering. Maybe that explained the instant bond she’d seemed to form with his mother. “You must miss her.”

“I don’t have many memories.” She frowned. “Sometimes I think I can remember her face, but I’m never sure if it’s real or a photo.”

“Who took care of you then?”

“I had a nanny. An honest-to-goodness proper English nanny, like Mary Poppins.”

“Did she dance on the rooftops and fly with her umbrella?”

Her eyes warmed when she smiled. “Not quite, but I always half expected her to. Nanny Grace was a wonderful woman—hugged me, comforted me, scolded me, trotted me off to Sunday school, went to all the mother-daughter affairs.”

“She sounds ideal. I’ll bet you’re still close.”

A shadow crossed her face. “I…we lost touch. When I was about eight, my father decided I’d be better off at boarding school.”

“That seems young to go away to school.” He was responding to the feeling under the words, and he discovered that he knew exactly what those feelings were. Loss. Loneliness. Abandonment.

“It was.” Her mouth moved as if she made an effort to smile and couldn’t quite manage it. “Well, anyway. Enough about the past. Just cherish your mother.”

“I do.” He brushed a lock of hair back from her face with a gentle finger. It flowed through his hand like silk. “It sounds as if you got the short end of the stick when it came to parents. I’m sorry.”

She could have responded with a tale of a wonderful relationship with her father, but he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t. Any man who would send a small child away from the only security she knew couldn’t be much of a father.

She settled a bit deeper into the pillow. “I did all right.” There was an edge of defensiveness in her voice. “Everybody doesn’t have the picture-perfect American family like you do.”

Before he could react, her eyes flew open. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I forgot.”

“No wonder. You’re half-asleep from those pills they gave you.” He stroked her hair. “It’s okay. I guess everybody has something rough in their family to deal with. At least I had my dad for a lot of years.” Time to form a lot of good memories, unlike Jessica’s situation with her mother.

“And your mother…”

Whatever else she was going to say seemed to drift away. More than half-asleep, he decided. Ninety percent of the way, maybe.

He stroked her hair. “Just rest.” Obeying an impulse, he bent to touch her lips gently with his.

It was meant to be nothing—a comforting gesture, nothing more. But she woke at his touch, her lips warming, coming alive under his. He slid his
arms around her, feeling her touch as her unbandaged hand stoked the back of his neck, drawing him even closer. He was falling into the embrace, they both were, and where—

The front door swung open, and Sam gave a welcoming bark. “Trey, Jessica, we’re here,” his mother called unnecessarily.

He pulled back. Jessica’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and dark.

“Trey…” She whispered his name.

T
HEY HAD ALL GANGED UP
on Jessica the next day, insisting she spend it being coddled by Geneva instead of working. Geneva had fixed her favorite things to eat and smoothed the covers over her in the four-poster bed in the cozy guest room. Rather guiltily, she’d enjoyed it.

But by midafternoon, Jessica’s mind had begun churning over the facts of the case. She had a little more ammunition now, thanks to the drug tests and to Peggy’s willingness to testify, but was it enough to convince a jury?

Leaving the bedroom behind, she wandered into the family room, sunny and pleasant with its white wicker and flowered cretonne slipcovers. The tele
vision set in the corner was turned on to a game show, the sound muted.

Jessica sat down at the desk, trying to organize her thoughts. There were avenues yet to explore, if only she could ignore the throbbing in her head long enough to make a list.

“Jessica, what are you doing out here?” Geneva hurried into the room, her tone scolding. “I thought you were resting.”

“I’m rested out.” That sounded too blunt, and she patted Geneva’s hand in apology. “I can’t stop thinking about the case. Usually I can compartmentalize business, but not this time.”

Geneva nodded, pulling over a bentwood rocker and sitting down. “I know. I do understand. Some things are just so consuming you can’t get your mind off them.” Her eyes misted, and she rubbed the smooth surface of the chair arms. “After my husband’s death, I couldn’t think of anything else. People tried to take me out, distract me, as if that would make me forget.”

For a moment Jessica couldn’t speak. Then she put her hand over Geneva’s. “I’m sure you never could.”

“No.” Geneva sighed. “The police say he killed himself. I couldn’t believe Blake would do that. It
haunted me. It still does, but I’ve learned to accept what can’t be changed.”

“I’m so sorry.” The words were inadequate. She hadn’t expected such a confidence. Geneva was giving her the gift of being open with her, and she sought for a response. Probably the only fitting one was to be open in return. “My mother died when I was very small. I don’t really remember her, but I still feel her absence, if you know what I mean.”

Geneva nodded, her grip tightening on Jessica’s hand. “I know.”

“But you…you’ve accepted your loss.” She was trying to grope her way to an understanding of something she rarely allowed herself to think about. “How have you done that?”

“Turned it over to God,” Geneva said. “Each time the burden seemed too heavy, or I didn’t think I could go another step without Blake, I just reached out for His hand. It was always there.”

“That must be very comforting, to know you have someone to lean on.”

Geneva sighed again. “It’s harder for some people, I think. Trey, for instance. He’s so determined to be the strong one that he can’t admit he needs help, but he does.”

Trey would hate it if he thought she’d discussed
him with his mother. Even though Geneva had brought it up, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d blame it on her.

“Trey seems to feel it’s his duty to take care of everyone else,” she said carefully. “Right now, he’s torn between wanting to protect you from involvement in the case and wanting to protect me by having me here, which is a really good reason for me to go back to the motel.”

“I won’t hear of it,” Geneva said instantly. “How on earth does Trey think he can keep me away from the case? I’m committed to seeing Thomas exonerated. That’s what’s right.”

“Unfortunately, being right isn’t enough in a court of law. We have to be able to prove it.” She gestured toward the television set in the corner. The noon news had come on, and Thomas’s face flashed on the screen.

Geneva lifted the remote to turn up the sound. The reporter, having nothing new to report, rehashed the case, sitting in front of a picture of Cherry Wilson, head thrown back, laughing.

“It’s disgraceful,” she muttered. “They take it for granted he is guilty.”

“The reporting hasn’t crossed the line, but each time people hear something like that, they become more convinced that Thomas is guilty. If we can’t
find some way to counter the bad publicity, I’m afraid we’ll never find an impartial jury.”

“If…” Geneva stared at the television screen, her face curiously blank.

“Geneva? Is something wrong?”

Her usual smile erased the impression. “No, not at all. You just reminded me of something.”

The telephone rang. Geneva reached across the desk to answer and then handed the receiver to Jessica. “It’s someone from the courthouse.”

She took the phone. She listened, made the appropriate response and hung up, pressing her fingers against her throbbing temples.

“What is it?” Geneva reached out, as if prepared to comfort.

She shook her head slowly. “They’ve finalized a trial date. It’s only a month away.”

A month. She repeated the words in her mind. She’d expected to have until the next term of court, at least.

A month. Four weeks to find a way to prove that Thomas was innocent, or he could face spending the rest of his life in the state penitentiary.