Vanish in Plain Sight (16 page)

It was tempting. Very. But that would only be a postponement. She had to face what was happening.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He looked concerned. “Where are you going to stay tonight?”

“We can sleep in the guesthouse,” Rhoda offered. “That way Marisa won’t be alone. You would not be afraid if we were there, ain’t so?”

Wouldn’t she? She wasn’t so sure of that.

“Marisa will come home with us, of course.” The patrolman must have left the office door open, be cause Geneva marched in, with Trey in her wake. Trey looked at Link and shook his head, spreading his hands wide, probably to indicate that he hadn’t been able to keep his mother from coming.

“That’s nice of you, Geneva, but—”

“No buts.” Geneva brushed Link and the doctor out of her way, settling the ice pack into a more comfortable position. “We have a room ready for you, and I won’t take no for an answer.” Geneva put a surprisingly strong arm around her and helped her to her feet. “Right now you need a warm bath and a little mothering.”

“I’m not finished questioning—” Byler began.

“That’s enough for tonight.” Geneva addressed him as if he were a rambunctious ten-year-old. “Tomorrow, right, Dr. Henderson?”

The two exchanged glances, and the doctor smiled,
nodding. “That’s my prescription, too. I’ll give you something for the pain.”

Link moved to Marisa’s other side, putting his arm around her waist. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“One more thing,” Byler said, clearly not ready to give up. “If this wasn’t a random break-in, Ms. Angelo, what could the intruder have been after?”

She hesitated, her mother’s letter clear in her mind. But no one could have known about that, could they? And she wasn’t ready to tell him and start yet another round of questions.

“I have no idea,” she said.

Whether or not Byler bought it, she had no idea. But she made the mistake of looking at Link.

He watched her, eyes narrowed. He knew she was leaving something out. And she suspected he wouldn’t be content until he knew what.

L
INK WORKED HIS
hands on the steering wheel as he drove toward Mom’s house. Marisa hadn’t spoken at all since they’d left the bed-and-breakfast after picking up some of her things.

Rhoda had packed for her—enough, apparently, for the night and the next day. But Marisa had gathered up her art supplies herself, working awkwardly with one hand. His effort to help her had been abruptly rejected.

Now—well, now he wasn’t sure where they stood. But he had to break through her reserve. She was hiding something, and he had to know what.

He glanced at her. Against the dark outside, she was a pale profile, as still as a marble statue, her face set in lines of strain.

As if she felt his gaze on her, she stirred, the image breaking and reforming. “I hope I didn’t insult Rhoda by leaving. I just couldn’t face staying there tonight.” Her smile flickered, painfully artificial. “I guess that makes me a wimp.”

“Anybody would feel that way,” he said. “Anybody. I’m sure Rhoda understands.” He wanted to comfort her, but at the same time he wanted to press her. What was she hiding?

He shrugged, not liking the feeling that he knew her too well. Too well for such a short time, certainly. A short, intense time, in which their emotions had been scraped raw.

She moved slightly, touching her shoulder gingerly.

“Is the pain any better?” Doc Henderson had insisted she take one of the pain pills before she left the station. She’d clearly not wanted to take it, but in the end she had.

“A little better,” she said, looking away from him and staring out the window at the dark.

This was getting him nowhere. He’d have to be more direct. “I take it you don’t believe the comfortable explanation that this was a random break-in.”

“Do you?” At least she was looking at him again.

“After everything that’s happened? Not likely.”

“No.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t think your police-chief friend is taking it seriously.”

That startled him. “Adam? I wouldn’t say that. Adam doesn’t give much away, but he’s a bulldog. He won’t quit until he finds the answer.”

“He doesn’t seem to have been doing much about those shots that were fired at us in the woods.”

“He investigated.” Clearly Adam hadn’t seen fit to confide in Marisa about it. “He found the place the shots were fired from, but that was it. No indication of who it was or why they were there.” He paused, remembering what else Adam had said. “The fact that the place was so clean was suspicious in itself. A guy out target-shooting, even someone hunting illegally, wouldn’t be so careful to pick up spent shells.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “So he thinks it was deliberate.”

“He didn’t commit himself, not to me. But trust me, he’s not blowing us off.”

“I’m glad to hear that. But…” She let that trail off.

“But things are still happening. And we still don’t know why.” His hands knotted on the steering wheel. “I guess you don’t want to talk about what happened tonight, but was there anything at all familiar about the man?”

“It was pitch-black. I couldn’t see a thing.”

“You could hear. Feel. Smell.”

She shot him a lot of dislike. “I was fighting for my life at the time.”

“Very effectively, too,” he said.

Her smile flickered, and the tension ebbed.

“Thanks to that self-defense class. It’s surprising how much it took to get to the point where I could actually think about hurting someone. But when he grabbed me, I—” She stopped, turning to look at him. “He was wearing gloves. I felt them when he touched me.”

“Good. Anything else?”

She shook her head.

That didn’t get them anywhere, and he didn’t like the implication. The intruder had taken the precaution of shutting off the electricity. He’d worn gloves. If she hadn’t been able to fight him off— Why had he really come?

He turned into the lane that led to the house. Almost out of time. Once Marisa was inside, she’d be enveloped by Mom in full mothering mode. If he was going to ask, it had to be now.

He came to a stop in front of the house and turned to her. “Marisa, what was he after?”

“How would I know?” But she refused to look at him.

“I don’t believe that. You know something…something you’re not telling.”

Her head went up and she glared at him. “And if I do? What about you? What about the things you’re hiding from me? Do you think I don’t know?” She thrust the door open and climbed out of the car.

T
HAT WENT WELL
.
Link delayed getting out of the car and taking out Marisa’s bag. He’d give her time to go inside and be swept up by Mom.

Sure enough, when he reached the front door, Mom already had one arm around Marisa. She snatched Marisa’s small bag with the other hand, giving him a look that said she wasn’t happy with him, and marched Marisa up the stairs.

Well, fine. He wasn’t happy with himself, either. He was frustrated and annoyed, and his temper wasn’t improved by seeing Trey giving every sign of wanting to talk.

“What?” he said, letting his irritation show.

“You want to tell me what’s going on between the two of you?” Trey asked.

Link stalked past him into the kitchen. His brother followed him, obviously determined to get an answer.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” He opened the refrigerator door, stared at its contents and pulled out a bottle of milk.

Trey took a couple of glasses from the cabinet and
set them on the table. “When Marisa walks in looking like a thunderstorm ready to break, followed by you ready to bite someone’s head off, I’m actually smart enough to add two and two and get four.”

Link poured milk into the glasses. Trey was safe enough—he never gave up a secret or let anyone down.

“When Adam asked Marisa what the intruder could have been after, she said she didn’t know. That wasn’t true. She knows, or at least suspects something.”

Trey leaned against the quartz-topped counter, considering that. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Besides, she basically admitted she was hiding something when I pushed her on it. She accused me of doing the same.”

“Hence the fireworks,” Trey said. “Well, she’s right about that, isn’t she?”

Link drained his glass. Milk was supposed to be calming, wasn’t it? “If she is…well, you know why. I’m not eager to focus attention on Uncle Allen.”

“Morgans stick together, I get that. But maybe it’s time to put that aside.”

Link could only stare at him. “You say that? You’re always the one to talk about the importance of family. Don’t you remember all the lectures you gave me about not embarrassing the Morgan name?”

Trey grinned. “So I was a prig when I was a teenager. You don’t need to remind me.”

Disarmed, Link returned the grin. “Glad you
realize that. Seriously, you think we should let everything come out? You, the responsible one?”

“Seems to me you’ve taken on plenty of responsibility when it comes to Marisa’s situation,” Trey said, his tone mild.

“Not me.” He snapped the words back instinctively. “That’s not who I am.”

The recoil went deep, maybe into his soul. Maybe kids were born knowing their place in the family. Trey was the oldest—the reliable, responsible one. Link was the daredevil, the rebel. Not good material for taking care of other people. Libby was the peacemaker, but with a strong strain of tomboy in her.

“Deny it all you want.” Trey set his glass on the counter with a small clink. “I saw your face when Adam called to tell you Marisa was in trouble. You care about her.”

He fought down the urge to throw something. “Even if I do, nothing’s going to come of it.”

“Why not?” Trey seemed determined to force him into confronting things that were better left alone.

“Think about it.” He all but snarled the words. “Maybe our uncle killed her mother, in which case she’s never going to want to see us again. Or her father killed her mother, and I’m instrumental in bringing that out. Same result.”

“Could be,” Trey admitted. “Or maybe there’s some solution we haven’t even considered yet.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. The obvious answer is
usually the right one. And even if you’re right…well, settling down isn’t in my plans.”

Trey was silent for a moment, frowning at nothing in particular. Then he rinsed their glasses, setting them in the sink. He turned back to Link.

“Whatever the truth is, I think we’re past the point of hiding things. I say we all sit down together tomorrow and hash it over. Maybe if we’re honest with Marisa, she’ll return the favor.”

“Or maybe not.”

Trey shrugged. “Whatever. That’s still the best chance we have at getting to the truth.”

He’d argue, but unfortunately Trey was right.

“All right,” he said. “Tomorrow.” He moved toward the door. He’d go to bed, but he doubted he’d go to sleep very readily.

Trey followed him. At the doorway, he put his hand briefly on Link’s shoulder. “Good. You’ll see. There’s no use in running away from things.” He went on toward the stairs.

Link stared after him, knowing Trey was talking about more than just the current situation.

But Trey was wrong. Sometimes running away was the only answer, wasn’t it?

M
ARISA WAS SURPRISED
to discover she’d actually slept through the night. That innocent-looking little white pill Dr. Henderson had pressed on her must have been more potent than she’d thought. She hadn’t even dreamed.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, assessing the damage. Not too bad—a tender spot on the side of her head, a few minor bruises where the man had grabbed her, and the huge purple one on her shoulder. She flexed her hand, tried to move her left arm, and decided she wouldn’t be doing much of that for a few days. At least it was her left hand, not her right.

Grasping the graceful headboard of the sleigh bed, she got slowly to her feet. The room was charming—a bow-front antique chest of drawers, a curved daybed, the sleigh bed covered with a quilt whose delicate colors seemed a bit feminine. Maybe this had been Link’s sister’s room.

She made her way toward the bathroom, becoming steadier as she walked. A hot shower helped. When she got out, she suspected she felt as good as she was likely to.

It proved impossible to get her hair up into a ponytail, so she had to leave it loose, curling as it dried. Dressing proved to be another issue. Fortunately she had thought to bring a shirt rather than a pullover.

She was still considering how to get her arm into the sleeve when someone knocked on the door. She clutched the shirt to her. “Who is it?”

“Jessica. I came to see if you need any help getting dressed.”

“Thanks, I— Well, yes, I guess I do.”

Jessica’s smiling face appeared around the edge of the door, and she slipped into the room. “I thought
you might. Let me give you a hand with that.” She eased the shirt into place over Marisa’s left arm and then buttoned it. “There. Anything else?”

“I think that’s it.” She hesitated, a question on her lips. “I didn’t realize… Do you live here?”

“I have an apartment in town, but Trey called and said I should come over this morning.” She paused, eyeing Marisa, and absently brushed a strand of sleek hair behind her ear. “They’re planning a council of war this morning. I thought you should be prepared.”

“Council…?” She was lost.

“I know.” Jessica’s voice warmed with sympathy. “The Morgan family can be a bit overwhelming when they decide to help you. That was my reaction when I met them. But honestly, Marisa, you can trust them. Us.” Jessica squeezed her hand. “We all want to help.”

The lump in her throat surprised her. Fortunately Jessica didn’t seem to expect a response. She just led the way out into the hall and down the staircase.

Everyone was gathered in the dining room, including a white-haired man with keen blue eyes whom Jessica introduced as her law partner, Leo Frost.

“Mr. Frost.” She nodded, hoping her head wouldn’t detach.

He inspected Marisa with a quick glance and took her right hand in both of his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Marisa. I’m sorry you’ve been having such a difficult time of it
since you arrived. Don’t let that turn you against us, will you?”

His tone was so warm that it was impossible not to believe he meant it, and she murmured some probably incoherent response.

Really, she had to get control of herself. She was far too susceptible to kindness lately, and she ought to be wary. That council of war Jessica had mentioned loomed in her mind. What, exactly, did they want from her?

Link replaced Leo, taking her hand and submitting her to an inspection of his own. “So, how do you feel this morning? Should you be up?”

Last night’s antagonism had vanished, and she could only be thankful.

“A little sore, but otherwise I’m fine.”

He led her to a seat at the long dining-room table just as Geneva and her helper emerged from the kitchen, carrying platters of pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs. The table already held two different types of breakfast cake as well as a clear glass bowl filled with fresh fruit. Geneva must believe they’d brainstorm better on stomachs filled to bursting.

As the food platters began circling the table, something else became clear. Geneva had obviously ordained that the situation not be discussed while they were eating, and she had a quick, reproving glance for any comment that veered in that direction.

Once the meal was finished and the dishes cleared,
Geneva nodded to Trey, as if giving him permission. This was it, then.

Marisa’s stomach protested her breakfast. She glanced quickly at Link, who sat on her right. He stared straight ahead, his profile forbidding. His lean, brown hand curled into a fist on the tabletop, the muscles on his forearm standing out.

Trey cleared his throat. Jessica, saying something to Leo Frost, faltered and fell silent.

“We’ve decided it was time for all of us to talk about this situation.”

“Past time, given what happened to Marisa last night,” Geneva put in.

Trey glanced at her, and she gave a rueful smile and shook her head. “I know, we decided you should take the lead. But when I think about what might have happened…”

“Thanks to Marisa’s ability to defend herself, it didn’t.”

“It could have.” Link’s voice was harsh, his words clipped.

Before the brothers could begin an argument, Leo intervened. “Given the fact that we seem to be up against someone quite ruthless, I consider the relatively minor nature of Marisa’s injuries nothing short of providential.” He glanced at Marisa. “I don’t mean to minimize your pain, my dear. But—”

“I know,” she said quickly. “That blow was aimed at my head.” She looked around the table, trying to
assess their expressions. “Let me understand this. You agree that this wasn’t just a panicked burglar?”

“Yes.” Trey seemed to answer for all of them. “And I could tell by Adam’s expression that he didn’t buy that comfortable theory either, whatever he said. Maybe he should be here.”

“You’re jumping the gun,” Link said. “It’s possible that Marisa’s not ready to trust any of us.”

She turned to face him, trying to ignore the pain in her shoulder when she turned her head. “I still don’t know what you hope to accomplish. Trust you with what?”

Link met her gaze, and in that moment the battle was between the two of them. “Trust us with whatever you’re holding back.” Something that might have been concession appeared in his face. “And we tell you everything we know. Maybe, together, we can make sense of all this. If you’re willing.”

They were silent, all of them. Even Geneva, who looked as if she fought to keep from speaking.

You can trust them,
Jessica had said. Heaven knew, she had to trust someone.

“All right,” she said, and it seemed to her that the very room let out a sigh of relief.

“Good.” Trey glanced around the table as if assembling a board meeting. “Well, we all know why we’re here, then. Suppose I begin by recapping for Marisa what happened back in June.”

Link stirred. “We can’t be sure that’s connected.”

“No,” Trey conceded. “But if there’s a possibility, we need to put our cards on the table.”

They’d be honest with her, in other words. And they trusted she’d be honest with them.

“Jessica came here in June to defend a young Amish neighbor of ours on a murder charge,” Trey said. “As soon as it became evident that she was going to fight the case, she was subjected to harassment, vandalism and a series of threats.”

Jessica looked as cool and collected as Marisa had always seen her, but she nodded slightly in agreement.

“The notes were marked with a peculiar design—something that looked like a hex sign of a bird. Leo was able to trace the history for us. It was the symbol of a secret society that vanished years ago.”

Leo looked as if he’d like to contribute something at that point, but Trey swept on without giving him a chance.

“We eventually found the guilty person.” Something that might have been grief darkened his eyes for a moment. “Someone I’d known and trusted most of my life. He’d killed our father, and he’d have killed me if Jessica and Leo hadn’t interfered.”

Jessica reached out to take his hand.

“In those last moments—well, I thought he was raving. He talked as if the Brotherhood was real and would punish him for involving it in his crimes.” He caught Marisa’s look and gave a wry grin. “Crazy, right? We thought he was off his rocker.”

“Until we found something in Uncle Allen’s journal.” Link held out his hand to his brother, and Trey passed over the book she’d found in the library days ago. “You can see for yourself.”

He opened the book to the first of several sticky notes. Pink sticky notes, she saw. Undoubtedly Geneva’s.

She bent over the page, reading the entry, frowning at the words Allen had written in the years after her mother’s disappearance. Disjointed words, it seemed, talking about “them” and how they’d brought him trouble. How he couldn’t sleep at night. A chill went through her. Because he was guilty? Was that what kept Allen awake nights? When he saw that she’d finished with each page, Link turned to the next one, holding the page flat. Most ramblings, none of it making a lot of sense, but all of it giving the impression of a man consumed with regret over something he’d been involved in.

When she’d read the final, sad entry, Marisa sat for a moment, staring at the faded writing. Nothing concrete, nothing to say outright that he’d had a hand in her mother’s disappearance or knew who did.

And yet there had been something raw and distressing about the passages. It had clearly meant something to Allen Morgan.