Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One (10 page)

He paused, then looked at Luke directly. “I want to know these answers so badly that I’m willing to tell you I can’t do it alone. Please, don’t go.”

It was the “please” that did it. Mose had been raised Amish, and therefore came across as naturally self-effacing. But he was also a talented professional. He wasn’t the kind of man to show weakness, especially not in his career.

His friend needed him, and he believed in him. For the moment, that was enough. “I’ll go visit with his parents tomorrow. Again.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Mose murmured. “That sounds like a real good idea. I’m obliged, Luke.”

“Don’t be grateful yet; I haven’t done anything.”

“But you will. I’m certain of it.”

Luke replied the only way he could. He punched the guy lightly in the shoulder.

Chapter 11

“Perry was a dear boy. When he was eight, there was none better.”

B
ETH
A
NNE
B
ORNTRAGER

L
ydia, can you help those customers near the annuals?”

“Sure, Mamm,” Lydia replied. After waving her brother Reuben over to help with the register, she hurried to the back of the property. In a corner, right next to a pond with a waterfall that hadn’t been easy for her father and Reuben to build, was their flowering plants and low-level shrub area.

In between each row of plants were neat gravel-lined paths. They connected to each other in a mishmash way, reminding Lydia of a crossword puzzle. The area was one of their busiest areas in the spring, both with customers wanting to purchase plants and for visitors. Many in the county claimed their nursery and garden was one of the prettiest in the area.

As she approached, Lydia noticed that there were several groups of
Englischers
standing around in clumps. Lydia looked at each, wondering which ones were waiting for her to come help them. As she approached, though, none were looking in her direction with an expectant look.

Feeling slightly confused by the summons, she wandered down another aisle, her gaze darting left and right. Then she stopped and a lump formed in her throat as she saw a tall man with wheat-colored hair, a pair of worn, faded jeans and heavy tan boots. “Walker?” she blurted before she could catch herself.

Walker looked just as taken aback as she. “Lydia.” After meeting her gaze for an instant, he turned away. “Hey, we, I mean my mom . . . she . . . needs some flowers.”

“Way to make me feel good, Walker,” a petite redheaded lady said by his side. “You couldn’t sound any less interested.” Her teasing tone deflected her snippy words.

And made Lydia grin. “I don’t know many men who care all that much for flowers,” she said. “So I guess maybe Walker ain’t alone in that.”

The woman’s smile broadened. “Walker, do you know this smart girl?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.” Somewhat clumsily, he performed the introductions. “Mom, this is Lydia Plank. Lydia, this is my Mom, Chrissy Anderson.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Lydia said. Now that the introductions were out of the way, she jumped to business. “If you are here looking for plants, I’d say you came to the right place. I’d be pleased to help you.”

“I’m looking for some spring flowers that will do well in the sun. A couple of flats.”

“Geraniums and vincas will do nicely.” Guiding them forward, she showed them some of the fresh red and bright pink blooms. “These are all easy to take care of as well.”

“Perfect. We’ll take four flats of each.”

Walker groaned. “Mom, I’m going to be planting flowers all weekend.”

“Abby will help you.” With a wink at Lydia, Mrs. Anderson grinned slyly. “Maybe.”

Lydia was intrigued by Mrs. Anderson’s humor. She liked how playful she was with Walker. Especially since his mother’s banter seemed to transform him from a confident boy to one far less assured. “I’ll fill out a slip for your order,” she said easily, “then help you carry the flowers to your car.”

“I can carry them out, Lydia,” Walker said. “Don’t trouble yourself. You’re in a dress.”

“I’m always in a dress,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, it’s no trouble. It’s my job,
jah
?”

Though Walker looked embarrassed, his mother appeared charmed. “Well, now. Aren’t you a sweet thing? Yes dear, please go help Walker while I look at the apple trees you have in the back.” And with that, she darted away, leaving the two of them alone.

After his mother was out of sight, Walker cleared his throat but still didn’t look all that relaxed. “Here we are, together again.”

“Jah. I’ll go help you with the flats, then. Follow me, if you please.”

He followed her toward the back. After she put four flats of vincas on a cart, he set the same amount of geraniums next to them. “Should we take them to the register now?”

“No. I’ll remember what your mother ordered. There’s no need to carry them up there.” Feeling that he was standing too close, she waved a hand. “You lead the way and I’ll follow with the cart to your car.”

He stepped forward, then turned and looked at her, his expression sheepish. “I feel a little weird, letting you do this.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s my job. I do it all the time.”

But for some reason, it didn’t look like her comment made him any happier. “Let’s go, Walker,” she prodded. “I’ve got much to do today.”

“All right.” He led the way to the parking lot. On the first row was a tan-colored vehicle. After unlocking the back hatch, he helped her set the plants in the trunk. When the sleeve of her dress brushed against his arm, they both acted like they didn’t notice. When he reached around her to pull the hatch down, she pretended she didn’t feel a sudden burst of awareness or smell the tangy scent of his cologne.

Then they returned to the inside of the greenhouse. “Do you still want to meet me this afternoon?” he asked.

“Jah. I mean, yes.”

His eyes warmed, making her realize that she had spoken quickly. Really quickly. “I mean, I scheduled time off work,” she added.

“Do you work a lot?”

“Almost every day.” When his brows rose, she explained. “It’s my family’s shop, you know. We all must work together to keep it running. It’s a big place.”

“Do you ever wish you didn’t have to work so much? I mean now?”

“Now that I know I’m not really a Plank?” The question hit her hard, though it came from her own worst fears.

He held up his hands. “You said that, not me. I was thinking that it would be hard, with you mourning Perry and all.”

“Sorry.” Shaking her head, she said, “I guess I can’t help but jump to conclusions sometimes. . . .” She paused.

He prodded. “And?”

“And? And now that we’re talking about things, I have to say that I’m glad I’m still working some. It keeps me from thinking about things too much. And well, now I can kind of see the humor in it all. Everything that’s happened is surely beyond my greatest imaginings.”

“If you can laugh, maybe it means you’re feeling better.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. All I do know is that I’ve always liked working outside, even if I sometimes wish for more free time. Or if my dress gets dirty,” she couldn’t resist adding.

He laughed. “I deserved that.” He shifted, stuffing his hands in his back pockets. “I guess I’m trying to tell you that I’m glad you’re okay.”

What could she say? Sometimes she did wish she was doing anything but waiting on customers, up to her elbows in dirt. Of course, sometimes she wished that she had gone to high school . . . or perhaps chosen a different path in life instead of living the way her mother had. Especially now. But all that the doubts had gotten her were sleepless nights.

She’d learned years ago to stop wishing for things that could never happen.

Yet another legacy of Perry, she supposed. When he’d begun to change, it had felt like his memory had gone missing, too. He pretended that they’d never talked about a future together.

He’d forgotten her likes and dislikes.

Or more to the point, he hadn’t cared. Truly, Perry had taught her that promises sometimes meant nothing. He taught her that sometimes people did things on purpose, just to hurt.

Yes, he’d done that very well.

“Walker, are you ever going to join me over here?” his mother called out. “We’ve got other things to do today.”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll see you later, Lydia. At the park.”

“I’ll be there.” She met his gaze with a smile before turning away and joining her brother at the cash register.

After the Andersons left, her mother walked up. “That is the same boy who came over.”

“Yes. I told you we were friends.”

“How do you know him?”

“Walker?” Lydia considered a few replies, then settled for the truth. “Like I told you, he was a friend of Perry’s, too.”

“You should stay away from him, then.”

“Why?”

“Perry, he was a bad influence.” Her voice turning sharper, she added, “And he had to have learned his bad things from someone. Perhaps it was from Walker.”

“Oh, Mamm. Walker had nothing to do with all that.”

“But still, he is an outsider, Lydia.”

Rarely had her mother sounded so judgmental of an
Englischer
. “Walker used to work with him at the Schrocks’. You know how picky Mr. Schrock is. If he didn’t think Walker was a good person, he never would have hired him.”

“Even if Mr. Schrock does trust him, Walker is not Amish, Lydia. That is reason enough to stay away from him. You two have nothing in common.”

Lydia felt herself nodding before what she was agreeing to sank in. “Mamm, all
Englischers
aren’t bad. You know that.”

“True, but their modern influences can be a difficult thing.”

“I’m not about to start telling you I want a cell phone.”

“There’s other things to worry about besides telephones. I’m sure that boy is far too worldly for you to keep company with. He would surely take advantage of you. You need to be careful around men. Why even Perry made bad choices.”

Even Perry?

Suddenly, it was all too much. Her being adopted, her mixed-up feelings about Perry and his death, the investigation.

And now Walker was in her life, making her feel things she had carefully tamped down after Perry had pushed her . . .

In a flash, she remembered the feel of Perry’s mouth on her neck. His fingers on the collar of her dress, the weight of him when he’d leaned over her on the floor . . .

And just like that, she wasn’t okay at all.

“Mamm, I thought I was okay, but maybe I need some more time off from the nursery.” Before her mother could start questioning her, she said, “ There’s so much going on. I need a break from all the stress.”

“Plants aren’t stressful.”

Oh, she was deliberately misunderstanding. Deliberately ignoring the truth. “You know what I mean,
muddah
. I want some time off. I need some time to think about everything. To process it all. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You are Lydia Plank. You are Amish. That it all you need to know.”

That was the problem, she was starting to realize. For most of her life, she’d never thought twice about who she was or what she wanted. She had assumed that she’d join the church one day, marry, and follow in her mother’s footsteps. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure that was the path God meant for her to follow.

And if that wasn’t the path meant for her . . . ? She couldn’t even begin to imagine what He had in mind.

Chapter 12

“There’s a place down by Crooked Creek that is the perfect hiding spot. Perry told me he once stood there for hours and not a single person saw him.”

W
ALKER
A
NDERSON

W
alker looked up when Lydia approached. “You came,” he said.

Why was he surprised? Did he not trust her? “I told you I would.”

“Still, things come up.” He shrugged.

“Things do.” She smiled. “All morning, it felt like everything that could have gone wrong did.”

“Murphy’s Law.”

“I’m not sure what law that is, but I feared I wasn’t going to be able to get here.”

“But you did.”

“I did.” She lifted her chin. Feeling somewhat proud of herself. She looked around at the windy trail, at the children’s playground equipment. At the soccer field. “Where would you like to go?”

“How about we just go to the swings for now?”

She walked by his side, walking with him, but still staying just enough apart that if an observer saw them together, he would think they just happened to be going in the same direction.

Taking hold of the swing’s chains, she sat down on the rubber seat with a sigh, leaned back, then pushed herself off with her feet.

Suddenly, the air whooshed around her, sweeping across her skin, cooling her cheeks. Beside her, Walker did the same. “I haven’t swung in ages.”

“Me neither.” He flashed a smile. “When was the last time you were on a swing set?”

“Years ago.” She tried to recall a single event, but all the memories floated together and meshed in her brain. “One time me and Reuben came here when we were dodging chores.”

“You, Lydia? I would have never guessed.”

“Why is that?”

“You always seem so contained. So perfect.”

Remembering all the things she’d done over the years, she shook her head. “I promise, I’ve never been perfect.”

“Me neither.” He pumped his legs a bit and sailed higher and higher. “The last time I was here was when I was dating Jessica.”

Unexpectedly, she felt a sickening in her stomach at the thought of him bringing another girl to that same spot. With effort, she did her best to keep her features even and schooled. “I suppose this would be a good place to take a sweetheart.”

“Oh, she wasn’t a sweetheart.”

Lydia blinked, then realized they were having a communication problem. Every once in a while, the differences between being Amish and English were very pronounced. “Calling someone a sweetheart just means you’re courting. Not that you are in love and about to get married or anything,” she explained.

“Ah. Well, we weren’t really courting, either. We just went out a few times.”

“Jessica is a pretty name.”

“Yeah, it is.” His lips pursed and he gazed out into the distance, looking like he had a hundred things on his mind.

Or at least that he was thinking about something far away. He pumped his legs again, leaning back so that his elbows locked.

“Are you still seeing her?”

“Jessica? No.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” She was curious about him. Though she hated to admit it, her mother’s words were still spinning in her head. Had Walker been part of the reason for Perry’s fall from grace?

His head snapped her way. “Why do you care?”

She wasn’t sure. “I wouldn’t want one of your English girls to get the wrong impression.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I bet they’d be really worried if they saw me out here swinging with other girls.”

Now she felt embarrassed. Yes, she supposed to a college man like him, sitting alone with an Amish girl was about as meaningful as walking to class. But in her world, you didn’t spend one-on-one time with a member of the opposite sex unless you were courting.

Confused about her rambling thoughts, she kept her voice prim. “You don’t need to sound so full of yourself, English. Just because I don’t know your usual habits doesn’t mean I’m not aware of how men and women date.” She let her legs still and relax. And with that, her swing slowly fell, until it was barely swaying at all.

“Sorry. You’re fun to tease.” By her side, his swing fell as well. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about at Pizza Hut. About your parents’ news. Have you decided whether you’re going to do anything about it?”

That “anything” felt like a challenge. She’d been struggling with the idea of both forgetting about their revelation and investigating it further. “I don’t know,” she said finally.

“Are you mad at them?”

Was she? “I don’t know.” Now with her feet solidly on the ground, she attempted to explain what was happening. “My parents seem hurt that I haven’t taken their news, smiled, and kept on living as if nothing changed.”

“Really? They thought you’d be unfazed?”

“I think so.” Or did they? She was close to her parents, but no matter how close they were, conversations like this weren’t something they did much. “I’m not altogether sure how they thought I would react.” She thought about it some more. “I guess they knew I would be upset. Otherwise they would have told me earlier, right?”

Walker nodded.

Still half talking to herself, Lydia added, “My parents wanted me to put the conversation behind me and go on like nothing was different. I couldn’t do that.” She turned to him. “I guess I am mad.”

Hopping off the swing, he held out a hand to her. “I would be.”

She took his hand and stood up. His hand felt calloused and warm against her own skin. For a moment, his grip tightened, then his hand dropped.

“I’m mad,” she said again. “And yet, at the same time, I feel almost grateful to them, too.”

“Why?”

“All my life, I’ve wondered about myself. I’ve felt like part of the family and all, but a little different, too. Sometimes, things would happen and everyone else would just nod and go along with it, but it wouldn’t feel the same for me. It felt like something was missing.”

“Maybe God was biding His time? Waiting for the right time to let you know?”

“Maybe.” She frowned. “But I don’t understand why He thinks now is the right time.”

His expression was shadowed as he pointed to the sidewalk that circled the perimeter of the park. “Hey, want to walk for a while?”

“Sure.” Happy to leave the conversation behind, she fell into step beside him. Together, they walked silently along the cracked path. Weeds had grown along the edges, and the narrowing path forced them to either walk single file or closer together. They moved closer together.

As the breeze rustled her black bonnet covering her
kapp,
she sighed. “It’s pretty out.”

He glanced her way, seemed to look at her closely for the first time. “It is pretty here,” he said, sounding a bit surprised.

Her cheeks heated, though surely the way she’d felt his gaze hadn’t meant anything? Glancing his way again, she noticed that he was staring straight in front of him. However, his stride had shortened to match hers. She was shorter than he, the top of her head only reached his chin. But walking like they were, staying side by side, it felt like they were a pair.

They continued walking, dodged a pair of branches that needed trimming. All the while, Lydia found herself appreciating the silence. Somehow being quiet by his side was better than being alone with her thoughts.

Perhaps this was what she needed to do more often? Just walk and let things happen? Just be happy with her situation? After all, did it really matter who her birth mother was? All she really needed was her faith and the family who raised her, right?

“One of the reasons I wanted to talk with you is that I’ve been going through some of the same things,” Walker said.

“Things like what?”

He shrugged. “Did you know my grandparents are Amish?”

She shook her head. “Who are they?”

“Francis and James Anderson. Do you know them?”

“
Nee
, though the name sounds a little familiar.”

“They don’t live real close to here. About forty minutes away.”

“That would explain it. If they’re in a different church district, our paths wouldn’t cross all that much.”

“Maybe so. Anyway, my sister, Abby, really likes being with them.” He glanced at her quickly. “She’s never said anything, but sometimes I get the feeling that she’d rather live with them than with us. Maybe she wants to be Amish? I don’t know.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of someone wanting to be Amish.”

“But it happens sometimes, right?”

Lydia nodded. “I suppose it does. I guess I was wrong using the word ‘never.’ Sometimes people do join our community. It just doesn’t happen often. It’s a different life,
jah
?”

“It is.” They rounded a bend and stopped. An ancient ash tree had fallen across the path, blocking their way. Walker pressed a boot on the trunk but it didn’t budge. “Looks like this is as far as we can go.”

She walked to his side. “I guess you’re right.” Taking a breath, she said, “Walker, that night in December . . . when we were all outside the Schrocks’ . . . did you have a feeling that something bad was going to happen to Perry?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I was trying to stay away from him, if you want to know the truth. I was sick of him.”

“I wanted to avoid him, too,” she murmured. In December, she’d still been so rattled by the things he’d done. By the way he’d tried to force himself on her. Clearing her throat, she said, “That night, he stopped to talk to us.”

“I remember.”

“We were cruel.”

“All anyone did was ignore him.”

“Not Jacob,” she reminded him.

“What Jacob did isn’t any of our business.”

Lydia supposed Walker had a point. But she still didn’t feel like she could let that episode go. “But, Walker, maybe if we had tried harder to keep Perry on the right path . . . if we’d been better friends, maybe Perry would never have left. Maybe he’d still be here.”

His lips thinned into a hard line. “Don’t go there. No sense feeling guilty about something we can’t do anything about.”

“I never told the detective about that night. Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Maybe we should tell the detective that we saw him—”

“If we do that, he’ll never leave us alone. He’ll want to know everyone’s name who was there.” Staring hard at her, he said, “You know the others won’t appreciate us for talking, Lydia.” Turning away, he started walking back toward his car. “We should say nothing.”

She rushed to keep up, her black tennis shoes slipping a bit on the slick spots. “You know, the detective’s going to keep askin’ us questions about Perry and what we knew until he gets more answers.”

“I suppose it’s his job to do that,” Walker said. “But I don’t want to worry about those questions until we have to.”

“You don’t think we’re just hiding our heads in the sand?”

“No . . . Besides, I don’t know who killed him.”

“I don’t know either,” she said quickly.

Pain flashed in his eyes. “You’re going to think I’m horrible, but sometimes I wish Sheriff Kramer would give up. You know—say that there’s no way anyone is ever going to find out what happened. Then we could all forget about it.”

Lydia didn’t bother telling Walker that she felt the same way. Her feelings weren’t something to be proud of, and they weren’t something to be shared. If she wanted the police to forget about murder, then it would mean that she wanted to forget about Perry . . .

Although that had been what she’d been trying to do.

Embarrassed by her train of thought, uncomfortable about their decision to keep their secrets hidden, she blurted, “When is your next day off work, Walker?”

“In three days. Want to meet me here at the same time? Can you do that?”

“Yes. I’ll be here.”

He opened his car door. “You want a ride back to your place?”

“
Nee, Danke
. I’d rather walk. Goodbye, Walker.”

“Hold on a sec—”

But she kept walking. Talking to him had brought up too many emotions. She was embarrassed that she was more worried about getting questioned than helping the detective discover the murderer. Embarrassed about the feelings she was starting to have for Walker . . . and as confused as ever about her relationship with her parents.

So even though it was rude of her, she kept walking. Sometimes a person had to follow her instincts . . . even if those instincts weren’t anything to be proud of.

A
bby, you ever going to tell us why you are spending so much time here?”

Abby looked up from the scrapbook of postcards her grandparents had collected from their latest trip. She’d gotten a ride over before Walker got busy. She was happy to come and help her grandmother make yeast rolls, and to hear about their recent bus trip to Washington, D.C. “I’m here because I like being with you and Grandpa.”

“We like being with you, too. But I don’t think that’s why you’re spending your days here. A young girl like you should be with your friends, don’tcha think?”

Abby bit her lip. Gathering her courage, she followed Grandma Francis into the kitchen. “I don’t have a lot of friends right now.”

“And why is that?”

Abby wanted to lay the blame on finding Perry’s body, but it was so obvious that that discovery had been the least of her problems. “I’m different.”

Her grandmother eyed her carefully before nodding and turning to a pitcher of lemonade. “Care for some lemonade, Abby? Perhaps we could sip on it while we go outside. It was getting a bit stuffy in the living room, I think.”

“All right.” After her grandmother poured two glasses, she followed her out the back door.

To Abby’s surprise, instead of stopping at the wooden swing hanging on the front porch, her grandmother kept walking. And walking.

They passed the large barn, and the smaller barn that held the chickens and extra grain and hay. They walked along the carefully manicured walkway with blooming roses and freshly planted begonias and geraniums, entered a fenced-in area, and finally stopped at the front of her grandmother’s vegetable garden.

It was large; no doubt three or four yards wide and at least double the amount in length. Row upon row of freshly tilled soil greeted her. Only a few sprigs of green were visible.