Sound Of Fear
Marta Perry
In the sweet subtle wind of a Pennsylvania Dutch town, a lost woman and a man of duty will risk their lives to uncover her true identityThe foundation of Amanda Curtis’s very existence cracks the moment she discovers the woman she thought was her mother had never given birth. Where she belongs is a question she can’t put to rest. But when the clues lead her to a charming yet chilling small town, the threat against her begins to unfold.Trey Addison is a fixture in Echo Falls. The place and the people are his to protect. He was born to take his place in the family legal firm, but now that a stranger desperate to unlock her past is depending on him, he’s forced to make an impossible choice. If Trey doesn’t protect Amanda, she’ll walk straight into a deadly trap. If he helps her expose the secrets that haunt her, the truth could shatter them both.
In the sweet subtle wind of a Pennsylvania Dutch town, a lost woman and a man of duty will risk their lives to uncover her true identity
The foundation of Amanda Curtis’s very existence cracks the moment she discovers the woman she thought was her mother has never given birth. Where she belongs is a question she can’t put to rest. But when the clues lead her to a charming yet chilling small town, the threat against her begins to unfold.
Trey Addison is a fixture in Echo Falls. The town and the people are his to protect. He was born to take his place in the family legal firm, but now that a stranger desperate to unlock her past is depending on him, he’s forced to make an impossible choice. If Trey doesn’t protect Amanda, she’ll walk straight into a deadly trap. If he helps her expose the secrets that haunt her, the truth could shatter them both.
Praise for Marta Perry
“Abundant details turn this Amish romantic thriller series launch into a work of art.”
—Publishers Weekly on Where Secrets Sleeps (starred review)
“Crisp writing and distinctive characters make up Perry’s latest novel. Where Secrets Sleep is a truly entertaining read.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Perry’s story hooks you immediately. Her uncanny ability to seamlessly blend the mystery element with contemporary themes makes this one intriguing read.”
—RT Book Reviews on Home by Dark
“Perry skillfully continues her chilling, deceptively charming romantic suspense series with a dark, puzzling mystery that features a sweet romance and a nice sprinkling of Amish culture.”
—Library Journal on Vanish in Plain Sight
“Leah’s Choice, by Marta Perry, is a knowing and careful look into Amish culture and faith. A truly enjoyable reading experience.”
—Angela Hunt, New York Times bestselling author of Let Darkness Come
“Leah’s Choice is a story of grace and servitude as well as a story of difficult choices and heartbreaking realities. It touched my heart. I think the world of Amish fiction has found a new champion.”
—Lenora Worth, New York Times bestselling author of Code of Honor
Sound of Fear
Marta Perry
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#ubaf23632-79a5-5418-8b50-3a908bd00fb5),
I’m so excited to introduce you to the second book in my Echo Falls series. I had such a good time visiting Echo Falls again for a new adventure, and I hope you enjoy it, as well.
Welcome to Echo Falls, Pennsylvania. This small, isolated Amish and English community seems like a haven of peace and security. But dark secrets lurk here, as elsewhere, and events are coming that will crash through the serene, pastoral landscape. All the strength and compassion the community can muster will be necessary as never before to meet these challenges.
Echo Falls is based on several small towns north of us here in central Pennsylvania, and I hope I’ve captured their charm in my writing. Most of my story ideas begin with a place, and this series of stories is no exception. The falls themselves are based on the falls at Ricketts Glen State Park, and I’ve actually climbed those trails and felt the spray in my face.
Please let me know if you enjoy my story. You can reach me via my website, www.martaperry.com (http://www.martaperry.com), on my Facebook page, www.Facebook.com/martaperrybooks (https://www.facebook.com/MartaPerryBooks/), and via email at marta@martaperry.com. I’d be happy to reply and to send you a signed bookmark and my brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes.
All the best,
This story is dedicated to my husband, Brian, with much love.
Every man must live with the man he makes of himself.
—Amish proverb
Contents
Cover (#ua3c42763-fd95-59b1-8030-caa015fec003)
Back Cover Text (#u324c814a-7208-5123-be07-91f4a278cb13)
Praise (#u6e66d8d0-68da-5c7c-9346-6d11b7708f8d)
Title Page (#u5684d601-09e8-5182-9119-786628d020db)
Dear Reader (#u5a7509fc-407c-51fb-8367-5528fe75f91e)
Dedication (#u5b60158d-54bd-56bb-872b-6b0be4102a17)
Epigraph (#ue71bb083-9c3b-5e93-b525-c2fa7ca852c2)
CHAPTER ONE (#u3161b757-fe26-5e54-91e9-30d8227a2af4)
CHAPTER TWO (#uf9c06feb-c4c5-5acd-9b78-3e49041eee7c)
CHAPTER THREE (#uee214535-9e36-54c1-9244-725472c51943)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u40714b80-c080-5d15-b3d6-b7cca7f39c9c)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7c622834-4859-54cb-bd50-167368d369ac)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubaf23632-79a5-5418-8b50-3a908bd00fb5)
AMANDA CURTISS HAD hoped that going back to work would distract her from the grief that threatened to drown her. It didn’t work. Every person at the veterinary practice felt they had to commiserate with her on her loss.
“So very, very sorry about your mother’s death. So shocking to have one of Boston’s most noted artists taken away by a random street crime.” Alicia Farber’s prominent blue eyes, so like those of her pampered Pekingese, welled with tears. “Pookie is sorry, too. Aren’t you, Pookie?”
Pookie’s expression exhibited its usual disdain for lesser beings. The sight of Amanda’s white lab coat always brought out the worst in him, and he bared his teeth.
“Let’s just see what’s going on with Pookie, shall we?” Amanda lifted the small dog to the exam table with gentle hands, careful to stay out of the way of his needle-sharp teeth.
“He’s been barely eating a bite of his food.” Alicia hovered anxiously. “I just knew you’d want to see him. Tell me the worst. I can take it.”
To do her justice, Alicia was genuinely apprehensive. They all were—all the owners of the pampered pets that came through the doors of one of Boston’s most successful veterinary services. Amanda’s job, one of the lowest rungs of the ladder, was to reassure the owners while treating their pets. And to refrain from pointing out that both pets and owners would benefit from more exercise and less rich food. No one took that kind of advice well.
By the time Amanda was ushering Alicia and her pet out of the exam room, her head was throbbing and her throat was tight, as it had been since the police officers had come to the door with their grim news.
Gracie, the receptionist, caught her as she passed. “Dr. Curtiss, there’s someone here to see you.” Lowering her voice, she added, “He said it was personal business, so I put him in an empty exam room. Number 4.”
“Thanks, Gracie.” Brushing any stray Peke hairs from her lab coat, Amanda headed for the exam room, her stomach clenching. Personal business had taken on an ominous meaning lately, since it invariably had to do with her mother’s death.
But when she opened the door, her face relaxed into a smile. Robert McKinley was not only her mother’s attorney but a longtime family friend, as well... Uncle Robert until she’d felt she was too old for the term.
“Robert. I didn’t expect you...” She stopped, her brain catching up with her tongue. Robert wouldn’t come to her workplace on anything routine. “What’s wrong?”
“Why should anything be wrong?” He kissed her cheek, and she smelled the faint aroma of musk that always advertised his presence. “Are you sure you should have come back to work so soon? It wasn’t necessary.”
Maybe not financially, but it was for her mental health. “I’d rather be busy. I need something to occupy my mind.”
“If you’re sure.” He didn’t sound convinced, and Amanda read the uneasiness behind his warmth.
“You wouldn’t come here unless something had happened. Out with it.” Amanda fought to keep her voice steady. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what’s already happened.”
Nothing could be worse than losing her mother in such a brutal way...never again to see her forehead wrinkle in absorption over a new painting, never to feel the warmth of her hug, never to hear the laughter in her voice...
Robert frowned, taking a step away. “I know.” His voice wasn’t entirely steady, either. He’d adored Juliet in his own staid way. “It may be nothing, but one of the detectives dropped by with the coroner’s report. It had raised some questions in his mind.”
“Questions?” Her mind shied away from imagining a coroner’s report.
“Perhaps I’m making too much of this. You might already know.” He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. “The autopsy confirmed something that seemed...odd.” He held up a hand to silence her when she would have burst out with a demand to hear it, whatever it was. “It seems that Juliet Curtiss, your mother, never had a child.”
Amanda froze, staring at him. The words were in English, all right, but they didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean? Of course she had a child. I’m standing right here.”
“Juliet never bore a child,” he repeated. “There isn’t any doubt, Amanda. I read the report for myself, and then I called the coroner for confirmation. Juliet never gave birth.”
Her sluggish wits started to work. “You mean I’m adopted? But why on earth wouldn’t she have told me?”
Robert shrugged, seeming relieved that the worst of his news-breaking was over. “I believe specialists do recommend that the child be told, but it could be that Juliet couldn’t bear the idea that your feelings about her would change if you knew she wasn’t your biological mother.”
At some level she wanted to laugh at that, because it was so ridiculous to think of Juliet in those terms. But if she started to laugh, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to control her emotions.
“Be serious, Robert. Juliet wasn’t a clinging mama. That wasn’t the sort of relationship we had.”
Amanda paused to consider what she’d just said. She and her mother had certainly been close, but Juliet didn’t dote. It hadn’t been in her nature. True, Amanda had lived at home since her practice and her life had fallen apart in Pennsylvania, but they’d lived very independent lives. Juliet had her work, and Amanda had hers.
“You never thought...” Robert began, stepping delicately in what no doubt seemed like a minefield to him.
“Never,” she said flatly.
“You see the problem,” he said, frowning again. She thought he held back impatience when she looked at him blankly. “Legally,” he explained, “your mother... Juliet...must have adopted you prior to the time I met her. You’d have been about eight, I think, when she bought the brownstone. That was the first bit of business I did for her.”
Obviously Robert expected her to concentrate on the problem. She tried to rein in her wandering thoughts. Focus, she ordered herself. “Yes, I’d have been eight when we moved uptown. She’d had her first really successful show, and our lives changed.”
Not that she’d minded the life they’d had before that. The tiny apartment in one of Boston’s many ethnic neighborhoods had been home. But Juliet had wanted more...for herself, but certainly for her daughter.
“If you don’t remember any other life, Juliet must have adopted you when you were quite small.” Robert wore his worried look. “There surely are papers to that effect somewhere.”
“Aren’t all her legal documents at your office? She always said she didn’t have the talent or the energy to deal with things like that. Her work...”
“She was an artist, of course. But that’s no excuse for not having your affairs in order.” That was as close as Amanda had ever heard him come to sounding critical of Juliet. “You can see the quandary that leaves us in now. We must establish your legal position in regard to your mother’s estate.”
“But she had a will. You showed it to me, remember?”
“At my insistence, she did.” He sounded grim. “It leaves everything she possessed at the time of her death to her daughter, Amanda Elizabeth Curtiss.”
“Well, then...”
“Come, Amanda. Concentrate. You’ve always been the practical one. If you’re not her biological daughter, the language becomes ambiguous.”
“You mean our home might not be mine?” That possibility did penetrate the fog in which she groped. The brownstone was home. It might be lonely without Juliet, but every inch of it was filled with memories.
“If someone contested the will on the grounds that you are not Juliet’s daughter, that might well happen.” Robert clasped her hands in a firm grip.
“Someone must be aware of the circumstances. What about her brother, George? They’d been estranged for a long time, but he did come to the funeral. Surely he’d know...” Know where I came from. She finished the sentence in her mind.
This was crazy. It was like spinning on ice in an out-of-control car. Every anchor she reached for slid from her grasp.
“George Curtiss is the last person I’d confide in at this point. Don’t you see, Amanda? He can’t know there’s any question, or you can be sure he’d have brought it up.” Robert’s frown deepened. “There were good reasons for the breach between him and your mother. If half of what she said about him is true, he’d be contesting the will in an instant if he even suspected.”
“Then what should I do? How can we find out?” If her uncle didn’t know...but he wasn’t her uncle, it seemed, any more than Juliet had been her mother.
“First of all, it’s essential that we find any documents relating to you. You’d better have a good search throughout the house for papers. You must have a birth certificate, at least. We may want to hire a firm of private investigators to look into it. And whatever you do, don’t talk about this to anyone but me.”
She blinked at that. “But my closest friends...”
“Not your friends, not anyone. Not until we have a better handle on your identity than we do now.”
Her identity. Amanda had always known who she was and where she belonged. Now it seemed she didn’t know at all. Who was she?
* * *
AMANDA WALKED THE four blocks home, glad to be outside even in the chill dampness of the mid-October afternoon. The wind was strong enough to wipe away some of the fog from her thoughts.
But that didn’t help much. It served only to expose how much she didn’t know. She’d always been able to talk to her mother about everything. Amanda couldn’t begin to come up with an answer for her silence on this crucial subject. Why didn’t you tell me?
She rounded the corner and the brownstone came into view—a three-story building sandwiched between two taller ones, looking squat in comparison. Someone was just coming down the three stairs from the glossy black door.
In another step Amanda had identified him. Bertram Berkley, Juliet’s agent. She wondered, as she always did, if that could possibly be his real name, or if he’d taken it to fit his persona—the sleek, successful artists’ representative whose sponsorship, according to him, ensured entrée to people of influence in Boston’s art world.
He spotted her and swooped down on her, kissing her ceremoniously on each cheek. “Amanda, my dear. You poor child. I just came by to see how you are. You surely haven’t been out already.” He made it sound as if she’d breached some unwritten rule of mourning.
“I went back to work today.” Bertram’s extravagant manner always made her feel even more intensely grounded than she already was. “I have a job, remember?”
“Surely they didn’t expect you to be back a scant two weeks after your mother’s tragic demise.” He linked arms with her and marched her up the steps to the door. Obviously he intended to come in.
She detached her arm. “I wanted to go back, but I have to admit, I’m wiped out. I appreciate your stopping by.”
His face stiffened for an instant before his dark eyes grew mournful. “Won’t you let me take you out to dinner?” He turned persuasive. “We can have a nice long talk.”
“Not tonight. Another time.” She put her key in the lock and heard the usual answering bark from Barney, her yellow Lab, greeting her.
“But I wanted to talk to you. We really must plan a show of your mother’s work, just as quickly as possible.” His voice became urgent. “A tribute show, you see. I’ve already looked into arrangements, and there’s considerable enthusiasm for it. A retrospective, including all her work, even the private pieces you have that aren’t for sale. If I could just take a quick look at what’s here...”
“Not tonight,” she repeated, putting a bit more emphasis on the words. Maybe she was being unfair, but she suspected that his eagerness stemmed at least in part from a desire to cash in on the publicity that had surrounded Juliet’s death. “We’ll talk soon,” she added, then slipped inside and closed the door before he could come up with an argument.
For a moment she just stood, leaning back against the door, relief sweeping over her. Home. It felt like a refuge at the moment. As long as she didn’t let her mind stray to the possibility that it might not be hers.
Barney was pressing up against her, whining for her attention. She ruffled his ears. If only she could talk this over with someone. Her friend Kara would be ideal—she knew how to listen without trying to solve your problems for you. But Robert had said to tell no one.
No sense in paying an attorney if you don’t take his advice. Her mother had said that when she’d been brought, reluctantly, to making out a will. Had she realized the will could be contested? Obviously not, or she’d have told Robert the truth.
In a crazy way, that was reassuring. It seemed to show that Juliet hadn’t conceived of anyone thinking Amanda wasn’t her child. Not that Amanda doubted her love, even in the face of the news that had turned her world upside down.
Barney nudged her hand impatiently, then let out a single bark. He trotted a few steps away and then looked back at her, whining.
Supper? But he was headed for the den, not the kitchen. She frowned when he barked again. “All right, Barney. Enough. What’s so important?”
He trotted toward the den and again looked back at her. Obviously she was expected to follow him. She obeyed, knowing he wouldn’t quit. “Whatever is wrong with...”
She stopped in the doorway, staring, shivering a little when chill air reached her. The window that overlooked the tiny garden behind the house was broken. Shards of glass lay on the Oriental carpet. Fear kept her immobile for another instant.
She should run, get out, call the police...but clearly the intruder was gone. Barney looked at the broken window with an air of triumph, his tail waving as if he announced that he’d vanquished the invader. He’d hardly react that way if someone were still in the house.
“Good dog, good boy.” She patted her knee, drawing him back to her. The glass could give him a nasty cut on the paw. He came, rubbing his nose against her palm. “Good Barney,” she said again, holding him by the collar.
Calling the police was the obvious next step, but a quick glance told her there’d be little they could do. It didn’t look as if the thief had been in here long enough to take anything. The only sign of disturbance besides the broken window was the painting that lay facedown on the rug, its frame broken.
Amanda had to restrain herself from rushing to pick it up. Juliet had done that painting the summer Amanda went to camp for the first time, when she was ten. A realistic-looking view of a waterfall, it was very different from her usual work. But Juliet had been attached to it, and it had hung over the fireplace in the den since that summer. If it was damaged—
She’d have to wait until the police arrived to see. She backed out of the room, dragging Barney, who clearly wanted to remain at the scene of his triumph. Amanda closed the door, ignoring the way he whined at the crack, and pulled out her cell phone.
The police first. Assured they’d be there soon, Amanda leaned against the wall, discovering that her knees were weak. Silly, but normal, she supposed.
Clutching the cell phone in one hand and Barney’s collar in the other, Amanda went through the rest of the downstairs. Nothing was disturbed. The thief hadn’t gotten far before Barney caught up with him. Thank goodness he apparently hadn’t had a weapon.
Shaken by what might have happened, Amanda sank down on the rug and put her arms around the dog. If she’d lost him, too...
It seemed an eternity until the doorbell rang. She peered out the side window. Reassured by the sight of the uniforms, she opened the door.
Much ado about nothing, she told herself a half hour later, when she closed the door behind them again. One of them had been obliging enough to help her tape cardboard in place over the broken panes and sweep up the broken glass while the other filled out a report.
Their attitude said she’d been lucky. Nothing missing and only minor damage that her insurance would most likely cover. With a parting admonition to use the alarm system at all times, they’d gone.
“So that’s it,” she told Barney. “Let’s see how bad the damage was to the painting.”
He woofed as if he understood and followed her back to the den. Amanda shivered a little when she paused inside the door. This room, at least, wouldn’t feel like a refuge again for a time. While Barney nosed around the broken frame, Amanda lifted the painting gingerly. She turned it over and let out a sigh of relief. The only damage was to the frame.
Odd, that the thief had gone straight to the painting. A burglar would probably look for expensive electronics, rather than a painting. Unless he’d thought it hid a safe. Or perhaps the thief knew whose house this was and had some idea of the value of a Juliet Curtiss painting.
Amanda smoothed the canvas out flat, trying to look at it as if for the first time, but it had become so much a part of the surroundings that it was impossible. The falls were very realistic, as was the dark water at the base and the jagged rocks that interrupted the water’s flow. A little shiver went through her. She’d always found the tone of the picture rather ominous. Her mother must have loved it, since it had pride of place in the room where they usually spent the evenings. But there had been times when she’d regarded it broodingly, her face set, maybe dissatisfied with her own work.
Amanda started to put the painting on the side table until she could arrange to have it reframed, but something on the back caught her eye. Along the bottom, in her mother’s impeccable printing, ran a tiny line of text, so tiny she had to carry the painting to the lamp to make it out.
In memoriam. M, April, 1989. Echo Falls. Too young to die.
It was the date that jolted Amanda: 1989. She’d been born on February 10, 1989. If that date, at least, was true.
Amanda sank into the desk chair, studying the face of the painting, then turning it again to read the words on the back. It was too much of a coincidence. Or was she thinking that only because of the shocks she’d had?
No. She couldn’t buy that. It had to mean something. She had no idea where Echo Falls might be, or who M had been. But she intended to find out.
* * *
IF SHE WERE PUNCTUAL, the new client should be showing up in the next few minutes. Theodore Alter, Trey to his friends, straightened his tie and prepared for the novelty of a new client. New clients had been thin on the ground for the firm of Alter and Glassman since the scandal broke involving the former head of the law practice. He wanted to make sure this one didn’t slip through his fingers.
Unfortunately, he had no idea what Ms. Amanda Curtiss of Boston wanted with an attorney in tiny Echo Falls, Pennsylvania. The contact had been made by someone he’d met at a conference last year. He and Robert McKinley had sat and talked one evening, exchanged business cards and parted, sure they’d never see each other again. Until his call came out of the blue.
McKinley had been downright evasive on the phone when he’d set up this appointment. It was the sort of approach Trey might have instinctively refused back in the day when they’d had more business than they could handle. Not now. He could only hope this Amanda Curtiss wasn’t a nutcase.
The intercom buzzed, and he stood as the door opened. “Ms. Curtiss, Mr. Alter,” Evelyn Lincoln, their office manager, murmured.
She closed the door discreetly, and Trey had a moment to assess the woman who came toward him. Slim, average height, with blond hair pulled back in a tie at her nape and intensely blue eyes that were looking him over, as well. And perhaps a bit disapprovingly. He had a quick impression of expensive casual clothes and an assured manner before they were shaking hands and murmuring conventional greetings.
“I see you brought a friend to our meeting.” Trey nodded to the yellow Lab that followed at the woman’s heels.
“I didn’t want to leave him in the car. Your receptionist said it would be okay if I brought him inside. I hope you don’t dislike dogs.” She sounded as if that would end this meeting in a hurry.
“Not at all.” He held out the back of his hand to the animal. “I hope he likes attorneys.”
“Barney’s quite indiscriminately affectionate.” The tight control she’d been exercising over her expression became evident only when her face relaxed in a smile as she looked at the animal. The dog proved the truth of her words by licking Trey’s hand with enthusiasm.
She took the chair Trey had indicated, and the dog sat obediently next to her. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” The reserve had returned.
“No problem,” he said easily. “Tell me what I can do to help you. Robert McKinley didn’t say much, just that you needed an attorney here in town.”
“Yes.” She frowned, studying him so seriously that he began to wonder if he had something on his face.
When she didn’t continue, he raised an eyebrow. “I’m not what you were looking for?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. “I expected you to be older.”
“Sorry I can’t oblige.” If that sounded flippant, too bad. The woman’s attitude didn’t bode well for their relationship.
But her lips twitched, and she looked human again. “Sorry. I just assumed a friend of Robert’s would be around his age. And this is...rather complicated. I’m not sure you can help me.”
“We’ll never know unless you tell me what it’s about, will we?”
Amanda Curtiss was actually quite attractive when she relaxed her guard for a moment, with those mobile lips and long, slim legs. Not that he ought to be noticing anything of the kind about a client. Oddly enough, there was something vaguely familiar in the oval face and regular features, but he couldn’t place it.
“No.” She paused, as if not sure how to begin. “This situation arose when my mother died a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Maybe that explained the air she had of holding a tight guard on her emotions.
Amanda nodded, accepting the words of condolence. She’d probably heard them often recently. She couldn’t be more than about thirty herself, so her mother had apparently died young.
“She had been caught in the cross fire of what the police thought was gang violence. In the course of the postmortem, it was determined that she’d never given birth to a child.” She met his gaze briefly and then looked away. “Robert and I assumed I was adopted, but we couldn’t find adoption papers anywhere. He’s started a search through court records, but without knowing where or when, it seems impossible to trace.”
Trey tried to imagine himself in that situation and ran up against a blank wall. He couldn’t even begin to think what it must be like. His family roots went deep here in Echo Falls, where everyone knew everything going back several generations. “But you must have a birth certificate.”
“I have a baptismal certificate from a church outside Boston that appears genuine, but that’s when I was three. What we thought was a birth certificate was actually a hospital form, not a state-registered certificate. And no such birth actually occurred at that hospital on that date.”
Trey frowned, caught up in the story in spite of himself. “Your mother must have been very determined to wipe out traces of who you really were. If she were desperate to have a child...”
“No. If you’re thinking she took me because she was mentally unbalanced...well, you never knew my mother. That’s not something she would do.”
He’d reserve judgment on that one. Children weren’t always the best judge of what their parents would do. Come to think of it, that worked the other way around, too.
“So you’ve run into a lot of blind alleys. But what brought you to Echo Falls?”
She hesitated, and for a moment he actually thought she was going to call the whole thing off, say goodbye, send me a bill and walk away. But instead she took something from her bag and handed it to him.
“Do you recognize that?”
It was a photograph of what seemed to be a painting.
The subject was familiar to him. “That’s Echo Falls.” He studied it closely. “But I’ve never seen that painting of the falls.”
“My mother painted it. She was Juliet Curtiss. I don’t know if you’re familiar...”
“Yes, of course. I read the account of her death somewhere.” That shed a bit more light on things. Juliet Curtiss most likely had a considerable estate to leave her heir, which was now in doubt. On the other hand, if the woman thought the painting would lead her to answers about her parentage...
“This is a photo of the words on the back of the painting. I enlarged it to make it more readable.”
He read the short line of printing, struggling to make sense of it. “It sounds as if your mother did the painting as a tribute to a friend, but that doesn’t mean there’s a connection to you.”
“It’s a memorial, so it’s logical to assume that the date on it was the date when this person died.”
He nodded. “M. I’m with you, but...”
“The date is two months after I was born.” She seemed to think that made everything clear. It didn’t.
“Even so,” he began.
“You think I’m imagining a connection that isn’t there.” Her face flamed with sudden anger.
“I think you’re building a great deal on a slim chance. If I thought I could help you...”
“Never mind.” She held out her hand for the photos. “Robert suggested I see you rather than a private investigator, both because he trusts you and because as a local attorney, you’re more likely to know what to search for. Maybe I’ll do better looking into the situation on my own.”
Annoyed, he held the photos out of reach. “Hold on. I didn’t say I wouldn’t try. I just don’t know that I can come up with the answers you want.”
“I want the truth.” Her tone was uncompromising.
“Good. So do I. Now we have common ground, at least. May I hold on to these?”
“Why?” She shot the word at him.
“Well, mainly because I was four years old in 1989. I’d like to show them to someone who might remember something from that year.”
She frowned. “I assume you have a copier in the office. Suppose you keep a copy.”
Trey nodded. “We can do that on the way out. Now, where are you staying?”
“At a motel down near Williamsport. It was the closest place I could find that would allow dogs.”
“Let me have your cell number, then. I’ll call you if I find anything.” He hesitated, but it ought to be said. “In the meantime, it probably would be best if you didn’t start investigating this in Echo Falls yourself.”
“Why not?” She was instantly defensive.
“It’s a small town. And like most small towns, people don’t like outsiders poking around asking questions.” He could see by her expression that she didn’t understand. Obviously she’d never lived in a place like Echo Falls.
“I’ll think about what you said.” She stood, and the dog lumbered to his feet, his nap interrupted. She handed Trey a card with the number he’d requested. It also identified her as Dr. Amanda Curtiss, DVM. A vet. He’d never have guessed that, but it seemed to explain that air of competence.
Trey rounded the desk to join her. “Meaning you’ll follow your own instincts?”
That seemed to break through her guard for an instant, and she smiled. “I suppose so.”
“Tell me something.” He opened the door for her. “Did Robert McKinley approve of this investigation of yours?”
“Probably not. But I told him, and I’ll tell you.” There was a fierce quality to her determination that he hadn’t seen before. “I intend to know the truth. I’m going to find out who I am, no matter who stands in the way.”
He tried for a noncommittal expression. “That’s your right.” He wished he could say it was wise, but he couldn’t. For no reason that he could put his finger on, he had the feeling that Amanda Curtiss’s quest could land her in a big bunch of trouble. And him with her, if he let himself be sucked in.
CHAPTER TWO (#ubaf23632-79a5-5418-8b50-3a908bd00fb5)
WHEN AMANDA REACHED the sidewalk a few minutes later she paused, considering. That appointment hadn’t gone as badly as it might have, she supposed. She’d almost become accustomed to the series of disturbing events that had turned her life upside down, right up until she’d tried to verbalize them to a stranger. If the story sounded off-the-wall to her, she could imagine how it had sounded to that attorney.
To do him justice, Alter hadn’t escorted her politely to the door and suggested she consult a mental health professional. Maybe he was a bit too staid and reserved, despite his age, for such an act.
Barney pressed against her leg as if to ask why they were standing irresolute on the sidewalk. “Walk, Barney?”
A wave of the tail answered her. Barney was too well trained to give his usual ecstatic bark in public, but there was no denying a walk would suit him fine. And it made a good excuse to have a look at the place that had seemed to hold such significance to her mother.
To Juliet Curtiss, she corrected, starting down the sidewalk away from the law office. Was she ever going to get used to the idea that she wasn’t Juliet’s biological daughter?
Juliet had seen her as a daughter. Hadn’t she said so plainly in her will? That was the important thing, Robert had told her over and over in the past two weeks. He’d been distressed by what he saw as Amanda’s obsession with finding out who she was and where she’d come from.
And as her attorney, he’d been firmly opposed to her leaving Boston at all. “Stay in residence at the brownstone” had been his repeated refrain. That way, if Juliet’s brother did get a hint of any irregularity, he’d have much more difficulty in getting her out.
Amanda couldn’t do it. She couldn’t live her life cautious and afraid. It would have been a betrayal of the way Juliet had raised her. Juliet Curtiss had taken her own course all her life, and she’d taught Amanda to do the same.
Robert had been sympathetic, but he hadn’t understood. As for the attorney he’d sent her to...well, Alter didn’t understand, either. He clearly wanted her to do nothing except, possibly, go away.
Had he been right about the people here and their attitude toward outsiders? So far as she could tell, Echo Falls inhabitants appeared friendly. Instead of the usual eyes averted posture of a busy city, most people she passed here gave her a pleasant smile or a nod.
The main street of Echo Falls was lined on either side by small shops and offices. A gift shop, a bank, a bookstore...she checked them off as she passed. Ahead of her was the town square, with a small plot of grass, a fountain and a memorial to someone or other. The redbrick buildings around it looked solidly turn of the century. Another bank anchored one corner, while the town hall and the public library accounted for two more. The last was occupied by the local newspaper.
A library and a newspaper office were two of the first places she’d thought to check for information. It was tempting to go in now, but Barney probably wouldn’t be welcome, and her stomach informed her it was long past lunchtime.
With a longing glance at the library, Amanda turned back the way she’d come. Noticing a bakery-café across the street, she put Barney in the car, cracked the window a couple of inches and headed in search of lunch.
Several people were coming out of Beiler’s Café as she reached it. Judging by the quiet interior, she must have missed the lunch rush, if there was such a thing in a town this size.
The pleasant-faced woman behind the counter waved her to a table. “Wilkom. Will you have coffee?”
“Yes, please.” The fact that the woman was Amish surprised her. She’d grown accustomed to seeing the Amish when she’d done her veterinary training in Pennsylvania, but somehow she hadn’t expected to find an Amish settlement this far north in the state.
A steaming mug appeared first, followed quickly by a menu. “Lunch, or maybe a cruller to go with the coffee?” The woman’s smile widened. “I’m Esther... Esther Beiler. And you are a visitor, ain’t so?”
Amanda relaxed, whatever tension she’d held on to evaporating at the woman’s friendliness. “That’s right. I haven’t been to this part of Pennsylvania before. You have such a pretty downtown area.” True enough, and it occurred to her that she should seize the opportunity to chat when offered.
“Ach, it’s not so bad,” Esther acknowledged. “I think the valley is at its best in the fall, when the ridges have so much color. It’s already close to the peak, I think. We get a fair number of tourists coming through on weekends.”
Nodding, Amanda scanned the menu. “What do you recommend?”
“Chicken potpie is most popular. I have homemade vegetable beef soup, too, and it’s not so bad.”
Deciding that “not so bad” was high praise, Amanda opted for the vegetable beef soup. As the woman headed back toward the kitchen, Amanda noticed tourist brochures on a rack inside the door. She picked up one to look at while waiting. Her preliminary research had told her that the actual falls for which the community was named was a couple of miles away. She was eyeing a sketch map in the brochure doubtfully when Esther returned with the soup and a basket of rolls that smelled fresh from the oven.
“You’re interested in the falls, yah?” Esther seemed to have no inhibitions about looking over Amanda’s shoulder.
“I’d like to see them, yes.” She couldn’t expect that looking at the falls would tell her anything about why her mother had painted them, but somehow she had to see for herself. “But this map...”
“That’s for pretty, not for finding your way.” Esther dismissed the tourist brochure. “Best if you have someone take you there the first time. It’s not an easy walk.”
“Walk?”
“Yah. You can park not too far away, but you’ll need to walk through the woods.” Esther gestured toward the street. “I saw you coming out of the law office. Trey could take you. Or was it Jason Glassman you came to see?”
The firm was Alter and Glassman. Obviously news spread fast here. “Trey?” she questioned.
“Theodore James Alter.” Esther’s smile widened. “His father and grandfather had the same name, so everyone calls him Trey.”
Amanda stowed that information away. Obviously Alter was well-known here. Whether that would help her or not, she didn’t know.
“I had some business with the office. I don’t know Mr. Alter socially.” And the idea of having him along when she went to the falls didn’t appeal. “I saw a painting of the falls once,” she added. If Esther knew everything that went on in town, she might have been aware of Juliet’s visit, although there didn’t seem much chance she’d remember it after all these years.
“A painting. Think of that, now. I’ve seen lots of photographs of the falls, but never a painting.” She shrugged. “Funny, that is, but people have kind of odd feelings about the falls.”
“Odd?” Amanda had her own reasons for mixed emotions about the falls, but...
“Lots of superstitions, you know.” Esther seemed vaguely uneasy. “I don’t put much stock in those old stories myself.”
“What kind of old stories?” She asked the question around a spoonful of vegetable soup, rich with tender beef chunks.
Esther frowned, brushing her palms down the front of her white apron. “Ach, old Indian tales and the like.” She hesitated. “There’s one that says you should never climb up the trail by the falls alone. Seems if you do...”
The pause might have been for effect, but Amanda suspected the woman’s hesitation was genuine enough. “Yes?”
“They say if you do, you’ll hear something following you. Coming after you. All you can hear is the rushing water and the footsteps behind you.”
Esther’s rosy face had lost some of its color. She wasn’t putting this on to entertain the tourist. Suddenly she flicked her apron, as if shaking something off it.
“Ach, that’s all nonsense, probably made up to keep kids away. I don’t believe a word of it.”
Amanda didn’t, either, of course. She was far too sensible to be frightened by ghost stories.
But the words lingered in her mind like a cobweb clinging to her fingers, impossible to shake away.
* * *
“SO HOW DID the appointment with the new client go?” Jason Glassman, Trey’s law partner, tossed some mail on Trey’s desk. “Anything there?”
Trey shrugged. “Doubtful.” He and Jason had spent plenty of hours trying to rebuild the firm in the past few months, and he didn’t think Amanda Curtiss’s wild-goose chase was going to help them.
“Don’t tell me your big-shot Boston friend sent you someone who doesn’t have a case.”
“Worse.” He frowned. “At least, I think it’s worse. It’s either going to be time wasted on nothing at all, or it’s going to be something...”
“What?”
“I’m not sure.” He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that if there was any substance to Amanda’s story, it would lead to a messy situation that wouldn’t do the firm or himself any good.
Jason was waiting patiently for an answer, something that showed how much he’d changed since he’d arrived in Echo Falls last spring. Then, patience hadn’t been part of his vocabulary. Credit his recent engagement for that, Trey supposed.
“It’s too soon to say whether there’s anything to it or not. I’ll let you know once...” The sentence trailed off as he glanced out the window. There, on the opposite side of the street, was Amanda Curtiss, apparently having a heart-to-heart with Esther Beiler in front of the coffee shop.
If Amanda was looking for town gossip, she’d somehow landed right in the spot where the latest news was shared, embellished and passed on. Even as he watched, Esther pointed at the ridge, clearly showing Amanda the location of the falls.
“I’ll catch you up on it later,” he said, and hurried for the door.
Trey dodged an older model pickup coming down the street at a snail’s pace and reached the sidewalk to find Esther Beiler beaming at him.
“Ach, Trey, you’re chust in time. I was telling your friend that she’d best have you go with her up to the falls, ain’t so?”
His friend? He’d have to let that go with Esther’s curious gaze fixed on him. “Sure thing. I’d be glad to take her.”
He turned to Amanda, trying to keep a smile on his face. “If you’re ready, I’ll walk back to the car with you. We’ll set up a time to go.”
Amanda evaded his glance. Thanking Esther, she stepped off the curb. But any plans she might have to avoid talking to him were foiled as she had to pause for an Amish buggy to roll slowly past.
Trey raised his hand to Eli Miller and his oldest boy, probably headed to the hardware store, and then touched Amanda’s elbow to guide her across the street as if she were his elderly grandmother.
She glared at him, shaking her arm free. “I can walk across the street on my own, thank you. And there’s no need to take me to the falls. Esther gave me very good directions.”
“I’ll bet.” His lips quirked. “I’ve heard Esther’s idea of directions. ‘Go down the Pauley Road until you come to where Stoltzfus’s barn used to be before they built the new one...’”
Amanda preserved the glare for another second before her lips curved in a smile that showed a dimple at the upper corner. “They were something like that, I have to say. But really, there’s no need for me to take you away from your work. Just tell me something I can put into the GPS.”
“I doubt if there is an address it would recognize.” Besides, keeping an eye on Amanda Curtiss seemed like a good idea, if not a full-time job. “Tell you what. I’ll meet you tomorrow and take you up there. Okay?”
“Why not now?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“First, because you’re not dressed for a hike.” He nodded toward her suede boots and light wool slacks. “And neither am I. Second, because that will give me a chance to look for some of the answers you want.”
She studied him, as if wondering whether he was stalling. “You think you’ll be able to find something that quickly?”
“If there was a death that was somehow connected to the falls in 1989, I’m sure my dad would know about it. And he can be trusted not to spread your story all over town.”
“That’s really worrying you, isn’t it? I don’t see why.”
They’d reached the car by then, and he put a hand on the door when she would have opened it. In an instant the dog had sprung to the window, baring a formidable set of teeth.
“Nice to know you’re so well-protected,” he commented, moving his hand away from the glass. “This is a small town.”
“You said that before,” she pointed out. “I still don’t see why anyone would be interested in why I’m here.”
“You don’t know a town like this. Esther will be talking about you to the next person who comes into the café. Not maliciously, you understand. Just sharing. And that person will mention you to someone else.”
Amanda’s firm jaw set stubbornly. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Then you’re not thinking it through.” He resisted the urge to raise his voice and glanced around, but no one was within earshot. “From what you told me, you obviously think there’s a good chance your birth mother was connected with Echo Falls. People here are old-fashioned. Do you think they’ll welcome someone stirring up what might have been an old scandal? Or sharing their private family secrets with the world?”
Her clear blue eyes seemed to darken. “You think I’m an illegitimate child no one will want to claim.”
“That’s not what I think. I think you’re building too much on something that probably has no relationship to your parentage. I get it, really. It must have been an enormous shock to be faced with that news so soon after your mother’s death.”
For a moment he thought she’d argue with him. Then she seemed to swallow whatever it was she’d almost said. “You’re sure you’ll be able to find out something by tomorrow?”
“If there’s anything to find, I will. If my father doesn’t know, someone else will, but I’m betting he’d remember anything that dramatic.” He tried to read her expression and found it impossible. “So, what do you say? I’ll meet you at the office tomorrow at ten, and I’ll bring the insect repellent. You wear something you can walk in the woods in. Okay?”
She hesitated for so long he thought she was going to turn him down. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” Her expression softened. “Look, I know I’m not going to find anything there. I just... I need to see the place.”
“I get it.” To his surprise, he actually did. It was a connection to the woman she’d always thought was her mother. “In the meantime, could you refrain from going around town asking questions?”
“I’ll consider it.” A smile took the sting from the words. “Until tomorrow, then. And thanks...” She hesitated. “Trey.”
“You see?” He kept his voice light. “Esther knows all and tells all.”
He opened the door for her, and at a word, the dog lay down in the back seat.
“I’ll see you at ten, then.”
She closed the door, and Trey stood where he was to watch her drive down the street. Not toward the highway and her motel, he noticed. That was too much to hope for.
He’d warned her. That was all he could do. Whatever waves she made now were unavoidable.
* * *
BY THE TIME he left the office for the day, Trey had stopped trying to dismiss Amanda Curtiss and her troubles from his mind. He couldn’t do it. His mother would say he was conscientious, like his father, but he knew better. It was apprehension, caused by the sense that Amanda was going to cause problems for anyone who became involved in her hunt for answers.
Stubborn, that was the word for her—just like a lot of the hardheaded Pennsylvania Dutch he’d grown up with. Once they’d made up their minds, a person might as well save his breath and prepare either to get out of the way or to pick up the pieces.
He’d headed automatically for his own place, but a sudden impulse made him turn at the corner of Oak Street and make for his parents’ house instead. He had to pick his father’s brain on the subject of Amanda’s search, so he might as well do it now.
A few minutes later he pulled into the driveway at the comfortable old Queen Anne house where he’d grown up. In his mind’s eye, he could still see a bicycle leaning against the mammoth oak tree that Dad threatened periodically to have cut down before it fell on the house. And a skateboard abandoned on the porch steps, providing the material for a fatherly lecture on the proper care of one’s belongings.
When he got out, the October sun slanted through the branches of the oak tree, picking out bronze and gold in the leaves. The lawn could use a raking, but Dad was forbidden to do that sort of thing since his heart attack in the spring. Trey would have to take the initiative and either do the fall cleanup himself or hire someone.
Scuffing through the leaves that had already fallen, he headed for the side door that led into the kitchen. “Mom? Dad? You home?” Since the car was in the garage and the door unlocked, that was a safe assumption.
“Trey!” His mother looked as delighted as if she hadn’t seen him in three months instead of three days. “How nice. You’ll stay for supper.”
He grinned, giving her a quick hug. “Now, how did you know that was on my mind?” Nothing pleased his mother more than having her cooking appreciated.
“You don’t eat enough, cooking for yourself,” she chided.
“Where’s Dad?” he interrupted, before she could tell him he ought to get married so he’d have someone to take care of him. There was never any use telling her that none of the women he dated cared any more for cooking than he did.
“In the study. You go and chat with him while I add a few more potatoes to the pot. Go on. Pork chops tonight, and luckily I got extra.”
She always had extra, of course. Dad claimed she’d never gotten past the years when as often as not Trey would bring a friend or two home for supper at the last minute.
Dad put his newspaper aside when Trey entered the round room that took up the first floor of the typically Victorian turret. Upstairs, this area was a sunroom off the master bedroom, and here it was his father’s domain. The golden oak desk still sat in front of a bank of windows, although it wasn’t littered with a slew of papers as it had been during his father’s working years.
“About time you were coming by,” he said. “Your mother convince you to stay for supper?”
Trey grinned. “You should know I never take much convincing.” Concern lurked behind the smile as he pulled up a rocking chair next to his father’s recliner. Dad was still looking too pale, too drawn, since the scare he’d put them through a few months ago.
His father seemed to see past Trey’s casual manner. “Something on your mind?”
“As a matter of fact, something has come up I’d like your advice on.” Maybe it would do his father good to be involved in the business of the firm he’d spent his life building. “I had a new client come in today—a woman who was referred by a Boston attorney I met a couple of years ago. She had a rather odd story to tell.”
“I’m retired, remember?” But he was leaning forward, obviously interested.
Trey reached in his pocket, pulled out a couple of ones and put them on the lamp table. “There. Consider yourself a consultant.”
“Right. So what am I consulting on? You can surely handle whatever it is.”
“My memories don’t go back far enough to be helpful, and I figure yours do. And you won’t go blabbing it around town.”
“Thanks for the compliment. So tell me.” In spite of the sarcastic words, he looked pleased.
But as the story unfolded, Trey saw his father’s expression change. He seemed to freeze up as he looked into the past, as if he’d seen something he’d rather not look at.
Trey faltered to a stop. His mother had been on a campaign to keep anything worrisome away from Dad, and he seemed to have tripped right into it.
His father leaned back in the chair, his mouth tight. It took a few minutes for him to speak. “If I were you, I’d tell the woman you can’t help her.”
“That was my first instinct,” Trey admitted. “But she struck me as the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily. If I don’t help her, she’ll go around town asking questions on her own. It seemed to me...”
Dad waved a hand tiredly. “No, you’re right. That would be worse.” He mused for another moment. “If you’re looking for a death in 1989 that is related to the falls, there’s only one I can think of that fits. Elizabeth Winthrop’s granddaughter was found dead at the base of the falls sometime in the spring.”
“Winthrop,” Trey repeated. It was like saying “Rockefeller” by Echo Falls standards. The Winthrop family had established the town, lumbered the surrounding hillsides, built up a thriving business that still provided employment to half the town.
“Exactly.” Dad’s eyes met his. “The story was hushed up, of course. If people knew, they were generally sensible enough not to talk about it, but word got around, of course.”
“So what was it? Suicide?” That was the first thought that came to mind. Elizabeth Winthrop was an elderly autocrat who would find it unthinkable that such a thing could touch her family.
“It was ruled accidental, of course. Still, not even the Winthrops could eliminate all the speculation, especially since Melanie Winthrop had left town suddenly some months earlier. She’d have been about seventeen at the time, I suppose.”
“Pregnant or an addict?” Those were the obvious answers.
“Pregnant,” his father said reluctantly. “She was sent off to have the baby and put it up for adoption.”
“So that may be Amanda Curtiss’s answer. There must be records...”
“It’s not as simple as that. Melanie didn’t go through with the plans. She disappeared, and as far as I know, she wasn’t seen or heard from until the day she was found lying on the rocks at Echo Falls.”
He leaned back in the chair, breathing as if he’d been running, his face gray. Alarmed, Trey clasped his wrist. “Dad...”
“Now that’s enough talk.” Trey hadn’t realized his mother was standing at the doorway until she hurried to his father. “Ted, you know you shouldn’t tire yourself that way.” She picked up a glass of water and held it to his lips.
“I’m sorry.” Guilt had a stranglehold on Trey’s throat. “I shouldn’t have kept him talking so long.”
“Nonsense.” His father pushed the glass away fretfully. “Don’t fuss, Claire. I’m fine.”
“Supper will be ready in five minutes. Trey, you can set the table.” She shooed Trey out of the room ahead of her.
“I didn’t mean...” he began, but his mother shook her head.
“You couldn’t have known it would affect him that much.” She didn’t bother to deny she’d been listening. “But he wouldn’t want you to keep it from him.”
“I don’t get it. Why should it upset him that much? It’s not as if you were close friends with the Winthrops.”
“Your father was the family’s attorney in those days.” His mother stirred gravy vigorously with an air of not knowing what she was doing. “They fell out over this business of Melanie’s pregnancy. He thought they were making a mistake to handle it that way, disregarding the girl’s wishes. That was the last thing he did for them, and I remember that his partner was furious that he gave up such a lucrative client. But when it comes to principles, your father is a stubborn man.”
Trey wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t know he’d ever represented them.”
His mother handed him a pot of mashed potatoes. “Put that in a bowl.” She gave him a half smile. “I’m sure your father never regretted losing them.” She hesitated. “I’d like to tell you to drop the whole thing, but I know better. You’re just as stubborn and principled as your father. You’re going to help this woman, aren’t you?”
He paused, but there really was only one answer. “Yes. I guess I am.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ubaf23632-79a5-5418-8b50-3a908bd00fb5)
AMANDA WASN’T QUITE sure how she’d let Trey Alter talk her into changing the plans she’d made. She had no particular reason to trust him. Just because Robert had recommended him, that didn’t mean she should let him dictate what she did.
But after telling herself all that, here she was, getting into Trey’s car in front of his office the next day.
“Somehow I thought this was the kind of car you’d have.” She snapped her seat belt.
Trey sent her a startled glance. “What’s wrong with my car?”
“Nothing. Nice, conservative sedan, tan, sedate—just the thing for a family lawyer to drive.”
Instead of taking offense, he grinned. “Stodgy, in other words. If it’ll make you feel any better about me, I also own a beat-up, four-wheel drive pickup. Red.”
“With a gun rack behind the seat?” she inquired.
“You bet. Now you don’t know whether I’m a good ole boy or a stuffy lawyer.”
She couldn’t deny that he’d intrigued her. “So which is it?”
“Both. Or neither, depending on your point of view.”
“Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t succumb to stereotypes.”
He shrugged. “No problem. We all do it sometimes.”
“Yes.”
People had thought that because Juliet was an artist, she couldn’t possibly have been a typical soccer mom. Maybe she wasn’t, but she’d been there for every single event in Amanda’s life, including being a room mother and chaperoning school trips.
They hadn’t gone more than a mile out of town, and she hadn’t managed to ask him what, if anything, he’d found out, when he turned off the main road onto a farm lane.
The car hit a pothole, and he winced. “Sorry. Guess I should have made you ride in the pickup. The milk tankers really tear up this road.”
Amanda glanced across a cornfield, stalks yellow and ready for cutting, to a tidy white farmhouse. “No power lines,” she commented. “I assume it’s Amish?”
He nodded. “How did a Boston vet become able to identify an Amish farm at a glance?”
“My graduate degree is from the University of Pennsylvania. A lot of their large animal work is carried out in the Lancaster County area. And I had a practice there for a time.”
“So you know enough not to gawk when you see a bonnet, or try to take a photograph of an Amish person?”
“At least that much,” she said gravely. “Look, shall we stop evading the point and get to it? Did you find out anything?”
“I’m not sure how much...” The car hit a rut, and he broke off abruptly. “How about I concentrate on getting us there without ruining my shocks? Then I’ll tell you what I’ve been able to find out so far.”
“Fair enough.” She gripped the armrest. “Are the falls on private land?”
“No, but this is the shortest access to the bottom of the falls, and Eli never minds folks driving up his lane as long as they don’t make a mess. You can take a township road to the state lands, but it’s out of the way.”
She subsided, letting him concentrate on the road, if she could dignify it by calling it that. She had been so taken up with her own problems the previous day that she hadn’t really noticed him. Now she had time for a closer look.
Not bad. Nice, even features in a strong face, brown hair with just a hint of bronze when the light hit it, a pair of level brows and a strong, stubborn jaw. He was in is early thirties, and she wondered what he found to do for fun in a town like Echo Falls.
Of course, he could be married with a couple of kids, but she didn’t think so. She hadn’t seen any family photos or childish artwork in his office, and he didn’t wear a ring.
Not that it mattered in the least what his marital status was, she assured herself.
“There are a few hunting cabins out that way.” He waved a hand toward a road that cut off around the curve of the hillside. “When the state took over the falls, they didn’t buy up much of the surrounding land. Probably thinking the less accessible it was, the better.”
He reached a slightly wider place in the road and pulled to the side, turning off the ignition. Ahead of them, the road seemed to peter out to a mere track. “We’ll park here and go the rest of the way on foot. You don’t mind a walk in the woods, do you?”
“No, and Barney will enjoy it.” She got out and opened the back door for Barney to jump down from the seat. He stood for a moment, nose raised to the unfamiliar scents.
“This way.”
Trey slung on a small backpack and gestured to a path. No sign. As he’d said, the state didn’t care to make it easy for tourists.
They headed along a path that slanted slightly upward. Barney, happy to be released, scampered along, dodging from one side of the trail to the other to explore.
Trey eyed him. “He’s not going to run off chasing a deer, is he?”
“I won’t say he wouldn’t be tempted, but he’s well trained.” She smiled. “Although he was actually a dropout from a service dog organization I’m involved with.”
“What did he do? Flunk his final?” Trey gave her a quizzical look.
“Not exactly. He could master the techniques, all right, but he didn’t have that extra edge of concentration and empathy that’s needed for a service dog. So he came home with me, and we’re both happy.”
“Your mother was a dog person, then?”
“Let’s say she and Barney tolerated each other. He’s a good watchdog, though. Did I tell you about the burglar he thwarted?”
“No.” He frowned. “Was this recently?”
“Within the last couple of weeks.” It seemed longer, given all that had happened since then. “The police seemed to think it was just a random act.”
He must have caught the hesitation in her voice. “You didn’t agree?”
“Whoever he was, he came in through the window in the den. There were some expensive electronics there, but the only thing disturbed was the painting of Echo Falls. I found that odd.” She shrugged. “He may have been interrupted by Barney before he could get any farther, but still, it was strange that he’d go for the painting first.”
Trey, slightly ahead of her on the trail, glanced back to study her face. “Could it have been someone who knew the value of a Juliet Curtiss painting? Maybe the artwork was the goal all along.”
“Possibly. That was my first thought, but it seems strange that someone as sophisticated as an art thief wouldn’t have taken the elementary precaution of finding out that there was a guard dog. It looked as if he went back out the window faster than he’d come in.”
Trey looked at Barney with what seemed increased respect. “A good thing Barney was on the job. So the painting was the only thing disturbed. Damaged?”
“No, but the frame was broken. That’s how I found the inscription on it.” She could hear her own voice flatten at the reminder of why she was here. This wasn’t just a pleasant walk in the woods with an attractive guy. “The wording had been placed so that no one would have noticed it unless the painting was out of the frame.”
“Right.” He seemed to recognize that it was time to talk. The path widened out, the ground becoming more level, and they were able to walk side by side. “Like I said I would, I spoke to my father. He was able to identify a death that is likely the one your mother memorialized. A young woman named Melanie Winthrop.”
“M,” Amanda said, her heart pumping a little faster. “Who was she? How did she die?”
Trey frowned, giving her the impression that he was reluctant to talk about it. “You have to understand first that the Winthrop family is a big deal in Echo Falls. Owners of the mill, town founders, with a finger in just about every pie there is here.”
“Bad things hit rich families, too,” she said, impatient to get on with it. She was on the point of possibly learning the truth about her mother, and he wanted to chat about town history. Didn’t he understand that her stomach was roiling with emotions even she couldn’t sort out?
“True enough,” he said. “But that wasn’t quite my point. The matriarch, Elizabeth Winthrop...well, to hear people tell it, she rules the family. Has done for years. Melanie would have been the daughter of her only son, who died in a plane crash along with his wife, leaving Melanie to be raised by her grandmother, her aunt and uncle.”
She wasn’t particularly interested in all this family detail, not now. “How did Melanie die?”
“According to my dad, she had left town abruptly some months before her death.” Trey seemed to be choosing his words. “Apparently she was pregnant, only seventeen.”
Pregnant. The odds were growing that this girl had been her mother. “They kicked her out?” Anger cut through Amanda.
“No, nothing like that. They sent her away to have the baby and give it up for adoption. Then she was supposed to come home and pretend it hadn’t happened.”
That didn’t seem much better to Amanda. “That’s...barbaric.”
“Old-fashioned. Conservative. Proud. That’s the Winthrop family. Or Elizabeth, anyway.”
“I’m surprised Melanie ever wanted to see them again.” Focus. Don’t think of her as your mother, not yet, or you won’t be thinking straight.
Trey took her arm as she climbed over a tree trunk on the path. “Maybe she didn’t. According to my dad, she didn’t go through with their plans for her. She disappeared, and nothing more was heard of her until her body was found at the base of the falls.”
For several minutes, Amanda had been aware of a faint roaring noise, growing louder as they walked. Now they stepped into a cleared area as the path ended at a stream. And above them loomed the falls.
For a moment Amanda couldn’t speak. She’d lived with the painting for years, and she’d seen numerous photos since she’d identified the location. But nothing had prepared her for the overpowering force of the water rushing down the steep face of rock.
“She fell from up there?” She finally found her voice. “It must be close to a hundred feet.”
“Ninety-some,” he said. “I don’t think they know how high up she was when she fell. It wouldn’t have needed to be all the way to the top to be fatal.”
The story Esther had told her, that if you climbed up the trail by the falls alone, you’d hear something following you, coming after you, slid into Amanda’s mind like a snake. She chased it out again. The trail was a faint, almost impassable-looking line winding up along the right side of the rushing water.
Amanda gave herself a mental shake. There had been nothing eerie about what happened to the girl. Just tragic.
“What was she doing here, of all places? If she came back, it must have been to see her family, wasn’t it?”
“Apparently not,” Trey said. He was staring at the falls, too. “At least they claim to have heard nothing from her. I haven’t had a chance to talk with the police chief yet, but I will. Still, I’m not sure how forthcoming he’s going to be.”
Amanda registered his words without really taking them in. She felt drawn nearer the base of the falls, her eyes on the jagged rocks. The girl who might have been her mother died there.
She tried the words out, but they seemed meaningless. Juliet was still the person she pictured as her mother, and Juliet had died in a spate of meaningless gunfire on a city street.
“Are you okay?” Trey clasped her arm, his hand warm even through the sleeve of her shirt and the sweater she wore.
“Yes.” She clipped off the word. “Can you actually get to the top from here? It looks impossible.”
“It’s actually not that bad.” He pointed to the small opening between two boulders. “Look, there’s a path that winds up through the rocks. Once you get started, it’s pretty easy to follow, but the rocks are slippery, especially when it’s windy and the spray is carried onto the path.”
“I see.” The safe thing would be to stand back and feel...whatever it was she’d thought she’d feel when she came here. But she felt compelled to see what it was like to climb up.
Would Juliet have climbed to the top when she was here? Maybe not—the painting had been done from the bottom. But the unknown Melanie might have.
Amanda clambered over the intervening rocks and took the first few steps up before Trey reached her.
“Hey, wait a second.” He caught her arm. “Always take a buddy with you when you climb. That’s what our scoutmaster told us.”
“I won’t go far. I just want to see...” That quickly, she hit a wet patch on the rock, and her foot slid.
Trey grabbed her in an instant, holding her steady against his solid body. “Take it easy. You don’t want to add to the accident count.”
She tilted her head back so she could see his face and nearly lost track of what she was going to say. He was so close she could see the small scar at the corner of his eyebrow, close enough to smell the faint, clean scent of him.
“I couldn’t kill myself falling from here,” she said, annoyed with herself for sounding breathless.
“No, but you could easily break an ankle on the rocks.” He looked away, as if he found their closeness uncomfortable.
She had to ask the question that had filled her mind. “Was it really an accident? How could they know if no one saw it?”
“You mean it might have been suicide?” His eyes narrowed, considering. “I don’t know how the police came to that decision. The police chief may have some ideas about it, if he’s willing to talk to me.”
“If I ask him...” she began.
“He’d freeze you out at the first implication that the police hadn’t done their job properly, especially where the Winthrop family is concerned.”
She suddenly needed to distance herself from him. She stepped down, then down again, well aware of his steadying hand on her arm. When they reached the bottom, Barney stopped running back and forth in agitation and nuzzled her hand. She patted him and then turned to face Trey as he jumped lightly down the last step.
“Are you saying the Winthrop family owns the police force as well as everything else in this town?”
“No.” Trey’s face darkened, and he seemed to make an effort to speak evenly. “I mean that a man in the chief’s position isn’t going to speak to an outsider about a police case to begin with. And if there was any question about whether Melanie’s death was accident or suicide, the kindest thing would be to opt for accident and spare the family that added pain.”
She thought of the seventeen-year-old, sent away at what had probably been the most difficult time of her life. “Maybe they deserved it.”
“That wouldn’t be for the police to judge. Or you either, for that matter, at least not without knowing more than you do now.”
She had a sneaking suspicion he was right about that, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Trey Alter had too self-satisfied an opinion of himself already.
“If the police chief won’t talk to me, what makes you think he’ll talk to you?” She recognized an edge to her voice. He probably heard it as well, but he didn’t react.
“Well, for one thing, he’s known me all my life. And for another, I’m an officer of the court, which gives me some status with him.” Trey took a few steps past her. “Let’s get away from the falls so we can hear ourselves think.”
Amanda had almost become used to the roar, the way they said people who lived in Niagara Falls no longer heard the sound. But she had been straining to speak above it, so she nodded, following him back away from the rocks.
“Is there anything else you want to see here?” Trey didn’t sound impatient, she’d give him that, but he might well want to get back to work.
“I’d like to find my mother’s vantage point of the falls, if I can.” She felt herself getting defensive. “And no, I don’t think it’s going to tell me anything after all these years. I’d just like to see it.”
He nodded as if it was perfectly reasonable. If he’d been annoyed with her, he had himself well under control. “Sure thing. It shouldn’t be hard to find. Did you bring the photo with you?”
Amanda retrieved it from the pocket where she’d stowed it for safety. Drat the man—why did he never react the way she expected?
Holding the photo, Trey paced slowly along the bank of the stream, looking up repeatedly to compare the view to the image. On the opposite side of the rushing stream, the thick growth of rhododendrons made an impenetrable barrier. The painting had to have been done from this side.
Trey reached a point at which a slight curve in the streambed had left a little spit of sand and gravel. He stopped, making the comparison again.
“Got it. I thought it might have been about here. Take a look.”
Amanda stepped out onto the sandy spot and looked from the photo to the falls. “You’re right. What made you think it might be here?”
He shrugged. “I’ve tried to get a good photo of the falls a few times. This is the only vantage point that lets you get in both the top and the bottom.”
Amanda stood where she was for a moment. She could so easily imagine Juliet on this spot, the legs of the easel shoved into the sand, a brush behind her ear and another in her hand, brooding over the canvas as she so often did.
As for the other person Juliet might have been imagining in the scene...to Amanda’s disappointment she could see nothing at all. Didn’t they say that blood called to blood? If so, either hers was deaf or she was on the wrong track entirely.
Then it hit her. “This whole thing started because the autopsy on my mother—on Juliet Curtiss—showed she’d never had a child. So wouldn’t the postmortem have shown, at least, whether Melanie Winthrop had carried a child to term? If so...”
Trey seized on the fragment of provable fact. “I’m no expert, but I’d think it would. If they bothered to do a full autopsy in a case of accident. But if they did, the results should be in the coroner’s records, and I ought to be able to access those.”
“So, you’re going to check the coroner’s records.” She surveyed him. “You’re going to talk to the police chief. What am I going to do?”
She could swear there was a twinkle in Trey’s eyes. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you’ll go back to your motel and wait for answers. Or better yet, back to Boston.”
“You sound like Robert McKinley,” she said sourly. “I can’t do nothing.”
“I suppose not.” He sounded regretful. “What about the newspaper accounts from the time? I don’t know how much they’d have reported, but it might give you a fuller picture of the events.”
“That was going to be my first stop before you sidetracked me. I suppose the newspaper has the files? I’ve already checked online, but the archives of the paper don’t go back that far.”
Trey bent to ruffle Barney’s ears absentmindedly. “They haven’t been in a rush to digitize them. There’s not that much call for old copies. The historical society has some, but they wouldn’t have digitized anything that recent.”
“There must be some way of finding them.”
He nodded. “The library has all the back issues on microfiche. It’ll turn you cross-eyed searching, as I know from experience, but you should be able to find what you want there.”
“Good.” Something she could do, at least. “I’ll work on that this afternoon and check back with you. I just wish I could find a place to stay in town. That drive back and forth to the motel is getting old already.”
Trey frowned, looking down at Barney. “I just might be able to find a place that wouldn’t mind a well-trained dog around.” He grinned. “Even if he did flunk out of service dog school.”
The tension involved in being on this spot slid away as she smiled in return. “Where? Lead me to it.”
“There’s an Amish farm near here that takes farm-stay guests in the summer. They recently added a cottage, complete with gas heating and lighting. They don’t normally take guests this time of year, but they might be persuaded to accommodate a friend of mine.”
“Is that how everything around here operates?” She couldn’t help but ask the question. “Based on the good old boys’ network?”
He shrugged. “You might be able to ignore your neighbors in the city, but not in a place like Echo Falls. If you’re done here, we can check it out now.”
Her spirits lifted. “Great. Thanks, Trey.” Impulsively she put out her hand.
He took it in both of his, and in that instant the mood changed abruptly. A not-so-lighthearted connection grabbed her, skittering along her nerves from their clasped hands. Their gazes caught, arrested as the attraction ricocheted between them.
The moment seemed to last forever. Then Trey dropped her hand as if he’d seized something hot. His breathing came as fast as if he’d been running, and hers was about as bad.
Well. That was unexpected. Unwelcome, she added defiantly. She didn’t have room for complications right now, so this had to stop before it started. Didn’t it?
* * *
BY THE TIME they’d gotten back to the car, Trey had given himself the lecture of the day—namely, don’t get involved. Relationships were difficult no matter where you lived, but in a small town, they could lead too easily to disaster, as he knew from experience.
Like the situation with Marcie Hampton last year, the then-new teacher at the high school. They’d gone out three times...count ’em, three...and the town had had them all but married.
Worse, Marcie had been infected by the assumptions, thinking their relationship more serious than it was. It had led to a messy breakup that he was determined not to repeat. Since then, he’d been considerably more circumspect.
Trey darted a sidelong glance at Amanda as they reached the main road. She seemed as reluctant to recognize that blast of attraction between them as he was. That should make it easier to keep their relationship strictly business.
He glanced in the rearview mirror to find that Barney was watching him with what seemed like skepticism in his eyes.
“Is the farm with the cottage far from town?” Amanda broke the silence between them.
“Not far. About three miles. Amos and Sarah Burkhalter took over his parents’ dairy farm a few years ago, and they added the farm-stay business to make a little extra in the summer. Sarah and the kids handle most of it. With eight kids between five and nineteen, the extra income is welcome.”
“Eight.” She shook her head. “I know the Amish have big families, but I’m still amazed at how well they manage. I have friends with one or two who can’t seem to keep up.”
“Everybody works on the farm. It keeps them busy and out of trouble, for the most part.”
“I’m sure that boggles the minds of their English farm-stay visitors. I remember the first time I saw a barefoot Amish boy chasing a gigantic Holstein into the barn for me to examine. I wanted to run to the rescue, but luckily I had better sense.”
He frowned, remembering her business card. “I thought your practice was with small animals.”
“Yes.” Amanda clipped off the word, and he saw her hands clench. After a moment, she went on. “I was originally a partner in a large animal practice in Lancaster County. But it...didn’t work out.” Trey had a sense of something suppressed. “So I went back to Boston.”
Her lips closed firmly. Obviously time for another subject of conversation. Luckily, they were coming up on the Burkhalter place.
“Here it is, on the right.” He nodded to where twin silos and a windmill loomed over a cluster of white frame buildings. “Like I said, the Burkhalters don’t usually take guests this time of the year, but I’ll sound them out.”
“Fine.” She looked back at Barney. “We’ll be on our best behavior, right, Barney?”
The dog whined in response to his name, and his muzzle poked between the seats as he attempted to lick Amanda’s face. They both chuckled, and the tension between them seemed to disappear.
When Trey pulled up at the back door of the farmhouse, Sarah was already coming outside with a welcoming wave, her youngest hurrying to keep up. When little Mary Elizabeth saw that Trey wasn’t alone, she took up a hiding place behind her mamm’s skirts.
“Trey, wilkom. We weren’t looking to see you today.” Sarah must be around forty, he knew, but she had a rosy, youthful face, and her brown hair didn’t yet show any signs of gray. She smiled at Amanda. “You’ve brought company. Komm, the coffee is hot and there’s apple pie.”
“Whoa, slow down.” He grinned at Mary Elizabeth, for whom he had a soft spot. “Sarah, this is Amanda Curtiss. She’s visiting Echo Falls for a while. Amanda, Sarah Burkhalter. And that pretty girl is Mary Elizabeth.”
“Sarah, it’s nice to meet you.” Amanda didn’t attempt to shake hands, probably knowing that might make Sarah uncomfortable. She knelt and smiled at the little girl. “I’m Amanda. Would you like to meet my friend?” She pointed to Barney, looking out the car window at them.
When Mary Elizabeth nodded, Amanda opened the door, and Barney leaped out lightly. At a command, he sat at her side, ears cocked, head on one side as he looked at the child. She edged out from behind her mother and petted him tentatively.
While the two of them were getting acquainted, Trey explained Amanda’s predicament. “I thought you might want to rent out the cottage to her.”
Sarah’s question showed in her face as she looked from Amanda to the dog.
“Barney is well trained,” Amanda said quickly. “I can promise he won’t go off chasing the stock. I’d be grateful for the chance to stay here, if you agree.”
“Amanda’s a vet,” Trey added helpfully. “She worked in Lancaster County for some time.”
Sarah’s expression relaxed. “Guess you know your way around a farm, then. Komm, we’ll look at the cottage.”
By the time they’d looked around the simple two-bedroom cottage, Sarah and Amanda were chatting like old friends, and he was confident that this one aspect of her problem was solved. As for the rest...well, he didn’t feel so hopeful. If she was Melanie’s daughter, it would have to be proved, and he didn’t know what Elizabeth Winthrop’s reaction would be to the prospect of an illegitimate great-granddaughter showing up.
His uncomfortable line of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Amos, Sarah’s husband. Sarah filled him in with a quick rattle of Pennsylvania Dutch, at the end of which he nodded.
“Wilkom, Amanda. We’re glad to have you here.” He gave a quick glance at his wife. “Is there any apple pie left, by chance?”
“Only because I hid half a pie from you and the boys,” she said. “Komm along to the house, all of you. We’ll have a little snack, yah?”
The women went ahead, and Amos fell into step with Trey. He gave him a nudge with his elbow strong enough to make him stagger. “So you finally found a woman willing to look twice at you. Looks to me like you picked a fine one.”
“Business,” Trey said quickly. “She’s here on business.”
“Tell that to someone who hasn’t known you most of your life,” Amos said, his face splitting in a grin. “I saw the way you looked at her. You’re caught at last, ain’t so?”
“No such thing,” he said firmly. “I’m doing some legal work for her, that’s all.”
“If you say so,” Amos said, but Trey knew he wasn’t buying it.
Just the kind of talk he didn’t want to get around. And if he knew Sarah, she was thinking exactly the same thing as her husband. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ubaf23632-79a5-5418-8b50-3a908bd00fb5)
AMANDA HAD INTENDED to spend the afternoon at the library, but since Sarah said she could move in right away, Amanda headed back to the motel to check out and pack. By late afternoon, she’d settled in the cottage and was busy familiarizing herself with the workings of the gaslights and heating.
Barney, after giving the cottage a thorough going-over, had apparently decided to lay claim to the hearth rug in front of the fireplace. He circled a couple of times, sighed and lay down, resting his head on his paws.
“I’m glad you approve,” she told him. “Since I’m not sure how long we’ll be here.”
She glanced at her watch, realizing that it was too late for even a cursory survey of the library’s files. That would have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, she could make an opportunity to talk to Sarah. From what Trey had said, they’d lived here for ages. Sarah might remember something of the accident to Melanie Winthrop, even if it were just what Amanda had already heard.
Pausing at the window, Amanda looked down the lane that led to the farmhouse. A stand of evergreens surrounded the cottage, cutting off her view of most of the farm buildings and giving the cottage an air of privacy.
Trey’s mention of her work in Lancaster County had probably sealed the deal, influencing Sarah to accept her. The Amish here were most likely one of the many daughter settlements from the Lancaster County Amish. She was annoyed that just the unexpected mention of that time had the power to make her stomach clench. Had he wondered why she’d been so terse about it?
Probably not. Trey barely knew her, even though they had been forced into a situation of some intimacy. He certainly didn’t know about the disaster that had sent her scurrying back to Boston and her mother.
Juliet had never been in favor of her going into practice with Rick. Better not to mix work and relationships, she’d said, carefully avoiding any hint of censure of Rick O’Neill’s character.
Juliet had been right, but she’d never so much as breathed an I told you so when Amanda came home, her relationship broken and her practice at an end. She’d dried Amanda’s tears, insisted Rick wasn’t good enough for her daughter and helped her find a new job.
It had been over a year. Rick should be a forgotten footnote in her life by now. Still, did anyone ever really get over the realization that their loved one was busily cheating all those times he’d been supposedly called out on a job?
Her cell phone rang before she could get too far along the road of beating herself up for being so wrong about him. The sight of Robert McKinley’s number yanked her attention back to her current problems, and she answered quickly.
“Robert? How are you? Is there any news?” At least she’d managed to ask how he was before barreling into her own concerns.
“I’m just a little worried about you,” he replied. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She felt instantly guilty. “I’m sorry, I should have called you. I saw the attorney you recommended, and he’s being helpful.”
“You mean there’s actually something in this...suspicion of yours?”
She suspected that he’d deleted the word harebrained from his question. “It seems like a good possibility that my mother was a young woman who lived here. Nothing is certain yet,” she added quickly. “Please don’t worry. I’m being cautious about it.”
“I have to admit that I didn’t think this trip would be useful, but this will be good news if it pans out. Just don’t forget that the crucial question is whether or not Juliet legally adopted you.”
Crucial from his perspective. Robert would always see things from the legal point of view. He wanted to take care of her as her mother would have, she supposed.
“I haven’t forgotten, but it’s worth exploring this lead if it turns out the woman was my mother. It will give you a place to look. Has your records search turned up anything?”
“Not yet, but it still may. When are you coming home?” There was an urgency in his voice that hadn’t been there before.
“I don’t know. Not until I’m satisfied one way or the other with what I’ve learned here. Why?”
Robert hesitated for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he spoke.
“I hate to bring this up, but unfortunately your uncle—well, Juliet’s brother—has been nosing around. Maybe I’m wrong that he didn’t suspect anything about your parentage. This must mean that he has some idea Juliet’s will isn’t entirely straightforward.”
* * *
GOOD OLD GEORGE. Juliet had had no illusions about her brother’s character, and she’d apparently been right.
“I wish you’d come back here.” Robert sounded fretful. “I’d be happier if you were actually in residence at the house. Possession does count, you know.”
“I understand. But I’d rather be searching for the truth of my parentage than sitting there in Boston waiting for the roof to cave in. Isn’t knowing the truth more important?”
“I suppose,” he admitted. “I just hope you’re not opening up something that will hurt and disappoint you.”
Poor Robert. She couldn’t let him take care of her any more than Juliet had ever been willing to. “Thanks, Robert. It makes me feel better to know I have you in my corner. You’re a sweetheart.”
“Yes, well...” He became flustered, as he always did when touched by emotion. “Just take care of yourself. And give me your address, so I know where to find you.”
After she’d given him the information he wanted and been soothed to the best of her ability, Amanda stood for a moment at the window, phone in hand. She glimpsed movement and spotted Sarah approaching up the path, carrying a basket on her arm.
Amanda opened the door even before Sarah reached it. Here was her chance to speak to Sarah privately, and she hadn’t had to go looking for it. That seemed to bode well for her goal.
“Sarah, hi. Come in.”
“I don’t want to disturb you. Are you getting settled in all right?” Sarah’s cheeks were like two red apples when she smiled.
“I’m all set. Thanks again, so much. The cottage is perfect. As you can see, Barney is making himself right at home.”
Stepping inside, Sarah glanced at Barney, who was sitting up, looking, Amanda hoped, like a perfect gentleman. “It’s gut you have him. I’d hate to think of you alone here.”
Amanda shook her head. “I wouldn’t be lonely, but he is good company.” Sarah probably couldn’t understand that, living in a house with so many family members crammed in.
“Well, here is some streusel coffee cake, just in case you get hungry before you have a chance to get groceries in. And milk. Just to tide you over.”
“That’s so nice of you.” Amanda took the basket and set it on the kitchen table. The coffee cake looked so delicious she was tempted to have a piece immediately.
“Ach, it’s nothing.” Sarah waved a hand to dismiss her kind gesture. “I’m sure you have things to do. Trey said you have business in town.”
Something about that sentence made it into a question. It seemed Sarah was as curious about her as she was about what Sarah might know.
“I’m here looking into some questions that came up after my mother’s recent death. There seemed to be a...a connection to Echo Falls.” How could she find out anything and still be as careful as Trey and Robert seemed to want?
“Ach, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Sarah’s face clouded, and she reached out and touched Amanda’s hand lightly in sympathy. “It’s hard to lose your mother.”
Amanda nodded, her throat tightening. “Yes.”
“So you said something about Echo Falls? Was your mother from here?” Sarah leaned against the table as if prepared to stay and talk for a while.
“Not exactly.” She hesitated, trying to think how to ask the questions she wanted without getting into an explanation she didn’t want to give. “But I think she may have been friends with someone who grew up here.”
“Yah?” Sarah looked puzzled but interested.
“You might have known her. She died in an accident at the falls. Her name was Melanie Winthrop.”
For an instant Sarah’s face seemed to freeze. Then, before Amanda could say anything, she’d turned away and headed for the door.
“I... I’d forgotten something I must do. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She left without waiting for a goodbye.
Amanda stood at the door and watched her go—fleeing, almost, as if from something she didn’t want to face. Slowly she closed the door.
Well. Amanda blew out a long breath. If that was the sort of reception she’d get whenever she mentioned the name Melanie Winthrop in this town, she wasn’t likely to find out anything.
* * *
LEAVING THE LIBRARY behind the next day, Amanda walked toward the café. She’d agreed to meet Trey there for lunch to share the fruits of their efforts. When she’d suggested that they didn’t need to have lunch together to do that, he’d countered with the fact that they’d have lunch in any event, so they may as well eat while they talked.
She hadn’t found an argument to that, at least not without coming out and admitting that she was trying to prevent a repeat of the feelings she’d experienced the previous day at the falls.
Trey, however, seemed friendly in a businesslike way, and his manner reassured her. Once Esther waved them to a table in the corner, he looked around as if something were missing.
“No guard dog today?”
Amanda shook her head. “I thought he’d better stay at the cottage. Somehow I didn’t think he’d be welcome at the library.”
“No, I don’t think so. Mrs. Gifford runs a tight ship. She used to make us kids empty our pockets before we went back to the stacks, just to be sure no sticky candy was going to get on her books.”
She had to smile. “I did think her rather intimidating. To say nothing of curious. She seemed to find a lot of reasons to walk behind me while I was scanning the microfiche.”
“That’s unfortunate, but it’s about what I expected. It won’t be possible to keep your mission a secret very long.”
Trey seemed to take that more seriously than she did. Maybe it was a sign of his mixed loyalties. Or possibly being overly cautious was part of the attorney’s job description.
“I never thought keeping it quiet was a viable option. If I’m going to find answers, people will have to know what the questions are.” A spurt of annoyance went through her. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” His eyebrows lifted, giving his face a momentary look of caricature. “The Winthrop family might well take offense at a stranger bringing up the painful past.” He held up a hand when she would have spoken. “Okay, let’s not go over the same ground again, especially when Esther is heading this way.”
Maybe he was right. She tried to focus on the menu, but ended up ordering the chicken potpie because Esther seemed to expect it. Meanwhile she wrestled with the unpalatable fact that if she made enemies of these people to start with, they were hardly likely to be cooperative.
Once Esther had gone, Trey glanced around the café, and he was apparently satisfied that the other customers were focused on their own meals and conversations. “How did you make out with the newspaper accounts?”
Amanda shrugged off her irritation. “Slim, very slim. Pictures of the falls, an account of the difficulty the volunteers had in bringing her out, a sketchy account of her being spotted by a hiker. And a carefully worded obituary a day later.” She toyed with her spoon. “It allowed me to visualize Melanie a little better, but it was short on helpful facts. I ran across a photo of her,” she said, setting it on the table. “She looked very young, very naive. She was barely eighteen when she died.” That was inexpressibly sad. Amanda glanced at Trey, to find him studying her face. “What? Do you see a resemblance?”
“Not in coloring, so much, but maybe in your features. What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” She’d wanted some confirmation one way or the other in the photo, but she didn’t see it. Certainly no one had ever said she looked like Juliet, and now she knew why. “For an instant I thought she looked familiar, but then it passed. Anyway, a black-and-white newspaper photo hardly gives an idea of how someone looks.”
“True enough. Did the newspaper say anything about where Melanie had been? Or mention her leaving town at all?”
Amanda shook her head. “It said she’d recently returned from a visit to friends in New York. I suppose that was what the family told the reporter.”
“And he’d be unlikely to print anything else, even though the town had been whispering about Melanie’s departure for months.”
“But what was the point, if people already guessed the truth?” She let her exasperation spill over. “What’s the use of trying to manipulate the news, then?”
“Darned if I know, but obviously it was important to the Winthrop family. Pride, I suppose. Things were a little different then in terms of what was acceptable.”
“I guess. It’s difficult to envision how much society has changed in the last thirty years or so.” But this wasn’t getting them anywhere. “What about you?”
“I didn’t have much more luck with the records...”
He cut the words short when Esther arrived with their meals. Beaming, she slid steaming bowls in front of each of them and added a basket of rolls. “There now. You get that inside you, and you’ll have plenty of energy for whatever you have to do today.”
“It smells delicious,” Amanda said. And it looked that way, too.
Esther picked up her tray, gratified. “I hear you’re staying with the Burkhalter family.”
She blinked. “How did you hear about that already? I just moved in yesterday afternoon.”
“Ach, you haven’t run into the Amish grapevine yet, ain’t so? We don’t need telephones for word to spread fast. You’ll be happy there, I know. Sarah will take gut care of you.”
“She’s already brought me a streusel coffee cake, just to be sure I wouldn’t go hungry,” Amanda said. Somehow she doubted that any more gifts would be forthcoming, not if Sarah’s abrupt departure at the mention of Melanie Winthrop meant anything about her future behavior.
“Ach, that’s Sarah all right.” Someone hailed Esther, and she moved off, unhurried.
Trey buttered a roll, watching her. “You looked a little funny when she mentioned Sarah. There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
She wasn’t sure she liked the fact that he could read her expressions so easily. “Something happened that was rather odd. Sarah and I were having a nice conversation, and she asked about what brought me to Echo Falls. I didn’t tell her the whole story, but when I mentioned Melanie Winthrop she just...froze. I don’t know how else to put it. Her whole manner changed. She said she had to do something and rushed away. I didn’t know what to make of it.”
Trey’s forehead furrowed. “That is strange. I’m surprised she even knew about Melanie’s disappearance. She wouldn’t have been much more than in her early teens, I’d guess.”
Shrugging, Amanda scooped up a fragrant spoonful of the chicken broth and noodles. “Teenagers seem to know everything. I don’t suppose it was any different then.”
“Could be.” But he still looked troubled. “It’s odd, all the same. I can’t even guess what would make Sarah act that way. What did you say to her?”
Was he imagining that she’d given Sarah the third degree?
“I told you. I’d barely gotten Melanie Winthrop’s name out before she reacted. I didn’t have time to ask her anything.”
He shook his head, frowning a little. “There has to be a reason, but I’d guess she wouldn’t tell me, even if I asked.”
“I’ll cross her off my list of possible sources of information,” she said. “How did you make out?”
“The court records showed little or nothing. There was an inquest, of course, but it was more a form than anything serious. It brought back the verdict of accidental death and expressed sympathy for the family.”
So they’d been quick to sweep Melanie’s death under the rug, in other words. “What about the postmortem?”
“There wasn’t one.” Trey’s voice flattened, as if in disapproval. “The family was opposed to having it carried out, and according to the coroner, the cause of death was fairly obvious. Head injuries, as you might expect. Reading between the lines, I’d say the decision makers saw no point in going farther. An unfortunate accident or maybe a despairing suicide. They picked accident, issued a few warnings about the dangers of the falls trail and dropped it.”
She pounced on his words. “So you think they didn’t pursue it as they should have.”
“I didn’t say that.” Frustration edged his voice. “Don’t put your own spin on my words. If I’d been in that position, I might have done the same. It can’t be easy to make that sort of decision when you know the people involved.”
Obviously arguing the point wouldn’t get her anywhere. “Sorry. What did the police chief say when you talked to him?”
“He wanted to know why I was asking, of course.” He rested his spoon on the side of his empty bowl. Somehow he’d managed to scoop up a whole bowlful of potpie while they were talking. “As I predicted, he wasn’t exactly eager to talk about a local scandal just to satisfy your curiosity, so I had to tell him why you’re interested. Carmichaels won’t gossip, at least.”
She must have made an impatient movement, because he frowned before he went on.
“He didn’t have much to say beyond what I’d already found in the records. He did confirm that the family agreed they hadn’t heard anything from Melanie and didn’t know she’d come back.”
“That was strange, wasn’t it? I mean, why would she return if not to be reconciled to her family? If she’d had the baby, she might have realized how difficult it was and wanted to have their help.”
“I agree, that seems logical, but if they all said that she didn’t approach them, I don’t see how you can prove otherwise after all this time. It’s a dead end.” He made a gesture of finality.
She was beginning to think it delighted him to present obstacles. “Maybe I can’t prove anything, but I have the right to ask questions. This is my life we’re talking about and you—how do I know you’re not trying to protect the Winthrops?”
Trey’s face hardened. “You don’t. You’ll have to take me on trust. Or not. Look, what are you really after? To find your birth mother? If it was Melanie, you may never be able to prove it.”
“It’s not that simple.” She couldn’t keep the annoyance she felt from showing in her voice. “This isn’t just a sentimental journey. I have to find proof, if it exists, that Juliet actually adopted me. Otherwise...”
“Otherwise I suppose you might stand to lose your inheritance from her.” He was quick, she’d say that for him. “You must want that inheritance pretty badly to go to these lengths.”
“Is that your considered objective opinion?” She put some frost in her voice, which wasn’t all that easy when anger was like a fire on her nerves. She stood, grabbing her bag.
“Where are you going?” He got up, glancing around and lowering his voice. “Don’t make a scene.”
That infuriated her for a reason he couldn’t understand and probably wouldn’t appreciate if he did. “I’m going to see the police chief for myself.” Her bag strap hooked over the chair, and she yanked it free.
Trey tossed some money on the table and grabbed her arm. “Not without me, you’re not. He already knows you’re my client, so don’t even think about it.”
She glared at him for a moment and then jerked a short nod. Like it or not, she seemed to be stuck with him.
* * *
THEY’D GOTTEN HALFWAY to the police station before Trey realized how ridiculous they must look, striding along without speaking or even glancing at each other.
“Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that about your inheritance. Didn’t her will make her wishes clear?”
Her expression tightened, if anything. “It says that she left everything to me, by name, but then it says, ‘my daughter.’ Robert’s afraid...”
“Right, I see. That could conceivably leave it up to the interpretation of the judge if someone brought suit. Would anyone?”
“Robert says that Juliet’s brother, George, has been asking questions. He must have some doubts.”
Tricky. What might seem clear to a layperson could become anything but if it went to court. “Okay. Naturally you want to prove that you were Juliet Curtiss’s daughter.”
“I suppose...” She still didn’t look at him, but she shook her head. “If you’re asking me why this search is so important to me, I don’t know how to answer. At first, my only goal was to find the proof of my adoption. Now that I have an idea of who my mother might have been...” She pressed her lips together as if in need of control. “I do know you can’t imagine what it’s like to have everything you’ve believed about yourself suddenly in question. Not until you experience it.”
For an instant she looked lost, and Trey winced. He didn’t want to be the one who caused that feeling.
“Sorry,” he said again. He tried to think objectively about her situation. “Was there ever a time that you suspected the truth? Or questioned your mother?”
“Not really.” Amanda seemed to look into the past. “Juliet always made me feel so secure. Even when someone kidded me about not inheriting her looks or her artistic talent, she laughed it off. I looked like my father, she said, and everyone had unique talents.” She slanted a sideways look at him. “But I suppose you always wanted to be an attorney, like your dad.”
“And my grandfather,” he added, relieved that the ice had melted between them. “I don’t know that I ever considered any other option. I was born to go into the family firm.”
And it had nearly faltered on his watch. He could never forget how close they’d come. And how close they still were, for that matter.
“No siblings to take your place?” she asked.
“One sister. Shelley flirted with the idea of law school, but then a guy came along, and she decided she didn’t want to spend that many more years in school.”
“Married?”
“Yes, she’s married and lives about an hour’s drive from here. Three kids, so at least my mother’s stopped expecting me to produce grandchildren for her.”
“That must be a relief.” Her lips curved, showing her dimple.
“It is,” he said with emphasis. There was also the matter of his father’s health to keep Mom occupied, so she’d stopped worrying about Trey’s single status. Not that that would stop her from putting in her two cents’ worth if he so much as went to a movie with a female.
“Here we are.” He nodded at the mellowed brick building that had been the police station for a hundred years. Its classic lines were a bit distorted by the one-story, three-bay garage with its metal roof, providing space for emergency vehicles.
He considered asking her to exercise a little discretion with Chief Carmichaels, but feared doing so would have the opposite effect. At least she was in a better mood than when they’d left the café.
Chief Mike Carmichaels was in and willing, albeit reluctantly, to see them. Once they were seated in the chief’s minuscule office, Carmichaels leaned back in his creaking desk chair and surveyed Amanda with a speculative look on his square, honest face.
“So you claim you might be the Winthrop girl’s child, I hear from Trey.”
Amanda perched on the edge of her chair, looking wired enough to dart from it at any instant. “I’m not making any claims, Chief Carmichaels. I just want to know the truth. It came as such a shock to learn that I wasn’t who I thought. There must have been some relationship between my mother—between Juliet Curtiss—and Melanie Winthrop. I’d have been two months old when Melanie died. You can see why I might wonder if that’s the answer to who I am.”
Mike’s expression softened, and Trey saw he’d been moved by Amanda’s words. So maybe it hadn’t been a mistake for her to talk to him.
Carmichaels cleared his throat. “I get that. Trouble is, I don’t see any way of proving it one way or another—not unless someone from the family agreed to DNA testing.”
Amanda slid back on the chair, sending Trey a look that might have contained a little triumph. “That would be the only definitive answer to my parentage, but I’d want to feel more sure of the facts myself before I’d even ask them to do that. So I hoped you might help me.”
“How?” The chief’s gray eyes became guarded. He might be sympathetic to Amanda, but he wouldn’t be eager to alienate Elizabeth Winthrop.
She hadn’t mentioned the need to find out whether or not she’d been legally adopted, but Carmichaels didn’t need to know the importance of determining that. He couldn’t know anything.
“Just tell me anything you remember about what happened when Melanie died. For instance, were you able to find out when Melanie had arrived back in town?”
He seemed to look at that question from every angle before deciding to answer it. “No, we weren’t. That was odd. We couldn’t even find out how. She hadn’t come on the bus, and there was no abandoned car that might have belonged to her.”
So the police had been more thorough than Trey had thought. Mike would have been a patrolman then, and Clifford Barnes the chief. Too bad Clifford wasn’t around any longer to answer any questions.
“Strange,” Trey said while Amanda seemed to digest the chief’s words, sifting them for anything useful. “It almost sounds as if someone drove her to town and dropped her off. But if so, you’d expect them to come forward when she died.”
Carmichaels moved as if he’d suddenly found his chair uncomfortable. “Unless she’d been hitchhiking and was dropped off by a stranger. That was what Chief Barnes decided must have happened.”
“You didn’t agree?” Amanda was onto the doubt in his voice in an instant.
But he stiffened. “It wasn’t my business to disagree with the chief.” He shrugged. “Besides, I wasn’t in on any of the decision-making. Too high up for me at that stage.”
To forestall Amanda making another remark about toadying to the powerful, Trey broke in with a question. “What about the person who found her? I never did hear who that was.”
“An Amish kid from one of the nearby farms, it was. Course there weren’t any cell phones then, even if he’d been allowed to have one. Way he told it, she was partly in the water at the base of the falls. He pulled her out.”
“She was dead already?” Trey asked.
Carmichaels nodded, his face grave. “As I recall, he realized pretty quick it was too late, but he ran all the way to the nearest place with a phone. You can imagine how long it was until we actually got on scene.” The chief fell silent, staring down at the green blotter on his desk as if he saw again that tragic image. “The chief and I got there first, but the rescue crew wasn’t far behind. I could hear them crashing through the woods with their gear while we were standing there looking down at her, all broken...”
He stopped abruptly, probably realizing he might be talking to Melanie’s daughter.
Amanda drew a shaky breath. She was probably trying to think what else to ask. “Do you know his name? The boy who found her, I mean.”
“Let me think a minute. It was one of the Miller kids, I believe, but I don’t remember which one.” He shook his head. “It’ll come to me. I’ll let you know when I think of it.”
“Why wasn’t there a postmortem?” Obviously that was still bothering Amanda.
“Like I say, that wasn’t my decision. Besides, it was obvious what caused her death.” His face tightened. “If you’d seen her...well, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. That’s a long way down, and nothing but rocks and water at the bottom.”
That shook Amanda visibly. He suspected she was finding it impossible to hold on to the detachment she’d had initially. It was probably coming home to her just what kind of Pandora’s box she was opening with her search.
The silence that fell was his cue to get her out before she had a chance to push too hard with Chief Carmichaels. He stood, holding out his hand.
“Thanks, Chief. It was good of you to answer my client’s questions.”
He shrugged it off. “No problem. After all these years, I’d think it’s impossible to find out much of anything, but I can understand why Ms. Curtiss wants to know.”
Amanda stood, managing a smile. “Thank you. If I have any other questions, I hope I can come to you.”
Carmichaels’s expression stiffened, but he nodded. He went to the door and opened it, obviously just as glad to see them out.
A wave of sympathy swept over Trey as he walked beside Amanda out of the office. Amanda was still grieving the loss of the woman who had always been her mother. Now she had the challenge of mourning a birth mother, as well. How did anyone cope with that load of trouble?
CHAPTER FIVE (#ubaf23632-79a5-5418-8b50-3a908bd00fb5)
DARKNESS SEEMED TO fall earlier here than in the city. Especially when she was alone in the cottage with just Barney for company. Amanda knew that was an illusion, caused by the lack of ambient light in the surroundings, but it was isolating.
She crumpled the paper in front of her and tossed it in the direction of the trash can. And then got up to throw it into the can when it landed on the floor.
Barney, who’d been lying on the rug he’d appropriated as his own, raised his head and looked at her.
“I know, I know. I’d better give it up for a bad job.”
She’d been trying to compose a letter to Elizabeth Winthrop, explaining the situation and asking for an interview, but she couldn’t find the right words. One draft had sounded pleading, another vaguely threatening. Neither was the impression she wanted to make on the woman who might be her great-grandmother.
There had been a photo of Elizabeth accompanying one of the newspaper articles—obviously a staged head shot. Even in that, the lined face had portrayed both grimness and determination. A woman with a face like that wasn’t likely to be guided by emotion.
At least Amanda’s research had given her a clearer picture of the Winthrop family. Melanie had been the daughter of Elizabeth’s only son. He and his wife had been killed in a plane crash when Melanie was only a few months old, leaving Elizabeth to raise their child.
Elizabeth had a daughter as well, Betty Ann, who was much younger than her brother. An afterthought? An accident? Who could say?
Betty Ann was married to Donald Shay. From what Amanda had been able to glean, Shay ran the mill and managed the various properties owned by the family.
Aunt Betty. Uncle Donald. No, she didn’t imagine she’d ever be on those terms with them. Especially when she couldn’t compose a simple letter stating her case. All of this searching and interviewing was frustrating, when a DNA test could give the answer.
And it still wouldn’t tell her whether Juliet had legally adopted her. If Robert’s investigators weren’t able to find anything one way or the other, what then? Did she have any rights at all? She and Robert hadn’t discussed the worst-case scenario, and maybe they should have. Juliet had referred to Amanda as her daughter in her will. She’d think that would count for something with a judge, assuming it went that far.
She could ask Trey, she supposed. Always assuming he wasn’t fed up with her and her problems. She’d lost her temper with him earlier. Or maybe it was fairer to say that they’d both been exasperated with each other, but he’d been the first to extend an olive branch.
Barney raised his head again, but this time he wasn’t looking at her. He stared for a long moment at the front window of the cottage, as if looking for something out there in the dark.
“What is it, boy?” She went to the window and peered out, but could see nothing. The darkness was complete except for the rectangle of yellow light that lay across the porch from the window. “There’s nothing.”
Barney whined a little in apparent disagreement. He got up, padding softly from one window to the next. A little frisson of alarm slid down her spine.
“Come on, Barney. Are you trying to unnerve me?” She forced herself to turn away from the windows and took hold of his collar.
Barney gave a sudden, sharp bark, followed by a volley of barking and a lunge at the window. She swung around, and her heart jumped into her throat. Something—a face—pressed against the window, distorted by the glass.
Then the person withdrew a few inches and raised a hand in a wave. Amanda had a hysterical desire to laugh. It wasn’t a monster or an enemy pressing against the glass. It was Bertram Berkley, her mother’s agent. What was he doing here? She couldn’t imagine anything that would take him away from the city.
She went to the door, clutching Barney’s collar while she reassured him. Unlocking the door, she swung it open.
“Bertram! What are you doing here? You startled me. I didn’t hear your car.”
“Are you mad?” He hustled inside as if eager for shelter against the dark. “Drive my car up the rutted lane? Never. I left it down by the farmhouse. That road is bad enough.” He shuddered elaborately, overacting as always.
“Come now, it’s not that terrible. I’ve been bringing my SUV in and out with no problems.” She closed the door, realizing that he hadn’t answered her question about why he was here.
“Forgive me, dear, but your SUV is not a mint condition BMW.”
“Then you should have rented something more sensible to come here. And what are you doing here, anyway? If you’d called...”
“If I’d called, you’d have told me to stay in Boston.” He seated himself in the most comfortable chair and adjusted the crease in his trousers. “The famous Bertram Berkley charm doesn’t come across as well on the telephone.”
Amused in spite of herself, Amanda smiled as she sat down across from him. After a suspicious sniff at Bertram’s shoes, Barney returned to his hearth rug. Silence fell, almost oppressive. Bertram had brought a different atmosphere with him, but she couldn’t say it was an improvement.
She studied him, trying to figure out what he was feeling, but as always, she had a sense that his face reflected a carefully cultivated facade. “What’s so important that you chased me all the way up here on a workday to talk about? If this is about putting on a show again...”
“It’s Friday, dear,” he said gently. “I’m taking the weekend off. How better to enjoy it than a nice trip into the Pennsylvania mountains?”
“I should think a nice trip into New York City would be more to your taste.” He was right; it was Friday. She’d lost track of the days since she’d been here. Echo Falls seemed to exist in a world of its own.
“True.” He sighed elaborately. “But I’m endlessly self-sacrificing when it comes to my work.”
“I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I’m really not at a place where I want to talk about my mother’s painting yet. It’s too soon.”
“My dear girl, it’s not too soon at all. The time to do a tribute to Juliet Curtiss is now, while she’s still in the public mind.”
“You mean you want to capitalize on her death.” She should have realized Bertram wouldn’t give up so easily. Her mother had been able to shut him down when he got carried away, but Amanda had yet to develop that gift.
“Not capitalize.” He shook his head, his expressive face drawing down into lines of sorrow, either at Juliet’s death or at Amanda’s failure to recognize his opinion. “A tribute, I said. We must remind the public of what has been so needlessly lost. A gifted artist, cut off in her prime by this horrific plague of gun violence—it’s a comment on our time.”
Amanda rubbed her forehead. “I can see some sense in what you’re saying, and I know you mean well. But I really can’t focus on that now. We’ll plan it together once I get past the shock, all right?”
She thought he looked as if he’d like to tell her she’d had three whole weeks to recover, but maybe she was wrong.
“That will be too late.” He leaned forward, intent. “Don’t you see? The market for Juliet Curtiss’s work is at an all-time high right now. We can’t let this slip away. You’re losing money with every week that passes.”
He meant sales. She supposed he knew what he was talking about, but... Then reality hit her like a hammer blow. Did she even have the right to sell Juliet’s paintings? A pit seemed to open in front of her, warning of all the possible missteps she could be taking.
That was another unarguable reason why she couldn’t agree with Bertram about the show he wanted. And it was one she didn’t dare tell him. She didn’t have any illusions about Bertram, any more than her mother had had.
Bertram’s good at what he does or I wouldn’t let him near my work. But his moral sense is nonexistent.
“Here.” Bertram pulled a folder from the leather portfolio he’d carried in with him, thrusting it toward her. “I have all the details worked out. You’ll see. It will be perfect, and you don’t have to do a thing.”
She took the folder because it was easier than arguing. She’d need to have legal advice before she sold even one of her mother’s paintings, but she couldn’t tell him that.
“I’ll look it over, I promise. I’ll let you know what I think. But it’s still going to have to wait awhile. Maybe next month.”
Maybe by next month she’d know whether she had any rights at all in Juliet’s estate, including the right to sell any of her paintings. For a moment despair swept over her. How was she going to deal with this? She didn’t doubt that Juliet thought everything had been settled with her will. If only she’d confided in Robert, or even in Amanda...
But that wouldn’t help her in dealing with Bertram right at the moment.
Anger had narrowed his eyes. “Next month? But I’ve explained all that already. Really, Amanda, you’ll have to trust me in this regard. Your mother would have understood the importance of timing. Even her brother sees that...”
“Her brother? George Curtiss?” Whether he was still Uncle George was up for debate. “When did you talk to him? And why?”
Bertram seemed to realize he’d made a misstep. He stretched his hands out in a placating motion, but it was too late for that.
“Well?” She stood, giving herself the advantage of height. “Why were you discussing my business with George?”
Bertram turned sulky. “He’s an interested party, isn’t he? After all, he was Juliet’s brother. Her closest relative. After you. Really, Amanda, I’m just trying to do my best for you.”
Whether there was any suspicion or malicious intent in his words, she didn’t know, but she certainly wasn’t going to let herself be intimidated by him. Bertram would be doing what was best for him.
Anger stiffened her spine. “I expect discretion from you, Bertram. You shouldn’t be discussing my business with anyone else, including George Curtiss. If I don’t feel assured of your discretion and loyalty, I will put my mother’s work into other hands. Is that clear?”
She didn’t know whether she had the right to do that, either, but she suspected it would be an effective threat.
“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” He rose, regaining his usual urbane smile. “I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with my work. After all, your mother trusted me to handle everything. With her input, of course,” he added hastily, maybe reading a rebuttal in her face. “Look, why don’t you let me take you out someplace for a glass of wine and a bite to eat? Surely this burg has one decent restaurant that’s open on Friday night.”
“I’ve already eaten, thanks. And you’d better be on your way to wherever you’re staying tonight.”
Bertram gave a speculative glance around the cottage. “If you have an extra bedroom, maybe you could put me up.”
So he could resume his argument in the morning. She didn’t think so.
“I’m afraid not,” she said, blandly ignoring the guest room. “You’ll find quite a nice motel near Williamsport.” She opened the door. Barney rose to his feet, responsive to her cues, as if ready to hasten Bertram’s departure.
“But really, Amanda...” He broke off when Barney gave a warning growl in response to his tone. “Very well. I’ll call you in the morning. At least lend me a flashlight to get back down the excuse for a driveway.”
Amanda went to the kitchen drawer where she’d found a small flashlight. “Here you are. Don’t disturb the Burkhalters, but just leave it on their back porch. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
He went out and then turned back. “Maybe we could meet for breakfast in the morning. Just so you can give me your reaction to the plans.”
“I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow. You may as well get on the road without bothering to come back to town. I’ll email you once I’ve had a chance to look over your plans.”
He hesitated, as if thinking of making a comeback, but Barney came and pressed against Amanda’s leg, effectively filling the doorway. “Very well. Good night.” He flicked on the flashlight and marched off.
Amanda stood on the porch and watched the circle of light until it disappeared when he rounded a bend in the lane. Then the darkness closed in on her, and she shivered. Silly. But she wasn’t sure when she’d last felt so alone.
* * *
NORMALLY TREY SPENT Saturday catching up on the chores he’d neglected all week in the press of work. Since he’d bought the small Craftsman bungalow on Oak, he’d learned that homeownership brought with it far more responsibilities than he’d anticipated.
Today, for instance, he should be raking and bagging leaves. But it was one of those rare, beautiful October days when the sun was warm and the world around him seemed touched by golden light. It demanded that a person get out and enjoy it, before November brought cold, rainy days and the prospect of early snow.
His fallen leaves continued to form a brown and orange carpet over the small lawn, while he headed out to the Burkhalter farm. Not necessarily to see Amanda, he assured himself. But he’d been troubled by what she’d said about Sarah, and he wanted to see for himself. He couldn’t imagine Sarah being anything but friendly and welcoming.
Amanda must have misunderstood. He’d see Sarah, straighten it out, and at the same time find out if she knew who the Amish boy was who’d found Melanie’s body. She was bound to know, or at least be able to find out. In fact, it had probably been one of her kinfolk. Mike had said it was one of the Miller kids, and Sarah had been a Miller before she married Amos.
Trey turned up the lane that led to the cottage, raising a hand to Amos, who was heading toward the barn. When he pulled up at the cottage, Amanda came out on the porch. He felt a wave of pleasure at the sight of her. Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, her hair pulled back and fastened at her nape, she looked as if she belonged here.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” She spoke as he got out of the car, coming toward him.
“I took a chance you’d be here. Thought I’d like to have a word with Sarah to see if she can identify the boy who found Melanie’s body.”
An expression of doubt crossed Amanda’s face. “I told you she hasn’t been exactly forthcoming on the subject, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but sometimes the Amish can seem standoffish when they’re not aware of it. Sarah has known me since I was a kid.” He grinned. “In fact, she used to babysit me when she was a teenager. Let me try my luck.”
Amanda shrugged, conceding, and they started down the path together. “I wondered how you came to be such close friends with the Burkhalter family. I’ll have to ask Sarah what kind of kid you were.”
“Obedient and well-behaved, of course,” he said lightly. “My father owns some land that adjoins the Burkhalter farm. He doesn’t have any use for it, so he lets Amos keep it in hay. That kind of gave me free run of the farm. I loved it out here.” He looked around at the golden hillside, the fields a patchwork now of gold and brown. “I still do.”
They approached the house and found Sarah hanging a row of sheets on the line. She pinned the last one in place and then turned to face them.
“Trey. I thought that might be your car I heard.” She flickered a meaningful glance toward Amanda. “Amos is in the barn if you are wanting to see him.”
“Actually, I’d like a word with you. We’ve been asking a few questions about Melanie Winthrop’s accident up at the falls all those years ago. I understand it was one of the Miller boys who found her.”
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