Actually, the man looked more like an insurance salesman or a banker than a cop. Well, except for the cane he was using and the brace fastened on top of his left leg.
Then there was the way the man’s eyes seemed to notice every detail in his path. He was definitely more than a little scary to be around.
“So, you want to go sit in my Explorer?”
It was pretty evident that the guy was in no hurry to sit with his leg all bent up. “We don’t have to sit there; I just didn’t want to talk in front of Mr. Schrock.”
“Fair enough. Let’s walk a bit.” Knocking his knuckles against the brace, he almost smiled. “It will do my leg some good. You tell me when you want to stop.”
The man’s manner was too easy, his words were too agreeable. Felt fake. It made Walker nervous. “Sir, how old are you?”
“Twenty-nine. Why do you ask?”
Yeah, why had he? “I don’t know.” Feeling dumber by the second, he added, “I guess I just wanted to know a little bit more about you. You said you and Sheriff Kramer were friends . . .”
“Yep. We don’t seem much alike, huh?”
“No, sir.”
“Funny thing, friendship. It can spring up between the most unlikely people,” he said cryptically. “Do you want to know anything more about me?”
Walker wanted to know a whole lot more, beginning with why the man was bothering him, why he was here in Marion, if he was carrying a gun, and if he’d ever shot somebody. But if he asked all his questions, the man would probably answer them all— and then Walker would feel obligated to talk a lot, too.
And he didn’t want to do that. “Nope. I’m good.”
“I wanted to talk to you about Perry Borntrager.” He paused. “You knew him?”
Warily, Walker looked around them. The parking lot was empty. So was the wide front porch that ran the length of the store. His friendship with Perry had never been a secret, but now even mentioning the guy’s name felt like he was doing something he shouldn’t. “I knew Perry. Sure.”
“He worked here awhile, right?”
He’d worked at Schrock’s for years. “Right.”
“Were you friends?”
“Kind of.” When the detective stopped and stared at him, Walker felt even more uneasy. “We worked together, me, Jacob, and Perry.”
“Jacob . . .”
“Jacob Schrock. He’s out of town.”
“Really? Kind of poor timing, don’t you think?”
“Jacob’s at a horse auction in Lexington.” At least that what he was telling everyone.
The detective pointed to a bench under a tree that protected them from the rain that was starting to fall. “Here okay to sit? Leg’s starting to cramp.”
“Sure.”
As Walker plopped down on the bench, far more slowly, the other man sat, gingerly placing his palms on the seat of the bench before easing down next to him. Then he pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote a couple of things down. “So you boys worked together. And now Jacob is out of town . . .” He paused, then looked at Walker directly. “And what do you think happened to Perry?”
The man was making him really nervous. The way his gaze zeroed in on him made Walker feel like he could practically read his mind. “I think someone tossed him down a well.” Though his answer was unoriginal, Walker couldn’t help but grin. After all, that was all anyone really knew about what had happened to Perry.
The detective didn’t look amused.
“Let’s try this again. What do you think happened to Perry, before he was dumped in an abandoned well and left to rot for months?”
Walker felt himself flush. As his mind raced to imagine what Perry had looked like, broken and decaying, he started feeling woozy. “I don’t know, sir.”
Before Walker could take another breath, the detective continued. “I’m wondering who would have any reason to hurt him.”
“I don’t know.”
As the man stretched his leg and sighed, Walker wished that he was anywhere but here.
“Before I came here, I spoke with Lydia Plank. She knew Perry pretty well. You know her, right?”
“I’ve met her,” Walker corrected. “I don’t know her well. She’s Amish.”
“Perry was Amish and you knew him.”
“That was different. I worked with Perry.”
After pausing, and staring at him too long, the detective nodded. “Ah. Well, Lydia told me Perry had picked up some bad habits.”
“Not really,” Walker said quickly, then wondered why in the world he’d even come to Perry’s defense. The guy had lied and hurt more people than Walker could count. Months ago, he’d sworn to himself that he’d never do anything for that guy again. “I mean, everything wasn’t bad.”
“So when was he good?”
The question caught him off guard. Was it really that simple? That someone was good, then bad? Switching personalities like a light switch? “I don’t know . . .”
“You must have an idea,” the detective prodded. “I mean, you seem like a pretty together guy. Mr. All-American. I’m sure you weren’t hanging around a loser.”
Walker squirmed and wished again that he was sitting anywhere other than where he was. “Perry was a decent guy when I first met him, which was about four years ago. He wasn’t my favorite person, but he was good enough to hang out with.”
“Even though he was Amish?”
With effort, Walker kept his expression neutral. People who didn’t live in their community just didn’t understand what it was like, living with the Amish. They seemed to think the two groups lived side by side and never intermingled.
Or they thought all the good people drove buggies and all the bad ones drove cars. “Just because a person is Amish doesn’t mean he’s all that different,” he said slowly. “All it means is his religion is different.”
“Ah.” It was obvious the detective was struggling to understand what Walker meant, but Walker wasn’t in any hurry to give some outsider a tutorial on living with the Amish.
“Anyway,” Walker said. “Perry used to be okay, but then, things happened . . .”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Walker replied, glad that at least this was true. “Perry got mixed up with some bad people and started doing some things I didn’t want to be around.”
“Bad, like how?”
Walker turned to Luke in surprise. He’d thought Perry’s activities were well known. “Bad, like drugs. Bad, like drug dealers.” He paused and backpedaled fast. “I mean, that’s what people said.”
“What kind of drugs?”
“I don’t know.” He shifted. No way was he going into any more detail. Why had he even said anything?
“Did you meet these drug dealers?”
“No.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Sure?”
Walker hated the guy’s voice, like he was being super sarcastic. “I never met his drug dealers, okay?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how Perry, who was Amish, would ever meet up with someone who sold drugs.” He paused. “Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around? That you were the one who introduced Perry to the ‘bad’ people?”
Walker was stunned. The sheriff had never asked stuff like this. “I didn’t.”
“I’m not here to get you in trouble, son . . .”
The “son” comment grated on him like nothing else. “Just because Perry was Amish doesn’t mean he was innocent,” he snapped. Giving into his temper. “You outsiders think you know everything. You don’t. And just because I’m the Englischer doesn’t mean I’m going around smoking pot.”
“Ah, so that’s what he was selling?”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “I just was using that as an example.” If only Perry had just been selling pot. But he knew the drugs were a whole lot worse than that.
The detective nodded. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Every once in a while I find myself slipping into the hop
e that the Amish are immune to the outside pressures of the world.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve seen so much, I guess I hope that there are some people in this world who didn’t screw up their lives so much.”
“I’m not Amish, but my grandfather is. He might not have all the pressures of the outside world, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have pressure in his life. We all do. And we all react differently.”
“That’s a good point.” He drummed his fingers on one of the metal braces surrounding his leg, then twisted two fingers and cracked his knuckles. The popping jarred against the sleepy sound of the pattering rain.
Then the detective turned to Walker, his expression completely void of emotion. “So far you’ve told me nothing I didn’t already know. Tell me something new.”
Pure relief filtered through Walker’s bones. For a minute there he’d thought he’d let something slip. “I don’t have anything else to tell you,” Walker said quickly, doing his best to sound as detached as he wished he was. “I once was friends with the guy. Then I wasn’t. I’m sorry he’s dead, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Okay, well, what can you tell me about these drug dealers. Where did they come from? Were they local?” He paused. “You’re in college, right? Maybe they came from your college?”
“I don’t know where they came from,” he retorted. “I never knew their names.” Feeling Luke’s skepticism bearing down hard on his shoulders, he added, “I didn’t want to know.” Looking out across the parking lot, at the thicket of trees, he ached to get away. To hide. To be anywhere but here being questioned.
“Were the guys Amish?”
Walker shook his head before he thought the better of it.
And that made the detective smile.
But still Luke didn’t look like he believed a word of it. “Come on, Walker. Give me something I can use. Don’t you want to know what happened to your friend? What were they? English? Amish? Old? Young?”
Walker felt his world about to change. The last thing he wanted was to get further sucked down into Perry’s pit. “Both,” he finally said.
Luke narrowed his eyes. “The drug dealers were both English and Amish?”
“No. They were all English. They were both old and young.”
“And their ages?”
“Late teens, early twenties,” Walker said, feeling as helpless as a bug in a spider’s web. “Maybe someone even older, closer to thirty.”
“From around here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Walker. Talk to me.”
“All I know is they didn’t go to high school with me. But the county is big, and a lot of kids don’t go to the public school. They were homeschooled or they drop out.”
“What do you know about Perry and Lydia?”
The change in questioning made his head spin. Clenching his jaw so his voice wouldn’t shake he said, “They dated for a while. Then they broke up a few months ago. ”
“And you said you don’t know her well?”
“I know her well enough to say hi on the street, that’s about it.”
“She never confided in you?”
“Back when they were dating, they were Amish, I was not. It’s not like Lydia would have had any reason to confide in me. We weren’t friends.”
“What were Perry and Lydia like together?”
Walker felt his mouth go dry. The detective was pushing all kinds of memories forward that he would have been perfectly happy to forget. “When they were still together, before Perry got mixed up in . . . they were good. Perry . . . he used to say that he’d do just about anything to make her smile.”
The detective raised his eyebrow. “Why? Was she not normally happy?”
“I think she was normally quiet. Perry could be outrageous,” he clarified. Remembering a time when Perry had made Lydia laugh so hard she started crying.
“Outrageous, how?”
Just remembering made Walker smile. “One time Perry got a hold of a unicycle.”
“A unicycle?” the detective prodded.
“Yeah, like the circus clowns use? Anyway, somehow, he’d taught himself to ride it. One day, Lydia came to the store and he rode that thing down the center aisle. Just as he got close, he lost control and knocked over a display of baked goods.” Before he could stop himself, Walker found himself grinning. “Mr. Schrock was fit to be tied, but Lydia had laughed and laughed. Perry later said hearing her so happy was worth his punishment.” Looking at the detective, Walker took a breath and spoke from his heart. “That’s how Perry used to be, Detective. He was my friend. But once he changed . . . Either way, he didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
Luke stared at him for a long moment, then shifted and pulled out a card from his wallet. “Well, I’ll be here awhile looking into Perry’s death. Take this and give me a call if you remember something new. Call anytime, day or night. Okay?”
“Okay. Sure.” He stood up and started walking before the detective got to his feet. But once he rounded the corner of the building, his footsteps slowed. And suddenly, it was impossible to not think about better days, easier times.
Back when he and Perry had been partners in crime . . . but just the kind of crime that meant harmless shenanigans and lots of laughs.
“Hey, Walker,” Perry called out as he flew through the front door. Late again. “Don’t tell Schrock, okay?”
Walker crossed his arms over his chest and tried to sound irritated. “Where were you?”
“With Lydia.”
“Again. And what were the two of you doing that made you lose track of time?” he’d asked. Just to give Perry grief.
But in a flash, Perry’s whole demeanor changed. “Nothing like that, English. Lydia’s a nice girl. She’s special.”
He held up his hands. “Sorry! I was just kidding. You know that, right?”
But Perry walked right by, snubbing him. Walker knew that the damage was done. Perry was going to hold a grudge for the rest of the day. . . .
The detective’s car door slamming brought him back to the present. Shaking his head at the memory, he strode into the store.
But the moment she saw him, Mrs. Schrock clicked her tongue in dismay. “Walker, you’re soaked to the skin! Go in the back and dry off before you catch your death.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, glad for a little more time to collect his thoughts.
And to throw out the detective’s card. The detective might want more information, but Walker knew one thing for certain—if he never talked to the man again . . . why, it would still be too soon.
Chapter 4
“Sure, I’d thought Perry had jumped the fence. Where else would I have thought he’d gone?”
JACOB SCHROCK
One of the best things about her parents, Lydia decided, was that they always gave her time to relax after work. When she walked into the house after spending most of the day on her feet in a warm greenhouse, her mother would greet her. And here she was now, with a plate of chocolate chip cookies, a tall glass of lemonade, and her book.
“Go rest for a while, dear. I heard you had a busy day at the greenhouse.”
“I sure did,” she said around her first bite of cookie. Looking at the kitchen, with the smooth wood plank floors and the butcher-block table that had once been her grandmother’s, Lydia tried to concentrate on happier things instead of the detective’s visit. “Everyone was coming in for seedlings. Daed and I must have sold forty perennials before noon.”
Her mother picked up a bowl of sugar snap peas and started shelling them. “That’s gut news, jah? We worked hard to get those seeds to do their jobs. I’m thankful to them.”
Lydia couldn’t resist smiling at her mother’s soft look of pleasure. “Oh, Mamm. You always do talk about the plants as if they have feelings.”
“Oh, I know they don’t have feelings,” her mother retorted quickly as she shelled another peapod. “But I know they are workin’ hard for us. I want to give them
their due. It’s only right, jah?”
“Of course. I just wish I’d inherited your gift for coaxing the best out of plants. I’m afraid my talents only revolve around selling them.”
Her mother stilled, a funny look on her face. “What ‘gift’ are you talking about, Lydia?”
Lydia down the half-eaten cookie. “You know what I mean. Everyone is supposed to inherit traits from their parents. For some reason, your green thumb skipped me and jumped right to the other kids.” When her mother looked at her strangely, Lydia began to grow uncomfortable. “I’m just teasing ya, Mamm.”
“My talking to plants is just a silly habit. It’s certainly nothing to wish for.”
She didn’t understand why her mother was so touchy about the subject. “Oh, I know,” she said airily. “It was just an observation.”
“You’d do better to observe other things, child,” she said as she carried the bowl to the sink. “I think you must be shlayfadich. Go outside and rest.”
Lydia wasn’t the least bit sleepy, but she didn’t argue. “All right. I’m on my way.” Pausing at the door, she added, “I’ll promise to do my best to listen to the plants while I’m sitting out here. Maybe even report back to you what I hear.”
“Oh, you. You are a terrible daughter,” her mother said, her cheeks turning rosy, the hint of a smile on her face. “I should know better than to talk to you about the plants.”
Lydia was still chuckling as she left her mother at the stove, then walked out of the kitchen.
“Enjoy yourself, maidle,” her mother said as Lydia opened the screen door and walked outside.
Because the ground was so wet and muddy, she carefully took the steppingstones toward the back garden. They were spaced a little far apart for her stride, so she stepped slowly. The slower pace let her breathe deep and find peace in the glory that surrounded her.
Why, in another month, the garden would smell like heaven and be full of vivid colors. At the moment, however, it was merely a sunny spot with the barest rosebuds on the bushes.
Lydia sat down on the damp bench and sipped her lemonade. Little by little, she pushed aside the conversation with her mother and let a true sense of peace filter through her. As much as she liked to tease her mother about talking to the plants, Lydia knew she felt the same way about nature. Nothing made Lydia happier than to sit outside and smell the fresh, clean air and feel the warm sun caress her skin.
Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One Page 3