Plain Jeopardy

by Alison Stone

  Maryann nodded. “I remember her. I shouldn’t have spoken to her. She approached me in town. I was grief-stricken.”

  “You spoke from the heart. You and my mother were friends. And because of that long-ago conversation, I’m now talking to one of my mom’s friends.”

  “True enough. Your mem and I were friends. Gut friends.”

  “Did my mom ever mention anything strange or unusual happening prior to her death? Something that had her worried?”

  Sometimes people didn’t realize they had valuable information. But Grace knew it was a long shot that Maryann would provide any new information after all these years.

  “The sheriff asked me a lot of questions after Sarah’s death.” Maryann’s eyes grew red-rimmed. “I was young. The loss was devastating.”

  “I’m sure you’ve thought a lot about my mom over the years. Did you ever remember something later that maybe was of significance?” Goosebumps blanketed Grace’s skin, the same reaction she always got when she was about to get a huge lead in an investigation. It was nothing concrete. Just a feeling.

  Maryann tilted her head, seemingly trying to discern if her daughters were within earshot.

  Grace glanced up the stairs. She could hear the distant even cadence of a voice, someone reading. “Your daughters are close.”

  Maryann smiled sadly. “Your mem was like a sister to me. She was an only child, which is a rare thing among Amish families. We spent a lot of time together.”

  “What can you tell me about my mom? I hardly remember her.”

  Maryann gave Grace a sympathetic smile. “She was beautiful. Like you.”

  Grace leaned back in the rocking chair and let Maryann talk. The Amish woman touched the sides of her bonnet, a nervous gesture. “Before she married your dat, she had another suitor.”

  Grace smiled, having a hard time imagining her mom, younger than she was now, dating. “Do the Amish date a lot?” The longer Grace was in Quail Hollow, the more she realized how much she didn’t know about her ancestry.

  “He wasn’t Amish.” Maryann set aside her needlework and folded her hands in her lap.

  Grace stifled a gasp. “Really?” What little fabric of her mother’s life she thought she knew began to fray. A thread poked out at the edge. Did she dare pull it? “She dated an outsider?”

  Maryann fidgeted with her hands, and pink splotches blossomed on her pale cheeks, suggesting she felt like she had betrayed her friend. “I’m not sure she was serious. I think a lot of Amish youth go through a rebellious phase. Some more than others.” She angled her head when something sounded from the top of the stairs. She waited for a minute before continuing. “Your mother was happiest when she was corralling the three of you.”

  “Do you know who this man was?” Grace couldn’t let Maryann gloss over this, even if it had nothing to do with her murder. “I mean, did my mom consider leaving the Amish?” Maybe Grace had painted a romantic notion of her father and mother that had never existed.

  The conversation she’d had with the retired law enforcement officers came to mind. Her father had been a suspect. Had he been jealous? Heat pooled under her arms. Investigating her mother’s death had been a mistake. Regardless of the outcome, she’d never be able to bottle up the questions that had escaped and now floated around her mind.

  Maryann waved her hand, suggesting this new piece of information didn’t matter. It was in the past, after all. “Oh, no. It was a harmless thing, I’m sure. Leaving the Amish would have devastated your mammy.” Maryann tapped the pads of her fingers together. “Once your dad made his intentions known, she never talked of this Englisch boy again.”

  “She loved my father.”

  “Of course! Your father was a gut man.”

  Grace released a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. By all accounts, her father had loved her mother dearly. After her father lost her mother, he had never recovered. He loved her. He had.

  Relationships only lead to heartache.

  The familiar refrain whispered across her brain.

  Best to live her life on her own terms, traveling the world, giving a voice to the voiceless. Not getting attached.

  Maryann stood and crossed over to where Grace sat in the rocker. The Amish woman’s hand brushed across her shoulder. “Your mother was a dear friend. I’m here for her daughters.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Tell me, how is Rose? She was just a little thing when your mother died.”

  “She’s doing well. She lives in Buffalo and has a great job as a midwife.”

  Maryann tilted her head to the side and smiled. “That’s wonderful. I hope she is happy.”

  “She seems to be.”

  “Is she married? Kids?”

  “Oh, no.” It was Grace’s turn to laugh. “Seems only Heather has taken that plunge.”

  Maryann’s face grew somber. Grace sensed her mother’s old friend wanted to ask her about her romantic relationships, so she spoke up first. “I suppose I should go.”

  “Wait, can I get you something?” Maryann asked.

  “I’m fine. Thank you all the same.” Grace drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps Emma would like to help out at the bed & breakfast for a bit now that Ruthie’s going to have a family?” The idea had just come to Grace. The final decision would be up to Heather when she came back. But for now, Grace could use some temporary help. Dust didn’t take a break during the off-season. Besides, the thought of company at the bed & breakfast cheered Grace. And maybe Emma knew some of the Amish teens who were at the party the night of Jason’s death.

  A concern wormed its way into Grace’s subconscious. Is everything about the story?

  Grace couldn’t help herself. Stories were in her blood.

  Just because the bishop ordered the youth to avoid the parties, didn’t mean Emma would. Grace found that when something was forbidden, it became that much more desired. She hoped she could be a positive influence on the young woman. Tell her how to be smart and sidestep trouble if she found herself at parties.

  “I’ll go get her.” Maryann stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  Grace got to her feet. “No, let me run up. If that’s okay?”

  “Yah.” Maryann turned and continued into the kitchen.

  Grace smiled and jogged up the stairs silently in her socks. Emma was still reading to her sister. Grace knocked quietly and then pushed open the door. Ruthie had drifted off to sleep while Emma seemed engrossed in the story.

  “Hi,” Grace whispered. Ruthie’s breathing was even. “I don’t want to wake your sister.”

  Understanding, Emma put a string in the book to mark her page and set it aside. They both stepped out into the hallway. “I wanted to know if you’d be interested in doing a little light cleaning at the bed & breakfast while I’m staying there?” Emma must wonder why a single woman couldn’t clean up after herself.

  “Yah. Yes,” she corrected herself. “When?”

  “Whenever works for you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her business card, then realized how ridiculous that was. Her smile faded. “I was going to say you could call me.”

  Emma swiped the card from her hand. “We have a phone in the barn. We use it for business purposes. For the greenhouse. I’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” Grace glanced down the stairs. Maryann didn’t seem to be within earshot. “Can I ask you something?”

  Emma twirled the strings of her bonnet, and her cheeks flared pink at the attention.

  “Were you at the drinking party that made the news?”

  Emma glanced around, appearing to be searching for an escape route. “You’re the one writing a story.”

  “I am.” She spoke encouragingly. “I promise not to get you into trouble.”

  Emma shook her head. “No, I wasn’t at the party. I w
ent right home after Sunday singing that night.”

  Grace decided not to press. She’d get to know the young woman soon enough when she came to work at the bed & breakfast.

  “You have my card. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yah.” Emma slipped back into Ruthie’s room, and her steady voice picked up where she had left off in the story.

  * * *

  Grace had only been home long enough to formulate a blog post to keep her editor happy when she noticed a patrol car pulling up the driveway. Perhaps Conner had news about Bradley Poissant, the mayor’s son.

  She waited by the back door, hoping not to appear too eager. She counted to five after Conner’s knock, and pulled the door open. Her greeting died on her lips. A female officer was standing next to Conner with a bag slung over her shoulder.

  What’s going on?

  “Grace, this is Deputy Becky Spoth.”

  Grace backed up and hit her heel on the open door. “Hello, deputy.”

  “Mind if we come in?” Conner asked, amusement edging his tone. He must have noticed Grace’s befuddlement.

  “Um, sure. What’s going on?” Grace stepped out of the way and the two officers came through the door, looking very official in their uniforms. “Does this mean you found the guy who rammed me at the gas station?” What other reason would Conner have for bringing Deputy Spoth with him? What was with the bag?

  Conner hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Sorry to say we couldn’t locate Bradley. The mayor said he was away on a college visit with his mom. Just for today. We don’t even know he was involved, but until we arrest who was, I’d prefer if you weren’t alone out here.”

  “Do you think it was Bradley?” Grace’s gaze drifted to Conner then the deputy and back. She was sensing he was having doubts.

  Conner took off his hat and scratched his head. “It’s a stretch. I’ve known the mayor a long time. I’ve known Bradley his entire life. He’s a good kid. Made a mistake drinking out back behind Jason’s house. His parents were grateful to know what their son was up to. He’s on the straight and narrow now.”

  “You trust him that much?” Grace leaned back and gripped the counter behind her. “But that’s not the end of it, right? Did you find out why he was arguing with Jason? Does the mayor know why you’re looking for him?”

  “We had to tell him something. I told him I had questions regarding the party. That I heard he was there with Jason,” Conner said. “For all he knows, he thinks I want to know more about Jason’s last hours, being family and all. And as far as the fighting, kids argue, right?”

  “Sounds like you’ve talked yourself into this theory.” Grace watched him closely. A shadow crossed his face, suggesting perhaps she was right.

  “The mayor seemed pretty wrecked about Jason’s death,” Deputy Spoth added, looking toward Conner for confirmation. “It’s a sad situation. After the boys were caught drinking at Jason’s, Bradley lost his starting position as quarterback—part of school district policy if caught with drugs or alcohol. He said his son realized it was a wake-up call.”

  “To a teenage kid, missing out on a big game is a big deal. It was perhaps the end of his football career.” Although Grace didn’t have kids, she had heard more times than she could count that teenage brains weren’t fully developed. That they did stupid things for stupid reasons. Acted irrationally. The officers had to know that better than anyone.

  “I’d hardly call it a career,” Conner scoffed. “His parents said he had no plans to play past high school. They looked forward to the day he hung up his cleats. The game’s tough. Don’t go grasping for reasons for him to get revenge on Jason that don’t exist.”

  “Why are you shutting me down?”

  “I know these people.” Conner leveled an even gaze at her. “They’ve known Jason a long time. They want to know the truth, too.”

  “Not if it means taking their son down.”

  Conner pressed his hands together and touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. “Okay, I’ll do a little more digging.”

  “Thank you,” Grace said, and pushed off the counter. “Now, about Deputy Spoth staying with me?” She pointed at Deputy Spoth’s bag.

  “You didn’t run this by her ahead of time?” The deputy shook her head, giving Conner a skeptical look. Already Grace liked this woman.

  “You need protection out here,” Conner said as if that trumped everything.

  Grace was beginning to miss her quiet hotel rooms in various cities where she could come and go without everyone worrying about her. “I thought we’ve been over this. I have the alarm.” She sighed. “I won’t forget to turn it on if Boots comes knocking.” If only she hadn’t forgotten that one step, she wouldn’t be stuck entertaining this sheriff’s deputy.

  “I’d feel better if you had more than an alarm. I got authorization to have Deputy Becky Spoth stay with you.”

  Grace squared her shoulders. “No offense, deputy, but I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Please, call me Becky.” Self-consciously, she touched one of the long braids pinned on top of her head.

  Grace was beginning to feel a bit like a heel, but Conner had given her no choice.

  “Humor me.” A slow smile crept up Conner’s face, and Grace’s heart melted. Traitorous heart! If she stayed in Quail Hollow much longer, she’d be in jeopardy, and not only from some testosterone-fueled punk in a big truck.

  Grace held up her hands, too tired to argue.

  Conner took a step, retreating toward the door. “I have to follow up on a few things. You going to be okay?”

  “Sure,” the two women said in unison, then looked at each other. Grace smiled, figuring the young deputy probably didn’t want to be here any more than she wanted a babysitter.

  Once Conner stepped outside, the deputy moved to the door and locked it. “What’s the code for the alarm?”

  Grace told her, and the deputy set it. “I’m sure they’ll track down whoever is harassing you, and then your life will go back to normal.”

  Grace was beginning to wonder what normal looked like. She had never had a normal life.

  Grace opened the fridge and stared inside at the expired quart of half-and-half as well as a bruised apple and a withered pear left over from the fruit basket Rose had sent. She had hoped something good to eat would spontaneously appear. If she were here alone, she’d probably eat a granola bar or a bowl of cereal. I wonder if my guest would enjoy that?

  Grace turned around and planted her fists on her hips. “You hungry? We could order takeout.”

  “No one will deliver out here.” Becky strolled over and pointed at a door off the kitchen. “Pantry?”

  Grace nodded. Her sister had mentioned the pantry, but Grace hadn’t even opened it. She wasn’t much of a cook.

  Becky opened the door of the well-stocked pantry and studied its contents. “I can whip something up.”

  “Really?” Grace glanced over the deputy’s shoulder at the cans, jars and containers that struck her more like a last resort during a snowstorm, when you were willing to risk botulism versus starving to death. “My sister had an Amish woman run her kitchen.”

  Earlier today she had watched Emma helping a very pregnant Ruthie up the stairs. Grace reached in and read a date on the can, but they hadn’t come from any manufacturer. The Amish must have canned the food. “Hmm...she must have stocked up before she went on maternity leave. I never thought to look in there for something to eat.” Living on the road always meant eating out. Since her sister left, she had been living on a few fresh foods stored in the fridge, cold cereal, granola bars and prepared food she had picked up in town. She wasn’t fussy.

  The deputy gave her a strange look and laughed quietly to herself. She undid the buttons on her cuffs and rolled back her sleeves. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll make us something for dinner. I promise you it’ll
be good.”

  “Sure.” Grace hoped the single word of agreement didn’t show her doubt. “What can I do?”

  The deputy handed her a basket of potatoes. “You can peel these while I see what vegetables you have.”

  The two women worked in companionable silence. Grace never realized that peeling potatoes could be a nice distraction. Becky, as the deputy insisted on being called, finished preparing the meal, and the two of them sat down at the table to eat something that resembled Shepherd’s Pie. Grace had to clear the paperwork and her computer from the table.

  Grace took a bite, and the flavor exploded in her mouth. It took her back. Made her think of home.

  A home she had lost the day her mother was murdered.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this? It reminds me of my childhood.” Grace wasn’t even sure that was possible. Her mom had died when she was three, and her dad had moved his young family away shortly after.

  A small smile hooked the corner of the deputy’s mouth. The young woman had a flawless beauty, and Grace suspected she wasn’t wearing any makeup. “I grew up Amish.”

  Grace laughed. “Really? I did, too. Well, not really. I left a long time ago.”

  “I know,” Becky said. Of course she knew. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Everyone who grew up around here knows about your mem.” It was strange to hear Pennsylvania Dutch coming from the deputy’s mouth.

  “How old were you when you left?” Grace took another bite. “This is really good,” she added quickly, pointing at the food with her fork.

  “Thanks.” Becky seemed pleased, as if she hadn’t cooked for anyone in a long time. “I left when I was seventeen.”

  “Did you leave all by yourself?”

  Becky swallowed and smiled ruefully. “Yes.”

  “Yet you stayed in Quail Hollow?”

  “Call me a glutton for punishment.” Becky dragged a fork through her mashed potatoes, making Grace think about how she had done the same when she was a child. She liked to pretend she was paving roads through the mountainside in her mashed potatoes. “It’s not too bad. I still have family here.”