“Then Miss Miller was attacked at approximately the same time and suffered similar symptoms as Hancock. Miss Miller’s home was broken into and her workspace was vandalized. The next day, Miss Miller was sideswiped and rear-ended on the way to her brother’s by a black sedan, which was later spotted at Miller’s Mill. Shortly before, Dr. Jamison was shot at while trying to connect with Mr. Linton. Today, the two of you were locked in the Hall of Records auxiliary building, from which you barely escaped when it went up in flames. The last two events are directly linked to Dr. Jamison’s search for his birth parents. We think it’s safe to assume that these events have all been sparked by Dr. Jamison’s stay in Lancaster.”
“So, the biggest missing piece is who Hancock is and why someone wanted him dead?” Abby asked.
“Yes. That and how Dr. Jamison’s adoption is linked to Hancock’s murder. If someone just wanted Dr. Jamison out of Lancaster, then we don’t think they would go to such extreme measures.”
“It seems to me that’s exactly what they want. And you may change your mind after you see this.” Blake paused as he pulled a magazine from his lap. He opened it to a double-page spread in the front.
“What is it?” Abby felt her heart beat faster as she stood to better view the fancy magazine with its high-gloss pages. The section was titled Updates. Across the two pages were various pictures of men and women Abby assumed were New York socialites. Each picture was accompanied by a short paragraph explaining some sort of business deal or life event concerning each of the young men. One of the pictures was of Blake.
Abby read aloud.
“Not quite following in his parents’ footsteps, Dr. Blake Jamison loses his first patient to a simple procedure while on a pro bono sabbatical in Lancaster County. Rumors have it that the cause is substance abuse. Speculations have been made that Dr. Jamison will not wield a scalpel much longer, either here or in the quaint countryside of PA.
“But this is ridiculous!” Abby said. “That patient was never in your care until after his cardiac arrest. By that point, he was beyond saving.”
“It doesn’t matter. Dr. Dodd has asked me to leave Fairview.”
FOURTEEN
“Yes, Natalie.” Blake held his cell phone about three inches from his ear. Natalie was so excited that the volume of her voice had increased enough to be heard by everyone in the small coffeehouse. “I can hear you. I just can’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Saturday. The gala. Pick me up at six.”
“Yeah, about that.” Blake sighed. “I don’t think—”
“You promised, Blake. You’re making a toast and introducing the keynote speaker. You have to be there.”
Guilt slinked around Blake’s neck. Natalie was right. He’d agreed to this over a month ago. But that was before the murder and the bad publicity in the New York Ways magazine—and meeting Abigail. Still, he had to go back home. After talking with Agent Day, it seemed best for him to give up his search, leave the hospital, try to get that damaging article retracted and just get back to his regular life.
“You haven’t seen this month’s copy of NYW, have you?” Blake asked.
“NYW? No. No one has. It doesn’t come out until next week. Why? Did you finally agree to do that cover story?”
Next week? Then how did Dr. Dodd have a copy of it already? “No, never mind. Look, Natalie. You’re right. I should be there for the gala. I hope I can be there. Let me see if I can get things squared away down here by the end of the week. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.”
He hung up. Well, that was interesting. Maybe he could get the story retracted before it actually hit the stands. Was that possible? He was afraid to hope.
Blake gulped down his last bit of espresso. It was no longer hot, but he wanted the shot of caffeine to keep him going. What were the chances of things getting wrapped up by the end of the week? Slim to none. Every time he hoped to get answers about what was going on, instead there only seemed to be new questions to add to the equation.
In fact, he could hardly keep track of all the questions. He wished his mother were still there to talk to. She always helped him to reason out things, especially when he had tough choices to make.
Blake left a generous tip for the waitress and slipped out of the coffeehouse. He drove to the bed-and-breakfast, ready to change into something a little nicer as Abby was meeting him there for dinner. Blake had not invited her. The Youngers, the owners of the bed-and-breakfast, had heard about the fire and insisted that they both come for a big dinner on the house.
Blake changed into khakis and a freshly starched oxford. Then he straightened up his room, caught up on email and sat down with the documents that Abby had saved from the Hall of Records fire.
Dr. Nathan Miles. Blake went back to his laptop and searched for the name on Google.
Ob-gyn. New York City.
What a surprise. In fact, Dr. Miles’s practice was located at 73rd on the Upper East Side, just a few blocks from Blake’s apartment.
Blake also looked up the New York Ways website. Natalie had been right, of course. This month’s issue wasn’t due out for a week. So, where had Dr. Dodd gotten his copy?
Blake studied the other birth notices, the ones with different dates but also with the Jane and John Doe mother and father listings. Could all five of those babies have been given up for adoption? Blake didn’t know much about adoption rates, but he doubted that in a township as small as Willow Trace there were more than two or three a year. Not five in a three-week span, especially given what Abby had told him of how rare adoption was in the Amish community that made up much of the town.
Blake ran his hands through his hair. Nothing made sense. The only constant here was that everything seemed to point back to New York.
His hotel line rang. It was Mrs. Younger announcing Abby’s arrival.
Blake put away the papers and shut down his laptop. He scurried down the steps but put on the brakes as he entered the dining room. His mouth went dry and his feet froze to the floor.
There was only one guest seated, facing him in the center of the room. She wore a knee-length pencil skirt with a fitted blouse. Her long blond hair was smoothed out and loose, falling over both shoulders and waving over the left half of her face. Blake thought his heart might leap from his chest. She was so beautiful.
“Wow, Abigail,” he said. “Your—your hair... You should wear it down more often. It’s incredible.”
Her large blue eyes looked up at him with an awe-inspiring hypnotic effect. “Thank you. I haven’t worn it this way since my Rumschpringe days. I felt so icky after that fire, I thought...why not dress up and look nice for a change? You know what I mean?”
Blake nodded. His hand missed the back of his chair as he reached to pull it out and take a seat.
“I hope you’re okay with me coming to dinner.” There was a natural blush on her cheeks. “It was so nice of the Youngers. They are a great couple.”
Okay? He was more than okay. Abigail was already beautiful in the jeans and sweaters she wore, but with a skirt and blouse and her hair down, she would have given any runway model a run for her money.
“I’m glad you’re here for dinner.” Blake forced his eyes to his water glass, which he grabbed and nearly drained trying to relieve his dry mouth. “There are a few things I wanted to discuss with you.”
One glance back into her mesmerizing blue eyes and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to remember a single one of them. Blake shook his head. What was happening to him? Or had already happened...
* * *
“Me, too.” Abigail swept her long hair behind her shoulder. It felt strange wearing it down. What would her father say?
She knew what the bishop would say...but he’d be wrong. She hadn’t dressed this way to impress Blake. She’d done it because she’d
spent too much time in the past few days covered in dirt or blood or both. The bed-and-breakfast had a nice restaurant, which made for a good excuse for dressing up—and this was the only fancy outfit she owned.
She looked down at the bandages that covered the burns on her arm. The pain was steady but bearable. Still, it fatigued her. She doubted very much that she would need to take the sleep aid the hospital had recommended.
“Well, there you are, Dr. Jamison.” Mrs. Younger bounced into the room with a basket of hot yeast rolls, which she placed in the center of the table. “You can’t keep a woman this special waiting. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
Abby’s cheeks were warm with a deep blush. She’d always liked the Youngers. Easy, no-nonsense Amish.
“Pop and I are very happy to take care of you both tonight,” she continued. “It’s going to be a special evening. Just sit back and enjoy. You don’t even have to order. Pop already decided what the menu would be. First up is a bowl of hot Amish Church Soup. I’ll be right back with that and some sweet tea. You must be starved after the rough time you’ve had these past few days.”
Abby agreed. She was starved. And being in a fancy restaurant seemed to help put some distance between her and what had happened that afternoon.
“She’s right. It has been a rough couple of days.”
Blake nodded his agreement. “Yes, I was afraid you’d be too tired for this.”
“What I’m too tired for is to cook for myself.”
“Good point. So, how well do you know the Youngers? I really like them. They seem a bit different than your family, though—you know, in the way they are Amish.”
“I went to school with their two daughters. You met Mary the other night. So I know them fairly well, but they belong to a different Ordnung. It’s a little more modern than the one my family belongs to. And running the bed-and-breakfast and having Englisch guests all of the time...well, the Youngers have to be pretty in tune with everything on the outside. That makes them better hosts.”
“They’re the best. I’m really glad I decided to stay here.” He looked down at her arms. “How much pain are you in?”
“It’s okay. A steady, stinging burn, but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
“That was a close call. Your third one this week. Do you really think you’ll be able to sleep well?”
“I hope so. I have a plan and I was hoping you’d be a part of it.”
He smiled. “A plan? I like that. Let’s hear it.”
“Okay.” Abby took a deep breath. “I hardly know where to start....” She smiled. “It has been a rough few days in more ways than one. And I’m ready to change all of that around. Like Eli has said from the beginning. We need to get ahead of this guy. I know this will surprise you but I’ve changed my mind about you finding your birth parents. I think you should find them. And I want to help. You said the very first day we met, when this whole thing started, that you didn’t believe in coincidence. I don’t, either.”
Blake’s dark-chocolate eyes softened as she spoke. “You’re right. I’m surprised.”
“Wait. There’s more.” Abby held up a hand. “I also want to get you reinstated at Fairview. And I think I know how to do that. What Dr. Dodd did today is completely unfair. He can’t get away with it.”
Mrs. Younger brought in the steaming soup and placed it before them. “Guten appetiten.”
“Smells delicious,” Blake said.
“It’s Pop’s Church Soup. He says it cures any ailment.” She smiled. “Enjoy.”
A few minutes of silence ensued as they plunged into their soup—steaming hot and loaded with richly stewed vegetables.
Blake put down his spoon and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “I appreciate your sympathy. I agree about the situation. It doesn’t seem too fair. But I don’t know what can be done about it, unless we call a jury of peers. I don’t want to do that. You saw the magazine today. After that hit to my reputation, I have to keep a low profile. Anyway, Abby, I was going to tell you...I have decided to give up my search. It’s gotten too dangerous. I have to go back to New York and take care of this article. Our foundations can’t afford this bad publicity. You can’t imagine what a mess it will start in New York if the wrong people get ahold of the information—it could ruin a lot of good organizations that my parents started. I really don’t want that. You were right. My search is selfish and could bring a lot of pain to a lot of people. It already has.”
Abby couldn’t believe Blake had changed his mind. She had to talk him into continuing the search. It was the best way to get to the bottom of things. “What about the rest of the investigation? I think you must be close to finding your parents. You shouldn’t give up now.”
“I can’t believe your change of heart.” He looked truly bewildered. “I don’t even know what to say.” He swallowed hard. “It’s been nothing but trouble since I came here. The fact that everything is tied back to New York, or seems to be, is what really has me convinced that I need to let it all go before someone else gets hurt.”
“But that would only resolve half the problem.” Abby sat tall in her chair. “You’re forgetting that we witnessed a murder. Should we let the killer go free? And don’t you care about getting reinstated? This is your career. I know you care about medicine. I saw you the other night helping Mrs. Brenneman. You are a great doctor.”
“Thanks. I guess I hadn’t had a chance for that to really sink in yet. I should call Dr. Dodd first thing in the morning. I was so stunned by that article, I didn’t know how to respond. Speaking of which, I found out this afternoon that that article—the one I showed you and Agent Day—well, it hasn’t been released yet. A friend of mine in New York said that magazine doesn’t come out for another week. So how did Dr. Dodd get hold of a copy?”
Abby pressed her lips together. “That is strange. Can you keep it from coming out?”
“Maybe, but I’d need to get back to New York.” He reached across the table and stroked her hand. “I wish things were different.”
Abby knew what that meant. She pulled her hand away. Things weren’t different, no matter what they might wish. Blake was engaged—and he was not her type, anyway. She could never understand the world he was from, much less be a part of it. “You’re right. You should go back to New York.”
He blinked hard. “I thought you just said I should stay and keep searching.”
“I think you should do both. Go up to New York. Talk to Dr. Granger. Fix things at the magazine. And find some answers.” Abigail focused her gaze on him, careful to remove any single romantic suggestion. “You said yourself, everything leads back to New York.”
“And Dr. Miles.”
“Dr. Miles?”
“Yes, the doctor whose name is on all those birth records. The ones you were so careful to save for me in the fire. Did you know that you also saved a letter from my mother? It’s the last thing I have from her. You have no idea how much that letter means to me.”
Abby could feel his eyes on her again. He did feel that connection between them, even though it could never amount to anything.
“I was going through those papers just a few minutes ago,” Blake continued. “When I looked up Dr. Miles online, I found that he practices medicine in New York.”
“That’s just one more reason to go.”
“Come with me.”
“What? I can’t go to New York.”
“Here we are.” Mrs. Younger bounced into the room again carrying a large tray. “Miller’s Homemade Chicken Potpie. It’s made from scratch, and all the ingredients are local and Amish grown.”
“Miller? As in Abigail Miller?” Blake looked over at her.
Mrs. Younger explained as she placed the plates on the table with pride. “Oh, yes, it’s the best recipe there is. I had to beg for it, but Ab
igail’s mother finally relented after I told her that we didn’t want our tourists going away not knowing who started the chicken potpie. Of course, Abby and her mother make it best, but I hope you’ll both find this a close second. In any case, it’s the best comfort food in the world.”
“I don’t know about you,” Abby said after Mrs. Younger had left them alone, “but I could use a little comfort.”
“No kidding.” Blake smiled before digging into his pie. “Wow. That’s the best chicken potpie I’ve ever had. And you can make it better? I think I’d like to try that.”
Abby blushed and looked away. It had been so long since she’d cooked with her mother. So long since she’d thought about caring for someone in that way. There was something intimate and loving about making food for the people you cared for. Blake’s comments forced up a longing in her that she’d put away years ago when she’d decided to become a nurse.
Abby forced down a bite of the chicken pie. It was full of familiar home-cooked flavors but they gave her no comfort just now. She had to help Blake, because that was the only way this whole ordeal would end. He was really starting to get under her skin and it scared her. She did not want to feel this way. And she certainly didn’t want to feel this way about someone like Blake.
“I don’t really cook anymore,” she said. “But I could give you the recipe. Maybe you could have your private chef make it for you.”
Blake laughed at her teasing tone. “Seriously. It’s not like that. No private chef for me.”
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