by Marta Perry
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 o
ldest 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...”