In a few minutes Sarah was seated across from her, obviously intending to stay there and see that Meredith ate and drank something, at least. She managed to choke down a small bite of shoofly pie and followed it with a gulp of hot tea. People pushed food on the bereaved because it was the only way to express their concern, she supposed.
Sarah stirred her tea absently, frowning a little. “I heard something I could hardly believe. When the milk truck driver came, he said that Margo had been attacked. Surely that can’t be true.”
“It looks that way.” She’d better proceed cautiously if she intended to bring up the subject of Samuel. “The coroner hasn’t ruled yet, but there was an injury...”
“Ach, I can scarcely take it in.” Sarah shook her head. “Who would want to attack Margo?”
“It seems impossible.” She was finding it easier to talk about with each retelling. “I can’t imagine what took her out to the pool at night, but she was wearing my coat.” She stopped, letting that sink in.
Sarah just stared at her for a moment, her blue eyes going dark with shock. “But why? It doesn’t make sense.”
Meredith had a moment of identifying fully with the sentiment. It didn’t make sense, but it had happened.
“I... We...wonder if someone might feel that I’m getting too inquisitive about the way Aaron Mast died.”
“Aaron...” Her face paled. “But no one could want to harm you over something that happened so long ago.” She started off sounding sure, but the sentence slid into something that was almost a question.
“They might if they had something to hide about what happened that night. I know, it seems incredible, but what other options are there?”
Sarah put her hand to her mouth as if to hold back a cry. “I am the one who asked you to look into it. If you are in danger, it is my fault.”
“No, don’t think that.” She reached across the table to grasp her cousin’s hand. She should have foreseen that reaction, and she hadn’t. “We started asking questions almost as soon as Rachel and I got back together. I think now that I’ve never been satisfied with the explanation of Aaron’s death, even when I was a child.”
“You can’t make me feel less guilty so easily,” Sarah said. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
Meredith looked down at their clasped hands, trying to frame what she had to say. “Samuel really didn’t want to talk to me about Aaron. Maybe he’d talk to you.”
And if Samuel was guilty, was she asking Sarah to spy on her own brother? Still, she’d be safe with Samuel. No matter what he was hiding, he’d never harm Sarah, and no one else need ever know she’d asked questions.
“Ja, I can talk to him again about Aaron. What do you want to know?”
There was nothing but to come right out with it. “Maybe you can find out if he saw Aaron that last night. He claims he didn’t, but someone—”
Sarah pulled her hand away. “You are saying that my brother lied to you?” Her voice was tart.
She had to tread carefully. “He loves you. He wants to protect you from being hurt. Maybe he thought that made it worth telling me less than the truth about seeing Aaron that night.”
Sarah looked unconvinced. “You said someone said something about Samuel. What was it?”
“Not about Samuel specifically.” She didn’t want to cause a breach between Sarah and Rebecca Stoltzfus. “But Aaron was heard arguing with another man that night. They were speaking Pennsylvania Dutch, so the man had to be Amish.”
“Samuel would never harm Aaron. They were best friends.”
“I’m not saying Samuel had anything to do with Aaron’s death.” Wasn’t she? “But if he saw Aaron that night, he might have seen something or might know something that would help.”
Sarah nodded slowly. “I will talk to Samuel. That’s all I can say.”
“Thank you.” It was an oddly formal little exchange that left Meredith’s heart feeling battered. She had already hurt her relationship with Sarah. Who knew how much more damage she might do to it before this was over?
* * *
ZACH JOGGED ACROSS the road when he saw a car stopping in front of Meredith’s house that afternoon. He’d hesitated to go over in case she was getting some much-needed rest, but with all this company, she might appreciate a buffer.
He reached the gate as a man got out, then hurried around the car to open the passenger door. A woman emerged, carrying a sheaf of roses. Victor and Laura Hammond. That was surprising. From what Meredith had said, he’d thought Hammond was doing anything possible to keep Meredith away from his wife.
Zach swung the gate wide for them. Laura passed through without so much as a glance, but her husband looked at him closely.
“Zach Randal, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Looks as if we’re all coming to check on Meredith.”
“Terrible thing, terrible.” Victor’s pudgy face seemed to sag. “Margo King, of all people. I can’t believe it could happen here. They’re saying she was attacked.”
“That’s apparently what the police believe.”
Shaking his head, Hammond started up the walk. “Poor Meredith. She must be devastated. We felt we had to come and offer our support.”
As they approached the door it opened, and Meredith stood there. He was struck by how fragile she looked. He had to be patient with her, but the fear of what the police might even now be thinking jabbed at him. They might not have time for patience.
“Laura, Victor. It’s kind of you to stop by.” The pleading glance she sent his way seemed to ask him to help her get rid of them.
“We just had to see how you’re doing.” Victor pressed her hand. “This is such an awful thing. We could hardly believe it when we heard, could we, Laura?”
He glanced at his wife as he spoke, and Zach followed the direction of his gaze. Then he looked a little closer. Laura was on something, he felt certain of that. The dilated pupils and the glazed expression both told a story. The woman frowned, not seeming to know the right response to the question.
“Laura wanted to bring you some flowers.” He nudged her hand. This time she seemed to understand, because she handed the roses to Meredith.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.
“Thank you, Laura.” Meredith hesitated a moment, and then she put her arms around the woman in a quick hug.
Laura clutched her tightly for a moment. Tears filled her eyes, and she didn’t seem to notice when they spilled over onto her cheeks.
“There now, dear, don’t cry.” Victor detached her and stood holding her arm. “This whole thing just seems so impossible. I suppose it was some vagrant. Or someone high on drugs. Don’t you think?”
Meredith shook her head, and Zach felt she’d reached the end of her rope. No matter how rude he had to be, it was time to get these people out.
“I’m afraid Meredith is still in shock.” He nudged them gently toward the door. “It was good of you to stop by, but she needs to get some rest now.”
For a moment he thought Victor was going to rebel, but then he nodded. “Yes, of course. Meredith, you just call me if there’s anything at all I can do. That’s what friends are for at a time like this.”
Meredith managed a nod, and Zach ushered them the rest of the way out. He closed the door on Victor’s obvious expectation that he was coming, as well.
He turned back to Meredith, his heart wrung by the pain in her face. He touched her arm gently. “Come and sit down before you fall down, okay?”
“I’m all right.” She murmured the words automatically, it seemed, and she let him lead her into the living room and settle her in a corner of the sofa.
He pulled a chair over so that he could sit facing her. For some reason, she looked even worse than she had earlier. “What’s going on? Has so
mething else happened?”
“When Rebecca Stoltzfus, my neighbor, was here earlier, I talked to her again about the night Aaron died.” She looked at him as if to be sure he understood. “I was right about her. She had been holding something back.”
“What?” His instincts clicked on alert. Were they finally going to have something solid to work on?
“Rebecca said she went out on the back porch right around dark that night. She heard voices coming from the direction of the pool.”
“Did she recognize them?” That would probably be too much to hope for.
“No, but they were both male, and they were speaking Pennsylvania Dutch. And they were arguing.”
“Samuel,” he said. It would explain Samuel’s reluctance to talk to Meredith about that night.
“She didn’t know who it was,” Meredith repeated, sounding as if she were grasping at straws. “But when my cousin Sarah came, I said something about it.” Meredith rubbed her arms as if cold, making him long to do it for her. “She was upset, and no wonder. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You had to,” he pointed out. “If we’re ever going to get to the truth...”
“I’m not a very good detective, I’m afraid. Anyway, I told her that if Samuel was there that night, he might have seen or heard something useful. I’m not sure she believed that’s what I was driving at, but she agreed to talk to him.”
“The police would get better results.” He was getting impatient already.
“No!” Alarm flushed her face. “You can’t tell the police. The whole family would never forgive me if the police came knocking on their doors.”
“Okay, no cops. But there’s one thing we should have done before this, and that’s searching your mother’s bedroom for any hint as to why she went out last night.” Was it only last night? It felt as if an eternity had passed. He’d never been on this side of an investigation before. “Or have you done that already?”
“I looked around to see if she’d left a note anywhere, but I didn’t actually search.” Meredith pushed a strand of hair back from her face. “You’re right, of course. We’ll have to do that now.”
She got up, heading for the stairs. She was so pale that he took her arm. “You look as if you’d be better off lying down,” he said.
“I’m fine.” Meredith’s answer was predictable. Stubborn, but predictable.
But when they reached the doorway to her mother’s room she stopped, hanging on to the door frame with one hand.
“Do you want me to do it?”
She shook her head again. “I’ll take the closet and the dresser. I know what should be there.”
“Just look for anything that seems out of place.” He could understand her not wanting him to go through her mother’s clothes, cop or not.
He started with the bedside table, searching quickly and methodically. Maybe Margo hadn’t left a note, but she might well have forgotten or ignored some indication as to why she’d gone outside. After all, she’d expected to come back.
Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. Zach worked his way around the perimeter of the frilly pink bedroom, checking every piece of furniture without success. He glanced at Meredith, who was going through the dresser drawers, examining each garment before returning it to its place. “Anything?”
“Only what I saw last night. She came upstairs at some point in the evening and changed into slacks and a sweater. The skirt she wore earlier is hanging on the door, and her slippers are lying by the bed. Nothing else.”
He approached the delicate white drop-front desk that stood next to the window. “What did she keep in here?”
“Writing supplies, mostly. She didn’t care for the computer.”
Zach opened the front. The inside, like the room, was fairly neat despite all the frills.
Meredith came to stand next to him, looking. “That’s the notepaper she used.” She indicated a compartment filled with folded note cards.
He pulled one out. It was expensive stuff, heavy cream paper embossed with Margo’s initials.
“My mother used that for all her correspondence.” Meredith touched the stack of matching envelopes, printed with the return address. “She wrote notes for everything—thank-you notes, complaints, reminders—always on her special notepaper.”
“What’s this, then?” He picked up the plain, cheap tablet of lined writing paper that lay in the center of the desk. A box of envelopes sat next to it, open. It looked as if a few envelopes had been removed.
“I don’t know.” Meredith looked at it, frowning. “That paper and those envelopes are definitely out of the ordinary for my mom.”
He flipped open the tablet. Cheap stuff, the kind you could pick up at any supermarket or discount store. Several sheets had been torn out. Curious, he counted the envelopes in the box. “Three missing,” he said. “Why would she use this cheap paper and plain envelopes instead of using her special stationery? Did she pay the bills?” That might be an answer.
“No, never. I took care of all the bills and any business concerning the property.” Meredith looked at him, troubled. “What does it mean?”
“I’m not sure.” Maybe he was building something out of nothing in his need to find answers, but it did seem odd. “Who would she write to that she wouldn’t want to use her special stationery for?”
“I can’t imagine.” She rubbed her forehead. “My brain seems to have stopped working.” She looked around the room, as if looking for something. “I just realized—the scrapbook isn’t in here, is it?”
“Scrapbook?” His brain failed him for a moment, too, and then he caught up. The scrapbook Meredith had told him about, the one the girls had kept the summer Aaron Mast died. “It’s not here. Don’t you keep it in your room?”
“I noticed it was missing this morning.” Her voice was tight. “My mother had seemed interested in it. I thought she might have brought it in here. But if it’s not here, then where is it? Someone else must have taken it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MEREDITH COULD SEE that Zach wasn’t convinced the scrapbook was missing, but after they’d gone through the whole house, he had to agree.
“I don’t understand why anyone would want to take it.” Meredith sagged onto the sofa, feeling as if she’d run a marathon. “It wouldn’t even make sense to anyone but the three of us.”
Zach nodded, somewhat grimly. “That’s the interesting thing about this scrapbook. What could possibly have been in it to generate such interest?”
“Nothing. Or at least, nothing I can think of. I’ve been through it dozens of times.”
Zach sat down opposite her, studying her face. “Sorry. I know you’re beat, but we have to try and figure this out.”
“I understand. I just don’t know what I can say that will help.”
“First off, how could someone get into the house to take the scrapbook? It’s the only thing missing, so we have to assume the thief knew about it and thought it was a threat to him. Or her.”
She hadn’t really thought all of that through, but Zach was right. “As for getting in, that wouldn’t be hard. Mother was paranoid about locking up at night, especially when she was home alone, but she often left the door unlocked when she went out in the daytime.”
Zach frowned. “You ought to have dead-bolt locks on all the doors. Anyone could break in, even if she hadn’t conveniently left the place open.”
She couldn’t help defending her mother. “Everyone in town leaves their doors unlocked during the day. It’s hardly the big city. Neighbors would notice if a stranger was hanging around.”
Zach shot her an impatient look. “The person we’re interested in isn’t a stranger, Meredith. You have to accept that. If someone killed your mother because of Aaron Mast’s death, it’s someone you know.
”
She knew that, intellectually. But emotionally, she couldn’t picture anyone she knew striking down her mother. She struggled with the idea, trying to fit a familiar face on the image in her mind of a dark figure creeping up on Margo.
“I know. It’s hard.” Zach seemed to read her thoughts. “But I don’t think we’re going to find that this was done by a wandering nutcase. Okay, so just about anyone could have gotten into the house. When was the last time you saw the scrapbook?”
She shrugged, feeling useless. “I don’t know. Last week, maybe? I found Mom looking through it, and I took it away and put it in the drawer of my desk.”
“Why was she looking at it?” The question snapped at her, as if Zach had forgotten who she was for the moment.
“I don’t know.” She tried to remember what her mother had said at the time. “It seemed to be curiosity. I think she’d overheard me talking to Rachel about it, and she always wanted to know what was going on.”
Zach drove one hand through his hair. “The whole thing is so nebulous. What could someone want with a kid’s scrapbook? Describe it to me.”
She wasn’t sure where to start. “Rachel and I made the scrapbook the summer Aaron died. Along with Lainey, Rebecca Stoltzfus’s great-niece. She was staying here that summer. I think it might have been Lainey’s idea to begin with. She created this fantasy game that we played all summer. Aaron was our perfect knight, and Laura his secret love. We knew about their romance, you see. We followed Aaron around, so we saw them together.”
“It’s a wonder he didn’t chase you away. Or tell your folks. Unless he didn’t know.”
“He knew, all right. But he was kind. Aaron was always kind.” She could see him so clearly in her mind’s eye, always young, hopeful, in love.
“So what exactly was in the scrapbook?” Zach brought her back to earth.
“Drawings, mostly. Sketch maps we made of our mythical kingdom. Bits and pieces of a story we made up.”
“It doesn’t sound like a threat to anyone,” he said.
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