The Search

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  Besides, he’d come to Crittenden County to solve a crime, not to make friends. Certainly not to begin a romantic relationship!

  He grimaced as every word from his conversation with Mose echoed in his head.

  “I got some news for ya, Luke,” he’d said. “I’m afraid it concerns Frannie.”

  “What happened? Did she get an infection at the hospital?”

  “No . . . it ain’t nothing like that. I heard from the ballistics lab. They identified two sets of fingerprints on those sunglasses you found, Luke.”

  Finally the lead he’d been waiting for! “And?”

  “Perry’s are on them . . . but Frannie’s are, too.”

  “Frannie?” He ached to ask if Mose was sure, but he didn’t dare question his friend’s information. Mose wouldn’t have told him about the fingerprints if he wasn’t sure.

  “You’ll have to get her side of the story, Luke, but if I had to take a stab at it, I’d say Perry probably tried to give them to Frannie, she held them, then for some reason gave them back.” Continuing slowly, he said, “Who knows? Maybe she even tossed them on the ground.”

  They’d talked for a few more minutes, Luke feeling more angry and betrayed with every second. He’d been a fool to not question Frannie more attentively . He’d been questioning Mose’s abilities, when all the time he’d been slowly letting himself be so charmed by Frannie that he’d accepted her story far too easily. Just like some rookie cop with a chip on his shoulder.

  Still stewing on it, Luke drummed his fingers on his steering wheel and prepared to steel himself against her injuries. And from her blue eyes.

  When his phone chirped, he put the car into park, and picked up his cell in relief. Any excuse to procrastinate was welcome. “Hey, Mose. Great to hear from you.”

  “I haven’t been greeted like that since my grandmother was still living,” Mose quipped.

  Embarrassed that Mose was right—he’d answered the line like his buddy was his long-lost cousin—Luke asked, “Most people aren’t that happy to hear from you? Not even your mom?”

  Mose chuckled. “Luke, most folks start worrying about parking tickets and speed traps when I call them out of the blue. But my mamm? Well, she always focuses on my bachelor status.”

  Luke smiled. “My mom only pointed out my flaws when she was trying to make me feel guilty so she could get me to do something I didn’t want to do.”

  “My mamm’s good at that, too. She can name my failings quicker than most folks can say jackrabbit. So . . . care to tell me what brought on your happy greeting?”

  “Our earlier conversation.”

  Immediately, Mose’s tone turned businesslike. “You still thinking about the sunglasses?”

  “Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair, wishing time would slow down so he wouldn’t feel like he had no choice about what to do next. “I’m getting ready to question Frannie about those Oakleys.”

  Mose sighed. “I’m not sure what those sunglasses have to do with Perry’s death, but her not telling us the whole story has wasted quite a bit of precious time.”

  Luke frowned. The whole scenario was bizarre. The expensive designer sunglasses had been a strange item to find, strange for Perry to own, and strange for Frannie to lie about. It made something that might have been a peculiar quirk into something of importance. “I hope she has a good reason for not telling you about them.”

  “Think she’ll tell you the whole story now?”

  “I hope so.” But what did it mean when a woman he was starting to have feelings for lied to him during an investigation?

  It was a good warning to himself. He had to stop thinking that any relationships he made here could be long-lasting. If he let himself believe such things, he was only going to get hurt. Solemnly, he said, “I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that she lied to me, Mose.”

  “She didn’t lie to you. She lied to me,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Think so?” Mose said slowly. “For me, I’m not so sure about . . .” There was a noise in the background, followed by some angry chattering and a door clanging. “Uh-oh. I gotta go, Luke,” Mose blurted before he disconnected with a click.

  For a moment, Luke imagined what his friend was dealing with. Any altercation—no matter how small—could always be a danger. He took a moment to pray for Mose’s safety. He’d made the mistake when he’d first arrived to think that nothing dangerous happened in this small area of western Kentucky. Now he was coming to find out he couldn’t have been more full of himself. Or more wrong.

  A job in law enforcement wasn’t easy, whether one was patrolling the highways and interstates, working in the housing projects in Cincinnati, or being a sheriff in a rural spot like Crittenden County.

  Mose had cases other than just Perry’s murder. And Luke had a whole career to get back to in Cincinnati. He definitely needed to remember that.

  He needed to solve this case, stop letting his feelings about acceptance get in the way of his job, and go talk to Frannie. And he intended to stop treating her like some lovesick pup and to start viewing her like the suspect she was.

  Finally accepting the inevitable, he jumped out of his truck and strode to the Yellow Bird Inn’s front door. What had to be done had to be done. He needed to ignore his feelings for her and force Frannie to be completely forthcoming about the last time she saw Perry Borntrager.

  Even if it ruined their relationship.

  When Frannie opened the door, all of Luke’s intentions were immediately forgotten. Her face—what wasn’t bruised and bandaged and sewn together—was white as a sheet. “Frannie, what’s wrong?”

  “So much,” she said as she reached out for him, tears bright in her eyes. “Oh, Luke, please. You’ve got to come in and help us.”

  Pushing aside his new resolve, he pulled her to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. Her body trembled against his and she felt as cold as ice. Seeking to calm her, he rubbed her shoulders and pressed his lips to her forehead. Little by little, she relaxed against him.

  Only then did he realize they were still standing in an open doorway. And that what they were doing was probably not a good idea.

  “Let’s go inside,” he murmured, pulling away from her.

  Frannie blinked. “Oh! Yes, yes of course.” Abruptly, she turned away and led him into the living room. There he saw her friend standing to one side, looking even more agitated than Frannie.

  “This is Beth,” Frannie said. “Beth Byler. She is my friend.”

  “Good to meet you. Now, what’s going on?” he asked.

  After a wary nod from Frannie, Beth spoke. “A guest was taken away, I think against his will yesterday. He still hasn’t returned and I am verra worried.”

  “Say again?” he asked. Surely they weren’t talking about a kidnapping happening right here in Crittenden County?

  Frannie grabbed his hand and gave it a little shake. “Luke, listen!”

  He kept his mouth shut as she directed him to the couch because she was still holding his hand, and still looking like she was shaken three ways to Sunday.

  But he still needed some information. “Frannie, maybe you and Beth could backtrack a bit?”

  Stepping away, Frannie took a deep breath. “All right. Well, first off, I have a guest staying here named Chris.”

  Opening up his notebook, he flipped to a clean page. “Chris what?” he asked, his pen hovering over the notepaper.

  “Chris Ellis,” Frannie said impatiently. “He had just arrived before I went into the hospital.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “But, see, Beth thought he was shifty. He wouldn’t tell Beth where he was working and left for long hours at a time.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, Beth nodded. “I did
n’t trust him. He worried me.”

  Before Luke could dig for more information, Frannie continued in a rush. “Then, yesterday three men came here to talk to Chris.”

  “But he didn’t want to see them at all,” Beth said. “I didn’t blame him. They were scary.”

  “But he still went, because he was upset that they came here to the inn,” Frannie said. “He got into their car and drove away.”

  “And he hasn’t returned yet,” Beth said. “I’m afraid something very bad has happened to him.”

  Luke wrote more notes quickly. “Any idea where they went? Did they mention anything?”

  Beth shook her head. “Nee! Last night, I was so worried, I went into his guest room, even though I shouldn’t have . . . and found papers having to do with Perry . . . and a gun.”

  Luke blinked as all the assurances he was about to utter flew out the window.

  Frannie placed a slim hand on his forearm. “Luke, I know Beth shouldn’t have gone in his room. We both know that it was wrong. But the gun worries me.”

  “It worries me, too,” he said honestly. “After you finish telling me what you know, I’ll talk to Mose about obtaining a search warrant.” Since they were already knee-deep in the mess, he said, “Do you remember anything on the papers you read, Beth?”

  “They were letters. With lots of initials. Places with initials.”

  Initial places? “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know what they mean, either.” Her eyes widened. “But perhaps they stand for something?”

  “Do you remember any of the letters?”

  With a pleased expression, she nodded. “The papers had the letters ATF and DEA.” She bit her lip. “Do those mean anything to you?”

  “Yep. The letters stand for Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

  The women looked more confused than ever, but things were starting to make sense to Luke. Both of those agencies could have a lot to do with Perry, and a lot to do with why Chris had left.

  But what he didn’t know was which side Chris was on—or what to tell the two women sitting across from him who were scared to death.

  Chapter 19

  “Perry used to say it wasn’t a crime to want something different. I agreed with him for a time.”

  LYDIA PLANK

  The tension in the room was terrible. Beth backed away from Luke and Frannie, sensing that more was going on between them than either wanted to let on. Yet again, she wished that she could close her eyes and make the past few days disappear.

  Until she’d come to the Yellow Bird Inn, Beth had been happy, almost content with her life. She’d found great joy in being around children. And she’d always felt well appreciated and respected by the mothers of the children she cared for.

  If, by chance, she sometimes wished for a life of more excitement, she brushed it off quickly. When her mother reminded her that she’d made no time for courting or sweethearts, or even the opportunity to meet men, she’d made excuses.

  But then she met Chris. With one look . . . that man, so different from her, had ignited every nerve. With one smile . . . she’d begun to think that maybe she was more than who she’d thought.

  And now he was gone—in company of men she didn’t trust.

  What if he never returned? She would always feel guilty that she hadn’t done more to help him.

  As the silence continued and Frannie and Luke eyed each other warily, Beth knew she would go out of her mind if she didn’t say anything.

  And so she did. “Would you two like some coffee or tea?”

  Both looked at her blankly. Like she’d just offered them funnel cakes, or some other strange food.

  Luke was about to answer when he turned abruptly and strode toward the window. “A black Suburban just pulled up. Does this look like the same vehicle, Beth?”

  She scurried to the window. Feeling like she was a spy, or worse, Beth peeked around him. Though she couldn’t be absolutely sure, it definitely looked enough like the vehicle she’d seen Chris leave in the evening before for her to nod.

  Her breath caught as one of the doors opened. Then she saw a boot, a jean-covered leg. And finally Chris himself.

  He wore sunglasses and walked with an easy stride toward the inn’s front door. He didn’t look back toward the car behind him. Not even when it slowly moved forward, gathered speed, then drove out of sight.

  She was just wondering why he’d never looked back when the door handle turned.

  Darting around Luke, she raced to the door.

  “No. Stay quiet, Beth,” Luke warned.

  “But—”

  “I mean it.”

  “Please listen to him,” Frannie pleaded. “He could be dangerous.”

  Only for Frannie did she keep silent as Chris entered the room. The moment the door closed behind him, his whole posture changed. Almost as if he was pulling off a costume, he looked less cocky and sure. More exhausted.

  No, completely exhausted. And maybe in pain, too?

  When he saw them standing in a line, all staring at him, he stopped abruptly and scowled. “What’s going on?”

  “I want to know who you are,” Luke said.

  Still wearing his sunglasses, Beth felt rather than saw his gaze move from Luke’s to hers to Frannie. “Name’s Chris Ellis.”

  “Who do you work for?” Luke’s voice was clipped and full of authority, and it was evident to Beth that Chris didn’t care for that tone one bit.

  His chin rose. “Who I work for is none of your business.”

  “Actually, it is. I’m with the police.”

  “You’re with the Cincinnati Police,” Chris pointed out as he crossed his arms across his chest. “We’re here in Kentucky. And unless you say I’ve done something wrong in Cincinnati, I don’t owe you anything.”

  To her amazement, Luke backed off. If he was surprised that Chris knew who he was and where he was from, he didn’t let on. But his body seemed to change, too.

  Before her eyes, his shoulders relaxed, as did the muscle jumping in his jaw. Little by little, he became less territorial and abrasive and more friendly. Almost easygoing. “You’re right,” he said. “You don’t owe me a thing. But I’d appreciate some candor. Professionally speaking.”

  Chris sighed. “Fine, but not here. Not in front of the women.”

  “No, I think we should be able to hear,” Beth said. Surprising even herself.

  Everyone in the room turned her way.

  “And why is that?” Chris asked.

  Now she felt a little embarrassed about her gumption. But not enough to backtrack. “I want to hear what you have to say. Because . . . because I saw the gun in your room. And because I’m involved now, too.”

  All at once, Frannie gasped, Luke rested his head against the wall in frustration, and Chris pulled off his sunglasses and glared at her. “You searched my room?” he nearly shouted.

  But she didn’t care about what tone of voice he used. She wasn’t afraid of him. Because all she could do was stare at his face. His once smooth, tan skin . . . was now cut and bruised.

  One of his eyes was swollen shut.

  Without thinking, she rushed to him and pressed her palm lightly on his cheek. “Oh my heavens, Chris! Someone has hurt you.”

  “I’m okay,” he murmured. “Right now, I’m okay.” As he reached up and lightly pressed his fingers on top of hers. Just as if her touch was the very thing he needed.

  For a moment, right then and there . . . Beth was sure there wasn’t another person in the room.

  Not one who mattered, anyway.

  Funny how life was like a bramble bush, Deborah Borntrager thought. Their lives were all so muddled together, linked and pulled, that one person’s decision affected so many other people’s.

 
When Frannie Eicher got hurt and had to go to the hospital, Beth Bylar made the choice to step in and help run the Yellow Bird Inn.

  And when Beth made the choice to do Frannie’s job, that meant that she couldn’t watch the children she usually did. Which was how Deborah had come to be holding a baby.

  The sweet baby was an angel for sure. Only four months old, she reminded Deborah of a doll, she was so tiny and perfect. She was a good baby, too. During the four hours she’d watched her, all little Pippa had wanted to do was be held and rocked.

  Deborah figured she could do that all day long.

  “Ah, Pippa,” she whispered when the baby squirmed a bit and shifted closer to her chest. “You are a miracle, now, aren’t you?”

  Baby Pippa responded by kicking her feet a little, then curling back toward Deborah, claiming her heart.

  “You better be careful, Deborah,” her mother teased from the door. “You’ve got such a look of love and affection on your face, you’re going to change your mind about children.”

  “That’s not likely. Pippa is definitely not like most babies in the world.”

  One afternoon when Deborah was seven, after sitting through hours of church in a muggy barn, next to two squirming three-year-olds, Deborah had claimed that she would never have children.

  Though, of course, she’d said that as a child, privately Deborah had never felt her mind would change. She’d never been one to ache for motherhood like so many of the other women in their community.

  Maybe she’d feel differently when she was married and had her own house. She hoped so. But for now, she was thankful to only be watching another woman’s baby for a short amount of time.

  With a dreamy expression on her face, her mother spoke. “I think little Pippa here is like most babies. She reminds me of you, as a matter of fact. You were a wonderful-gut baby.”

  Deborah chuckled. “That’s not what you used to say about Perry!” she teased. “You said he was a real handful.”

  “That’s different. Perry was a boy. Besides, he was always stubborn and restless. Even before—” Her voice quavered, then with a jerk, she turned and rushed away.