“I’m sorry.” Jessica touched her hand lightly. “My mother died when I was quite young. It’s so hard.”
She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. There was a lump in her throat to go with the knot in her stomach.
Ridiculous. She was just exhausted, that was all. Getting that call, loading the car, rushing up to Lancaster County, and then all the turmoil of the day—no wonder she felt emotional. She needed a good night’s sleep far more than she needed coffee and dessert.
She also needed to talk with Geneva at some point, to see what she actually remembered about her mother’s employment by Allen Morgan. But that conversation could wait until she could catch the woman alone, without her protective sons.
Geneva came back in the room with a coffee tray, followed by the Amish teenager with another tray of dessert plates. Marisa found her gaze caught by the girl. Would her mother have looked like that, with the solid-color dress, the dark apron, the hair pulled back into a bun and covered by the white net cap? Would she have had those rosy cheeks, that shy manner? Was that what she’d run away to?
Marisa stood abruptly and then bent to retrieve her handbag from the side of the chair.
“This has been very kind of you, Mrs. Morgan, but I’m so tired I’m going to have to call it a night.”
“Please, call me Geneva, remember? And you can’t go without dessert. Just a little piece.” She sounded as if she were coaxing a toddler to eat her peas.
“I couldn’t eat another bite, really. Thank you, Geneva. It was nice to meet all of you.”
“But where are you going to stay?” Geneva put the tray on a drop-leaf table and caught her hand. “We’d be so happy to have you stay here with us. The guest room is always ready. You don’t want to go off looking for a motel at this time of night.”
“I already have a reservation,” she said quickly. “I’m staying at the Plain and Fancy Bed and Breakfast. I’m sure I’ll be fine there.”
“You’ll be fine once you find it.” Link rose from the chair by the fireplace, stretching as if he had to work out some kinks. “I’ll lead you there.”
“I’m sure I can find it—”
“No, no, Link is right. It’s impossible to read those street signs after dark, and I’ll never forgive myself if you have an accident.” Geneva patted her hand. “Just follow Link, and he’ll lead you right to the place. Rhoda Miller will make you very comfortable if you’re sure you won’t stay with us.”
It sounded as if accepting Link’s guidance was the only way she was going to get out of here quickly. “Thank you again.”
Link was already standing in the archway. She went quickly to join him and followed him through the center hallway and out the front door.
Lights came on as soon as they stepped outside, revealing a sweep of gravel on which several cars were parked. Beyond that, the circle of light quickly petered out. The Morgan house was well out into the country, probably six or seven miles from Springville. Nothing out here but dark grass, dark trees and a chilly wind. She pulled her jacket around her.
“Cold?” Link said, walking beside her to her car.
“I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”
He stood next to her while she unlocked the door and opened it. She slid in. His hand was on the door, but he didn’t close it immediately.
“What my mother said about my uncle—I wouldn’t pin too much on that, if I were you.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” She looked at him, and his face was all craggy lines and shadows in the dim light.
He seemed to shift, as if tensing for an argument. “The fact that your mother worked for my uncle doesn’t lead anywhere. I don’t know what you expect to find, but my mother can’t help you.”
“I just want—”
He stepped away. “I’ll pull my car around, and you can follow me. Just remember what I said. Don’t badger my mother about this.” He stalked off, and the darkness swallowed him up.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NARROW BLACKTOP road spun away beyond the reach of his headlights. Link glanced in his rearview mirror to be sure Marisa was still behind him.
He probably shouldn’t have said what he did to Marisa about bugging Mom on this subject. Maybe he’d just given her ideas, but he’d seen her watching Mom after the shock of her revelation faded.
It had been obvious Marisa saw his mother as a source of information. Still, if Mom was determined, she’d most likely be the one asking the questions.
Protecting their mother was Trey’s job, had been from the day of Dad’s death, and he did it as well as anyone could. The best thing Link could do was get on with the renovation, get himself back to top shape and head out to California. How much was this issue going to set him back?
He could just leave. Deed the house over to Trey, let him renovate it or rent it or tear it down, for that matter. But Uncle Allen had left the place to him. Second son to second son, he’d said once, with a wry smile. Maybe he owed Allen some loyalty in return.
He pulled up at the Plain and Fancy, frowning a little. The house, a tidy Dutch colonial on one of Springville’s cross streets, didn’t show any signs of life except for the pole lamp by the gate. Marisa had said she had a reservation, hadn’t she?
He slid out, walking quickly back to the other car. He’d help her with her luggage, maybe try to smooth any ruffled feathers.
Marisa was already pulling a suitcase from the trunk. He reached over her shoulder to grab the handle, lifting it out.
“I’ll carry this. Do you want the duffel bag as well?” He paused, hand on the strap. No point in taking in anything she didn’t want. And given the size of the suitcase, she hadn’t planned to stay long when she left.
“I can manage.” Her voice was frosty.
“I’m sure you can, but you don’t need to.” He hefted the duffel bag. “Besides, when I get home, Mom will ask if I helped you in with your luggage. You don’t want to get me in trouble, do you?”
That earned him a faint smile, but then her gaze slid away from his as if she remembered that she was angry with him.
“Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did about bugging my mother, okay?” He slammed down the trunk lid. “It’s far more likely that she’ll be bugging you.”
“I take it both you and your brother think I should leave my mother’s disappearance to the professionals.” She marched toward the gate, and he followed.
“Seems like the sensible thing to do,” he said mildly. “If there’s anything to be found, they have the facilities. You don’t.”
“They didn’t do so well before—” She stopped on the porch, taking in the dark windows. “Should
