death.” She frowned. “I only have vague recollections of her. My memories are a blend of my own and stories told by my oldest sister, Heather. She was six when my mom died.” Then she seemed to mentally shake herself and held out her hand to one of the wooden rocking chairs in front of the wood-burning stove. “Have a seat. What did you want to talk about?”
“What is the focus of the story you’re working on? Why were you meeting someone at the gas station?”
She slowly sat in the rocker next to his and unwound and rewound the fastener in her hair, as if stalling. The skeptic in him wondered if she’d tell him the truth.
She stopped fidgeting with her hair, placed her hands in her lap and angled her body toward him. “My editor asked me to cover the underage party and the fatal accident. The image of buggies lined up and police arresting the underage Amish drinkers has been splashed all over the news. My editor thought it made a fantastic visual. Like two eras intersecting.” She held up her fingers in a square, framing the perfect shot. “Since I was already here recuperating from my surgery—” she shrugged “—it made sense for me to do a more in-depth story.”
“Your surgery?” Then he remembered their conversation at the gas station. “Your appendectomy.”
“Yes.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I’m fine. I’m still hanging around as a favor to my sister, keeping an eye on the bed & breakfast.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the rocking chair, deciding how to phrase his next question. “Did you ever think you’d have a much bigger story if you covered your mother’s murder?”
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back on the chair. “I don’t want to dig into that case. I like to keep my personal and professional lives separate.” She opened her eyes and leaned forward. “Besides, that’s old news.” The haunted look in her eyes suggested otherwise.
Conner tapped his fist lightly on the arm of the rocker. The heat from the stove warmed his skin. “The case still haunts my dad.”
Grace let out an awkward laugh, as if to say, “Yeah, it haunts me, too.”
“I could set up an interview with him if you’d like. It doesn’t mean you have to do the story. Maybe it’d provide some answers.” He wrapped one hand around the other fisted hand and squeezed. “Truth be told, it might do my father some good to see that you turned out all right.” His father often talked about the tormented look in the eyes of the three young Amish girls.
“Has your father ever talked to Heather?”
Conner shook his head. “From what I gather, she’s forgiven the person who murdered your mom and has moved on. I’m guessing that’s not the case with you.” He wanted to ask about the youngest sister, but couldn’t recall her name.
She shook her head quickly, but he wasn’t sure what question she was answering. “My assignment is to write a story on the youth of Quail Hollow. The Amish. The drinking. The accident. Not something that happened almost thirty years ago.” There was a tightness to her voice. “I hope you can understand, Captain Gates.”
“Please, call me Conner. Otherwise I feel like we’re in an interrogation room.” He leaned forward and added, “I don’t mean to add to your pain.”
Grace smiled tightly. “No, not at all. That was a lifetime ago.” She was obviously downplaying her emotions, and he regretted bringing up her mother’s murder. No one ever got over losing their mother at such a young age. He still struggled with losing his mom, and she was still alive. After his parents got divorced, she married someone else and seemed perfectly content with her replacement family, never bothering to return to Quail Hollow.
He felt a quiet connection to this woman. Perhaps it was from remembering the impact her mother’s murder had had on the entire community. Perhaps from the pain radiating from her eyes. He understood pain.
“I’m going to lay it on the line. I don’t want you covering the story because Jason Klein, the young man killed in the accident, is—was—my cousin’s son.”
She sat back and squared her shoulders. “Oh... I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“My cousin and I were like brothers. When Ben, Jason’s father, was deployed with the army last year, he asked me to keep an eye on his son. A teenager needs a male role model, you know? Anyway, Ben was killed in a helicopter crash.”
Grace seemed to stifle a gasp. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Conner paused a moment, not trusting his voice. “Turns out, I did a lousy job of looking after his son.”
“Kids make their own choices. It’s not your fault.”
“I don’t want this one night—this one stupid, stupid decision—to be what Jason’s forever remembered for. I need you to kill this story.”
* * *
Grace slumped in the rocking chair and pulled her sweatshirt sleeves down over her hands, feeling like someone had punched her in the gut. “Wow, I’m sorry, but—” she bit her lip, considering her options “—I have to do this story. It’s my job. I can’t afford to lose my job.”
Conner stared straight ahead at the woodstove, the flames visible through slots in the door. A muscle worked in his jaw.
“It’s my livelihood. I’ve already begun posting little teasers on my blog about the story. If I don’t follow through, it’ll look bad.” The words poured from her mouth, as if she were trying to convince them both that writing this story was the right thing to do.
When Conner didn’t respond, she added, “I’m sorry for your loss, but what about the Amish girl in the hospital? Who gives her a voice? She’s innocent in all this.” Grace tempered her response out of respect for his loss.
“My cousin’s wife, Anna, is having a terrible time with all this. She lost her husband and now her son. Jason was a good kid who made a horrible decision. More publicity only adds to the pain.”
“He hadn’t been involved with alcohol or drugs before that night?” Grace found her journalistic instincts piqued.
“Off the record?” Conner met her gaze.
“Yeah.”
“A couple weeks before his death, Jason had a few friends over for a bonfire at his house after a big football game. Anna called me, worried that there might be some drinking going on. So I showed up, drove some guys home and Jason dealt with some blowback from that night. Apparently drinking is grounds for suspension from the football team. The star quarterback was one of the guys suspended. They’re a pretty tight group. They weathered the storm and moved on. Kids make mistakes. Most importantly, no one was hurt that night. Anyway...”
The story angles swirled in Grace’s head, making her dizzy. Was she really this insensitive? A good story above all else?
“Jason swore to me he wasn’t drinking at his bonfire. That the other guys brought the alcohol. I had no reason not to believe him. I gave him the riot act, anyway. I thought that’d be enough.” The inflection in his voice spoke of his pain far more than his words. Yelling at his cousin’s son for hosting a drinking party wasn’t enough to stop him from being killed
