to talk to you, then a truck nearly pins you between the car and the pump. You don’t see the connection?”
“Now that you put it that way.” Grace tended to use humor to deflect. Had she really been that obtuse? No, she had simply shoved the obvious to the back of her mind. She tended to be single-minded in her focus, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow some jerk to deter her from the story. She’d have to be more cautious, that was all.
“This is serious,” the officer said.
Grace unfastened her seat belt. “I’ve dealt with far more dangerous situations covering stories all over the world. I can handle a punk in a truck. Besides, if he wanted to hurt me, he would have. His goal was to scare me.” She didn’t know who she was trying to convince.
“Did he?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous. I mean, I’m not too happy about what happened tonight, but I’m not going anywhere.” She scratched her head under the edge of her winter hat. “I can’t imagine why he wanted to scare me in the first place. I’m trying to get more details about the party the night of the fatal accident. Readers will be fascinated to learn that Amish teens have the same issues as everyone else.”
“Who have you spoken to already?” The officer shifted, and the seat creaked under his weight. She lifted her legs a fraction from the seat, the dampness adding to her ill temper. She didn’t need to be a deputy to follow his train of thought. Someone in Quail Hollow wanted to put an end to her investigation.
“Bishop Yoder wasn’t helpful when I tried to talk to him about the party. He assured me that anyone caught acting in an inappropriate manner would be dealt with accordingly. Then he shooed me along like I was some unwanted flu bug.”
“The Amish prefer to live separate. They’re not going to be receptive to anyone shining a light on something negative like this. Law enforcement and the Amish have a tenuous relationship, too. They deal with us only if they have to. That’s why, when a journalist comes snooping around, it makes our job harder because the Amish shut down.”
“I’m not snooping around.” Grace resented the accusation. “I don’t force anyone to talk to me if they don’t want to. I ask questions. They either answer or they don’t.” She preferred when they did, of course. “I also stopped by the victim’s house,” she continued, laying out the names of all the people she had already tried to talk to.
“Katy Weaver?”
“Yes, her brother answered the door and asked me to leave. Out of respect, I did.”
“Have you tracked down any of the teenagers from town who were at the party?” His tone changed subtly to one of genuine interest.
“Not yet. Any teenagers I’ve met claimed they weren’t there. I had hoped maybe tonight, after getting that note, I’d find out more information.” She wrapped her chapped fingers around the door handle on the passenger side of the patrol car. “Listen, my pants are soaked. I’m freezing. I need to go inside.”
Captain Gates pushed open his door, and the dome light popped on. She shot a glance over her shoulder at him. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. I’m fine.”
“You’re not getting off that easy.” His deep voice rumbled through her. Despite her frustration with the sheriff’s department thus far, she wasn’t sorry Captain Gates was going to escort her to the door. The surroundings were pitch dark in a way that can only happen in the country, far from civilization and light pollution. The memory of the truck barreling toward her flashed in her mind, and renewed dread sprinted up her spine.
The officer’s hand hovered by the small of her back, and the snow crunched under their boots as they crossed the yard. Grace dug out the keys to the bed & breakfast and unlocked the back door leading into a mudroom adjacent to the kitchen. She turned around in the small, dark space to thank him, and was caught off guard when he stepped into the mudroom behind her.
She cleared her throat, debating if she should ask him to leave. “Thank you for the ride home. I’m really tired. I need—”
“Turn on a few lights. Change into dry clothes. We need to talk.”
* * *
Conner made sure the windows and doors were secure on the first floor of the bed & breakfast. After he checked the last window, he turned around, surprised to find Grace watching him from the bottom stair with a determined look on her face. “I’ll be fine. My sister has an alarm system.”
It made sense. Heather Miller, Grace’s sister, had been the target of a vicious stalker almost two years ago. Her ex-husband had escaped prison and found his way to Quail Hollow, where his former wife had hoped to start a new life. Thankfully, U.S. Marshal Zachary Walker had protected her, and duty had turned to love. Now the two of them were on their honeymoon. He wished them all the best. They seemed like a nice couple. He only hoped the challenges of a career in law enforcement didn’t wreak havoc on their marriage like it had on his parents’.
He cleared his throat. “Can’t hurt to check to make sure everything is locked up.”
“Was it, Captain?” He detected a hint of sarcasm in her tone.
He lifted an eyebrow and couldn’t hide his smile. Her cheeks were rosy from the weather. She stared back at him blankly. He could tell she was humoring him.
“Yes, everything was secure. Yet I don’t like the idea of you out here all alone.”
Grace’s lips parted. “You’re kidding me, right? Would you say that to a guy?” She glared at him, skepticism shining in her eyes. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need some big, strong law enforcement officer to protect me,” she said in a singsong voice.
Conner had to consciously will the smile from his face, not wanting to stoke the flames of her anger. “I didn’t mean to offend you. My job is to keep the residents of Quail Hollow safe. All of its residents, regardless of gender.”
Grace dipped her head and ran a hand across her neck. She had twisted her long brown hair into a messy bun at the back of her head. She had also changed into gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the name of a university emblazoned across the front. He remembered the story his father had told him about how Grace’s father had taken his three young daughters away from Quail Hollow after their mother was murdered. How different their lives had turned out. Grace would have never gone to college if she had been baptized into the Amish community. She’d probably be married with a few kids by now.
He shook his head, dismissing the image. “Are you warming up?”
“Yeah, let me throw another log into the woodstove. You said we needed to talk.”
“Yeah.” She opened the door and tossed in another log. The orange embers scattered and a new flame sparked to life. He feared if he offered to help her, she might bite his head off. She seemed the independent sort.
“How old were you when you moved away from Quail Hollow?”
She grabbed a second log and tossed it in. “Three,” she said, without questioning how he knew her background. That seemed par for the course in Quail Hollow, especially since he knew her sister. Grace straightened with her back to him.
“My dad was the sheriff when your mother...” He scrubbed
