Murder in Plain Sight. Marta Perry
done that—Trey had certainly been in no shape to think of having it done.
He cleared his throat. “You cleaned up in here, after. Thank you.”
Jonas looked embarrassed at being thanked. “Ach, it was little enough to do for him. Your father was a fine man. Everyone knows that.”
Trey could only nod. Yes, everyone had known that.
“Trey—” Jonas hesitated for a moment. “It seems to me that only God can know what was in your father’s mind and heart in the last moments of his life. Only God can judge.”
Endless comforting platitudes had been aimed at Trey when he’d been in no shape to listen to them. Now, oddly enough, he found comfort in Jonas’s simple words.
“Thank you.”
Jonas was already turning away, with the typical Amish reluctance to accept thanks or compliments. He moved to the sink and stopped. “Look at this.”
Trey looked. An empty wine bottle lay in the sink. A moderately expensive bottle, not the sort of thing he’d expect the local teenagers to favor.
“Someone has been here,” Jonas said again.
“Yes. But I doubt we’re going to know who. Or why.” Some married man, meeting with a girlfriend on the sly? The thought sickened him—that someone would use the place his father died for such a purpose.
He straightened abruptly, leaving the bottle untouched. “I’ll get a new padlock and drop it off at your place, if you don’t mind putting it on. That’s all we can do.”
Jonas nodded. “It makes no trouble. I will take care of the lock.”
Turning his back on the table, Trey headed for the door. Maybe the best thing would be to put the place on the market. He didn’t see the family wanting to spend time here ever again. Let someone else worry about break-ins.
He was nearly at the door when a shaft of sunlight from the side window picked up a pinpoint of light reflecting from the leg of a wooden straight chair. He bent, running his hand down the leg.
His fingers touched a rough spot, jagged enough to snag a piece of fabric. He pulled the fabric free and looked at it.
A tiny red scrap, maybe an inch long and not more than an eighth of an inch wide. Tiny red sequins glittered when he moved it in his fingers.
Nothing. It meant nothing. It was the sort of thing someone who liked cheap finery would have worn. An image of Cherry Wilson popped into his mind, and he pushed it away. This had nothing to do with her.
CHAPTER FIVE
“THANK YOU, MR. FROST.” Jessica held out her hand to the elderly attorney. “I really appreciate your sharing your expertise with me.” Her interview with Frost had been helpful, and he’d been cooperative. Because of the Morgan connection with the case? Maybe, but she still appreciated it.
Gray eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed glasses. “For a small-town fuddy-duddy, you mean.”
Was her embarrassment showing? That had been exactly the impression she’d had when she’d entered an office that looked as if it hadn’t changed since the 1930s and met the white-haired, stooped gentleman who’d risen from his rolltop desk at her approach. It had only taken a few minutes of conversation to realize how wrong she was.
“You’re as up-to-date as I am, and you have years more experience, as well. I’m surprised you’re not defending Thomas yourself.” An unpleasant thought occurred to her. “Is it because you’re convinced he’s guilty?”
Frost shook his head. “Even if I did, I’d still think he deserved a fair trial, unlike some people I could name, such as our esteemed district attorney.”
He sent an annoyed glance toward the newspaper lying on the corner of his desk. She’d already seen it. It contained a front-page interview with the district attorney, who seemed, by the way he spoke, to have Thomas already convicted and on his way to the state penitentiary.
“Is he usually that—” she considered several words and eliminated them “—outspoken?”
“Preston Connelly is ambitious. A case like this has already drawn regional attention. He’ll make the most of it, I’m sure.”
“Does that mean it would hurt your practice if you took on the case?” That would be a very good reason for bringing in an outsider.
“No, I’m stepping aside on doctor’s orders.” Frost patted his chest. “The old ticker’s been acting up a bit. Oh, I’m fine for routine jobs, but I’m afraid a high-profile murder case is too much.”
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Don’t look so mournful.” He chuckled. “I’m not going to drop dead yet, but I am in the midst of retiring. Still, if you need any help, you can come to me. Strictly in confidence. Henderson, Dawes and Henderson don’t have to know a thing about it.”
“Thanks. I just might take you up on that.” Somewhat to her surprise, she realized she meant it. It wasn’t in her nature to trust easily, but Leo Frost’s integrity seemed to shine through everything he said.
She walked out of his office smiling, and there was Trey, waiting for her. Her smile faded, and she went toward him with a sense of inevitability. Of course he would show up. Just as well. Before much more time passed, she was going to confront him about what he’d been holding back.
He stood, laying aside the well-thumbed magazine he’d been looking at.
She lifted her eyebrows. “A little late, aren’t you? I expected you to be lying in wait the minute I arrived in town.”
“I had…something else to do this morning.” His normally pleasant expression went somber, and she thought she saw pain in his eyes. Before she could react, the impression was gone. “How did your meeting with Leo go?” he asked.
“Fine.” She wanted to confront him, but she could hardly do that here, with Frost’s elderly secretary pretending to look through a file while she listened to every word. “He’s meeting me at the jail at one o’clock to talk with Thomas.”
“Good.” His tone was brisk, as if whatever bothered him had been swept away. “What are you going to do until then?”
“I have a reservation at Willow Brook Motel in Springville, since I’ll be staying until after the arraignment, probably longer. I may as well go check in.”
She caught an expression of distaste on his face. Was he really that bothered by her presence? “Something wrong?”
He shrugged. “Not if you like faux Pennsylvania Dutch tourist traps. You might be more comfortable at one of the local bed-and-breakfasts, or at the Springville Inn.”
Was that really all that was behind his reaction? She couldn’t trust anything he said, knowing he’d already lied to her once.
“I’ll be fine. After all, I’m here on business, not a vacation.”
They had reached the ground floor of the building, and Trey continued walking with her down the hall toward the parking lot in the rear where she’d left her car. They were alone, doors closed on both sides of them. This might be the best chance she’d have to confront him.
“Tell me something,” she said abruptly.
He halted, looking down at her with a quizzical expression. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you own the barn where Cherry Wilson was found dead?”
If she expected an explosion in return, she didn’t get it. Trey simply looked blank for a moment.
“Didn’t I?” He frowned. “Maybe I didn’t. I suppose I didn’t think it that important.”
“Not important that