Vanish in Plain Sight. Marta Perry
second question was easier to answer. She’d looked so flattened by Adam’s revelation that Link couldn’t help himself. His parents’ training ran too deeply to be ignored, especially when he was here in Lancaster County.
It is our duty to help those who need it.
He could almost hear his father’s voice saying the words. They’d come in answer to his whining about the fact that they’d stopped to help an Amish couple whose buggy had been run off the road by a speeding car, making him late for a baseball game. He could still remember the mix of fear and pride he’d felt watching Dad lead the frightened horse out of the twisted buggy shafts.
Pride. He’d always been proud of Dad, even during that terrible time when everyone thought he’d committed suicide. Link’s chest tightened. Mostly he’d felt guilt then, that he hadn’t been around when Dad needed him.
Even when they learned Dad had been killed by an employee who’d been ripping off the company, he’d still felt that somehow he’d failed by not being here.
His father had taken responsibility for others as a matter of course, and Trey was just like him. As for Link… He’d never forget what happened when he’d tried to follow suit.
He forced his thoughts back to Marisa. If he didn’t talk to her about his uncle, she’d go to other people for her answers. He could imagine the talk that would generate, and there had been enough talk already.
So he’d answer her questions, drive her back to Springville and that would be an end to it. As for that sizzle of attraction when he’d gotten too close to her in the car…well, that was best ignored. He didn’t need anything else tangling him up with Marisa Angelo’s problems.
He tilted his head back, letting the slanting autumn sunlight touch his face. Gentle sunlight, a far cry from the blazing sun that dazzled the eye and made a man see things that weren’t there—
A shadow bisected the light, visible even with his eyes closed.
“Link? You look as if you’re going to sleep.”
He hadn’t seen Marisa approach, but she was there. She sat down on the bench, a careful foot away from him, which might mean that she’d felt exactly what he had in the car and was inclined to be just as cautious.
“That was fast,” he said.
“It’s an awfully simple process, given what’s riding on it.” Her eyes were shadowed for a moment, but then she focused on his face. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“Nope. Ask me anything you want about Uncle Allen. I’ll try to answer.”
She studied him, those golden brown eyes seeming to weigh the sincerity of his words. Or maybe his motives.
“What did your uncle do? For a living, I mean.”
“As little as possible,” he said, his tone wry. “He always said that my father inherited the family work ethic. Allen had a teaching degree, but I don’t think he ever taught.”
“He could afford to do nothing, in other words.” She sounded as if she didn’t approve.
Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he did, either.
“Uncle Allen had a nominal title in the family corporation, and he made a token appearance at the office once in a while.”
“Corporation?” Her eyebrows lifted.
He shrugged. “That makes it sound more important than it is. Morgans have been here a long time. They acquired things—land, businesses, rental properties.”
“You help to run those?” She was probably trying to equate that with the manual labor she’d caught him doing.
“Trey’s in charge since Dad died. I was in the military by then, so I let him.” He’d taken as little responsibility as Allen had, in fact.
“I see.” She was frowning, as if trying to figure him out.
He’d do better to keep this on Allen, not on him self. “Anyway, Allen’s main interest was local history. He wrote some articles, did a little dealing in Pennsylvania Dutch folk art and furniture. Ostensibly that was his business, but he didn’t have a shop—just bought and sold out of his home.”
“He never married?”
“No. I suspect my mother tried to play matchmaker a few times, but nothing ever came of it. Allan was just…a loner, I guess. He never seemed to need anyone else’s company.”
She was silent, as if absorbing his impressions. Or maybe now that she had her opportunity, she didn’t know what to ask.
“You don’t remember my mother working for him?”
The question was the one he’d expected her to start with. “I don’t think so. I didn’t spend all that much time at Uncle Allen’s place.”
“So you don’t know if she was working there the summer she disappeared.” Her voice flattened on the last word.
He hesitated, but she had a right to know. “My mother says she’s relatively sure she was.”
“Relatively sure,” she repeated.
“There’s no reason my mother should remember. It wasn’t her house. Or her spouse. Your father—”
“Yes, I know. It’s another thing to ask Dad when he calls.” Her lips tightened. “I’m sure the police chief would find this very suspicious, but just because my father doesn’t like to talk about his wife leaving him, that doesn’t mean anything sinister.”
“I know.” He lifted his hand in a placating gesture. “I mean it. There are plenty of things adults don’t talk to kids about. Your questions about my uncle make me realize how little I really knew about him. It’s odd, but when you’re a kid, you just accept things as they are. Probably a lot of people never have reason to question those assumptions.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I simply accepted the fact that Dad didn’t talk about my mother, and that if I wanted to know something, I had to go to Gran.”
That brought up something he’d wondered about. “How did she know?”
Marisa blinked. “What do you mean?”
“She didn’t live with you until after your mother left, did she? So how did she know the things she told you?”
“I suppose my dad must have talked to her.” She frowned. “That’s true. She didn’t live with us. I remember her coming. It must have been a few days after…after I realized my mother was gone. But I suppose my dad talked to her about it. Why? Do you doubt what she said?”
He shrugged. “The idea that the Amish kept after Barbara, trying to get her to leave…well, that doesn’t sound right to me. That’s not the way the Amish behave toward someone who’s decided to leave the church.”
That soft mouth of Marisa’s could look remarkably stubborn. “Are you an expert?”
“No, but I grew up with Amish neighbors. I think I know a bit more about them than you do.”
“Oh, yes. You’re the one who suggested enlisting the Miller family’s help.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm. “They admitted that they remembered my mother. But they wouldn’t tell me a thing. Just said I’d have to talk to the bishop.”
He had to be honest with himself, at least. He hadn’t expected that response.
“Well, maybe you should start with Bishop Amos. It’s possible that Rhoda and her husband felt it would be gossiping if they talked about the Zook family. I’m sure they didn’t mean anything else by it.”
“According to you, the Amish can do no wrong, it seems.”
“I didn’t say that.” She’d succeeded in getting under