Where Shadows Meet(44)

“We’re separated,” he mumbled. “Look, just answer the question.”

“No, I haven’t seen her.” She gave a pointed stare at his foot. “Now get your boot out of my doorway and leave me alone. Unless you want to come in after all? Just once for old times’ sake?”

He wasn’t even tempted. She needed a lesson about respect. Reece clenched his fists and moved toward her, but a car slowed in front of the house. He glanced behind him and saw its turn signal flashing. There was no time to teach her a lesson. He sent a warning glare her way, then stomped back to his truck and accelerated away. Maybe a cruise through town would turn up some clue as to Hannah’s whereabouts.





THIRTEEN


“The Amish Triangle Quilt is a symbol of all that matters to the Amish: God, family, and community.”

HANNAH SCHWARTZ,

IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts

Guilt was an uncomfortable bedfellow. Matt hadn’t been able to sleep all night. What was he going to do? The answers were no clearer when the new day got under way.

He glanced at his daughter in the seat beside him. She was more important than anyone else in his life. How could he thrust her into such a terrible situation?

“Why do I have to visit Grandma Trudy, Daddy? She doesn’t like me.” Caitlin kicked her feet back and forth in the seat. She looked cute in the dress she’d worn to church, a pink lacy number Gina had picked out.

“It’s our duty, Caitlin. Duty is important. We don’t always feel like doing it, but some things we have to do anyway.”

“I thought we were going to see Aunt Gina. I get to stay with her, don’t I? I don’t have to stay at Grandma Trudy’s?”

“No, you don’t have to stay there.” He wasn’t keen on leaving her with Gina either. She’d stayed with him two days, then Blake had sweet-talked her home. She and Blake were likely still fighting, but at least they’d protect Caitlin. He didn’t know another place to leave her where Hannah wouldn’t stumble into seeing her.

Matt drove out County Road 100E to the narrow lane that led to Trudy’s big farmhouse. He parked behind her old car, more rusty than blue these days. A chair with one rocker missing tilted on the porch by the fly-speckled picture window. The porch swing hung crazily at an angle. He’d fixed it last month, but it looked as though the chain had broken again and she’d hooked it up on the next link. He should probably replace all of it. The house was a never-ending money pit, but Trudy refused to move into something easier to care for in town. She wasn’t poor by any stretch of the imagination, but she hated to “waste” money on the house.

Ajax woofed in the backseat and pawed at the door handle. “Hold on,” Matt muttered. Glancing at the house as he let the dog out, he wondered if Trudy was home. No light shone through the darkened windows. He hoped the old lady hadn’t fallen or something, though she was active and spry for seventy-two. She belonged to several clubs in town and drove herself everywhere in that old beater car.

Ajax beat him and Caitlin to the door. The scent of last year’s roses lingered around the entry. Pressing the doorbell, he listened to it ding on the other side. There was no answer, so he dug out his key and opened the door.

The odor of stale air and dusty carpet greeted him. “Trudy?” he called, pushing past the dog. “Stay here, Caitlin.” He didn’t want his daughter to see anything out of place, and the dog would protect her. Shards of glass from a picture frame crunched under his shoes. The frame lay faceup, the photo ripped from it. He struggled to remember what had been in it, but the memory wouldn’t surface.

Alarm jangled along his nerves when Trudy still didn’t answer his call. He went into the living room. An upended coffee table barred his path to the living room. “Trudy?” he called again.

He heard a soft groan, then saw the movement of a foot barely showing from behind the sofa. Moving it out of the way, he found the older woman on her stomach. He knelt and touched her shoulder. “Trudy?” She groaned again and tried to get up. “Don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.” He fumbled to get his cell phone off his belt.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she muttered. “Help me up, boy.” Her tone was sharp and peremptory. She got to her hands and feet and shook her head as though to clear it.

He grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet. She was a large woman, nearly six feet tall and normally as straight and erect as a general. And just as used to being obeyed. A goose egg was forming on her forehead, red and oozing with blood. She swayed where she stood, and he helped her to the sofa.

She flinched when he touched her head. “Leave it, Matthew. I’m fine.” She managed a smile. “Decided you’d been neglecting the old lady a bit? A visit twice in one week. Guilt is a wasted emotion. Get over it.”

A strange remark from her when she was such a master at inducing it. “Who did this?”

She waved her hand. Her face was already beginning to regain its color. “Kids looking for drugs, I expect.”

“You didn’t see anyone?”

“Just a noise, and I went to investigate and slipped. Guess I hit my head in the fall.”

He curled his fingers into his palms. “I’ll see what I can find. We need to call in backup.”

“I don’t want a bunch of lawmen running around my house.” She smiled up at him. “Present company excluded, of course.” Her color was coming back. “Quit fussing—I’m fine. I’m not filing a complaint. What have you been up to?”