The Search The Secrets of Crittenden Cou

Chapter 19




“Perry used to say it wasn’t a crime to want something different. I agreed with him for a time.”

LYDIA PLANK




The tension in the room was terrible. Beth backed away from Luke and Frannie, sensing that more was going on between them than either wanted to let on. Yet again, she wished that she could close her eyes and make the past few days disappear.

Until she’d come to the Yellow Bird Inn, Beth had been happy, almost content with her life. She’d found great joy in being around children. And she’d always felt well appreciated and respected by the mothers of the children she cared for.

If, by chance, she sometimes wished for a life of more excitement, she brushed it off quickly. When her mother reminded her that she’d made no time for courting or sweethearts, or even the opportunity to meet men, she’d made excuses.

But then she met Chris. With one look . . . that man, so different from her, had ignited every nerve. With one smile . . . she’d begun to think that maybe she was more than who she’d thought.

And now he was gone—in company of men she didn’t trust.

What if he never returned? She would always feel guilty that she hadn’t done more to help him.

As the silence continued and Frannie and Luke eyed each other warily, Beth knew she would go out of her mind if she didn’t say anything.

And so she did. “Would you two like some coffee or tea?”

Both looked at her blankly. Like she’d just offered them funnel cakes, or some other strange food.

Luke was about to answer when he turned abruptly and strode toward the window. “A black Suburban just pulled up. Does this look like the same vehicle, Beth?”

She scurried to the window. Feeling like she was a spy, or worse, Beth peeked around him. Though she couldn’t be absolutely sure, it definitely looked enough like the vehicle she’d seen Chris leave in the evening before for her to nod.

Her breath caught as one of the doors opened. Then she saw a boot, a jean-covered leg. And finally Chris himself.

He wore sunglasses and walked with an easy stride toward the inn’s front door. He didn’t look back toward the car behind him. Not even when it slowly moved forward, gathered speed, then drove out of sight.

She was just wondering why he’d never looked back when the door handle turned.

Darting around Luke, she raced to the door.

“No. Stay quiet, Beth,” Luke warned.

“But—”

“I mean it.”

“Please listen to him,” Frannie pleaded. “He could be dangerous.”

Only for Frannie did she keep silent as Chris entered the room. The moment the door closed behind him, his whole posture changed. Almost as if he was pulling off a costume, he looked less cocky and sure. More exhausted.

No, completely exhausted. And maybe in pain, too?

When he saw them standing in a line, all staring at him, he stopped abruptly and scowled. “What’s going on?”

“I want to know who you are,” Luke said.

Still wearing his sunglasses, Beth felt rather than saw his gaze move from Luke’s to hers to Frannie. “Name’s Chris Ellis.”

“Who do you work for?” Luke’s voice was clipped and full of authority, and it was evident to Beth that Chris didn’t care for that tone one bit.

His chin rose. “Who I work for is none of your business.”

“Actually, it is. I’m with the police.”

“You’re with the Cincinnati Police,” Chris pointed out as he crossed his arms across his chest. “We’re here in Kentucky. And unless you say I’ve done something wrong in Cincinnati, I don’t owe you anything.”

To her amazement, Luke backed off. If he was surprised that Chris knew who he was and where he was from, he didn’t let on. But his body seemed to change, too.

Before her eyes, his shoulders relaxed, as did the muscle jumping in his jaw. Little by little, he became less territorial and abrasive and more friendly. Almost easygoing. “You’re right,” he said. “You don’t owe me a thing. But I’d appreciate some candor. Professionally speaking.”

Chris sighed. “Fine, but not here. Not in front of the women.”

“No, I think we should be able to hear,” Beth said. Surprising even herself.

Everyone in the room turned her way.

“And why is that?” Chris asked.

Now she felt a little embarrassed about her gumption. But not enough to backtrack. “I want to hear what you have to say. Because . . . because I saw the gun in your room. And because I’m involved now, too.”

All at once, Frannie gasped, Luke rested his head against the wall in frustration, and Chris pulled off his sunglasses and glared at her. “You searched my room?” he nearly shouted.

But she didn’t care about what tone of voice he used. She wasn’t afraid of him. Because all she could do was stare at his face. His once smooth, tan skin . . . was now cut and bruised.

One of his eyes was swollen shut.

Without thinking, she rushed to him and pressed her palm lightly on his cheek. “Oh my heavens, Chris! Someone has hurt you.”

“I’m okay,” he murmured. “Right now, I’m okay.” As he reached up and lightly pressed his fingers on top of hers. Just as if her touch was the very thing he needed.

For a moment, right then and there . . . Beth was sure there wasn’t another person in the room.

Not one who mattered, anyway.

Funny how life was like a bramble bush, Deborah Borntrager thought. Their lives were all so muddled together, linked and pulled, that one person’s decision affected so many other people’s.

When Frannie Eicher got hurt and had to go to the hospital, Beth Bylar made the choice to step in and help run the Yellow Bird Inn.

And when Beth made the choice to do Frannie’s job, that meant that she couldn’t watch the children she usually did. Which was how Deborah had come to be holding a baby.

The sweet baby was an angel for sure. Only four months old, she reminded Deborah of a doll, she was so tiny and perfect. She was a good baby, too. During the four hours she’d watched her, all little Pippa had wanted to do was be held and rocked.

Deborah figured she could do that all day long.

“Ah, Pippa,” she whispered when the baby squirmed a bit and shifted closer to her chest. “You are a miracle, now, aren’t you?”

Baby Pippa responded by kicking her feet a little, then curling back toward Deborah, claiming her heart.

“You better be careful, Deborah,” her mother teased from the door. “You’ve got such a look of love and affection on your face, you’re going to change your mind about children.”

“That’s not likely. Pippa is definitely not like most babies in the world.”

One afternoon when Deborah was seven, after sitting through hours of church in a muggy barn, next to two squirming three-year-olds, Deborah had claimed that she would never have children.

Though, of course, she’d said that as a child, privately Deborah had never felt her mind would change. She’d never been one to ache for motherhood like so many of the other women in their community.

Maybe she’d feel differently when she was married and had her own house. She hoped so. But for now, she was thankful to only be watching another woman’s baby for a short amount of time.

With a dreamy expression on her face, her mother spoke. “I think little Pippa here is like most babies. She reminds me of you, as a matter of fact. You were a wonderful-gut baby.”

Deborah chuckled. “That’s not what you used to say about Perry!” she teased. “You said he was a real handful.”

“That’s different. Perry was a boy. Besides, he was always stubborn and restless. Even before—” Her voice quavered, then with a jerk, she turned and rushed away.

Deborah sighed.

Living with Perry’s memory and all of the assorted mixed-up emotions that came with it was becoming harder and harder to do. Never did her parents want to hear even the slightest criticism of his character.

Not even, it seemed, when he was a baby.

As Pippa squirmed in her arms again, Deborah found herself praying that Sheriff Kramer and his city detective friend would never uncover the truth about Perry’s death.

If it simply remained a mystery, she could pretend that she didn’t know more than she did. And that would be a very good thing.