Название: Return to Grace
Автор: Karen Harper
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Полицейские детективы
isbn: 9781408969724
isbn:
“And then Seth rode up—though not on a white horse—from the other direction.”
He had interviewed Seth, hadn’t he? “No. You must know he was in a buggy. And Blaze, his horse, is chestnut-colored with a white mark only on her face and chest.”
Something she’d said amused him, but she wasn’t sure what. Had he been trying to trap her in something? Agent Armstrong—no way was she going to call him Lincoln or Linc—leaned closer and lowered his voice, too.
“Considering your and Seth’s past, I’m sure he hurt you more than you did him when you broke up, Hannah, but I have to examine all possibilities, even that an apparent rescuer was the perpetrator.”
She sniffed and shook her head.
“It happens,” he went on. “Seth was out with a hunting rifle, but our forensics have shown that wasn’t the weapon involved. Still, I can tell from talking to him that he is upset that you ‘jumped the fence,’ as he put it, and hung out with the goths. He’s still upset with you about that.”
She didn’t like the direction this was going, but it scared her even more how much she wanted to defend Seth. She blurted, “Then you’d better put about everyone in the Amish church under suspicion, Agent Armstrong! They were all pretty upset when the bishop’s daughter left, though of course we—they—are all pacifists and would never shoot someone!”
“But that was a pretty big stretch for an Amish girl, wasn’t it? Not only leaving the only life you’d ever known, but going goth?”
“That’s just the group of friends I fell in with when I went to my ‘Cleveland office,’ to try to start a singing career.”
His eyes seemed to light, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he would either grimace or smile at her subtle jab. “I like backbone in a witness and a victim,” he said, standing. “Good move to call 9-1-1, and good job giving all that information when you were shot and your friends were bleeding around you. I think you’re being released to go home tomorrow, Hannah, so I’ll see you then, because I want you to walk me through exactly what happened at the crime scene. It’s been secured, photographed, sketched and searched. I’ve questioned your remaining three goth friends, but I think your visiting the site with me would be invaluable. I take it I can find you at your parents’ place.”
It was a statement, not a question. Did he imply she was being confined there at least until she returned to the scene of the crime with him?
“If they’ll take me in for a while, yes, then I—”
“Take you in?” Mamm said as she peered around Agent Armstrong’s shoulder. “It’s your home. You are coming home, ya, at least till your wrist is better. Then we can all discuss what comes later.”
“Yes,” Hannah said as tears she could not stem blurred her view. “Agent Armstrong, I’ll be there—at my parents’ home.”
He tapped the edge of her mattress twice as if she were being dismissed, at least for now. “Thank you for your time and help, and thank you, Mrs. Esh,” he said with a nod Mamm’s way as she stepped to the side of the bed. “And thank you and Bishop Esh for feeding me so well yesterday.”
This government officer and law-enforcing ausländer had eaten at her house—that is, at her parents’ house—when she hadn’t been inside for years? It made her homesick all over again.
It was strange, Hannah thought as Agent Armstrong left the room, to have to deal with a man who knew things you didn’t and, even though you were both an eyewitness and a victim and he was going to help, who made you feel like you were under surveillance, too.
It was a couple of hours after dark that night when Sheriff Jack Freeman pulled into his driveway. Hearing an engine, Ray-Lynn Logan went to the kitchen window over the sink and cracked the curtains to make sure the headlights slashing through the night were his. Yes, his black sheriff’s cruiser with the gold logo on the side. He no doubt saw her van in the driveway. They had keys to each other’s places now. She wondered if he could possibly be as excited as she was each time they were together, but he was probably exhausted investigating the graveyard shooting and working with that hard-driving FBI guy from Cleveland.
Using the window glass for a mirror, she quickly checked her appearance. Pretty good for a woman who was almost fifty, she thought. She knew Jack liked her full breasts and hips, even though he’d admitted he was a “leg man.”
Ray-Lynn had seen little of Jack since the shootings three days ago, and just when things were really getting comfortable between them. So she’d left the restaurant the minute it closed tonight to bring them a meat loaf dinner to share—brought him his favorite raisin cream pie, too. She was getting familiar with his kitchen and this spacious brick ranch house, though she didn’t like the fact he’d lived here and decorated it with his ex-wife. Besides, it was two miles east of town, and there was a woodlot right out back, when some idiot was shooting people from trees in the dark. Maybe, she tried to tell herself, the shooting had been just some Halloween prank, an aberration, a one-night freak thing, and goths sure looked like freaks. Dealing with the Plain People was one thing, but no way did she want strange outsiders around her adopted town.
Ray-Lynn met Jack at his own back door with a big hug he returned so hard it made her toes curl. A Southern girl by birth, she’d almost chucked all the good manners her mother ever taught her to finally get this man to notice her as more than the source of good country cooking at her restaurant in town. Jack was divorced and had been sort of a loner, married only to his job since his wife had left him to move somewhere out west several years ago. He’d admitted that his ex was the only woman he’d loved, and he’d been heartbroken when she said she was done with him and rural, small-town living. But Jack had finally added, “That is, she was the only one I ever wanted before I fell in love with you, Ray-Lynn.”
Jack, who was just a year older, stood tall and ramrod-straight, maybe a leftover from his days as a marine. His auburn hair had a touch of gray at the temples, but with all that had gone on around here lately, he’d kidded her that he’d be all silver-headed soon. He’d bailed her out of a financial crisis earlier this year by investing in half of her restaurant in town, though he sure had more than fifty-percent of her heart. She loved it that they were partners in business, and she longed to be partners in life, too.
“Something smells good, but you smell better, honey,” he said, closing and locking the door behind him, then burying his face in her hair before giving her a long, openmouthed kiss that made her want to forget supper. She held tight to his leather jacket. He smelled of crisp autumn air and, as ever, both of safety and sexiness.
When they came up for a breath, she asked, “Progress here for sure, but any progress on the graveyard case?”
“Luckily, forensics cleared Seth Lantz, or at least the rifle he had in his buggy that night. Witnesses have been interviewed by either Armstrong or me—in some cases by both of us. Both wounded women are being released tomorrow, and Hannah Esh is coming home, at least for a while, so—as ever—the Amish see a blessing even in a tragedy.”
He hung his jacket, gun belt and hat on pegs by the back door, then, with a playful pat on her rear, went to use the bathroom. All dreamy-eyed—she had to admit, that’s what this man, in or out of uniform, СКАЧАТЬ