Authors: Search the Dark
“Yeah. Right.” Bitterness welled up, raw in his throat. “I see one thing hasn’t changed at all.”
Before she could answer he turned and walked away, his fists clenching as he tried to stamp down feelings he’d been sure had died a long time ago.
* * *
A
NGER
WAS
M
EREDITH
’
S
only shield against pain, and she clung to it as she hurried into the house. If all Zach had to offer her was bitterness, so be it. He might at least have given her a chance to explain.
The thought drew her up sharply. What was there to explain? She’d said she loved him, but she hadn’t had the courage to go against her family, her mother’s imagined social status or the opinion of Deer Run to prove it. Zach knew that as well as she did. Their love was long since dead and buried, and it might have the decency to stay in its grave.
“What on earth were you doing, talking to that boy? Standing there at the front gate where everyone in town could see you—Meredith King, you should have better sense.” Her mother waited in the entryway, shaking with anger from the top of her carefully tinted hair to the tips of her neat leather loafers. “I can’t imagine how he has the nerve to show his face in Deer Run again. What’s he doing here, anyway?”
Meredith sucked in a deep breath and prayed for calm. “I’m not sure, Mother. I believe he has some business to take care of.” She kept walking, heading for the kitchen. “I’d better put the goat’s milk in the fridge.”
It was too much to hope that her mother wouldn’t follow her. “What kind of business? If he’s come back here to moon after you again, he might as well go back where he came from.”
“Don’t be silly.” That came out too sharply. “You know all that was over a long time ago.”
“You shouldn’t have talked to him at all.” Her mother sank onto a kitchen chair, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “It gives me one of my headaches just to think about Zach Randal, right at my front gate, looking like some kind of a hoodlum.”
Zach had looked a bit rough around the edges, hadn’t he? That had always been part of the allure, Meredith supposed. It was classic, a good girl like Meredith King falling hard for the boy who was bad to the bone, or so people said. And Zach, with his disdain for small-town attitudes, had seemed to enjoy shocking the denizens of Deer Run. If he wasn’t cutting school, he was sauntering in late. And he’d been quick with his fists at the slightest opportunity.
“I understand he’s a police officer now,” she said, opening the refrigerator door to shield her face while hoping to head off some of the inevitable speculation.
“I suppose he told you so, and you believed him. Just like you always did.” Her mother’s voice went up an octave, and she stopped massaging her temples to clutch at her chest—never a good sign. “You believed him no matter what we said, causing your poor father so much grief.”
Tears spurted from her mother’s soft brown eyes, and her words came in little gasps. She was working herself into a state of hysteria, and if Meredith didn’t intercede, she’d end up with a frantic call to the doctor, insisting she was having a heart attack.
“Now, Mother, that’s all in the past. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. Zach is only here for a few days, and then he’ll be gone and we’ll never see him again.” Her heart seemed to lodge a protest at that, but she kept going. “I’m sorry his return upset you, but it doesn’t need to. Why don’t you come upstairs and have a nice rest before supper?”
Still soothing, Meredith led her mother gently to the stairs. They’d played this scene so often she knew it by heart. First it had been Daddy doing the soothing and comforting, and now it was Meredith’s job.
Keeping her voice calm, her touch gentle, she guided her mother up to her bedroom, pulled the shades, tucked her under the coverlet. Experience had taught her that it was useless to try and reason with her mother—she was no more amenable to reason than the average two-year-old. And too much emotion led inevitably to the racing heartbeat that frightened her mother as much as it did Meredith.
According to the doctors, her mother’s atrial fibrillation was not nearly bad enough or frequent enough to require anything other than the mild medication she was on. Their assurances had never comforted her mother.
Finally, after repeated promises that Margo would never be subjected to the sight of Zach Randal again, Meredith was able to get away. An easy promise to make, wasn’t it? It was hardly likely that Zach would care to confront Margo King after what she had done to him.
Meredith had barely reached the kitchen when she heard a tapping on the back door. Through the window she spotted Rachel, who’d probably cut across the back lawn between their houses in the shortcut they’d developed in the past few months. The elderly Amish seamstress whose small house sat between the two didn’t mind their frequent trespassing.
Meredith opened the door with a sense of relief. Here was someone she could confide in without the need to protect her feelings.
Rachel came in, handing her a package as she did so. “This was on your back porch.”
Meredith glanced at the label as she led the way into the kitchen and sighed. “It looks as if Mother has been watching the Shopping Channel again. I can’t seem to convince her that we can’t afford every little thing that appeals to her.” She’d have to have another of her futile talks with her mother.
Rachel nodded in sympathy. She knew all about getting by on a small income, since she was supporting herself and her young daughter by turning her former mother-in-law’s house into a bed-and-breakfast. “She still doesn’t understand that her investments aren’t paying off the way they used to?”
“Understand? She won’t even listen. Says it gives her a headache.”
Meredith put the kettle on the stove with a little unnecessary force. Rachel was the only person in whom she confided, and Rachel was safe. Their childhood friendship had blossomed into a solid relationship since Rachel moved back to Deer Run.
“How is she taking Zach Randal’s return?” Rachel lowered her voice, as if Margo King might be lurking around the corner.
“It’s okay to talk. She’s taking a nap.” Meredith set two mugs on the counter. The late-September day was cool enough to switch from iced tea to hot tea for their afternoon break. “So the rumor mill is turning already, is it?”
“I’m afraid so.” Rachel hesitated, her usual gentle expression concerned. “If you don’t want to talk about it...”
“I’d rather talk to you than anyone. I just can’t believe Zach has come back. I never expected to see him again after what my mother did.”
“Your mother?”
“You didn’t know? I guess you might not have.” Rachel had still been Amish then, and their childhood friendship had faded by that time. Amish teenage girls were helping their mothers or preparing for marriage at a time when
Englisch
girls were engrossed in cheerleading and the latest hairstyles.
The kettle shrieked, a suitable sound for the way Meredith felt. She poured water over the tea bags.
“My parents didn’t want me involved with Zach, as you can imagine. He was the rebel, constantly in trouble with everyone.”
She had to smile. It had been such a classic story—like
Grease
without the music. Or maybe more like
West Side Story,
even though no one died.
“When we started getting too serious, my mother came up with a simple plan to get rid of him. I had let him into the house when she wasn’t there, and she claimed money was missing from her desk drawer. She said Zach had taken it, and she threatened to prosecute if he didn’t go away and leave me alone.” The words were as dry as dust in her mouth. “He was ready to leave Deer Run behind, anyway, I suppose. He wanted me to go with him. I said no.” She set the mugs on the table with a clunk and sank into her chair.
Rachel studied her face for a moment. “Did you love him?”
A fair question, wasn’t it? In a similar situation, Rachel had run off to marry Ronnie Mason, to the dismay of both their families. It hadn’t turned out well, but at least Rachel had her little Mandy by way of compensation.
“I thought I did.” Meredith shook her head. No point in evading the truth. “Yes, I loved him. I just didn’t have the courage to go with him.”
“Maybe you did the best thing.” Rachel’s voice was gentle.
“I doubt that Zach saw it that way. He ended up branded a thief because of me.” She sucked in a breath. “Now he’s back, and he’s...” She hesitated, trying to find the word to express what she’d sensed from him. “...bitter, I guess. I can’t blame him. I just wish I knew what to say to him.”
“Maybe you need to tell him how sorry you are. For your sake, if not for his.” Rachel had a way of going to the emotional heart of the matter.
“I’m not sure he’d want to hear it.” She saw again the dark intensity of his gaze.
“If he’s not willing to forgive you, then that’s his right.” Rachel still had a typically Amish attitude toward right and wrong. “But you’ll have cleared the slate, and you can move on.”
Meredith stared down into the amber liquid in her cup, as if she’d see an answer in its depths. “Suppose...suppose I find I don’t want to move on. What if I still have feelings for him?”
Rachel didn’t speak for a moment. “Either way, isn’t it better to know the truth?”
The truth. The words were an echo of what Sarah had said to her earlier. Life seemed easier, somehow, if you could settle for a polite fiction that glossed over the difficult facts. But some people would only be satisfied by the truth, and she had an uncomfortable feeling that she might be one of them.
Rachel leaned back, sipping her tea, ready to talk or listen or forget, whatever Meredith needed. A wave of gratitude went through her. Maybe that was really the definition of a friend... Someone who could hear all the bad stuff, empathize and then let it slip away.
She took a gulp of her tea, letting the hot liquid dissolve the lump that had formed in her throat.
“I met with my cousin Sarah this afternoon,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “Apparently rumors are going around that Aaron Mast killed himself.”
Rachel’s clear blue eyes clouded. “Oh, no. We tried to be so careful not to let anyone know what we’d found.”
“I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as a secret in Deer Run,” Meredith said. “Sarah’s so upset about it. And Aaron’s parents, as well. She asked me to find out if it’s really true.”
“I can understand how they feel. Suicide goes against everything the Amish believe. But how are we supposed to come up with something new after all this time?”
Meredith appreciated the
we.
Rachel wouldn’t let her deal with the problem alone. “At this point, I don’t have a single idea. But I’d like to go through the scrapbook we kept that summer again. Would you mind if I picked it up?”
She, Rachel and their friend Lainey Colton had kept a scrapbook of their imaginary world that summer, filled with their observations and the illustrations Lainey had drawn. Meredith had already been through it several dozen times, but perhaps there was something she’d missed.
“I’ll drop it off for you,” Rachel said, still looking concerned. She glanced at her watch. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I hate to cut this short, but I told Mamm to send Mandy home at four-thirty.”
“No problem. At the moment, I don’t have any idea of how to do what Sarah wants.” She rose, putting the mugs in the sink.
“Maybe if we both think about it, we’ll come up with something.” Rachel touched her arm in silent sympathy. “As for the other...well, try not to worry too much about Zach. He’s not a boy any longer. He’s responsible for his own happiness.”
Or unhappiness,
Meredith added silently. Still, Zach hadn’t seemed unhappy. Just bitter.
“Say hi to Mandy and your folks for me.” Meredith walked with her to the back porch. The breach between Rachel and her family over her leaving the Amish faith had healed, and Rachel considered herself fortunate to live only a stone’s throw from her parents’ farm on the far side of the covered bridge over the creek.
Meredith stood for a moment on the back stoop, watching as Rachel cut across the intervening backyard. All of the backyards on this side of the road ended at the creek, which formed a boundary between the village on this side and the Amish farms on the other. Meredith kept her backyard mowed to just beyond the garage, as her father always had. A little farther on, a tangled border of raspberry bushes spanned the space to the trees that crowded along the creek banks.
If she went down the path behind the garage, it would lead her to the small dam that emptied into a wide, inviting pool. The pool where Aaron Mast died.
A breeze touched her and set the branches moving, a few leaves detaching themselves to flutter to the ground. The sun was just beginning to slip behind the mountain, but the shadows already lay deep under the trees around the pond.
She rubbed her arms, unaccountably chilled. She hadn’t liked going to the dam since that summer. It had figured in too many bad dreams.
She didn’t believe it was haunted by ghosts. That was nonsense. But it certainly was haunted by memories.
CHAPTER TWO
M
ARGO
SLIPPED
AWAY
from the kitchen door, her terry-cloth slippers making no sound at all. But she wouldn’t be heard in any event. Meredith had gone out on the back porch with her friend. She’d never know her mother had been out of bed at all.
A lady doesn’t eavesdrop. It wasn’t polite. But what was she to do when her own daughter kept secrets from her?
Margo’s anger flickered as she made her way up the stairs, her hand on the railing for support. Really, Meredith should have better sense, but it certainly wasn’t her fault. No one could say that Margo hadn’t done her best to raise her only daughter properly.
It was a mother’s duty to protect her child, even when that child was an unmarried woman of thirty. She winced, Meredith’s age reminding her uncomfortably of just how old she was. Still, her friends assured her she didn’t look a day over fifty.
Margo padded into her bedroom, sending a satisfied glance at her image in the mirror. Like a Dresden doll, her father had said of her the evening she’d gone to her first dance. Certainly the boys had agreed. She’d had her pick of boyfriends. If only she hadn’t imagined herself in love with John King....
She fluffed up her pillows and settled back against them, frowning a little. The issue now was Meredith, and how she could be protected from her weakness where Zachary Randal was concerned.
Good riddance to bad rubbish—that was what people had said when he’d left town all those years ago. Margo had bathed in a glow of righteousness for weeks over her role in making his departure come about. Zach had left, and Meredith had been protected from him. Goodness only knew what might have happened if Margo hadn’t intervened when she did.
She’d been so sure the incident was closed after all these years. Who could have imagined that Randal boy would dare to show his face in Deer Run again?
Her breath came too quickly, and Margo forced herself to relax. She mustn’t upset herself or she’d bring on one of her attacks, and then she wouldn’t be able to do anything to save Meredith from herself.
Meredith was still in danger of succumbing to Randal’s dubious attractions. Margo didn’t doubt that for a minute. There was simply something about one’s first love that blinded one.
She glanced at the silver-framed photo of John that stood on the bedside table. John hadn’t liked having it taken—some silly hangover from his Amish upbringing. But she’d had no patience with that foolishness and had insisted.
Enough of thinking about the past. She had to decide what to do now. Meredith and Rachel had brought up two distasteful matters in their private little chat.
Why were they so fascinated with Aaron Mast’s death? It had been an accident, pure and simple. Everyone knew that. As for Sarah asking Meredith to look into it—well, that was just ridiculous, and no more than one could expect from her husband’s relatives.
Meredith couldn’t possibly know anything about what happened the night Aaron drowned in the pond. She hadn’t even been at home. She’d spent the night with another of John’s numerous cousins, at his insistence. If Margo had had her way, Meredith would have had no communication with those people. But John, usually so compliant and eager to please her, had stood firm on that subject.
Margo sifted through memories. Odd, how some incidents formed landmarks in a person’s mind. She remembered that night clearly because of what had happened early the next morning. She’d gone downstairs to find Bill Kramer, his fishing rod still dangling from his hand, pounding on the back door and insisting on using the telephone because someone was dead in the pond.
Margo pulled the silky comforter up to her chin. The accident had probably happened in the late evening, people had said. Meredith hadn’t been home, thank goodness. John hadn’t, either. He’d gone back to the harness shop to work on an order.
Margo’s lips tightened at the remembered grievance. All the men in her family had been professionals—doctor, pharmacist, teacher—but John had insisted on opening his harness business right here in Deer Run. Worse, he’d left her alone in the house the evening that boy had drowned.
Still, his callousness had an unexpected benefit now. If anyone in the family knew anything about the Mast boy’s death, she would.
Margo glanced at the window, shielded by the shade Meredith had pulled down. It faced the driveway, down which someone might have walked to reach the creek. People shouldn’t trespass, of course, but they did. And the window would have been open on a summer evening.
Memories began to stir and shift in her mind. Consider how satisfying it would be if Margo was the one who remembered something important about that night. It would certainly show Meredith she wasn’t the only smart one in the family.
Margo leaned back against the pillows, indulging in a rosy daydream. Of herself, the heroine of the hour, graciously telling her story to a chosen few. Of Meredith, looking on admiringly.
As long as she was dreaming, she might just as well dream of a means of getting rid of Zach Randal again, this time for good.
* * *
Z
ACH
ARRIVED
RIGHT
ON
TIME
for his meeting with the attorney the next day.
Evans and Son.
The gilt letters on the window of the office weren’t exactly a surprise. Jake Evans had been slotted to go into his father’s law firm from the day he was born, he’d bet.
Zach paused for a second, his hand on the doorknob, remembering. Jake had been in his class in school, so they were about the same age. There the similarity between them ended.
Jake had been one of the “in” crowd, the people who lived in the big old houses along Maple Street and Main Street, the ones whose fathers had worn coats and ties to work every day, who never had to wonder if there’d be food in the house.
The “in” crowd hadn’t had much time for somebody like Zach Randal in those days. He didn’t figure much had changed in that respect, not in Deer Run. He swung the door open and went into the outer office with a determined step.
The middle-aged receptionist didn’t look familiar, but she eyed him as if his reputation had preceded him. Either that or he didn’t look as good as he’d thought he did after a night’s sleep and a shower and shave.
“Mr. Randal? One moment please. I’ll let Mr. Evans know you’re here.”
Her finger moved to a button on her desk, but before she could push it, one of the two doors behind her desk swung open. Jake Evans stood there, giving him a quick, assessing glance before his face eased into a smile.
“Zach, come on in. It’s been a long time. Good to see you.”
Zach allowed himself to be ushered into the inner office, where the latest thing in computers seemed to argue with a heavy oak desk that would fit more readily with a fountain pen and legal pad. Zach swept the room with a comprehensive glance, accustomed to sizing up his surroundings swiftly.
The office was clearly a study in contrasts, with the taste of the elder Evans jockeying for control with that of his son. A small basketball hoop was attached to a black enamel wastepaper basket, and a Phillies ball cap sat rakishly atop a crystal vase on the corner of the bookshelves.
Jake waved him to a chair and folded his lanky, still-athletic frame into the black leather one behind the desk. He moved like the basketball star he’d been in high school.
“Is Jeannette Walker making you comfortable at the Willows?” Jake leaned back and seemed to restrain himself from propping his foot on the wastebasket.
“The place isn’t bad.” He couldn’t blame the setting for Jeannette’s blatant curiosity.
Just like all of Deer Run and everyone in it. He’d come back because he had to, but given the feelings Meredith had stirred up by a single conversation, he’d be better off to sign whatever papers Jake had for him, get rid of the house and head back to his real life.
Jake twirled a pen between his fingers, seeming in no hurry to get down to business. “What do you think of Deer Run? Does it look different to you after being away so long?”
“No.” Zach said the word flatly. “Look, let’s just take care of things so I can get out of here. You didn’t have time for me in high school, and I don’t see any point in making small talk now.”
Jake was immobile for an instant, and then one eyebrow edged its way upward. “I hope I’ve grown up a little since high school,” he said, apparently not taking offense. His grin flickered. “Not that my father would agree with that. He still looks at me and sees the kid who embarrassed him by asking both the Hamilton twins to the senior prom.” He glanced toward the wall beyond which, Zach assumed, lay the senior Mr. Evans’s office.
“That must have caused quite a stir.” He remembered the Hamilton twins—identical daughters of the then mayor. But he didn’t remember the prom. “Afraid I was gone by then.”
“Right.” Jake’s gaze slid away from his, as if he was embarrassed he’d mentioned the prom. He shuffled through a file folder on the desk. “Well, to business.”
Zach nodded, the movement curt. He didn’t want any side excursions into high school memories. He had intended to take Meredith to their senior prom, going so far as to sell his beat-up old car in order to have enough money to do it right. But fate, in the shape of Margo King, had intervened.
“You know that the house went to your stepmother after your father’s death, of course,” Jake said, raising a questioning eyebrow.
He nodded. The only surprising thing was that Wally Randal had hung on to enough money to pay the taxes and keep from losing the place altogether.
“I’m not sure why the property comes to me,” he said. “I’m not related to Ruth.”
Jake shrugged. “I guess she didn’t have any other family. Her will was clear enough. Everything goes to you. Unfortunately, as I mentioned in my letter, the house is badly run-down. If you want to sell—”
“Definitely,” Zach interrupted him. “As soon as possible. Can you refer me to a real estate agent?”
Jake frowned, his frank, open face looking suddenly older. “To tell you the truth, I doubt you could find anyone to take it on. It’s in such bad shape I don’t know how you’re going to find a buyer.”
Zach could only stare at him. He’d ignored the place since he’d heard that he owned it. Now, it seemed, he was going to pay the penalty for that.
“You’re telling me that I own a worthless piece of property, and I won’t be able to get rid of it.” He glared at Jake, who returned the look with interest.
“You’ll recall that I sent you several letters asking you to come back and deal with the place. You didn’t.”
So it was his fault. He’d like to deny it, if he could think of anyone else to blame, but he couldn’t.
“Okay.” Zach blew out a long breath. “Where do I go from here?” If he stopped paying the taxes, the place would eventually go up for sheriff’s sale, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. It would be proof that he was trash, just as the good people of Deer Run had always supposed.
“As I see it, you could either do the minimum amount of repair work to make the place saleable.” There might be a trace of sympathy in Jake’s face. “Or you could have the house demolished and try to sell the lot.”
Either way, his legacy was going to cost him. The old man would be laughing his head off, if he knew about this from wherever he’d ended up.
“You have an opinion about which?” Zach raised an eyebrow.
Jake shook his head. Yes, that was definitely sympathy in his expression. “Sorry. That’s not for me to make a recommendation. If you want the opinion of someone in real estate, you ought to talk to Colin McDonald. You remember him from high school, don’t you?”
Zach nodded. Another one of the “in” crowd. Presumably they’d all stayed here, where they could be big fish in a small pond. “I’ll give him a try.”
Jake reached across the desk, holding out a set of keys. “In the meantime, I’d suggest that the first thing you ought to do would be to take a look for yourself.”
Zach forced himself to take the keys, fighting down a wave of nausea. That wasn’t the first thing he wanted to do. It was the last thing.
* * *
I
F
SHE
CONCENTRATED
on what Sarah had asked of her, Meredith decided, she might be able to keep her mind off Zach. She would not let herself wonder why she hadn’t seen him since the previous day, or what he was finding to do in Deer Run.
Reminding herself of her good intention, Meredith walked quickly down Main Street and turned up Church. Church Street, named for the two houses of worship which faced one another on opposite sides, sloped gently uphill to Maple, where Victor Hammond, heir to the Hammond Grocery chain, had built a dream house for his wife, Laura.
There would be no taking over the comfortable old Victorian house where Victor’s parents had lived. Gossip had it that Victor had been so surprised and pleased when Laura accepted him that he’d have given her anything, including the ultra-modern home that now sat uneasily among its more traditional neighbors.
Since no place in Deer Run was too far to walk to, Meredith had walked. The problem was going to be finding Laura both at home and accessible. The secondary problem was having some believable reason for dropping in on her.
Well, she’d create some logical excuse for her presence. If she were going to find out anything else about Aaron’s death after all these years, Laura was the obvious place to start.
The clearing at the dam had been the meeting place for Laura and Aaron’s ill-fated romance. The curiosity of three ten-year-old girls had been more than up to unraveling that little secret. They’d known, and they’d been awed by the Romeo-and-Juliet story of Amish and
Englisch
—their golden knight involved with the most beautiful girl in the valley.
But Aaron had died at the dam, and Laura had never been the same since. That had to add up to something. Perhaps Laura had broken up with him and he’d taken his life in a moment of despair, or maybe he’d been showing off for Laura and had fallen, to be caught up in the treacherous swirling waters. Try as she might, Meredith couldn’t come up with any other likely alternatives.