Trusting The Sheriff. Janice Kay JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
several months at a time. She dressed “plain” when she was with her Amish family, grew so accustomed to having no television, she’d never watched much even as an adult. Her grandparents might have hoped she’d choose to be baptized to join their faith, but weren’t surprised when she didn’t. Especially after what happened to—
No, the past had nothing to do with the here and now. She needed to focus on her next step. Physical recovery, Abby could already tell, was going to be slow. Plus, even if she bounced out of bed feeling great, going back to the job clearly wasn’t an option until she could explain what had happened that night in the alley.
If she ever could. The doctor had explained that her memory of the missing week might return in its entirety, she might recall pieces of it...or it might never come back.
Her aunt and uncle would take her in without question, pamper her even as they set her to doing chores she could handle. The idea of sitting at the long table in that big farm kitchen, peeling potatoes or rolling out pie dough while the women chattered and the younger children helped to the extent they were able sounded heavenly to Abby right now.
Her smile felt rusty, but real. Heavenly? That might’ve been a pun, but it was also truth.
She’d call and leave a message on the machine in the phone shanty out by the road that passed her family’s farm, and hope Onkel Eli checked it soon so that her arrival wasn’t a complete surprise.
Unfortunately, she didn’t think she was up to the meandering pace, clouds of exhaust and swaying ride of a bus. Now all she needed was to find a ride.
* * *
“LEFT UP AHEAD.” All ten families who lived on this gravel road were Amish. Abby felt sure Aenti Nancy would have told her if someone had had to sell out. She wrote to Abby weekly, long, chatty missives that always made her feel as if she mattered.
Despite the bands of pain tightening around her head, excitement fizzed inside her. Abby leaned forward until the seat belt put uncomfortable pressure on her shoulder and chest. She hadn’t been here since Thanksgiving, having volunteered to work over the Christmas holidays so that a detective who had children could take the time off. The farm felt like home, more so than her father’s house had since her mother died. Why hadn’t she visited in the spring? It had been nine, no, ten months since she’d made it to see her family here.
Sam Kirk, the detective working her case, had offered to drive her. She’d fully expected him to grill her during the two-hour drive, but had decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, if he could ask the question that would unlock her memories, she’d be as glad as he would.
Sam was in his late thirties or early forties and tended to be quiet, but when he spoke, people listened. He had a presence, she’d long since decided, even though he was lean and not above average height. Abby had always felt shy around him, and hadn’t yet had occasion to work closely with him.
When he’d first picked her up, he drove her to her apartment and helped her pack a duffel bag full of clothes. Without complaint, he also carried a tote bag of books she kept meaning to read out to the car.
Returning, he nodded at her laptop. “You’ll want that.”
“No electricity where I’m going.” Seeing his puzzlement, she had to explain why the Amish refused to be on the grid, linked with people who didn’t share their faith.
He looked stunned. “No TV? But...the Chiefs’ first regular-season game is next weekend.”
She laughed at him, relaxing for the first time.
When he offered to come back to dispose of any foods that would rot while she was away and empty the kitchen trash, Abby handed over her key. If he could figure out her laptop password, he was welcome to browse her emails and files. He’d probably search her apartment, but she didn’t care. She had nothing to hide. In fact...she didn’t have much at all.
The first fifteen minutes of the drive had passed in silence. Then he broke it. “The sergeant is doing his job, you know.”
She stiffened. “I know.”
“I go with my gut more than he does, and my gut tells me whatever happened in that alley was a setup.”
Good cop, bad cop was her first thought. She knew she was right, but was still susceptible enough to kindness and a pretense of belief in her to give her a lump in her throat. “Thank you for saying that.”
He nodded, and asked about physical therapy and whether her headaches were receding. Abby gave him the upbeat answers, refusing to admit that the vibration of the moving vehicle and the occasional bumps had her thinking about hammers again. Just sitting upright tired her.
But seeing the farm now made her forget her tiredness and every ache and pain. She exclaimed, “Oh, the corn looks almost ripe!”
White-painted board fencing separated the fields from the gravel road that showed the narrow tracks made by the steel wheels of Amish buggies. The corn stalks stood tall, topped with fluffy yellow silks surrounding the ears. Last year, corn crops throughout the Midwest had dried up with the drought. Aenti Nancy mentioned the weather in every one of her letters, although she would never complain if it were too dry or wet. The Amish accepted God’s purpose, whether they understood it or not. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be rejoicing in what promised to be a bumper crop this year.
“Do they grow anything else?” Sam asked, turning into the narrow lane leading up a gentle slope to the house.
“Yes, of course,” she said distractedly. “Raspberries, strawberries, soybeans. They have a good-sized orchard of fruit trees, and two black walnut trees. And a kitchen garden, of course. Plus, my aunt and uncle raise a few steers each year, and keep chickens. Most of their food comes from the farm.”
He shot her a look from dark eyes. “I’d never have guessed you came from a background like this. You actually wear that getup? Bonnet and all?”
“Yes, when I’m here. I didn’t grow up Amish, you know. I just...” There was no reason to explain. She continued, “They wouldn’t say anything if I came for a short visit and wore jeans and T-shirts, but I don’t.” She explained simply, “It wouldn’t be respectful.”
By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of the white-painted farmhouse with a wraparound porch, two women had rushed out of the front door and a man strode toward them from the huge barn.
Abby scrabbled for the seat-belt release and the car door handle at the same time, eager to leap out.
Sam’s hand on her arm slowed her. “Take it easy, Detective. You don’t want to collapse at their feet.”
She didn’t. She climbed out very carefully and, eyes stinging, fell into her aunt’s arms. “Aenti Nancy.”
“So glad we were to hear you were coming!” her aunt exclaimed. “Excited, we are.”
Abby gently pulled free to greet first her cousin Rose, then her uncle, a tall, stern man who nonetheless hugged her and murmured, “You have stayed away too long.”
She hugged him back, managing to knock his summer straw hat off. He laughed when he bent to pick it up. Abby transferred her gaze to Rose, who was pregnant. Very pregnant.
“Oh, my! Aenti Nancy told me, but I didn’t know you were so far along.”
Brown-haired, gray-eyed and tending to plumpness, Rose wrinkled her nose. “The midwife sent me to the doctor for an ultrasound. I’m having twins.” She splayed her hands on her sizeable belly. “I still have three months to go, but the doctor said I won’t make it that long.”
“Girls or boys?”
“One of each, he thought.” She beamed. “I drove myself over today even though Matthew doesn’t like me going out now, but to have you home!”
Hearing her genuine delight, Abby felt her tears spilling over at last. She used the backs of her hands