Despite being the daughter of Amish parents, Grace had only recently started to research the Amish. There had been a reason she had avoided exploring her past. However, now she wished her father had opened up more about his Amish upbringing. It would make writing this story that much easier. But after her father had left Quail Hollow and the Amish way, bringing his three young daughters with him, he refused to talk about “life before.” Even the good parts. It was all too painful. And how could she blame him, considering the way her mother had died?
Grace plucked a small pebble from her coat. “How is the Amish girl who was in the accident that night?”
“She’s in a coma. Her prognosis is uncertain.” His unemotional tone made it sound like he was reading from a list.
“That’s horrible. And the driver of the truck...” Grace purposely left the sentence open-ended, despite knowing the outcome.
“Died at the scene.” The officer’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, and a muscle worked in his jaw.
His reaction made her realize something for the first time, and her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears. “Were you on duty that night?” She studied his reaction, sensing she was on the verge of learning something fresh she could use in her story. Deep inside, a sense of guilt niggled at her.
Using someone else’s misfortune...
No, she was writing a story that needed to be told. A young man had partied and then recklessly crashed into an Amish wagon, most likely ruining a young woman’s life. Grace’s job was to bring light to stories that needed to be told. And she was good at her job. It allowed her to travel and be financially independent.
He cut her a sideways glance this time, before slowing down and turning into the rutted driveway of the bed & breakfast, which was covered in a fresh layer of snow. He shifted the patrol car into Park and turned to look at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a journalist?”
Her stomach felt like she was riding a roller-coaster car that had plunged over a ten-story crest. However, there was nothing fun about this feeling.
Her go-to move was to feign confusion. “I’m...” She slumped back into the passenger seat, rethinking her plan of action. He knew. But how?
“Are you investigating the underage party?” he asked.
Without saying a word, Grace turned and stared up at the bed & breakfast in the darkness. The house gave off a lonely, unwelcoming vibe. She should have left on a light in the kitchen.
“Can you explain this?” The officer pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was the note from the anonymous source that she had left on the passenger seat of her sister’s car. The officer must have found it when he retrieved her purse. For a fleeting moment, she wished she could disappear into the vinyl seat.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were meeting someone at the gas station?” Captain Gates pressed. “Don’t you think maybe this note and the accident are related?”
“Yes, I am a writer. I don’t think the accident had anything to do with my job.” Had it? The words sounded wrong in her ears the minute Grace said them, but she was committed to her denial, because acceptance that someone had tried to hurt her—kill her—would put a serious crimp in her research. The sheriff’s department wasn’t likely to let this go unchecked, and she wasn’t foolish enough to make herself a target.
Grace traced a finger along the armrest on the patrol car door and stared at the house. The house that had once been her grandmother’s hunkered in the winter night like a monstrosity from her past.
“Really?” Grace shifted to face Captain Gates, astonishment etched on his handsome features. “You get a note to meet at the gas station. No one shows up to talk to you, then a truck nearly pins you between the car and the pump. You don’t see the connection?”
“Now that you put it that way.” Grace tended to use humor to deflect. Had she really been that obtuse? No, she had simply shoved the obvious to the back of her mind. She tended to be single-minded in her focus, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow some jerk to deter her from the story. She’d have to be more cautious, that was all.
“This is serious,” the officer said.
Grace unfastened her seat belt. “I’ve dealt with far more dangerous situations covering stories all over the world. I can handle a punk in a truck. Besides, if he wanted to hurt me, he would have. His goal was to scare me.” She didn’t know who she was trying to convince.
“Did he?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous. I mean, I’m not too happy about what happened tonight, but I’m not going anywhere.” She scratched her head under the edge of her winter hat. “I can’t imagine why he wanted to scare me in the first place. I’m trying to get more details about the party the night of the fatal accident. Readers will be fascinated to learn that Amish teens have the same issues as everyone else.”
“Who have you spoken to already?” The officer shifted, and the seat creaked under his weight. She lifted her legs a fraction from the seat, the dampness adding to her ill temper. She didn’t need to be a deputy to follow his train of thought. Someone in Quail Hollow wanted to put an end to her investigation.
“Bishop Yoder wasn’t helpful when I tried to talk to him about the party. He assured me that anyone caught acting in an inappropriate manner would be dealt with accordingly. Then he shooed me along like I was some unwanted flu bug.”
“The Amish prefer to live separate. They’re not going to be receptive to anyone shining a light on something negative like this. Law enforcement and the Amish have a tenuous relationship, too. They deal with us only if they have to. That’s why, when a journalist comes snooping around, it makes our job harder because the Amish shut down.”
“I’m not snooping around.” Grace resented the accusation. “I don’t force anyone to talk to me if they don’t want to. I ask questions. They either answer or they don’t.” She preferred when they did, of course. “I also stopped by the victim’s house,” she continued, laying out the names of all the people she had already tried to talk to.
“Katy Weaver?”
“Yes, her brother answered the door and asked me to leave. Out of respect, I did.”
“Have you tracked down any of the teenagers from town who were at the party?” His tone changed subtly to one of genuine interest.
“Not yet. Any teenagers I’ve met claimed they weren’t there. I had hoped maybe tonight, after getting that note, I’d find out more information.” She wrapped her chapped fingers around the door handle on the passenger side of the patrol car. “Listen, my pants are soaked. I’m freezing. I need to go inside.”
Captain Gates pushed open his door, and the dome light popped on. She shot a glance over her shoulder at him. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. I’m fine.”
“You’re not getting off that easy.” His deep voice rumbled through her. Despite her frustration with the sheriff’s department thus far, she wasn’t sorry Captain Gates was going to escort her to the door. The surroundings were pitch dark in a way that can only happen in the country, far from civilization and light pollution. The memory of the truck barreling toward her flashed in her mind, and renewed dread sprinted up her spine.
The officer’s hand hovered by the small of her back, and the snow crunched under their boots