He had to suppress a groan. Geneva Morgan was known far and wide for her warm hospitality and her habit of adopting any stray that crossed her path, but he wished for once she’d restrained herself.
He nodded to Marisa, trying to look as if he wasn’t aghast to find her in his mother’s living room. “Marisa. I didn’t realize you were headed back to the police station after you left my place.”
Her eyes said it wasn’t any of his business where she went. “I thought of a few more things I wanted to say to Chief Byler.”
Trey must have thought that sounded ominous, because he frowned. “Adam Byler’s a good man. If there’s anything to find, I’m sure he’ll find it.”
That was not exactly what worried Marisa about him, Link suspected.
“Yes, he…he seems very capable.” Marisa’s expression suggested that she didn’t want to discuss it, and probably also that she was wondering what had induced her to accept Mom’s invitation.
Plenty of people had occasion to wonder how Geneva Morgan became entangled in their affairs. Trey had had his hands full since Dad’s death. Their mother never saw a problem that she didn’t consider it her duty to resolve.
“You must have been so shocked at Adam’s call.” His mother leaned over to pat Marisa’s hand. “Poor child. And with your father out of touch, it all falls on you.”
Marisa stiffened. Mom wouldn’t understand that the subject of her father’s absence was a touchy one, of course. His mind scrambled for something to say that would divert the conversation, but he couldn’t come up with a thing.
“I understand you’ll be staying around for a few days.” Jessica broke what was becoming an uncomfortable silence. “It’s fortunate you were able to take time off work.”
Marisa turned to her gratefully, maybe glad to see someone who wasn’t a Morgan. “That wasn’t an issue. I’m a freelance illustrator, and as long as I turn projects in on time, it doesn’t matter where I do them.”
“Really? That’s fascinating. I don’t think I ever met an illustrator before. What are you working on?” Jessica leaned forward, her interest sounding genuine.
“Right now I’m doing illustrations for a children’s book. The story is set in a rural area, as a matter of fact, so these surroundings are perfect.”
The first smile Link had seen from her curved Marisa’s lips and lit her eyes. With the stress momentarily wiped from her face, she seemed to glow with enthusiasm for her work, drawing him closer. Too bad she couldn’t look like that all the time. He hadn’t given much of a thought to women since his injury, but now he felt that flicker of interest that was the first step toward attraction.
“But about this suitcase.” Mom perched on the edge of a chair, clearly not distracted. “Have you any idea how it got there? Did your father ever mention that it was missing?”
“I don’t think so.” Marisa’s lips tightened again. “Not to me, anyway. I was just five when my mother left.” She hesitated. “If she did leave.”
Trey’s hand clenched. He was probably thinking, as Link was, about the implications of Uncle Allen being involved in the woman’s disappearance. Mom had had enough grief in her life with Dad’s death. She shouldn’t have to face any more.
“Surely the fact that the suitcase was packed indicates that she at least planned to leave,” Trey said.
“That’s true, but why—?”
Mom’s question was interrupted by a movement in the archway. Katie Zeller, one of several Amish teens who helped Mom around the house, stood there, probably waiting patiently for a break in the conversation.
Mom turned. “Oh, Katie, I’m sorry. Is everything ready?”
Katie nodded. “Ja. Did you want me to dish up already?”
“Please. I’ll come and help you.” Mom rose, waving toward the dining room. “The rest of you find seats. We’ll get the food on right away. I’m sure Marisa is starved, and here we’ve been keeping her talking instead of feeding her.”
“I’m not…” Marisa began, and let the word trail off when Mom vanished toward the kitchen.
“Pretend you’re hungry,” Trey advised, taking Jessica’s hand as they moved into the dining room. “Our mother is only happy when she’s feeding people.”
“Well, now, I might resent that if it weren’t true.” Mom and her helper carried steaming bowls and platters to the table. “Katie and I made chicken pot pie for supper. I thought Marisa ought to sample some traditional Pennsylvania Dutch food while she’s here.”
Link held Marisa’s chair while she sat down. Manners might be a vanishing art some places, but not in his mother’s house. Marisa, he noticed, was staring at Katie, something almost tragic in her eyes.
Thinking about that Amish apron and kapp in her mother’s suitcase? Both looked identical to the ones Katie wore at the moment. He sat down next to Marisa, turning that over in his mind.
By the time the food platters had circled the table, Marisa had regained her poise, as far as he could tell.
His mother glanced around the table, blue eyes sparkling. “This is nice, having a full table again. And you know, I think I can answer at least one of the questions that’s perplexing Marisa.”
Marisa’s fingers tightened on her fork. “What question is that?”
“How the suitcase came to be in Allen’s house, of course.”
Link exchanged glances with Trey. What was their mother up to now?
“How would you be able to explain that?” He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“It’s simple, really. I thought of it last night, but then I never had a chance to tell you because you left so early this morning, Link.”
“Tell me what?” Dealing with his mother required more patience than he possessed at the moment, and Marisa’s tension seemed to vibrate through the space between them.
“Why, that Barbara Angelo was your uncle Allen’s housekeeper, of course.”
MARISA FOUND THAT Link’s hand was in her line of vision, lying on the white tablecloth next to hers. Hers was clenched around a fork. His had tightened into so hard a fist that the tendons stood out on the back of it.
Did that mean he was as shocked at Geneva’s revelation as she was? Or did it mean that he hated the fact that it had come out?
“What are you talking about, Mom?” Across the table from her, Trey had found his voice.
Marisa studied him. A year or two older than Link, maybe, but his face, while serious, didn’t carry those lines of tension which marked Link. At the moment Trey was staring at his mother in what seemed honest surprise.
“About Marisa’s mother, Barbara Angelo. She worked for your uncle for a while, taking care of the house for him. Although why he needed a housekeeper, I never understood. There he was all by himself, practically a hermit. You’d think he could easily have done for himself…”
“Give it a rest, Mom.” Trey seemed to relax during his mother’s wanderings. Maybe he was used to the track her thoughts took. “We all know you didn’t like Dad’s brother.”
Geneva straightened, her shoulders back. “Trey, that is absolutely not true. I didn’t dislike your uncle. I just said he didn’t need a housekeeper. He could easily have taken care of things himself. Why, your father—”
“Dad was a paragon,” Trey said, smiling a little. “But you know perfectly