Murder in Plain Sight

“…so you see, he couldn’t possibly do anything like that,” Mom was saying, leaning toward Jessica with the look of an earnest child. “Why, Thomas helped me plant all those roses along the back fence, and he even brought a load of chicken manure to use on the rhubarb bed. Besides, he’s Amish, and the Amish simply don’t commit violent acts. A more law-abiding people you’d never want to meet, and—”

“But about the crime.” The lawyer sounded a little desperate, and he noticed that she hadn’t written anything on her yellow pad. “I need to know—”

“Thomas Esch is accused of the beating death of a young woman named Cherry Wilson,” he said bluntly. He might consider that Thomas was guilty as sin, but the boy deserved a defense attorney whose mind wasn’t muddled by roses and rhubarb. “Thomas was found near her body, unconscious, in a remote barn where they’d apparently been partying. The hammer that was used to kill her was in his hand.”

“Trey, dear, you don’t need to be so graphic.” His mother’s face crinkled in distress. “I’m sure Thomas didn’t—”

Impelled by the probably futile need to protect her, he crossed the room, bending over to take his mother’s hands. “I know you don’t want to believe it, Mom. But you have to face the truth. He’s guilty, and if you become involved in trying to get him off, your friends and neighbors won’t thank you. Please, just drop this.”

His fingers tightened on hers, and he felt the wedding ring she’d never removed since the day his father put it on her finger forty years ago. A spasm of pain shot through him. Dad ought to be here now. He’d always protected her.

It had been over a year, and Trey still hadn’t stopped wanting to talk things over with his father. Maybe he never would.

“I can’t forget about doing what’s right just because the neighbors might disapprove,” his mother said, with that odd little dignity that could crop up now and then when she felt strongly about something.

“This isn’t a matter of belief,” he said, sure it was useless and hating that they were having this conversation under Jessica Langdon’s cool, critical eyes. “It’s a matter of facts. Evidence.”

Mom freed her hand so that she could pat his cheek. “Dear Trey. You’re just like your father. Always acting on reason, never on instinct.”

He stiffened. “Dad had very good judgment.” And acting on reason wasn’t a fault.

“I’m not criticizing him, Trey. I’m just saying that sometimes you have to listen to your heart, not your head.”

He straightened, trying not to give an exasperated sigh. Arguing with his mother was like…like boxing with a bumblebee, and about as effective.

The Langdon woman slid the cap back on her pen, apparently giving up on getting any useful information out of them. Three small lines appeared between her eyebrows.

“I really need to talk to the client before I make any recommendations. But if the physical evidence is very strong, we may need to think about a plea bargain. Will the district attorney…”

“Oh, no,” his mother said. “You mustn’t do that. Why, that’s what Bobby wanted to do right away when I talked to him, and I just won’t hear of any such thing.”

“Bobby?” Jessica’s frown deepened.

“Robert Stephens. He’s our financial manager,” Trey explained, his gaze fixed on his mother. “Are you telling me you talked to Bobby about this and not to me?”

“Well, I knew you wouldn’t approve.” His mother looked as guileless as a kitten. “So I just thought I’d talk to Bobby first. He’s always so accommodating, but this time I had to practically force him to do as I asked. I finally threatened to call Eva Henderson myself if he didn’t take care of it, so he did.”

Did that mean that she had gone to Bobby Stephens on other occasions, instead of turning to him? Trey’s temples began to throb. His father had expected him to take care of his mother—that was a given. But maybe it would have been helpful if he’d left behind some written instructions.

“Anyway, Bobby finally did what I wanted and hired a topflight Philadelphia lawyer to look after poor Thomas,” his mother said. She clasped Jessica’s hand suddenly, looking at her with that melting, elusive charm which had all sorts of people lining up to do as Geneva wanted. “You will handle this for us, won’t you, Jessica? I just know you’ll be brilliant.”

The woman was succumbing. He could see it in her face. Then she sat up a little straighter, clutching her legal pad as if it were a shield.

“I’d better speak to the young man before doing anything else.” She rose. “If you’ll just give me directions—”

“Of course, of course.” His mother glanced at him. “But there’s no need for directions. Trey will be delighted to take you.”

JESSICA SUCKED IN a breath, trying to think of a polite way to say she’d rather walk. But she wouldn’t need to say anything, surely. Trey Morgan had made his feelings only too clear. He wouldn’t touch this situation with a ten-foot pole.

“Mom,” he began, looking harassed.

Geneva swung on him. “Blake Winston Morgan, don’t you dare argue.”

He lifted both hands. “I’m not.” He turned to her. “If you’re ready now, we’d better get into Lancaster before the traffic gets bad.”

She doubted Lancaster traffic would bother her. “There’s no need for you to accompany me. I’m sure I can find the county jail without help.”

He took her elbow and piloted her toward the door. “Trust me, if you want to see Thomas and get back to the city today, don’t start an argument with my mother.”

She waited until they were out on the porch and presumably out of earshot before she spoke. “I know you don’t want to be involved in this—”

“If my mother’s involved, I am.” His tone was curt. He nodded toward a dark green pickup. “I’ll drive you. It’ll be easier than giving directions. You can pick up your car afterward and head back. It’s not out of your way.”

Obviously the sooner she left Lancaster County, the happier he was going to be. Still, what he said made a certain amount of sense, and maybe she could get some information about the case from him on the way. She hated going into a situation blind.

She climbed into the high seat, trying to pull her skirt down at the same time. This suit was definitely not made for riding in pickup trucks. Come to think of it, she’d never been in a pickup before in her life.

She eyed Blake as he swung easily into the seat and started the vehicle. “So, do you prefer that I call you Mr. Morgan, or Blake or Trey?”

His jaw tightened. “Trey.” He bit off the word.

“I take it you don’t agree with your mother that Thomas Esch is innocent.” She knew the answer to that, but she wanted to hear him articulate his reasons.

“I think he’s guilty as sin.”

“Why?”

The tight jaw was very much in evidence. “Do you know anything about the Amish?”

She scoured her memory. “I think I saw that movie with Harrison Ford once.”

“Great.” It was almost a snarl. “Well, to condense a lot of culture into a brief summation, Counselor, the Amish believe in living apart from the world. That means no electricity, no television, no movies or video games or all the other things kids take for granted. They don’t believe in going to the law. They settle problems with the help of the church, not the courts. They even have their own language, a Low German dialect, although the kids learn English in school.”

She thought briefly of the accented English of the young couple in the buggy. “Fascinating, but what does it have to do with the case?”

“Everything. You can’t possibly defend Thomas if you don’t understand what he comes from. Amish kids live a sheltered life, but in their late teens, they’re allowed more freedom. They’re supposed to be socializing with each other with a view to finding a mate, but plenty of them want a taste of the outside world before making the decision to be baptized into the Amish church and give it up forever. That period of running around is called rumspringa. That’s what Thomas was doing when he got involved with Cherry Wilson.”

She pondered that explanation, trying to fit it into a possible defense. “How old is Thomas?”

“Nineteen. But a young nineteen in the ways of the world.”

“And the woman—Cherry Wilson, you said?”

His lips moved in an expression of distaste. “Cherry was in her mid-twenties. Had a reputation of liking to party. She worked as a waitress at the inn in Springville. You probably passed it on your way to the house.”

She hadn’t, since she’d gotten lost instead. “What was she doing alone in a barn with a nineteen-year-old? She sounds a bit old for teen parties.”

“Rumor has it she got a kick out of partying with younger kids. I don’t know how she hooked up with Thomas.” He frowned a little, as if getting past his initial distaste to actually think about the case. “That is odd. The Esch family has a farm not far from our place. A close family, I’d say. Thomas always seemed a bit shy, but maybe that made his reaction all the worse.”