Vanish in Plain Sight

She picked it up, her fingers tingling a little. White organdy, a kind of small hat with long strings. She’d seen pictures of Amish women, looking almost like nuns in their dark dresses and identical hair styles, with the white covering on their heads. She’d taken a book out of the school library, she remembered, and hidden it under the mattress so Daddy wouldn’t see.

“That would seem to confirm that she was planning to leave,” Chief Byler said. “As to how that suitcase ended up here, and where she went—we’re as much in the dark as we were twenty-three years ago.”

For her father’s sake, she had to ask the question. “Is this a criminal investigation?”

Byler’s expression didn’t change, but Link Morgan’s mouth tightened, as if in pain.

“Not at this time,” Byler said. “For all we know, your mother did disappear back into an Amish community somewhere. That’s possible, even in this age of instant communication. If so, and if she doesn’t want to be found, the Amish would never give her up.”

“I know.” Her thoughts flickered to her own futile effort to find out something from her mother’s relatives in Indiana. “So, if it’s not a criminal investigation, will you do anything?” She didn’t mean that to sound critical, but she had to understand.

“We’ll pursue the leads we have.” That sounded final, and the police chief closed the suitcase and lifted it from the table. “If you’re intent on staying, please let my office know how to reach you. We’ll contact you if we find anything.”

She nodded, watching him walk to the door. He hadn’t sounded particularly hopeful.

He turned at the door, hand on the screen. “Don’t forget, Ms. Angelo. Let us know as soon as you hear from your father. We’d like to speak with him.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Her stomach tightened in apprehension as she watched him walk toward the patrol car. The fact that the police would suspect her father hadn’t occurred to her when she’d rushed off in response to the phone call.

“He thinks my father had something to do with this, doesn’t he?” The moment she asked the question, she regretted it. Link obviously didn’t want to be involved in her troubles, and she certainly had no reason to confide in him.

“Adam is a fair-minded person. He wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”

“But the husband is always a suspect. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“I’m not thinking anything.” His tone was cool and dismissive. “I’m sorry for your—” he hesitated, and she suspected he’d been about to say her loss “—your situation, but it’s nothing to do with me.”

“You found the suitcase. It’s your uncle’s house. You have a responsibility—”

“I don’t have any responsibility at all.” The words came quick and angry. “There’s nothing I can do.”

He’d walk away, she thought, except that it was his house, which meant she was the one who had to walk away. Marisa took a deep breath and realized she was trembling. Confrontation definitely wasn’t her strong suit.

“I see.” She managed to keep her voice calm. “Thank you for your trouble.”

She turned and walked to the door. She’d come here looking for answers, but it seemed all she’d found were more questions.

LINK SCOWLED AT THE high-school photos that still adorned the wall of the room that had been his as a kid and yanked open a drawer to find a clean shirt. Mom wouldn’t hear of his being on his own when they’d finally released him from the military hospital, of course, and he’d been too weak to argue the point. But looking at the remnants of the life he used to live wasn’t doing a thing for his morale.

Well, it would soon be over, and he’d move on. This business with the suitcase could have been worse. Now it was in Adam’s capable hands, and Marisa Angelo’s troubles were Adam’s concern.

He’d been telling himself that all afternoon. So why did he still feel like such a loser? He wasn’t responsible for the woman.

Trouble was, he’d always been a sucker for vulnerable brown eyes.

He pushed away the image of that heart-shaped face. Marisa wouldn’t stick this out, anyway. She’d get tired of waiting around for news that didn’t come and go back to wherever she’d come from—Baltimore, Adam had said.

Adam didn’t want the woman here. But he did want to see her father. Marisa had been right about one thing. The police did always suspect the husband when a woman disappeared.

Funny that the cops hadn’t looked into it more thoroughly at the time. He’d have thought—

No, he wasn’t going to obsess about Marisa Angelo.

He started down the stairs, running his hand along the railing that four or five generations of Morgans had touched. He never used to spare a thought for things like that. Trey was the oldest son—he’d always figured Trey was responsible for carrying on the family traditions.

But somehow the tour of duty in Afghanistan had made Link look at things differently, like this old house and the countryside that surrounded it. Morgan land, just like probably half of Spring Township was Morgan land.

We have a duty to the land, Grandpa used to say. And to the people who live here.

A stickler for duty, the old man had been, accepting no excuses for not doing what you should. Like dealing with Marisa Angelo’s problem. And Uncle Allen’s possible involvement.

But he wasn’t going to see Marisa Angelo again.

Voices came from the living room. Mom had said that Jessica Langdon, Trey’s fiancée, was coming for dinner tonight, so apparently they were gathering there. He paused for a moment and then headed toward the archway.

Not that he didn’t like Jessica—she was a smart city attorney who’d recently gone into partnership with an old friend of his father’s. But tonight he wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. Maybe he could—

He reached the living room and stopped. Jessica and Trey were there all right, talking to Mom, who was poised like a butterfly in flight, waving a tray of appetizers while she talked to the woman who sat in the Queen Anne armchair. Marisa Angelo.

“Link, there you are.” His mother spun with one of her quick moves, the sleeves of her filmy top fluttering and the tray waving.

“Here I am,” he agreed, taking the tray from her. “And these cheese puffs are about to be on the floor.”

“Nonsense. I had a firm grip on them.” She patted his cheek as if he were about four. “Now, you’ve already met Marisa, haven’t you? I stopped by Adam’s office while I was in town to see what he’d found out about that suitcase, and Marisa was there. So I just brought her along home for supper so we could all talk it over.” Mom beamed, obviously pleased with her solution.

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.