LITMIR.BIZ

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think of anyone else to blame, but he couldn’t.

      “Okay.” Zach blew out a long breath. “Where do I go from here?” If he stopped paying the taxes, the place would eventually go up for sheriff’s sale, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. It would be proof that he was trash, just as the good people of Deer Run had always supposed.

      “As I see it, you could either do the minimum amount of repair work to make the place saleable.” There might be a trace of sympathy in Jake’s face. “Or you could have the house demolished and try to sell the lot.”

      Either way, his legacy was going to cost him. The old man would be laughing his head off, if he knew about this from wherever he’d ended up.

      “You have an opinion about which?” Zach raised an eyebrow.

      Jake shook his head. Yes, that was definitely sympathy in his expression. “Sorry. That’s not for me to make a recommendation. If you want the opinion of someone in real estate, you ought to talk to Colin McDonald. You remember him from high school, don’t you?”

      Zach nodded. Another one of the “in” crowd. Presumably they’d all stayed here, where they could be big fish in a small pond. “I’ll give him a try.”

      Jake reached across the desk, holding out a set of keys. “In the meantime, I’d suggest that the first thing you ought to do would be to take a look for yourself.”

      Zach forced himself to take the keys, fighting down a wave of nausea. That wasn’t the first thing he wanted to do. It was the last thing.

      * * *

      IF SHE CONCENTRATED on what Sarah had asked of her, Meredith decided, she might be able to keep her mind off Zach. She would not let herself wonder why she hadn’t seen him since the previous day, or what he was finding to do in Deer Run.

      Reminding herself of her good intention, Meredith walked quickly down Main Street and turned up Church. Church Street, named for the two houses of worship which faced one another on opposite sides, sloped gently uphill to Maple, where Victor Hammond, heir to the Hammond Grocery chain, had built a dream house for his wife, Laura.

      There would be no taking over the comfortable old Victorian house where Victor’s parents had lived. Gossip had it that Victor had been so surprised and pleased when Laura accepted him that he’d have given her anything, including the ultra-modern home that now sat uneasily among its more traditional neighbors.

      Since no place in Deer Run was too far to walk to, Meredith had walked. The problem was going to be finding Laura both at home and accessible. The secondary problem was having some believable reason for dropping in on her.

      Well, she’d create some logical excuse for her presence. If she were going to find out anything else about Aaron’s death after all these years, Laura was the obvious place to start.

      The clearing at the dam had been the meeting place for Laura and Aaron’s ill-fated romance. The curiosity of three ten-year-old girls had been more than up to unraveling that little secret. They’d known, and they’d been awed by the Romeo-and-Juliet story of Amish and Englisch—their golden knight involved with the most beautiful girl in the valley.

      But Aaron had died at the dam, and Laura had never been the same since. That had to add up to something. Perhaps Laura had broken up with him and he’d taken his life in a moment of despair, or maybe he’d been showing off for Laura and had fallen, to be caught up in the treacherous swirling waters. Try as she might, Meredith couldn’t come up with any other likely alternatives.

      Meredith approached the wrought-iron gate and stopped, hand on the cool metal. The grounds surrounding the house were professionally cared for, she felt sure. She couldn’t picture Victor cruising along on a riding mower, or Laura deadheading the chrysanthemums.

      Meredith’s breath caught. It looked as if the way had been paved for her. Laura, her face hidden by a floppy-brimmed hat and a pair of dark glasses, sat on a wrought-iron garden bench, motionless. Was she admiring the gold and bronze of the mums, or staring into space?

      Even as she watched, Laura stood. She paused, as if she’d forgotten what she was about to do, and then drifted wraithlike along the path between the rosebushes.

      She wouldn’t get a better chance. Meredith slipped through the gate and hurried toward the rose garden.

      “Laura?”

      Laura turned at the sound of her name, her expression, or what Meredith could see of it with the barrier of the glasses and hat, oddly stiff. For an instant she seemed about to speak but instead made a gesture, which Meredith decided to interpret as an invitation to join her.

      “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by without calling first,” Meredith said.

      “Of course not.” The polite words took a visible effort. “It’s always nice to see you, Meredith.” Laura pulled off the dark glasses, managing a smile. “I was just enjoying...” The sentence trailed off, as if it took too much effort, and she gestured vaguely at the roses.

      “Your roses have been beautiful this year.” They were about past their prime now, a sentiment that could apply equally well to Laura.

      What had become of the prettiest girl in the valley? In recent years, Meredith had thought Laura resembled a child’s fashion doll with her perfect face, perfect hair and perfect clothes. Today she looked...empty. There seemed no life at all in the blue eyes half-hidden by drooping lids.

      “Yes, lovely,” Laura repeated. “The gardener does it all.” She cupped one overblown blossom in her hand. “You wanted...” Again the sentence trailed off.

      Fortunately the flowers had given Meredith a reasonable excuse for her presence. “The church women’s group is having a flower stand at the Amish school auction tomorrow. If you’d like to donate some of your blossoms, it would be appreciated. I could come by early tomorrow and pick them up.”

      All of that was true, although not, strictly speaking, her reason for being here. Still, she was bending the truth for a good cause, wasn’t she?

      Laura nodded, her attention still on the rose in her hand. “Fine, fine.” Her fingers tightened on the rose, and with a quick wrench she pulled it off. The flower disintegrated in her hand, petals scattering on the flagstone path.

      The sudden violence of the gesture made Meredith’s stomach twist. She tried to think of something to say, but came up empty. If she intended to bring up Aaron, she’d better do it.

      “These are too perfect,” Laura announced. She caught another of the full red blossoms and subjected it to the same fate.

      “You...don’t care for the red ones?” That was an inane question, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

      “Too perfect,” Laura said again. She reached out as if to destroy another bloom, but then her hand fell to her side, the animation draining away as quickly as it had come.

      “I wanted to ask you...” Meredith began.

      “The little white roses grow wild along the edge of the field.” Laura swung on her, frowning. “You know that, don’t you?”

      “Yes, of course,” she said, feeling as if she’d stumbled into some dark version of Wonderland. Everyone knew the wild roses that grew with abandon if given a chance. They practically had to be firebombed to be gotten rid of.

      “Those are real roses, don’t you think?” Laura’s expression turned dreamy. “Aaron brought me those.” She smiled. “You remember. He’d scratched his hand on the thorns, but he said it was worth it. I kissed it to make it better. You remember, don’t you?” Her tone demanded an answer.

      “Yes, I remember,” she soothed. “That’s a nice memory.”

      Why was Laura so insistent that she remember? Maybe she was thinking of the three young girls following her and Aaron around that summer. They’d never given away those secret meetings between Laura and her Amish lover.

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