LITMIR.BIZ

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his denial, she couldn’t stop a feeling of optimism. Maybe, just maybe, she was about to learn something.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      LINK PARKED IN FRONT of Straus’s Hardware in Springville, got out and hesitated, glancing down the street in the direction of the tiny office that housed Spring Township’s police station. The village and the surrounding countryside that made up the township were served by the same small police force.

      Forget it, he ordered himself. Pick up the hinges you need, go back to the house, get on with the work.

      But forgetting wasn’t as easy as all that. Lying in the military hospital, day after day, he’d had no choice but to accept the fact that he’d survived when the others had died. He’d made his plans. He just hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to carry them out.

      First his family, so sure they could turn him back into the person he’d been before. Then there was the old house that had sheltered generations of Morgans, and even Springville itself, little changed since he’d trotted down Main Street at eight or nine with a dollar in his pocket, intent on spending it as soon as possible. All demanded he be the person he was before he left.

      He could resist them. He wasn’t so sure he could go on resisting the appeal of that little girl’s pictured face. Or that same little girl hiding in grown-up Marisa Angelo’s eyes.

      He wheeled, striding down the street toward the police station. He needed to understand what was going on. Adam would level with him.

      He swung open the door, and a woman seated at the counter swung around to look at him, eyes widening.

      “Well, if this isn’t a blast from the past. Link Morgan. I heard you were back in town. How are you?”

      “Fine, thanks, Ginger. I didn’t know you were working here.” Ginger Morrison had been class comedian, cheerleader and the girl most likely to cut class if anything more interesting beckoned.

      “Yeah, my youngest went off to school this year, so we figured I’d better start bringing home a paycheck.”

      “You? A kid?” He perched on the corner of her desk. Ginger didn’t look much older than she had the day they’d ditched school together and headed for a rock concert in Baltimore on his motorcycle, which had conked out thirty miles short of their destination. “You have a kid?”

      “Three.” She grinned. “I’ve been busy. You know I always—”

      But he wasn’t destined to hear the rest, as the door opened behind him and Ginger assumed a professional expression.

      “May I help you, ma’am?”

      He swung round, instinct telling him who it was even before he saw her face. “Marisa. Ginger, this is Marisa Angelo. I imagine she’s here to see Adam.”

      “Good morning.” Dismay at the sight of him was quickly masked, and Marisa focused on Ginger in stead. “Chief Byler asked me to drop by.”

      “Sure thing, Ms. Angelo. He’s on the phone right now, but it shouldn’t be more than a couple minutes.” Ginger raised her eyebrows at him. “You here to see Adam, too, I suppose. It’d be too much to think you stopped by to chat about old times with me.”

      He managed a grin, glancing at Marisa. “Ginger and I used to cut class together, back in the day.”

      “Not just me,” Ginger said. “The wonder is that this boy ever managed to graduate, let alone get into college.” She winked at Marisa. “Any girl he could talk onto the back of that junker of a motorcycle would do. I figured he’d go off the road at Horse shoe Bend one night, and that’d be the end of him.” A buzzer went off on her phone. “You folks can see the chief now.”

      Link fell into step with Marisa. “You look as if you didn’t sleep well.” Purple shadows were like bruises under her eyes.

      “I’m fine.” The words were snapped off so quickly they denied their meaning. She gave a quick nod back toward the desk. “Nice for you to see old friends.”

      He grimaced. “Especially when they go on saying the same thing they did ten or twelve years ago.” He opened the door to Adam’s office and let her precede him.

      Adam rose when Marisa entered, then looked over her shoulder at Link with an expression that suggested he’d be better off elsewhere. Link gave him a bland smile. Adam should know better than to think he’d be discouraged by a look.

      “Ms. Angelo, thanks for stopping by.” Adam pulled out his only visitor’s chair for her. “Link, I wasn’t expecting you, as well.”

      “Why not?” He perched on the corner of Adam’s desk. If Adam thought he’d come with Marisa, so much the better. “I’m an interested party.”

      Adam didn’t respond. Marisa leaned forward in her chair, hands gripping the strap of her shoulder bag. “What’s happened, Chief Byler? Have you found something?”

      “No, nothing like that.” Adam wore that stolid mask he did so well…the look that had sometimes fooled people into calling him a “dumb Dutchman,” that being the sort of sophisticated epithet folks around here came up with. Adam was not that.

      And Link had known him too long not to see beyond the mask. Adam wanted something, presumably from Marisa, and it was something he felt reluctant to ask.

      “You asked me to come by,” Marisa said. “There must be a reason.”

      “Out with it,” Link said. “What’s going on?”

      Adam shot him a glance that told him to shut up. “Ms. Angelo, would you be willing to take a DNA test? Just as a matter of routine. It—”

      Marisa had gone dead white. Link couldn’t help himself. He was beside her before he realized he’d moved, putting his hand on her shoulder.

      “You’ve found a body?” Marisa’s voice rose.

      “No, nothing like that. It would simply be a help…” Adam let that die off, probably because both of them stared at him with disbelief.

      “Come on, Adam. Level with us. Why do you want a DNA sample from Marisa?” He tightened his grasp on her shoulder, feeling the bones beneath the skin, and he felt a surge of protectiveness.

      She didn’t pull away, maybe because she was too shaken.

      Adam lifted his hands in a gesture of resignation. “You know those dark splotches on the suitcase? They were blood.”

      Marisa’s hand closed over Link’s, gripping almost painfully. “My mother died. Is that what you think?”

      Link’s mind raced. Blood on the suitcase, so naturally Adam assumed it was Barbara’s. The suitcase hidden in the wall of Uncle Allen’s house. It was impossible to escape a link.

      “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Adam said. “If you remember what the stains looked like, they were relatively small patches. Certainly not enough to warrant an assumption that there was a fatal wound.”

      “Are you treating it as a murder case?” Link’s voice sounded harsh to his ears. How would his mother cope with this, murder coming close to her family after all that had happened this year?

      “Not at this time.” Adam’s face was his official one. “The lab says this amount could have come from a cut finger or a nosebleed. For all we know, the stains might even have been there for months or years before the suitcase was hidden. That’s why it would be helpful to have Ms. Angelo’s DNA for comparison.”

      “Will that be enough to be sure?”

      Adam shrugged. “According to the lab, they’ll be able to tell with a reasonable degree of certainty if the blood wasn’t her mother’s, and a fair degree if it was. So, if Marisa agrees…?”

      “Yes. Of course.” She seemed to

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