The Search The Secrets of Crittenden Cou - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,38
felt oddly like he was laying down roots. It was unsettling, but only because he didn’t seem to mind.
“So, how are the guinea pigs doing? Any more of them on the loose?”
“They’re all sold, though no thanks to them. One of ’em in particular seemed determined to remain hidden. Every time we tried to catch the fellow, he’d dart away. Finally had to move one of the shelves, then chase the rascal until Walker could grab him.”
Luke could only imagine what the man had thought of that chore. “Good thing it worked.”
“Oh, for sure.” He grunted. “Wife was getting right tired of that critter, I’ll tell you that.”
“I can’t say I blame the little guy all that much. Being free does have a certain appeal, I suppose.”
“So does having a home,” Mr. Schrock replied. “Those little pigs should have realized that they were going to good homes. If they’d been calmer and less pesky, they could have lived like kings.” A line formed between his brows. “You know what they say? . . . ‘Don’t grumble because you don’t have what you want, be thankful you don’t get what you deserve.’ ”
Amused by both Mr. Schrock’s latest bit of Amish wisdom, and the idea of a wayward guinea pig living like a king, Luke said, “How was the little guy when you finally caught up with him?”
“Hungry as a boar. He ’bout bit Walker’s finger off when he captured him. That boy needed a good-sized bandage.” Mr. Schrock grimaced at the memory as he rested his elbows on the counter. “Now, what can I help you with? Need some cottage cheese, by chance?”
Cottage cheese? “No. Uh, not today. Actually, I was hoping I might have a word with Jacob.”
Mr. Schrock straightened, all traces of amusement and congeniality vanishing in a heartbeat. “My son?”
“Yes,” Luke said smoothly. “Is he here? I heard he returned from his trip.”
“Jah. Jah . . . he’s back.”
Though he got his answer, Luke noticed he wasn’t getting much else. The warm bond that had been floating between them dissipated like a cold wind. Now Mr. Schrock was in full protective-parent mode.
It didn’t matter if a man’s child was six, twenty-six, or forty-six. If a detective was asking about him, men clammed up. Right before Luke’s eyes, Mr. Schrock straightened and turned statuelike. Instead of offering more information, he eyed Luke apprehensively.
Pushing aside a momentary punch of hurt, Luke reminded himself that he’d been foolish to think that he’d made a real connection with the man. With this town.
So he pulled out years of experience and mirrored the older man’s expression. Becoming still, pretending he didn’t notice what had just happened between them.
“So, where’s Jacob been? I’m afraid I never did hear that.”
“He was just out working,” Mr. Schrock said quickly. “He was doing some work in Lexington. Important work.”
“Important?”
Mr. Schrock’s chin raised. “Store business.”
“Ah. Right.” Luke smiled tightly as he realized that he’d just been fed a line. “Where is he now?”
“This minute?”
“Yes, sir. This minute.”
“He’s in the back.” After a pause, Mr. Schrock said, “Would you like to talk with him up here? Or out in the parking lot like you did with Walker?” His eyes brightened. “Or how about I just tell him that you want to see him later on. Maybe tomorrow?”
A sixth sense told Luke that he had better not give the man any time to speak privately with his son. “If you don’t mind, I’ll follow you to the back and ask Jacob where he’d like to talk.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m afraid it is.” Stepping forward, Luke motioned Mr. Schrock on with a wave of his hand. “Go on, Mr. Schrock. I’ll follow you.” He kept his voice pleasant. But he’d had enough of secrecy and half-truths.
He had a job to do and a promise to keep to Mose. Therefore, he stood unwavering as Mr. Schrock reluctantly started walking toward the back.
They passed through rows of shelves jam-packed with candies and cans and handmade clocks and baskets, through a brightly painted white door, and into a jumbled storeroom loaded with so much merchandise that it made the front of the store look almost empty.
In the midst of the clutter were two desks and three or four old Adirondack chairs in various stages of disrepair.
A young man who looked to be about twenty years old was sitting in one of them. He looked up from the catalog he was reading when they entered.
His father walked to his side. “Jacob, this here is Detective