The Search The Secrets of Crittenden Cou - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,9
here.”
“Short of that guy being murdered, huh?”
Her breath caught. No one she knew spoke of Perry—or the mystery surrounding his life and death—unless it was in whispered tones in private.
Or under duress. She shivered. “How do you even know about Perry?”
“Why do you sound so surprised that I brought him up? Is his death a secret?”
“It’s just that no one likes to talk about what happened.”
“Just want to pretend it didn’t happen, do you?”
She couldn’t lie. “Sometimes,” she said shortly. Wondering selfishly why she’d ever decided to come to Frannie’s on a day off, anyway.
Why she’d had to be the one to promise things that she couldn’t deliver.
Why she had to be the person volleying words back and forth with a man who was so evasive, it was bordering on scary.
Something flickered in his face. “That’s too bad.”
“That I don’t want to think about Perry’s death all the time? I think it’s a normal reaction . . . Mr.? . . . I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” he replied, turning to leave. Then he paused, just as if he’d suddenly changed his mind. “What do you know about the quarry?”
She froze. “Not much.”
“It looks pretty big.”
“It’s not a part of town that I get to much.” But what she didn’t say was that her brother spent a lot of time there. Near the entrance to the quarry was an old, abandoned trailer, and that was where Eli used to buy drugs from Perry Borntrager.
Until Perry had gone missing.
Now she didn’t know where he bought drugs. He’d taken off to parts unknown and broken her heart.
“What are you not telling me?” His tone had become harder, his easy cadence now clipped.
Making her even more wary.
She hoped he was safe to be around. She wished she didn’t feel so awkward and scared, standing alone with him in the kitchen.
“What is it?” he asked. “What is wrong?”
“Not a thing is wrong,” she lied. After all, why would she tell this man things she’d never told anyone? “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to move along. I have things to bake. Well, things to bake if I can find a recipe book. Dear Lord, please let Frannie have used a recipe book.”
Only after he turned away and finally left did she realize that she’d never learned his name. She didn’t even know how long he was staying at the inn.
The knot in her stomach hardened, threatening to overtake her. The fear that she’d tried to hold at bay rose as she realized that she didn’t know how Frannie was, she couldn’t cook very well, and she had no idea what to do next.
“Oh, please get better quick, Frannie,” she whispered. “If you don’t come back soon, I don’t know what is going to happen.”
Only after she said her prayers did she allow herself to fear for the worst.
She was now going to be living in the same building as this Englischer stranger, who seemed far too interested in things that weren’t any of his business.
Chapter 3
“When Perry was twelve, he broke his collarbone jumping out of a hay loft. Until they found his body, I do believe that was the last time he’d been seen by a doctor.”
ABRAHAM BORNTRAGER
They called it a corneal obstruction. Through her haze and pain, Frannie was coming to understand that the glass had scratched the surface of her cornea, which was the covering of her eyeball.
It was a painful thing, and an injury that would need to be looked after with care for a bit. But she wouldn’t go blind.
The cuts around her eye, however, were another matter. A special eye surgeon was on his way to mend the torn skin at the corner of her right eye and to examine the abrasion on her lid.
Someone had already stitched up the other cuts on her face. Though no one would let her see a mirror, Frannie could feel that her whole face was covered in stitches and bandages. Her face had become a pincushion for those shards of glass.
All she wished for was a cooling ointment or cloth to cover her face with. The sensations were as if a hundred bees had launched themselves at her face and angrily stung her.
As she held up her two hands, one with just two bandages and one completely covered in gauze, she sighed. Could she look any more terrible? How could one little bowl raise so much havoc?