"Will tiny clues from the past find justice? A suspenseful and realistic Amish based mystery!"
Reviewed by Audrey Lawrence
Posted April 29, 2011
Inspirational Amish | Suspense
When Marissa's mother vanished from the small community in
Lancaster County, her husband and police just assumed she
had run off to return to the Amish life she had left
behind. Her young daughter always wondered why her mother
could just abandon her so easily. So when a small suitcase full of clothes found by Link
Morgan as he was renovating his uncle's house turned out to
belong to her mother, Marisa Angelo returned to her
childhood community. She was determined to stay until she
got the answers she desperately needed, despite
some friendly and unfriendly efforts to make her leave. Seeking the truth, Marisa becomes increasingly involved
with Link, an Afghan veteran wanting to make his own break
with the past and his family. But, can the Morgans really
be trusted to as the suitcase was found on their property?
Yet, as Marisa shifts through the trickles of small
remembrances, she starts to ponder her own family's stories
and wonders why her Englischer Dad was so quick to accept
the findings of the brief police report. Now, her own life
may be in danger from those who knew and who want the truth
to stay buried. Who can she trust? Skillfully written in a deceptively simple yet realistic
style, Marta Perry instantly places you in plain sight of
Springville, a beautiful mixed Amish and English semi-rural
community where people have long histories together and
where words spoken and unspoken quickly highlight a tension
the revealing of this small suitcase has brought to bear.
Perry adeptly develops both the suspense and storyline by
moving perspectives from the fresh eyes and ears of Marisa,
a freelance illustrator with the time and ability to
finally get to the bottom of why she was left abandoned as
a child, to the thoughts of others, especially Link's, as
they come to terms with what they could and could not have
done. It is remarkably readable as a stand alone novel,
but is sure to a captivating delight for fans already
familiar with Perry' pervious books, especially Murder in
Plain Sight. Enjoy this aptly titled intriguing book
that is very hard to put down once you start reading!
SUMMARY
The sole survivor of his engineering team after an
explosion in Afghanistan, Link Morgan comes home to
Lancaster County to recuperate. Blaming himself for living
when the others died, he vows never to be responsible for
anyone again. But his determination is tested when he
discovers a suitcase hidden inside teh wall of the house
he's remodeling - a suitcase belonging to a woman who
supposedly left her husband and young daughter twenty-five
years ago. Children's book illustrator Marisa Angelo has only one aim
when she learns of the discovery - to find the truth about
her mother's disappearance. She has been haunted all her
life by the image of her mother walking away from her,
leaving Marisa with a hole in her heart nothing can fill.
She's coped by never letting anyone see the real Marisa,
because if they do, they'd see how unlovable she is. Now
she must find the answers or be forever less than whole. It's commonly believed that Marisa's mother ran back to
her Amish family in the Midwest, unable to face living in
her husband's English world any longer. Now, with the
finding of the suitcase, it seems that what everyone
believed may not be true. Link and Marisa reluctantly join
forces to find the answers - Link because the bloodstained
suitcase seems to implicate his uncle, who left him the
house, and Marisa because she her fears her father may be
implicated in her mother's disppearance. The secret of Marisa's mother's disappearance must lie
buried somewhere in the pastoral farmland and quaint Amish
settlements of Lancaster County. But the more Marisa
searches, the greater the danger she is in. Someone,
either Amish or English, doesn't want the truth of the
disappearance ever to come to light, and he will kill to
be sure that secret stays buried forever.
ExcerptLink Morgan narrowed his focus to the heavy sledgehammer
and the satisfying thwack it made it when broke into the
old paneling. The paneling shattered, its shoddiness a
contrast to the solid double-plank construction of the rest
of the old farmhouse.
Setting the sledgehammer down, he pulled fragments loose
with gloved hands, tossing them into a pile in front of the
fireplace. The last bit of the section came free, revealing
what lay behind it.
He stared, methodically wiping the sweat from his
forehead. Shaking off the foreboding that gripped him, he
reached into the wall and pulled out the object that lay
there. A suitcase. Not empty, by the feel of it.
Carrying it to the makeshift worktable, he set down his
find. An inexpensive suitcase, its fabric sides coated in
dust and marred by stains. How long had it lain there,
inside the wall of Uncle Allen’s house? More importantly,
why was it there?
He snapped open the latch and swung back the lid.
Women’s clothes, by the look of it—slacks, a skirt, several
blouses. Beneath them something black. He picked it up,
shook it out, and recognized it. An Amish woman’s black
apron. His stomach twisted, rebelling the way it had in
Afghanistan when they were coming upon a perfect place for
an ambush.
Taking out the apron revealed what lay under it...a
white Amish prayer kapp. At the very bottom was a framed
photograph. He picked up the picture, bad feelings growing.
A woman and a young girl, looking at each other, faces lit
with laughter and love. Mother and daughter, he’d guess
from the similarities in the faces. The child looked to be
about four or five.
He set the picture down gently and took a step away from
the table. Something was wrong here. The pair in the photo
wore typical, though a little outdated, clothing. So how
did that square with the Amish clothing in the suitcase?
The pressure that had driven him for months urged him to
ignore this, to get on with his plans. Whatever had led to
this suitcase being placed inside the wall of the old house
his uncle had left him, it was no concern of his.
If he hadn’t opened the suitcase, maybe he could have
bought that. But the contents raised too many questions.
Too late now to take the easy way out. He pulled the cell
phone from his pocket and dialed the Spring Township police.
Ten minutes later a police car pulled into the driveway.
The occupants got out and headed for the back door, as
country people always did, and he walked out to the back
porch to meet them. Before he had a chance to speak, his
brother Trey’s pick-up drew to a stop behind the cruiser.
He’d called Trey right after he’d called the police,
figuring Trey would want to know. After all, he was the one
who’d been here for the past six years while Link was off
at college and then the Army. Maybe he’d be able to shed
some light on this, but even if he couldn’t, Trey was the
kind of person you turned to when there was trouble.
Besides, Trey knew everyone. Adam Byler, now the
township police chief, had been friends with Link’s big
brother since they were kids, running around together,
usually trying to brush off Link, the bratty little brother
tagging after them and getting into trouble.
"Hey, Link." Adam pulled off sunglasses and started
toward him, followed by another cop...Dick McCall,
fiftyish, balding, with a paunch that strained his uniform
shirt a bit more each year. Mac had been a township cop
when Link had been soaping windows at ten.
"Sorry to call you out." Link leaned against the porch
post, hoping it didn’t look as if he needed its
support. "It’s probably nothing, but I figured you’d want a
look at this."
"No problem. That’s what you pay taxes for, right?" Adam
punched his shoulder lightly, the tap a hint of the power
that lay behind it. Adam was as solid now as he’d been in
high school, with not an ounce of fat on his muscular
frame. "Let’s have a look."
Trey joined them, giving Link the worried look he’d been
using since Link got out of the military hospital and came
home to recuperate.
"What’s up?" Trey’s voice was so much like Dad’s that it
still shocked Link sometimes. "Adam said you found
something inside the wall of the addition."
He jerked a nod and headed inside. "See for yourself."
The family room, stretching across the rear of the
centuries-old farmhouse, seemed smaller with four men in
it. They stood in an awkward circle around the opened
suitcase.
Adam took the photo, setting it so they all could see.
He glanced at Link. "You know who the woman is?"
Link shook his head, frowning at a vague memory that
teased at the back of his mind. "The face seems a little
familiar, but that’s all."
"Yeah, me, too," Trey said, sounding annoyed with
himself that he didn’t have the answer.
Mac picked up the photo. "You three boys are too young
to remember, that’s all. It’s Barbara Angelo, that’s who it
is."
"Angelo." The frown on Adam’s stolid face
deepened. "Wasn’t there a scandal or something about her?"
"Ran off from her husband and kid, that’s the way I
heard it." Mac looked gratified at their attention. "Russ
Angelo, the husband, said she’d gone back to Indiana to her
family, leaving the little girl with him and his mother.
Barbara was Amish, see, left the church to marry him, but
the marriage didn’t work out." He shrugged. "It happens.
Nobody questioned her leaving all that much, as I recall."
"But if her suitcase is here..." Trey let that trail
off.
No point in going on. Trey was thinking what they were
all thinking. If Barbara Angelo had deserted her husband
and small daughter, what was her suitcase doing in the wall
of Allen Morgan’s house?
Adam closed the suitcase, scanning the sides with his
eyes, not touching. "No ID tags. The kind of cheap bag you
could pick up at any discount store."
To Link’s eyes, the bag looked worn and battered, but
maybe that was just the effect of being inside the paneling
all these years. It was thick with dust, splattered with
darker stains and a few nicks here and there.
Adam seemed to scan the stains more closely, then looked
around the room. "Where was it?"
"Right here, next to the fireplace." Link showed them,
concentrating on not limping as he crossed the room. Maybe
that sledgehammer had been a bit much. The Army said he was
as well as they could make him, after what had happened in
Afghanistan.
Adam squatted down, studying the area as deliberately as
he did everything. "Well, it’s not a crime to put a
suitcase inside a wall. You two know when this work was
done?"
"We were kids when Uncle Allen built the addition,
that’s as close as I can come," Trey said. "Mom would know
exactly, though."
Adam let his gaze move around the room. "I hate to say
it, but I think we’d best make sure there’s nothing else
inside that paneling." He shot a glance at Link. "You mind?"
"Hey, I’m tearing it off anyway. I’ll take any help I
can get. One thing’s sure—if there is anything, it has to
be in this room. The rest of the house has solid double-
plank walls. Not room even for a mouse."
Let alone a human body, if that’s what they were talking
about.
"Well, let’s have at it." Trey picked up the
sledgehammer before Link could reach it. He managed a grin
at Link. "You sure this isn’t just a ploy to get us to do
the work for you?"
"How else would I get you to do it? You’re still dead
set against my selling the old place, aren’t you?" Link
softened the question with an attempted smile, but he’d be
glad if everyone would stop hovering over him.
"I just wish you’d stick around for awhile, that’s all,"
Trey said. He punctuated the words with a swing of the
sledgehammer. "Seems like Morgans belong here in Lancaster
County."
Trey didn’t understand this drive of Link’s to leave—
that was clear. Link wasn’t sure he understood it himself,
but life had to be easier someplace where people weren’t
worrying about him all the time. A buddy of his was keeping
a job for him in California. He had a simple plan: renovate
the house, sell it, move to California, and forget what had
happened to his team in Afghanistan and the career he’d
once thought to have in the military.
With four of them working, the job didn’t take long.
Soon all the old paneling lay in dusty stacks on the floor.
"Nothing." Adam summed it up, brushing off his
hands. "Maybe that’s what the whole thing amounts to. I
guess there could be some innocent explanation for the
woman’s suitcase being inside the wall of your uncle’s
house."
"Can you think of one?" Trey challenged. Link could hear
the worry in his voice. He’d be thinking about how Mom
would take this.
"Not off the top of my head," Adam admitted. "But that
doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Still, crime or no crime, I
guess I’d better look into it." He shrugged. "Sorry."
That was aimed at both him and Trey, Link supposed.
After all, it had been their uncle’s house. There would be
talk, speculation about the possible relationship between
Allen Morgan and the Angelo woman. Adam might want to keep
it quiet, but they all knew how impossible that was in a
place like Spring Township.
Link picked up the photograph, looking into the big
brown eyes of the little girl, feeling again that sense of
something wrong he’d had the first time he looked at her
face, reminding him of those other children who saw death
and destruction every day. Stronger than that—it was a
sense of empathy, as if the child meant something to him.
"One thing I do know," he said. "This kid, or rather,
the woman she is now--she deserves to know what happened to
her mother."
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