"Highly suspenseful story set in Amish community carefully illuminates community differences"
Reviewed by Patricia Woodside
Posted November 9, 2010
Romance Suspense
Philadelphia attorney Jessica Langdon is on thin ice at her
prestigious law firm. When she's assigned the case of an
Amish teenager accused of a brutal murder, she's instructed
to plead it out quickly and move on. Jessica, however,
still believes in giving her client the best defense
possible, even in the face of rejection by the Amish
community, a bossy businessman, and possible violence. The
more Jessica digs, the more she herself is at risk, as
someone is determined to keep the secret of the young
woman's true killer— as well as other community secret— hidden. Marta Perry illuminates the differences between the Amish
community and the larger society with an obvious care and
respect for ways and beliefs that to some must seem quite
unusual. She weaves theses differences into the story with
a deft hand, drawing the reader into a suspenseful,
continually moving plot. Yet, even at nearly 400 pages,
MURDER IN PLAIN SIGHT is a quick, easy read. Trey Morgan, the alpha businessman who gets both in
Jessica's way and under her skin, has the respect of the
Amish community, and eventually that of the reader, for his
strong sense of honor and need to protect his family at all
costs. Jessica, through the trial, learns to defend not
only her client but herself, freeing her to choose her own
path in life. MURDER IN PLAIN SIGHT is the first in Perry's new Amish
suspense series. I look forward to future installments.
SUMMARY
Did a sweet-faced Amish teenager brutally murder a young
woman? To save her career, big-city lawyer Jessica Langdon
is determined to defend him - against the community's bitter
and even violent outrage. Yet without an understanding of
Amish culture, Jessica must rely on arrogant businessman
Trey Morgan, who has ties to the Amish community...and
believes in the boy's guilt. Jessica has threats coming from all sides: a local fanatic,
stirred up by the biased publicity of the case; the dead
girl's boyfriend; even from the person she's learned to
trust the most, Trey Morgan. But just when Jessica fears
she's placed her trust in the wrong man, Trey saves her
life. And now they must both reach into a dangerous past to
protect everyone's future - including their own.
ExcerptPrologue
Amish Youth Arrested in Murder
SPRINGVILLE, PA—The body of a local woman was discovered
early Sunday morning in a remote barn in rural Lancaster
County. The woman, whom police say had apparently been
beaten to death, has been identified as Cherry Wilson, 24,
of Springville. Police have detained a young man who was
found at the scene. Thomas Esch, 19, of Spring Township, son
of a local Amish family, is being questioned in connection
with the death. Police decline to say what the motive might
have been in the grisly crime.
In what appears to be a related incident, an unidentified
older woman was warned away from the suspect by police. She
apparently attempted to interfere when the suspect was being
taken into police headquarters. No further information about
this incident has been released by the police spokesperson.
Chapter One
A summons to the office of Dwight Henderson, senior
partner in the Philadelphia law firm of Henderson, Dawes,
and Henderson, seldom resulted in good news for a junior
associate, but Jessica Langdon didn’t intend to let her
apprehension show. Assuming her most professional
expression, she straightened her suit jacket with icy
fingers, then tapped lightly and opened the door.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Henderson?"
Henderson frowned across the expanse of a massive
mahogany desk, balancing a gold fountain pen between his
forefingers. He let the engraved pen drop to the desk top
and nodded to the chair across from him.
The penalty box. That was how she’d thought of that seat
recently. She sat, smoothly her skirt down over her knees.
Center city’s skyline, seen through a wide window, made
an impressive backdrop, not that Henderson needed any help
to impress. Over sixty, he had heavily-lined face that no
expensive facial treatments could make resemble anything but
a bulldog’s, a shining bald dome that reflected the light
from the window, and a pair of remote, piercing dark eyes.
Whatever his appearance said, he was a highly successful
attorney whose clients could afford, and got, the best.
Jessica waited out the frowning silence that had such a
demoralizing effect on reluctant witnesses on the few
occasions when Henderson Senior deigned to appear in court
himself. Henderson had summoned her. It was for him to speak
first.
"Your time here has not been particularly successful, has
it, Ms. Langdon?"
That didn’t seem to require an answer. Her heart sank.
This was it, then. Termination. She tried not to think of
her father’s reaction. A superior court judge tended to
expect better of his only child.
"After the business with the Clements boy..."
The Clements boy, as Henderson called him, was the
sixteen-year-old scion of one of the firm’s wealthiest
clients, currently embarked on an escalating pattern of
vandalism and violence. Her comment that perhaps he should
for once have to face the consequences of his actions had
not been well received.
"...to say nothing of your failure in the Altmiller
matter..."
She had to bite her tongue at that. Dwight Henderson,
Jr., had dropped the ball in that situation, but it had been
made abundantly clear that her duty was to accept the blame
and say nothing. Dwight Henderson’s son could not possibly
have mishandled a case. Junior associates fell on their swords.
"...only my respect for your father has allowed..."
Her father, Theodore Belmont Langdon, Superior Court
Judge and law school crony of Dwight Senior. His influence
had secured this position for her, but it was apparently not
enough to ensure that she stayed.
Henderson cleared his throat. "However, a case has come
up which you’ve been requested to handle." He shoved a file
folder across the desk.
She was so astonished that his words took a moment to
sink in. She picked up the folder by its edges. Some
response seemed called for. "Yes, sir?"
"You’ll have to drive to Lancaster County immediately to
deal with the matter. The Morgan family has decided to fund
the defense for this unfortunate young man. Take your lead
from them as to how to handle the case. It shouldn’t involve
anything more complicated than negotiating a plea bargain."
"May I ask—"
"That’s all, Ms. Langdon. Satisfy the Morgan family, and
perhaps..."
He let that trail off, but she got the message. Perhaps
we won’t be letting you go.
She’d like a little more information, but his peremptory
gesture sent her to the door. She escaped, clutching the
file to her chest. She’d have to trust that its contents
could salvage the remnants of her career.
#
Face it—she was lost. Jessica glared at the GPS system
that was supposed to get her wherever she needed to go. It
worked fine in Philadelphia, or out on the interstate. Once
she’d gotten entangled in a network of narrow roads that
wound past neat farms and through patches of woods, the
system seemed to get as lost as she was. At the moment, it
blinked, its automated voice informing her that it was
re-calculating the route. Unfortunately, it had been doing
so for the past ten minutes.
She slowed the car, pulling off onto the graveled verge,
and reached for a map. Since she didn’t know where she was,
it seemed unlikely that the map would help her much. The
last road sign she’d seen had marked an even narrower road
than this one, called Creek Road. No Creek Road appeared on
the map. It was undoubtedly one of the many thin, unnamed
lines that wound through Lancaster County, presumably
connecting the apparently endless patchwork of dairy farms.
Propping the map against the steering wheel, she tried to
find the spot at which she’d gotten off the main road.
Following her prospective employer’s directions so far had
resulted in nothing but trouble. She could only hope that
wasn’t a portent of things to come.
A noise behind her brought her head up. If she could flag
down a car and ask for directions—
But it wasn’t a car. A gray-and-black buggy came into
view over the gentle rise of the road behind her, seeming to
fit into the pastoral surroundings far better than her
year-old hatchback. The horse’s hooves clopped rhythmically
on the blacktop, slowing as the animal approached.
The faintest apprehension brushed her nape, and she shook
it away. She was surely far safer here than on some of the
city’s streets, strange though the equipage looked to her.
The buggy came to a halt next to her. She had to open her
window and crane her neck to look up at the person who
leaned down toward her.
The young woman’s face was framed by a black bonnet,
oddly anachronistic. Her long-sleeved, dark green dress had
a matching apron. Jessica had to remind herself that she’d
been driving through center city Philadelphia only a couple
of hours ago. Beyond the woman, the man who held the buggy
lines had the sort of haircut achieved by cutting around a
bowl on the head, topped by a straw hat. Well, maybe their
dress wasn’t that much stranger than that of the Goth couple
she’d spotted yesterday, the woman wearing a studded leather
dog collar around her neck.
"You are lost, ja?" The woman gave her a tentative smile.
"Can we help?"
Her English was accented, almost sing-song in quality,
but understandable enough.
"Yes, thank you." Did she sound relieved or desperate?
"I’m not sure where I am. I’m trying to find an address off
Dale Road near Springville."
"Ach, you are not so very far wrong at all." Her face
broke into a smile. "I am Anna Mast, and this is my brother,
Aaron. We are chust coming home from delivering eggs in
Springville."
"It’s not far, then?" Surely it couldn’t be, if these two
had come from there in a buggy. "Can you give me directions?"
The brother leaned over, squishing his sister against the
side of the seat. "Directions depend on how far along the
road you are going already. Who are you going to see?"
Her ear must be adjusting to the dialect, because she
could understand him even though his English was more
heavily accented than his sister’s. She hesitated. Normally
she wouldn’t give out information like that to a stranger,
but these were not normal circumstances. If she didn’t want
to spend what was left of the afternoon wandering these
lanes, she’d better not alienate the only help that was offered.
"I have an appointment with Mrs. Geneva Morgan. Her address—"
"Ach, everyone knows the Morgans." His face split in a
grin, blue eyes crinkling. "Anyone would help a friend of
Mrs. Morgan."
His sister was nodding agreement. Evidently Mrs. Morgan
was well-known in the area.
"You chust go down the road past the Stoltzfus farm—"
"She won’t know which is the Stolzfus farm," his sister
said, elbowing him. "Go about a mile and you’ll see a big
red barn on the left-hand side of the road. Turn right
there—it’s the first paved road you come to. Follow that for
about five miles, and it will take you to Dale Road. Then go
left, and you’ll see the Morgan’s mailbox only a little
piece down the road."
"Right at the first paved road, go five miles, left on
Dale Road," she repeated.
"Ja, that’s it." Anna beamed down at her.
"Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help."
"It makes no trouble." Aaron gestured her to go ahead of
them, sitting back on the seat again.
"Well...goodbye." It seemed an oddly abrupt way of ending
a conversation, but what did she know about Amish ways?
She pulled back onto the road, lifting her hand in a
wave, and watched the buggy recede in her rearview mirror.
She’d just met her first Amish people. She could only hope
that the boy she was supposed to defend was as cooperative
as that pair.
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