The Search Read Free Page A

eleven-year-old VW Beetle sputtered to its death in front of The Sweet Tooth and she went inside to borrow the phone. Apparently, the bakery owner had just put up a sign for help wanted and assumed Lainey had come in to apply.
    “Can you bake?” the owner, Mrs. Stroot, asked.
    “Once I won first prize at the county fair for my cherry tart,” Lainey said truthfully. She was just about to explain that she only came in to make a phone call, when Mrs. Stroot cut her off and gave a decided nod.
    “You’re hired,” Mrs. Stroot said. “I’m desperate. My best girl quit this morning and my other best girl is out with bunion surgery. I’m busier than a one-armed wallpaper hanger. Here’s an apron and there’s the kitchen.”
    Lainey tried, several times, to inject that she wasn’t going to be in town very long, but Mrs. Stroot was more of a talker than a listener. She pointed to a building across the street as she dialed the phone. “See that brick building across the street? The landlord happens to be my very own sister—” she held a finger in the air when someone answered the phone—“Ellie? I found you a boarder for that room you got available. What’s that? Turn your telly down.” She rolled her eyes at Lainey and whispered, “She doesn’t appreciate being interrupted during General Hospital .” Ellie must have said something because Mrs. Stroot’s attention riveted back to the phone. “A lady boarder. Uh-huh, uh-huh.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Do you smoke?”
    Lainey shook her head.
    “No, Ellie. She doesn’t smoke.” Mrs. Stroot covered the mouthpiece again. “Any pets?”
    Lainey shook her head again.
    “Weekly or monthly?”
    “Weekly,” Lainey said. “Definitely weekly. I don’t plan to be here long, you see . . .” She gave up. Mrs. Stroot wasn’t listening. She was asking her sister for today’s update on General Hospital .
    Lainey had to admit that God had a funny way of answering her prayers. As she set out on her road trip to New York, she had prayed that God would direct her path while she drove through Stoney Ridge. She wanted to visit only one person—Bertha Riehl. Here she was, just a few hours later, and she was employed—even though she wasn’t looking for a job. And it happened to be doing the one thing in the world that Lainey loved to do: bake.
    Less than ten minutes after arriving in Stoney Ridge, Lainey had a place to live and a job to bring in some cash so she wouldn’t have to dig into her culinary school tuition money. Her car, the mechanic said, was a lost cause. She thought that was God’s idea of a joke. He directed her path all right. To a dead stop.

    The house was painfully quiet. Jonah glanced at the clock in the kitchen and counted forward an hour. Bess would be in Stoney Ridge by now, probably at Rose Hill Farm. There were hundreds of reminders of his daughter throughout the house, more than he had ever been conscious of. Dozens of images of Bess at different ages rolled through his mind: taking her first wobbly steps as a toddler, dashing to the mailbox each afternoon to meet the mailman, running barefoot from house to barn and back to house.
    Taking a sip of coffee from his mug, he lifted the pages on the calendar hanging by the window and counted off. Just twelve weeks to go and she’d be back.
    He wondered how Bess and his mother would be getting along. He hoped Bess would let him know just how sick his mother was. He felt worried about her, and that was a new feeling for him. In the letter, his mother said she was pining for her granddaughter and off her feed. It troubled him, that letter. It wasn’t like his mother to pine. Or to be off her feed. She had a mighty appetite. He never remembered her ailing, not once, not even with a head cold.
    He sighed. Something wasn’t adding up. Either his mother’s health was truly a concern or . . . she was up to something.
    Just then, Jonah saw his neighbor and particular friend, Sallie Stutzman,