Page 48 of Unforgotten

Candace paused. “I’m so sorry I told that girl we were a couple. I was rattled and I didn’t want to tell everyone you were a cop. It would bring up too many questions.”

“It’s fine. I understood.”

“I promise, I won’t get weird on you. I won’t—”

“Candace, I’m not mad.” As he stopped at a left-hand turn signal, he scanned her face. “Honestly, I think it might be a good idea if we kept up the ruse. If you don’t mind. Until we find this guy, let’s just say I’m your new boyfriend. It’s a good reason to keep us close.”

“I understand.” But she didn’t understand. Didn’t understand this man’s obsession or the reason he’d left pictures of her in a paper sack.

What she did understand was she wasn’t the least bitsorry about everyone thinking that she and the newest cop in Marion were a couple.

What was it about him that she found so different than any other man she’d met before? Was it because he made her feel safe? Or because there seemed to be a pull between them that couldn’t be denied—one that she was beginning to think she didn’t want to deny at all?

16

“Why, Bethanne, what a nice surprise, dear,” Aunt Dora said as she ushered Bethanne inside her sprawling ranch house. “I didn’t know you were planning to stop by. Usually Martha lets me know.”

Her aunt was looking at her curiously. And perhaps with more than a little bit of worry? She hated that. She hated that everyone assumed she was mere seconds from having a panic attack.

“I didn’t tell my mamm I was coming by.”

“No?”

“I ... well, I went out for a walk and then realized I was close by and thought I’d visit with Candace for a spell.” She peeked down the hall. Hopefully she would appear any second.

“She’d like that, but I’m afraid she’s not home,” Aunt Dora said as she led the way into the kitchen. “She’s out at yet another Miss Crittenden County event.”

Feeling foolish, Bethanne paused near the kitchen table. “I guess I should have guessed that. I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll go on home.”

“No, no. Please stay.” She chuckled, holding up her hand to indicate the countertop. “Look what I’ve been doing.”

Bethanne smiled. Several dozen jelly jars and assorted caps waited there, along with containers of strawberries, a cutting board, and a knife. A glass bowl held a few hulled strawberries. “Are you going to make strawberry preserves?”

“I am and I’m already overwhelmed.” Picking up the recipe card lying there, she moaned. “When I looked over the directions, it sounded so simple. Why, I thought it would take no time at all. I was so wrong.”

Bethanne pressed her lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. Canning two or three dozen jars of anything never took “no time at all.”

Frowning at the counter, Aunt Dora said, “If I made you a snack, would you consider helping me for a while? You’ve made preserves before, right?”

“I have. I guess you haven’t?”

She chuckled. “Obviously not. Your mother was the domestic one. It was no wonder that she married an Amish man and I went in the opposite direction. I ... well, I was always anxious to get out of the house.”

Aunt Dora and her mother had grown up in a conservative Mennonite household in southern Ohio, and they’d been close but like night and day. While Bethanne’s mamm had fallen in love with an Amish man and moved to Crittenden County, Aunt Dora had gone on to college and fallen in love with Uncle Wayne, who happened to be from Marion. He worked in town while Bethanne’s father managed his family’s farm.

To everyone’s surprise, the two families got along well despite their differences. They didn’t see each other all that often, but when they did, her mamm and Aunt Dora chatted and laughed together.

So, they still had plenty in common ... except in the kitchen. She couldn’t remember Aunt Dora making too manythings that weren’t in her “fast and five ingredients” cookbook.

“I’ll be happy to help you. No snacks are even needed.”

Pure relief filled her eyes. “Thank you, honey. Now let me call your mother and let her know where you are.” She paused. “She still has a phone in the kitchen, right?”

“Jah.”

“Okay. You wash up and grab an apron.” She pointed to an assortment of bright printed aprons, each one more festooned with ruffles and piping than the next.

Hiding a smile, Bethanne picked out one with cartoon smiling bananas and oranges all over it. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother about her sister’s cooking project.

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