Deer Valley Barn sat five miles east of Rossingville, nestled in a series of rolling hills and surrounded by farms and grazing cattle and wide-open spaces as far as the eye could see. I headed out there, navigating my way along the narrow two-lane road, dipping and rising past freshly disked fields, the rich, dark earth already planted and ready to yield the summer’s crop of corn and soybeans.
I thought of Dawn. So desperate to do something for her parents, something to ease their pain. How far we would go for those we love. To protect them. To care for them.
How far had Amanda gone to try to keep the person she loved?
The Barn had come into existence about five years earlier when a local farmer died and no one in his family wanted to hang on to the land, so they sold it to an event planner who realized money was to be made by renting out a renovated barn to young couples who wanted to get married in a rustic setting. The perfect Instagram filter at the right time of day, with cows and gently swaying grasses and trees in the background, made for beautiful wedding photos. Amanda and I might have said our vows in a similar place except that Bill had refused to pay for the wedding—and we’d had no money at the time to do it ourselves—unless we got married in his and Karen’s church.
I crested the last rise, and the Barn came into sight. As it did, my phone rang. Rountree’s name popped up on the car’s display. I pushed the button to hear her.
“Have you found Amanda yet, Mr. Francis?” she asked without offering any greeting.
“Not yet.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m out. Looking. Is that all you called for?”
“Where do you and your wife grocery shop?” she asked, her voice cool and detached. “I know there’s only one Kroger store close to downtown where you live. And it’s the nicest one. Is that where you shop?”
A small sign marked the entry to the long driveway, and as I turned in, the lush grass on either side greener than emeralds from the recent rain, I wondered about what I’d find there. I certainly didn’t want to see Blake. If I did, I wasn’t sure what my reaction would be—overwhelming sadness at the loss of our friendship or all-consuming rage at everything he’d put me and everyone else through. I counted on the amount of activity required of a bride and groom before a wedding—the picture taking, the fussing with clothes, the greeting of relatives—to ensure that we didn’t cross paths. All I needed to do was see one friend of ours, one person with insight into Amanda’s whereabouts, and then I’d be gone, zipping back down the driveway and out of the countryside like an alien observer.
“Yes, that’s right,” I said. “That Kroger store. Why?”
“One of my colleagues checked the CCTV footage. It was all right there, and Kroger was more than happy to cooperate with us.”
“So?”
“So Amanda wasn’t on there. She didn’t go to the store at that time on Thursday. No sign of her. Do you have another guess as to where she was?”
It took three tries, but I finally managed to hit the END CALL button with my index finger. And then I saw I was driving too fast and hit the brakes, slowing the car.
The small parking lot was half full. Blake had told me it would be a small wedding, and from previous experience, I knew the Barn sat only about one hundred people. It advertised itself as an intimate setting, one where your closest friends and family could celebrate with you on your special day. I circled the lot, watching mostly young people step out of cars, the men in suits with no ties, the women in floral dresses and sandals. I looked for a familiar face and saw none. I stopped on the far side of the lot, waiting while two more cars came in and gave up their occupants. A young couple and a middle-aged couple, no one I knew.
Was I even in the right place? I found it hard to believe I wouldn’t have recognized someone by now, but maybe Blake led a life I didn’t know about. That seemed to be the theme that had taken over my life—did I really know anything about anybody close to me?
If Amanda hadn’t gone to the store on Thursday, then where had she been?
At the time Jennifer was killed . . .
I took one more turn around the lot. When I reached the other side, I craned my neck, peering down the side of the Barn itself to the back, where a catering van stood with its rear doors open, and three guys with long hair and neatly cropped beards carried guitar cases and a snare drum. Behind them, and at a slight distance from the Barn, I saw a familiar figure.
Amanda.
She was talking in an animated fashion to a woman in a light blue dress who wore her hair piled on top of her head. Something about the woman’s body and the way she tilted her neck looked familiar, and I would have sworn it was Sam, except Sam would have been wearing a wedding gown and not the simple dress this woman wore.
I stopped the car, jamming it into park.
My heart thumped fast enough that the guys in the band would have struggled to keep up if they tried to play along. Why was she here when we had turned down the invitation?
Amanda and the woman who I then recognized as Sam’s younger sister, Wendy, spoke with more intensity, and the sister threw her arms up in the air as if she’d reached the brink of exasperation. I started walking toward them, moving slowly, even though Amanda was so focused on whatever she was saying that she never would have seen me coming.
Until the other woman threw up her hands again and made a quick pivot on her heels and disappeared through a door that led into the back of the Barn. When she was gone, Amanda turned away and faced off into the distance, where a handful of dark cows lazed near a small pond, looking like the living embodiment of ease and leisure.
When I came close enough for Amanda to hear me, I said her name.
She spun as quickly as Wendy had, her lips parted. She looked slightly surprised to see me but not unhappy. She let out a little breath, an acknowledgment that my sleuthing skills had impressed her.
I looked behind me at the Barn, expecting Wendy to come back out at any moment, but the door remained closed. The band and the caterers had disappeared inside as well, leaving us the only two people in the vicinity of the back of the building. I checked my watch. Ten minutes until noon. Almost time to start.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m looking for you. And here you are at a wedding we said we wouldn’t go to.”
“I’m not here for the wedding,” she said. “You should know that.”
“Then what are you here for? Because it sure as hell looks like they’re going ahead and having a wedding today.”
“I listened to your messages,” Amanda said. “I know the police are looking for me.”
“So you came here . . . why? Because you thought the cops wouldn’t show up at a wedding? I don’t understand. You should have called me back. You should have come home. Your parents are worried. I’m worried. I’m scared too.”
“Why are you scared?” she asked.
“Because of what the police found,” I said. “In Jennifer’s Facebook account.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. Her shoulders slumped. She looked away, off into the distance, and I saw her in profile. Young looking. Beautiful.
Scared.
“What happened, Amanda?” I asked. “Is what the cops are saying true? You didn’t go to the store on Thursday. Where were you?”
Her eyes looked deadly serious as she nodded her head.
“It’s true,” she said. “But I want you to understand why I did what I did.”