Sound Of Fear. Marta Perry

her, warning of all the possible missteps she could be taking.

      That was another unarguable reason why she couldn’t agree with Bertram about the show he wanted. And it was one she didn’t dare tell him. She didn’t have any illusions about Bertram, any more than her mother had had.

      Bertram’s good at what he does or I wouldn’t let him near my work. But his moral sense is nonexistent.

      “Here.” Bertram pulled a folder from the leather portfolio he’d carried in with him, thrusting it toward her. “I have all the details worked out. You’ll see. It will be perfect, and you don’t have to do a thing.”

      She took the folder because it was easier than arguing. She’d need to have legal advice before she sold even one of her mother’s paintings, but she couldn’t tell him that.

      “I’ll look it over, I promise. I’ll let you know what I think. But it’s still going to have to wait awhile. Maybe next month.”

      Maybe by next month she’d know whether she had any rights at all in Juliet’s estate, including the right to sell any of her paintings. For a moment despair swept over her. How was she going to deal with this? She didn’t doubt that Juliet thought everything had been settled with her will. If only she’d confided in Robert, or even in Amanda...

      But that wouldn’t help her in dealing with Bertram right at the moment.

      Anger had narrowed his eyes. “Next month? But I’ve explained all that already. Really, Amanda, you’ll have to trust me in this regard. Your mother would have understood the importance of timing. Even her brother sees that...”

      “Her brother? George Curtiss?” Whether he was still Uncle George was up for debate. “When did you talk to him? And why?”

      Bertram seemed to realize he’d made a misstep. He stretched his hands out in a placating motion, but it was too late for that.

      “Well?” She stood, giving herself the advantage of height. “Why were you discussing my business with George?”

      Bertram turned sulky. “He’s an interested party, isn’t he? After all, he was Juliet’s brother. Her closest relative. After you. Really, Amanda, I’m just trying to do my best for you.”

      Whether there was any suspicion or malicious intent in his words, she didn’t know, but she certainly wasn’t going to let herself be intimidated by him. Bertram would be doing what was best for him.

      Anger stiffened her spine. “I expect discretion from you, Bertram. You shouldn’t be discussing my business with anyone else, including George Curtiss. If I don’t feel assured of your discretion and loyalty, I will put my mother’s work into other hands. Is that clear?”

      She didn’t know whether she had the right to do that, either, but she suspected it would be an effective threat.

      “All right, all right. I’m sorry.” He rose, regaining his usual urbane smile. “I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with my work. After all, your mother trusted me to handle everything. With her input, of course,” he added hastily, maybe reading a rebuttal in her face. “Look, why don’t you let me take you out someplace for a glass of wine and a bite to eat? Surely this burg has one decent restaurant that’s open on Friday night.”

      “I’ve already eaten, thanks. And you’d better be on your way to wherever you’re staying tonight.”

      Bertram gave a speculative glance around the cottage. “If you have an extra bedroom, maybe you could put me up.”

      So he could resume his argument in the morning. She didn’t think so.

      “I’m afraid not,” she said, blandly ignoring the guest room. “You’ll find quite a nice motel near Williamsport.” She opened the door. Barney rose to his feet, responsive to her cues, as if ready to hasten Bertram’s departure.

      “But really, Amanda...” He broke off when Barney gave a warning growl in response to his tone. “Very well. I’ll call you in the morning. At least lend me a flashlight to get back down the excuse for a driveway.”

      Amanda went to the kitchen drawer where she’d found a small flashlight. “Here you are. Don’t disturb the Burkhalters, but just leave it on their back porch. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

      He went out and then turned back. “Maybe we could meet for breakfast in the morning. Just so you can give me your reaction to the plans.”

      “I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow. You may as well get on the road without bothering to come back to town. I’ll email you once I’ve had a chance to look over your plans.”

      He hesitated, as if thinking of making a comeback, but Barney came and pressed against Amanda’s leg, effectively filling the doorway. “Very well. Good night.” He flicked on the flashlight and marched off.

      Amanda stood on the porch and watched the circle of light until it disappeared when he rounded a bend in the lane. Then the darkness closed in on her, and she shivered. Silly. But she wasn’t sure when she’d last felt so alone.

      * * *

      NORMALLY TREY SPENT Saturday catching up on the chores he’d neglected all week in the press of work. Since he’d bought the small Craftsman bungalow on Oak, he’d learned that homeownership brought with it far more responsibilities than he’d anticipated.

      Today, for instance, he should be raking and bagging leaves. But it was one of those rare, beautiful October days when the sun was warm and the world around him seemed touched by golden light. It demanded that a person get out and enjoy it, before November brought cold, rainy days and the prospect of early snow.

      His fallen leaves continued to form a brown and orange carpet over the small lawn, while he headed out to the Burkhalter farm. Not necessarily to see Amanda, he assured himself. But he’d been troubled by what she’d said about Sarah, and he wanted to see for himself. He couldn’t imagine Sarah being anything but friendly and welcoming.

      Amanda must have misunderstood. He’d see Sarah, straighten it out, and at the same time find out if she knew who the Amish boy was who’d found Melanie’s body. She was bound to know, or at least be able to find out. In fact, it had probably been one of her kinfolk. Mike had said it was one of the Miller kids, and Sarah had been a Miller before she married Amos.

      Trey turned up the lane that led to the cottage, raising a hand to Amos, who was heading toward the barn. When he pulled up at the cottage, Amanda came out on the porch. He felt a wave of pleasure at the sight of her. Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, her hair pulled back and fastened at her nape, she looked as if she belonged here.

      “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” She spoke as he got out of the car, coming toward him.

      “I took a chance you’d be here. Thought I’d like to have a word with Sarah to see if she can identify the boy who found Melanie’s body.”

      An expression of doubt crossed Amanda’s face. “I told you she hasn’t been exactly forthcoming on the subject, didn’t I?”

      “Yes, but sometimes the Amish can seem standoffish when they’re not aware of it. Sarah has known me since I was a kid.” He grinned. “In fact, she used to babysit me when she was a teenager. Let me try my luck.”

      Amanda shrugged, conceding, and they started down the path together. “I wondered how you came to be such close friends with the Burkhalter family. I’ll have to ask Sarah what kind of kid you were.”

      “Obedient and well-behaved, of course,” he said lightly. “My father owns some land that adjoins the Burkhalter farm. He doesn’t have any use for it, so he lets Amos keep it in hay. That kind of gave me free run of the farm. I loved it out here.” He looked around at the golden hillside, the fields a patchwork now of gold and brown. “I still do.”

      They approached the house and found Sarah hanging a row of sheets on the line. She pinned the last one in place and then turned to face them.

      “Trey.