Sound Of Fear. Marta Perry

along the bank of the stream, looking up repeatedly to compare the view to the image. On the opposite side of the rushing stream, the thick growth of rhododendrons made an impenetrable barrier. The painting had to have been done from this side.

      Trey reached a point at which a slight curve in the streambed had left a little spit of sand and gravel. He stopped, making the comparison again.

      “Got it. I thought it might have been about here. Take a look.”

      Amanda stepped out onto the sandy spot and looked from the photo to the falls. “You’re right. What made you think it might be here?”

      He shrugged. “I’ve tried to get a good photo of the falls a few times. This is the only vantage point that lets you get in both the top and the bottom.”

      Amanda stood where she was for a moment. She could so easily imagine Juliet on this spot, the legs of the easel shoved into the sand, a brush behind her ear and another in her hand, brooding over the canvas as she so often did.

      As for the other person Juliet might have been imagining in the scene...to Amanda’s disappointment she could see nothing at all. Didn’t they say that blood called to blood? If so, either hers was deaf or she was on the wrong track entirely.

      Then it hit her. “This whole thing started because the autopsy on my mother—on Juliet Curtiss—showed she’d never had a child. So wouldn’t the postmortem have shown, at least, whether Melanie Winthrop had carried a child to term? If so...”

      Trey seized on the fragment of provable fact. “I’m no expert, but I’d think it would. If they bothered to do a full autopsy in a case of accident. But if they did, the results should be in the coroner’s records, and I ought to be able to access those.”

      “So, you’re going to check the coroner’s records.” She surveyed him. “You’re going to talk to the police chief. What am I going to do?”

      She could swear there was a twinkle in Trey’s eyes. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you’ll go back to your motel and wait for answers. Or better yet, back to Boston.”

      “You sound like Robert McKinley,” she said sourly. “I can’t do nothing.”

      “I suppose not.” He sounded regretful. “What about the newspaper accounts from the time? I don’t know how much they’d have reported, but it might give you a fuller picture of the events.”

      “That was going to be my first stop before you sidetracked me. I suppose the newspaper has the files? I’ve already checked online, but the archives of the paper don’t go back that far.”

      Trey bent to ruffle Barney’s ears absentmindedly. “They haven’t been in a rush to digitize them. There’s not that much call for old copies. The historical society has some, but they wouldn’t have digitized anything that recent.”

      “There must be some way of finding them.”

      He nodded. “The library has all the back issues on microfiche. It’ll turn you cross-eyed searching, as I know from experience, but you should be able to find what you want there.”

      “Good.” Something she could do, at least. “I’ll work on that this afternoon and check back with you. I just wish I could find a place to stay in town. That drive back and forth to the motel is getting old already.”

      Trey frowned, looking down at Barney. “I just might be able to find a place that wouldn’t mind a well-trained dog around.” He grinned. “Even if he did flunk out of service dog school.”

      The tension involved in being on this spot slid away as she smiled in return. “Where? Lead me to it.”

      “There’s an Amish farm near here that takes farm-stay guests in the summer. They recently added a cottage, complete with gas heating and lighting. They don’t normally take guests this time of year, but they might be persuaded to accommodate a friend of mine.”

      “Is that how everything around here operates?” She couldn’t help but ask the question. “Based on the good old boys’ network?”

      He shrugged. “You might be able to ignore your neighbors in the city, but not in a place like Echo Falls. If you’re done here, we can check it out now.”

      Her spirits lifted. “Great. Thanks, Trey.” Impulsively she put out her hand.

      He took it in both of his, and in that instant the mood changed abruptly. A not-so-lighthearted connection grabbed her, skittering along her nerves from their clasped hands. Their gazes caught, arrested as the attraction ricocheted between them.

      The moment seemed to last forever. Then Trey dropped her hand as if he’d seized something hot. His breathing came as fast as if he’d been running, and hers was about as bad.

      Well. That was unexpected. Unwelcome, she added defiantly. She didn’t have room for complications right now, so this had to stop before it started. Didn’t it?

      * * *

      BY THE TIME they’d gotten back to the car, Trey had given himself the lecture of the day—namely, don’t get involved. Relationships were difficult no matter where you lived, but in a small town, they could lead too easily to disaster, as he knew from experience.

      Like the situation with Marcie Hampton last year, the then-new teacher at the high school. They’d gone out three times...count ’em, three...and the town had had them all but married.

      Worse, Marcie had been infected by the assumptions, thinking their relationship more serious than it was. It had led to a messy breakup that he was determined not to repeat. Since then, he’d been considerably more circumspect.

      Trey darted a sidelong glance at Amanda as they reached the main road. She seemed as reluctant to recognize that blast of attraction between them as he was. That should make it easier to keep their relationship strictly business.

      He glanced in the rearview mirror to find that Barney was watching him with what seemed like skepticism in his eyes.

      “Is the farm with the cottage far from town?” Amanda broke the silence between them.

      “Not far. About three miles. Amos and Sarah Burkhalter took over his parents’ dairy farm a few years ago, and they added the farm-stay business to make a little extra in the summer. Sarah and the kids handle most of it. With eight kids between five and nineteen, the extra income is welcome.”

      “Eight.” She shook her head. “I know the Amish have big families, but I’m still amazed at how well they manage. I have friends with one or two who can’t seem to keep up.”

      “Everybody works on the farm. It keeps them busy and out of trouble, for the most part.”

      “I’m sure that boggles the minds of their English farm-stay visitors. I remember the first time I saw a barefoot Amish boy chasing a gigantic Holstein into the barn for me to examine. I wanted to run to the rescue, but luckily I had better sense.”

      He frowned, remembering her business card. “I thought your practice was with small animals.”

      “Yes.” Amanda clipped off the word, and he saw her hands clench. After a moment, she went on. “I was originally a partner in a large animal practice in Lancaster County. But it...didn’t work out.” Trey had a sense of something suppressed. “So I went back to Boston.”

      Her lips closed firmly. Obviously time for another subject of conversation. Luckily, they were coming up on the Burkhalter place.

      “Here it is, on the right.” He nodded to where twin silos and a windmill loomed over a cluster of white frame buildings. “Like I said, the Burkhalters don’t usually take guests this time of the year, but I’ll sound them out.”

      “Fine.” She looked back at Barney. “We’ll be on our best behavior, right, Barney?”

      The dog whined in response to his name, and his muzzle poked between the seats as he attempted to lick Amanda’s face. They both chuckled,