been released from prison was responsible for Luther’s death. Harry was one of those three. Despite Constance’s conviction that bashful, timid Harry couldn’t possibly have done something so atrocious, her stomach was in knots all over again.
Adding to her upset was that one of the other suspects, Edward Murphy, was the father of her student, Archie Murphy. She had believed Archie was an orphan, but she’d been wrong. Upon his release, Edward Murphy had returned to his farm—the farm Archie’s siblings had been running for the last nine years. Archie had said nothing about his father coming home, but what was even more disturbing were the marked changes she’d noticed in his behavior. They’d begun about three weeks ago, just after the former Klansmen were released.
The third man Trent and Julien spoke of was named David Houser. Supposedly, upon his release, he’d traveled to Pulaski, a town several miles southwest of Mount Joy. Trent and Julien believed David Houser had gone to that particular town because the former leader of the Klan, a man they referred to as Stone, lived there. From enquiries Trent had made, neither David Houser nor Stone had been seen in or near Mount Joy in the last month. This meant that, of the three, David Houser was the least likely to have committed the heinous act. Edward Murphy and Harry Simpson were the primary suspects.
“Who are Harry’s friends? Who does he get together with? Whose homes does he visit? Tell me the names. Has he ever gone to Murphy’s farm?” Trent barked.
“I don’t know.” Constance’s hands were wringing. “He’s never spoken of any friends, and he’s never said anything about Edward Murphy.”
“You said you weren’t with Harry last Friday evening? Do you know where he went? Did he tell you anything about his plans for the night?”
“No. He didn’t say anything,” she stuttered. “I don’t know where he was.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Trent. Leave her alone,” Emily glowered. “And Julien, how can you let this go on? Of all people, I thought you would have more tact.” Shaking her head she stood up and said, “Constance, Jessica, I think it’s time we retire to the morning room where the company will be much more pleasant. Come along, troops.”
By troops, Emily meant the children. In addition to Trent and Emily’s three, Julien and Jessica had two. Their son, Jules, was a year younger than Daniel, and their daughter, Lauren, still a toddler. The boys, of course, were not in the house. They were outside playing cowboys, or soldiers, or one of a myriad of other games young boys played.
Constance was thankful Emily had intervened on her behalf, and glad for the change of scenery. In the morning room, between the little girls’ antics and other less stressful topics, mostly provided by Emily’s chatter, she was finally able to let the air out of her lungs. The distraction of taking care of little Mary helped, too.
She was still holding Mary, who had blissfully fallen asleep, when Emily chortled, “Jessie, you have to tell Constance the story of how you and Julien fell in love. If you don’t, Constance will think Julien is as bullheaded as Trent. Let me tell you, Constance, Julien’s not like that at all. When we first met him, both Jessie and I thought he was so dashing. Of course, he still is. But just wait until you hear what he did to Jessie!”
Constance already knew the story. Emily had told it to her more than once. At first, Jessica balked over Emily’s suggestion—one thing Constance had noticed right off, Jessica wasn’t nearly as gregarious as Emily—but eventually she gave in. Perhaps because Jessica, rather than Emily, was the one doing the telling, all too soon Constance found herself on the edge of her seat.
Later, when they joined Trent and Julien for dinner, Constance couldn’t stop staring. Julien was such a gentleman in manners, attentive to Jessica, teasing with Emily, a little silly with the
Adding to her upset was that one of the other suspects, Edward Murphy, was the father of her student, Archie Murphy. She had believed Archie was an orphan, but she’d been wrong. Upon his release, Edward Murphy had returned to his farm—the farm Archie’s siblings had been running for the last nine years. Archie had said nothing about his father coming home, but what was even more disturbing were the marked changes she’d noticed in his behavior. They’d begun about three weeks ago, just after the former Klansmen were released.
The third man Trent and Julien spoke of was named David Houser. Supposedly, upon his release, he’d traveled to Pulaski, a town several miles southwest of Mount Joy. Trent and Julien believed David Houser had gone to that particular town because the former leader of the Klan, a man they referred to as Stone, lived there. From enquiries Trent had made, neither David Houser nor Stone had been seen in or near Mount Joy in the last month. This meant that, of the three, David Houser was the least likely to have committed the heinous act. Edward Murphy and Harry Simpson were the primary suspects.
“Who are Harry’s friends? Who does he get together with? Whose homes does he visit? Tell me the names. Has he ever gone to Murphy’s farm?” Trent barked.
“I don’t know.” Constance’s hands were wringing. “He’s never spoken of any friends, and he’s never said anything about Edward Murphy.”
“You said you weren’t with Harry last Friday evening? Do you know where he went? Did he tell you anything about his plans for the night?”
“No. He didn’t say anything,” she stuttered. “I don’t know where he was.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Trent. Leave her alone,” Emily glowered. “And Julien, how can you let this go on? Of all people, I thought you would have more tact.” Shaking her head she stood up and said, “Constance, Jessica, I think it’s time we retire to the morning room where the company will be much more pleasant. Come along, troops.”
By troops, Emily meant the children. In addition to Trent and Emily’s three, Julien and Jessica had two. Their son, Jules, was a year younger than Daniel, and their daughter, Lauren, still a toddler. The boys, of course, were not in the house. They were outside playing cowboys, or soldiers, or one of a myriad of other games young boys played.
Constance was thankful Emily had intervened on her behalf, and glad for the change of scenery. In the morning room, between the little girls’ antics and other less stressful topics, mostly provided by Emily’s chatter, she was finally able to let the air out of her lungs. The distraction of taking care of little Mary helped, too.
She was still holding Mary, who had blissfully fallen asleep, when Emily chortled, “Jessie, you have to tell Constance the story of how you and Julien fell in love. If you don’t, Constance will think Julien is as bullheaded as Trent. Let me tell you, Constance, Julien’s not like that at all. When we first met him, both Jessie and I thought he was so dashing. Of course, he still is. But just wait until you hear what he did to Jessie!”
Constance already knew the story. Emily had told it to her more than once. At first, Jessica balked over Emily’s suggestion—one thing Constance had noticed right off, Jessica wasn’t nearly as gregarious as Emily—but eventually she gave in. Perhaps because Jessica, rather than Emily, was the one doing the telling, all too soon Constance found herself on the edge of her seat.
Later, when they joined Trent and Julien for dinner, Constance couldn’t stop staring. Julien was such a gentleman in manners, attentive to Jessica, teasing with Emily, a little silly with the
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