Hidden Amish Secrets Read online

  His heart pounded with worry about what could be wrong.

  A knock sounded at the door. Then another and another.

  “William?” Julianne’s plaintive voice.

  He threw open the door. “Are you all right?”

  She stood on his doorstep, her hair wet, her eyes wide and confusion in her gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “The man in the bandanna came back,” Julianne said. “He hovered around outside and then disappeared. I was wrong about remaining at my house. I can’t stay there alone, William.”

  He opened his arms and pulled her inside, feeling the beating of her heart and the softness of her embrace.

  “Who’s doing this, William?” Julianne dropped her head in her hands. “Someone wants me to leave my property. I don’t know why, but I need to find out who it is and why he wants to do me harm. I...”

  She looked up at him. Her eyes glistened with tears. “I need your help. I can’t do it alone.”

  Debby Giusti is an award-winning Christian author who met and married her military husband at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful children and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of mystery and suspense that touch the heart and soul. Visit Debby online at debbygiusti.com, blog with her at seekerville.blogspot.com and craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com, and email her at [email protected].

  Books by Debby Giusti

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Her Forgotten Amish Past

  Dangerous Amish Inheritance

  Amish Christmas Search

  Hidden Amish Secrets

  Amish Witness Protection

  Amish Safe House

  Amish Protectors

  Amish Refuge

  Undercover Amish

  Amish Rescue

  Amish Christmas Secrets

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Hidden Amish Secrets

  Debby Giusti

  And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

  —Ephesians 4:32

  In memory of Julianne Metz

  August 29, 1935–February 10, 2020

  A beautiful woman with sparkling eyes and a warm smile who loved the Lord and spread joy wherever she went.

  Thank you, Julie, for being not only a faithful reader but also a dear friend.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Deadly River Pursuit by Heather Woodhaven

  ONE

  Thunder rumbling overhead was as troubling as the guilt that still weighed heavily on Julianne Graber’s heart even after five years. Losing her father and brother in one horrific night had been hard to accept. Having it ruled a murder-suicide made their passing even more tragic. The bishop’s callous comment about Gott’s will had been the final blow. She had vowed never to return to her Amish home, yet here she was driving back to Mountain Loft, Georgia, on a stormy night that matched her mood.

  The rain intensified, and wisps of fog impeded visibility. She lowered the headlights on her small Honda, activated the windshield wipers and checked the GPS on her smartphone. Her estimated time of arrival was close to midnight. She groaned and chastised herself, yet again, for leaving Dahlonega so late in the day.

  Her upset increased as she glanced at the notice from the county authorities that was lying on the passenger seat. After reading the letter too many times, she could recite the words by heart.

  Due to a rise in vagrancy and vandalism, buildings left unoccupied for more than five years will be considered abandoned unless efforts are made to either occupy or sell the property.

  She wouldn’t let conniving county bureaucrats lay claim to the farm, two-story house and outbuildings she had inherited from her father. Even if she didn’t want to live there herself.

  Over the last five years, she had learned to manage her grief and was better able to handle the memories of the hateful crime that had claimed her father’s and brother’s lives. Aunt Mary, her father’s sister, had been her lifeline back to reality for the first two years. Eventually, needing to test her wings like a small bird leaving the nest, Julie had abandoned her Amish faith, moved to a quaint college town in the North Georgia mountains and worked in a gift shop on the square in Dahlonega for the past three years. If not for the letter, she would be in her apartment getting ready for bed instead of navigating the twisting mountain road.

  A curve appeared ahead. Easing down on the brake pedal, she hugged the shoulder as an approaching delivery truck in the opposite lane swerved around the bend. Frustrated by the aggressive driver, she laid on the horn, hoping to remind the trucker that speeding on the treacherous mountain road was anything but wise.

  A rockslide had stopped traffic earlier and delayed her for more than two hours. She didn’t want her arrival to be pushed back even later. Not that anyone expected her. The only welcome would come from an empty farmhouse and a row of graves on the hillside. Her father and brother were buried there, along with her mother, who had died a year earlier.

  The road wound higher up the mountain and eventually leveled into a plateau. A sign appeared on the left-hand side of the road:

  Welcome to Mountain Loft, Established in 1840 by miners seeking their fortune in the Georgia Gold Rush.

  She checked her speed and drove through the sleepy town, grateful the stoplights remained green and her progress was unencumbered.

  In the daytime, she would see the Amish farm community that laid claim to the area west of town. This late at night, the farmers and their families were asleep in their beds, and their homes were bathed in darkness.

  She passed her once-upon-a-time best friend’s house. Rachel Hochstetler had driven Julianne home from the teen gathering at the lake the night her father and brother had died. With the memory of William Lavy’s kiss still on her lips, Julie had entered her house to find her father lying in a pool of blood.

  She grimaced at the memory and rubbed her forehead, thinking again of the sharp inhale of breath she had heard behind her, along with her whispered name, before a hard object had slammed against her skull. After awakening hours later, she had stumbled to her feet and glanced at the far side of the room. Her brother, Bennie, sat propped against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. Mouth open. Eyes wide. She could still see the hole in his stomach and the gun clutched in his hand.

  Tears burned her eyes and blurred her vision. She yanked a tissue from her purse, wiped it across her cheeks and pulled in a ragged breath as her father’s house appeared in the distance. Correction—her house. Grateful that her Honda made better time than a horse-drawn buggy, she steeled her resolve, turned into the drive and braked to a stop near the back porch.

  The rain had eased and the moon hung low in the sky, as it had that night so long ag
o. The sheriff had determined Bennie and her father had argued, and in a fit of anger, her brother had shot Datt and then turned the gun on himself. She still struggled to make sense of something so senseless.

  Her mouth went dry, and a lump of grief filled her throat, but she was determined to face the past. Pulling in a fortifying breath, she grabbed her flashlight from the console, stepped from the car and climbed the back steps to the kitchen entrance.

  Fisting her hand, she hesitated before keying open the door. The house was dark and silent as a tomb. She inhaled the stale air that wafted past her, half expecting the stench of pooled blood to fill her nostrils.

  For a long, agonizing moment, she stood at the threshold, willing herself to step inside. A shrill, high-pitched scream replayed in her memory—her scream, when she’d finally regained consciousness and seen not only her father, but also her brother, dead. Heart pounding from the memory, she slammed the kitchen door and locked it with trembling hands. Morning would be soon enough to deal with the memories.

  Needing to distance herself from the crime scene that cut into her heart, she raced back to the safety of her car.

  A twig snapped.

  She stopped, cocked her ear and listened, her pulse pounding. Silence, except for the pitter-patter of raindrops falling from the trees. Relieved, she reached for the door handle.

  Leaves rustled. Heart in her throat, she turned. A man dressed in black sprang from the darkness. A red bandana covered his face. He grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground.

  “No!” She landed with a thud. Air sailed from her lungs. Gasping, she crawled to her knees and attempted to stand.

  He thrust his leg forward and slammed his boot into her ribs.

  She fell and clawed at the muddy drive.

  Grasping her ankle with both hands, he dragged her toward the bushes. She thrashed and kicked her other leg.

  His grip eased ever so slightly.

  She kicked again. He groaned.

  Again, she kicked. And again.

  He tumbled backward.

  Scrambling to her feet, she lunged for her car, opened the door and fell into the driver’s seat. He reached for her and she slammed the door, catching the tips of his fingers. He screamed in pain and pounded his fist against the window.

  She started the engine and floored the accelerator. The car fishtailed out of the drive. Yanking on the wheel, she turned onto the main road, heading toward Mountain Loft.

  Her heart pounded nearly out of her chest. She had to get away. She glanced in the rearview mirror, her stomach rolling. Headlights followed after her onto the country road.

  Her secondhand Honda wasn’t built for speed. The man in black would overtake her before she got to town.

  On the opposite side of the road, the Lavys’ neighboring farm sat dark in the night. A narrow path behind the house led from the road to a stand of trees and a pond where her brother and William Lavy had played when they were young. If she could turn off the main road and hide near the pond, she might elude the attacker. She switched off her headlights, eased into the turn and bounced along the muddy path. The pond appeared ahead.

  She stopped behind a cluster of pines, grabbed her phone and jumped from the car into a quagmire of mud. Pulling free, she stumbled toward the house and glanced at the main road just as a car raced by. All she saw was a flash of white.

  Knowing he would turn around and come back to find her, she rounded the farmhouse, climbed the steps to the porch and pounded on the door.

  “Mr. Lavy! Will! It’s Julianne Graber. I need help.”

  She thought back five years to the morning she had fled in shock from her own house. William had been working in his barnyard. She had run toward him, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Julie?” he’d asked. “Tell me! What happened?”

  “Datt... Bennie...” She’d gasped. “They’re both dead.”

  Shoving aside the memory, she pounded on the door again.

  Another sound came. She dropped her hand and listened. A car engine. Her pulse raced and her throat went dry. The man in the bandana was coming back.

  She dashed around the side of the house as the white car pulled into the Lavys’ drive. A lump filled her throat, but she fisted her hands, unwilling to cry. Ducking behind a large hedge, she held her breath. Her heart thumped so hard she was sure he could hear her.

  His car door opened. He stepped to the drive. Through the branches of the shrubbery, she could see his pant legs and mud-caked boots.

  A beam of light flickered from a flashlight. He turned it first to the porch and then toward the barn and outbuildings. Angling her gaze, she saw his black jacket and trousers. The bandana still covered his face. He hesitated for a long moment and then climbed into his car, backed onto the road and turned toward town. Driving slowly, he aimed the flashlight along the side of the road.

  As he neared the path to the pond, she held her breath, fearing he would see tread marks in the mud. “Please,” she whispered. “Keep driving.”

  The car eased to a stop. Light flickered over the path. Her heart nearly crashed through her chest. After what seemed like an eternity, he drove on.

  Letting out the breath she was holding, she tapped 911 into her phone. Nothing. She checked her screen. No bars. Her stomach churned. She raced to her car and wanted to scream when she tried her cell again with the same result.

  She needed to alert the sheriff’s office. If her phone wouldn’t work, she’d go there in person. Hunkered down in her car, she waited thirty minutes, giving the man in black time to arrive at his destination and be off the road. She turned the key in the ignition, relieved when the engine hummed to life, and stepped on the gas. A whirring sound filled the air as the tires spun in the soft mud.

  With an audible moan, she got out, rounded to the rear of the car, placed her hands on the trunk and pushed with all her might. The car wouldn’t budge, and all she succeeded in doing was sinking deeper into the mud. Her only option was to wait until morning.

  She shivered, not only from the cold, but also from being attacked and having her car stuck. Her side ached, and her head felt like it would explode from stress. So much for a happy homecoming.

  Something rustled in a nearby stand of trees.

  After climbing quickly into her car, she hit the door lock button, scooted lower in the seat and narrowed her gaze, trying to discern what was roaming in the darkness. A fox or coyote perhaps? Brown bears were not uncommon in the mountains.

  She blinked to bring the form into focus, but it disappeared from sight. Or had she imagined the movement altogether? One thing was certain—she would stay locked in the car until the first light of dawn.

  Yanking a heavy lap blanket from the rear seat, she wrapped it around her shoulders and rested her head back. As the minutes passed, her eyes grew heavy. She snuggled into the blanket and closed her eyes.

  The man with the red bandana who wanted to do her harm was the last thing she thought of before falling asleep, but it was William’s face that filled her dream. She was at the lake so long ago. The moonlight broke through the trees and illuminated his searching eyes as he lowered his lips to hers.

  Tap, tap, tap. The sound startled her and pulled her from her slumber. She opened her eyes to a glare of sunlight and blinked a blurred form into view.

  A man stared down at her through the windshield. “Julianne?”

  She rubbed her eyes and pulled herself upright, recognizing the angled face, full mouth and crystal-blue eyes.

  William Lavy.

  He was wearing an Amish jacket and a wide-brimmed felt hat.

  “Is that you, Julie?”

  She hadn’t seen Will in five years, and until last night, she hadn’t expected to see him again. She threw aside the blanket, adjusted her sweater and raked her hand through her hair, embarrassed he had foun
d her asleep.

  His brow was raised, and his mouth set in a frown as he continued to stare at her.

  Pulling in a fragile breath, she offered him a weak smile.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” His raised voice was filled with concern.

  For half a heartbeat, she thought she was dreaming.

  “Answer me, Jules. Are you okay?”

  She tapped the button to lower the automatic window before realizing the car’s engine was off. She grabbed the handle and pushed open the door.

  The cold morning air swirled around her. “I must have—” Her sleep-laced tone was little more than a whisper, even to her own ears. She cleared her throat. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Looks like both you and your car got stuck in the mud.” He leaned closer. “Are you okay?”

  “I... I’m fine. A bit bruised, but—” Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them back.

  “You’re hurt.” His gaze softened. “What happened?”

  “I came home to sell my father’s property.” She glanced at the letter lying open on the console. “They want to take my farm. I left late in the day and then was delayed by a rockslide.”

  The words were tumbling out too fast, but she couldn’t help herself. If she stopped talking, she might cry, and she was struggling to keep the tears at bay.

  “When I got to my house,” she continued without taking a breath, “a man in black wearing a red bandana was hiding in the bushes. He attacked me, then followed me in his car. I turned toward the pond, thinking you or your dad could help me.”

  Regret flashed in his eyes. “I was at a friend’s wedding and spent the night. I saw your Honda when I returned this morning.”

  “Why would someone attack me?”

  “Vandalism has become a problem.” He gazed around, as if checking that the man in black wasn’t hiding nearby. “That’s why the authorities are concerned about unoccupied property, but vandals don’t usually attack people.”

  She blinked back another rush of tears.

  “Let’s get your car out of the mud,” he said. “Then we can drive to town and alert the sheriff. We can also stop at the medical clinic and have the doc make certain you’re okay.”