Free Vanish in Plain Sight by Marta Perry

conversation. One glanced at her, and she forced down the suspicion that they talked about her. That was paranoid.
    Geneva had been right about the tea shop; it was virtually empty at this time of day. Even though she was early, Geneva herself was already seated at a small glass-topped table in the back of the room, shielded from view of the street by a white latticework screen. She waved, a silver bangle sliding on her arm, and Marisa went quickly to join her.
    “This is a lovely place to chat.” Geneva smiled aswarmly as if meeting Marisa was exactly what she’d most wanted to do with herself this afternoon. “I’ve ordered tea and sticky buns, because that’s Emma’s specialty, but if you’d rather have coffee…”
    Marisa slipped into the chair across from her, hanging her bag from the back. “Not at all. That sounds lovely.” She’d have happily consumed whatever Geneva wanted to order for the chance to talk with her.
    Geneva had been a contemporary of Allen Morgan—his sister-in-law—living in the same small area. She must surely know more about him than Link did. There had to be some fact, no matter how small, that would lead Marisa to understanding.
    “You look tired, dear.” Geneva spoke as if Marisa were one of her children. “Link told me you had a bad night last night.”
    She hadn’t expected that, and it took a moment to regroup. “He probably told you I have a too-vivid imagination.”
    “Don’t mind him. Both my boys focus too much on what can be proved and not enough on intuition. Just because Link couldn’t imagine someone watching your room, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” Geneva’s eyes sparkled at the thought, and her silver and turquoise earrings seemed to sparkle, too.
    Marisa felt a momentary qualm. Geneva looked a little too enthusiastic, bright blue eyes snapping, cheeks rosy with excitement. All she wanted from the woman was information, not a partner.
    “I could have been wrong, I guess. That’s part of being an illustrator—responding to everything in visual terms. Sometimes my imagination gives me images that aren’t real.”
    Like the recurring image of her mother that haunted her dreams, walking away from her, disappearing into the dark woods where Marisa couldn’t reach her.
    “Well, naturally. You’re an artist. I’m sure it must be fascinating to illustrate children’s books. Some of them are so beautiful that I can’t resist buying them even though I don’t have any children in the house any longer.”
    Geneva wore such a wistful expression at the thought that Marisa found herself hoping Jessica and Trey planned to provide grandchildren for her. Geneva would throw herself into that role with enthusiasm.
    “The books are lovely, aren’t they? I buy them, too, and then rationalize that I have to keep up with what’s happening in my—”
    Marisa broke off as a woman came through what must be the door to the kitchen. Round and smiling, she carried an enormous tray laden with teapot and cups and a platter piled high with baked goods. She was also, to judge by her clothing, Amish.
    “Ach, here we are.” The woman set the tray on the edge of the table and began to unload it. “I brought some apple kuchen fresh from the oven, as well as the sticky buns. You’ll want a taste of that, for sure.”
    Geneva smiled. “If we have a taste of everything, you’ll have to roll us out of here. Emma, this is a friend, Marisa Angelo. Marisa, Emma Weaver, best baker in the township.”
    “Ach, I am not that.” Emma responded to Geneva warmly, but there was a reservation in her face as she glanced toward Marisa and as quickly looked away again.
    So, Emma already knew who she was, obviously. And probably, like Rhoda Miller, she would be unwilling to talk.
    “You will tell me if you need anything else.” She spoke to Geneva, turned and scuttled back to the kitchen.
    Geneva looked after her, seeming perplexed at the woman’s rapid retreat.
    “I’m afraid