Free Summer of Secrets by Charlotte Hubbard Page B

included me in it.” She twisted the key in the ignition, still shaking her head. “Never heard anything like it. And to think your other girl has lived just up the road a few miles all these years.”

Chapter 8
     
    Micah watched from behind a massive old oak tree as Sheila Dougherty’s familiar van pulled away from the house in Morning Star. Tiffany’s Mustang wasn’t parked in the garage, so while the two ladies had been inside, he’d driven around Morning Star looking for it. He’d parked his buggy among the others at the Mennonite church, so now he walked toward the pool hall where he’d seen a convertible like hers. During his rumspringa —his “running around” time—he’d ridden in his English friends’ cars out on the highway ... he recalled the way his pulse had raced as they roared down the road. Such reckless excitement, all through his body—the sense of freedom he’d felt—had warned him that if he learned to drive a car, he might never go back to the Old Ways or to Willow Ridge.
    Rachel would never understand that. And she would never understand or approve of him snooping around in Morning Star, looking for the sister who so closely resembled her yet was different in some very basic ways.
    What was he doing here, really?
    Walkin’ across the Devil’s backyard , the elders would say.
    Micah strode past some other storefronts, telling himself he needed to find Rebecca—to quiz Tiffany—as much for Rachel’s sake as to satisfy his own ... curiosity. This was the sort of prying their preachers, Tom Hostetler and Gabe Glick, and Bishop Knepp warned them about in Sunday sermons; poking around that would get him in trouble for sure if anyone back home found out about it. But if his investigation would resolve the doubts Rachel had about this whole alarming situation, wasn’t it worth the risk of punishment?
    Playin’ with fire , his thoughts warned as he walked alongside the shiny red car. The top was folded down and the black leather interior gleamed richly in the afternoon sun. The silver emblem on the trunk didn’t resemble any horse he’d ever ridden or worked with: far too fancy and fast for Plain folks. Quickly Micah entered the pool hall, before his nerve left him.
    His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. As he studied the men of various ages leaning intently over the green pool tables, bathed in light from swag lamps advertising liquor, the smoke stung his eyes. In the shadowy corners of the room, other fellows slouched over small tables, glass mugs and cigarettes in their hands. The dank musk of beer made him sneeze loudly—and then he was the one everyone eyed.
    “Hey, farmer boy! You lost or somethin’?”
    “Where’d ya get that fine hat, Mr. Hayseed?”
    “Yeah, I’ve been wantin’ me a sun hat like—”
    Micah gasped, swiping at the air above his head: somebody behind him had poked his straw hat off, and now it dangled on the end of a pool cue, just beyond his reach. The man who tormented him appeared to be around thirty—old enough to have better manners. But then, the grimy bandanna around his long hair, and faded jeans with split-out knees, suggested he didn’t much care how he looked. “Whaddaya think your hat’s worth, blondie?” he jeered.
    “Oh, it’s these suspenders I want!” A fellow behind him grabbed the back crosspiece of his suspenders as though he intended to lift Micah from the floor. “Get the feelin’ your kind don’t belong here?” he asked with a harsh laugh. “Or did ya come in to find out how real men pass a Sunday afternoon?”
    “Came lookin’ for Tiffany!” Micah blurted out. He knew better than to grab for his hat or struggle against his captor, because then they’d only torment him more.
    “Tiff Oliveri? Now what would a rube like you want with a hard-core babe like her?” The guy dangling his hat glanced toward a smoky corner of the room and then smirked at him again. “Like she’d waste her time on such a