Her Amish Protectors Read online

  “You said you had a break-in?”

  “Actually, what we suspect is that the intruder had a key.”

  He frowned. “Well, first thing I’d suggest is that this interior door require a different key than the front and back doors. I put these locks in myself, had to be seven or eight years ago. I suggested the same to Mrs. Jefferson, but she didn’t want to be bothered to have to figure out which key went to which door.”

  “I actually meant to get this lock changed when I first moved in,” she admitted, “just because it opens to my private living space. I’ve had so much else to do, though, and really the only other person who has a key is Hannah Yoder—”

  “Who is trustworthy.” He nodded. “Even so...”

  “Even so,” Nadia agreed.

  “You want me to replace all three locks.”

  “Yes.”

  He backed up a step. “I’ll get started, then.” But he didn’t keep going. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I hope you weren’t home when you had the break-in. I mean, that you weren’t hurt or...frightened.”

  “I slept through it,” she said wryly. “But I was scared to death come morning when I realized he’d been right there—” She cut herself off with a shudder.

  “I’m real sorry, Ms. Markovic.” He looked truly distressed, but Nadia had found most people in her new community to be kind. Or, she had until today.

  She smiled with difficulty. “Thank you, Mr. Wilcox. I appreciate you coming so quickly.”

  He bobbed his head awkwardly and retreated, presumably going out to his truck to get the new locks and whatever tools he needed.

  Nadia made herself go into the store, where she found a trio of women she knew.

  “Is it true?” one of them said right away.

  She had to say, “Unfortunately.”

  * * *

  FRUSTRATED, BEN DECIDED to go by and talk to Nadia again before he called it a day. She might have learned something, or at least that’s what he told himself. The underlying truth was that he wanted to find out how people had reacted to her disclosure. She’d gotten to him this morning, when she had explained why she needed to start over in a new place. He hadn’t been able to help thinking about the parallels with his sister in her lengthy recovery from the assault that shattered her life, and hoped everyone Nadia talked to had at least been decent to her.

  Online, he hadn’t had any trouble finding articles about the horrific episode when she’d been shot. Turned out, she’d given him a very condensed version. It sounded like a real nightmare, and one that had gone on for hours. He also learned that she’d spent those hours using her body to protect the little girl, somehow keeping her quiet after she regained consciousness. Nadia had saved young Molly’s life. She was labeled a heroine in news coverage. He’d seen a picture snapped from a distance away of her being brought out of the house on a gurney. The cops and EMTs in the photo all looked grim in a way Ben recognized. The sight of murdered children scarred the most hardened cop. And to know their own father had killed them...

  He shook his head in denial, even though he knew better. Fathers, and mothers, too, regularly hurt and killed their own children.

  Nadia was closing up when he arrived. She let him in, then turned the sign on the door to Closed. His gaze went to the shiny new dead bolt lock.

  “I see Jim has been here.”

  “Yes. I don’t think he charged me enough. He seemed to feel bad about what happened.”

  “Yeah, he was pretty upset when Mrs. Jefferson died, too.”

  “He told me he recommended she replace the lock on the apartment door, but she didn’t want to be bothered with two different keys.”

  Ben nodded. “Jim felt guilty that he hadn’t insisted.”

  “Wait.” She gaped at him. “Do you actually think someone killed her? That she didn’t just fall down the stairs?”

  “I’m sure she was pushed,” he said grimly.

  “But...how can you know?”

  “Because her head hit the wall a lot higher than it could have if she’d fallen. We found blood and hair in the dent. It took some real force to launch her up instead of down. The ME agrees, too. People who fall bump down the stairs, but her injuries are consistent with the greater force theory.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  He kept a snapshot of Edith Jefferson’s body, just as he did one of every other crime victim he’d seen. Crumpled at the foot of the stairs, Edith had appeared shockingly tiny and hideously damaged.

  He tried to shake off the picture. “It happened long before you came to town. What happened to her was personal. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “No, I know, but...” She shivered. “Even if she’d changed that lock, it might not have made any difference.”

  “It might not have,” he agreed. It stuck in his craw that he hadn’t been able to make an arrest. Nothing had been stolen. Nobody seemed to have both motive to kill the old woman and opportunity. He hadn’t closed the case, though, and wouldn’t. He hoped like hell this current investigation didn’t end up in a similar limbo. So far, it wasn’t looking good. “So, how’d your day go?” he asked.

  She told him, but he had a feeling this was the condensed version, too. Her face was pinched, her luminous eyes clouded. It was especially disturbing because he’d seen her glowing on the stage last night as she thanked everyone. The contrast was painful.

  She might have taken the money, he reminded himself, but couldn’t quite believe it. Okay, didn’t want to believe it.

  He threw out names of people he had been told were there last night. Turned out several were playing a behind-the-scenes role or had good reason to be attending. A couple of the names had her shaking her head.

  “I don’t know any of them. Or, if I’ve met them, I didn’t catch their names.”

  She didn’t invite him up to her apartment, and since he hadn’t come up with anything else to ask her, Ben finally said, “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten today.”

  Expression mulish, she retorted, “You made me have breakfast, remember?”

  “A croissant. Did you stop for lunch?”

  Her lips compressed.

  “You may not feel like eating,” he said quietly, “but you need to make yourself. And take something for that headache.”

  Nadia stiffened. “How did you know?”

  “You have all the signs.” He knew he could have massaged some of that pain away, but he couldn’t let himself put his hands on her. As the last person to have the money, she remained a suspect.

  “You’re right.” She sagged slightly. “I’ll follow your advice. I promise.”

  He left on that note. On the drive home, he called to let his dispatcher know where he’d be, then made another call to order a pizza for pickup.

  Usually by the end of a day, he was sick enough of people to relish a few hours of solitude. Tonight, his house felt strangely lonely when he finally let himself in.

  For once, he was glad when his phone rang shortly after he’d cleaned up when he was done eating, and especially when he saw the name displayed. His sister. Odd timing, when she’d been on his mind so much the past few days.

  “Lucy.”

  “Hey,” she said. “Did I get you at a good time?”

  “Yep. Just had pizza and I was thinking of kicking back and watching some baseball. How are you?” He made the question sound light, but it wasn’t. It never was. While he was in college, Lucy, only a year and a half older than him, had been brutally raped and left for dead. The rapist was never identified and arrested. She was the reason Ben had changed his major from prelaw to criminology.

  Lucy had remained...fragile. She was gutsy enough to move into an apartment of her own despite their parents’ opposition, and she held a job, but to his knowledge she never
dated, probably never went out at night, which limited any friendships. She lived a half life, because she could never forget. He saw hints of the same vulnerability in Nadia, but also more strength.

  “I’m okay,” his sister said now. “But I was thinking.”

  Ben waited.

  “Would you mind if I came for a visit?” she said in a rush.

  Traveling was something else she didn’t do.

  Hiding his surprise, he said, “What, you think I’ll say no? I’ve only been trying to talk you into coming since the day I moved.”

  “I know. Something happened that shook me up—nothing big, just the usual—” which meant she’d had a panic attack “—and, you know, I’ve been reading about your part of Missouri. I’d like to see it.”

  “It’s pretty country, but not spectacular.”

  “I’m curious about the Amish. They sound so gentle.”

  Ben had his suspicions that behind the facade even the Amish had their share of drunks and spousal and child abuse, but he had to admit that on the whole the ones he’d dealt with were straightforward, good-humored and honest. Their belief in forgiveness was profound. Okay, he still had trouble believing an Amish woman who had suffered what Lucy had could truly forgive her rapist. But then, he was a cynic.

  “They seem like good people,” he agreed. “Individuals, just like any other group.”

  “Yes. I just thought...” Lucy hesitated. “I don’t know. That Byrum sounds like a nice place. Even...”

  Oh, hell. He braced himself. Don’t let her say safe.

  What she did say was almost worse. “Peaceful,” she finished.

  He remembered what Nadia had said, word for word. I had something traumatic happen. I couldn’t get past it. I thought making a change would help.

  She’d sought peace here, too, and hadn’t found it.

  “I’m a cop,” he said, his voice coming out rough. “They hired me for a reason, Lucy.”

  “I know, but it’s not the same as what you dealt with here, is it?”

  The hope in her voice just about killed him.

  “No.” What could he say but, “When are you coming?”

  She would be safer here. She’d have him, and nobody would hurt Lucy on his watch.

  She never forgot, and neither did he.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AT LEAST, WITH today being Sunday, Nadia didn’t have to open her store. Too bad she had to spend her day doing something worse than facing the avidly nosy and the angry in person. Instead, she was going to call every single person who’d written a check or used a credit card for a purchase at Friday’s event. Karen Llewellyn had offered to help, the reluctance in her voice only part of why Nadia had insisted on handling the entire task herself. The main reason was her sense of responsibility. She’d lost the money. To the extent she could, Nadia vowed to face the unpleasant consequences alone.

  She knew a few attendees, and was well aware that some calls would prove more difficult than others. Difficult being a euphemism, of course.

  Strictly alphabetical was the only way to go, she decided.

  With a cup of tea steeping at her elbow, she opened her laptop and began. Her very first call was to the woman she’d added as a walk-in last night, Louise Alsobrook.

  “Oh, you poor dear!” was the first thing Ms. Alsobrook exclaimed after Nadia’s stiff explanation. “Didn’t somebody among your volunteers have a safe?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Nadia said. “And really...I don’t think any of us dreamed of something like this happening. The community has been so supportive. I’ve been involved with charity events in a larger city before and nobody worried about securing the money until the bank opened.”

  “Greed can happen anywhere,” the woman said practically. “Well, I just looked online, and the charge to my credit card hasn’t been presented. I’ll ask my credit card company to put a stop on this number and issue a new card. In the meantime, I’ll put a check in the mail for the same amount, or even some extra. Because a lot of what’s gone must have been cash, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Thank you so much, Ms. Alsobrook,” Nadia said fervently. “This is...such a nightmare, and you’ve been very kind.”

  “Oh, honey, I know all of you worked so hard. Now, should I send it straight to the aid organization?”

  “Yes, please.” She asked that Ms. Alsobrook add a note to let Bill Jarvis know that it was a replacement for the stolen credit card slip. He’d agreed to keep track so that the auction organizers knew who had sent money and how much.

  “I’ll send that check first thing tomorrow,” Ms. Alsobrook promised.

  Eyes stinging, Nadia ended the call, made a note and allowed herself a few sips of tea before she reached for the phone again.

  * * *

  ARMS CROSSED ATOP the white-painted fence, Ben watched foals with legs too long and spindly for their bodies gamboling in the field as their mothers grazed placidly. Gary Edgerton bred, raised and trained horses destined to be harness racers or to pull an Amish buggy. His wife was the quilt enthusiast, but both had attended the auction and spent a substantial amount.

  Having heard approaching footsteps, Ben wasn’t surprised when a man’s voice came from behind him.

  “A lot of money on the hoof.”

  Ben turned to see Edgerton watching him rather than the mares and foals. “Cute little buggers,” Ben commented. “How old are they?”

  “A couple weeks old up to three months. The last few broodmares are due any day.”

  Ben knew next to nothing about horses. He’d never thrown a leg over one in his life, although he’d now ridden in a buggy and had become accustomed to the splats of manure decorating the streets of his town, as well as to the hitching rails as common as they would have been in the nineteenth century.

  “Why the age spread?” he asked. “I thought foals were born in spring.”

  “Mares don’t all come into season at the same time. Some breedings don’t take, so we have to wait until she’s ready again for a second go-around.”

  Edgerton offered a tour, but Ben asked for a rain check.

  “Guess you go at it hard when this much money is missing,” the guy remarked.

  “Ms. Markovic called?”

  “This morning. She and Allison had words.”

  “And why is that?”

  The horseman snorted. “Woman comes out of nowhere, charms her way into taking the lead on the auction, leaves with the money and, oh, oops, reports it stolen the next morning. You’re in the wrong job if you’re credulous enough to believe crap that smells a lot worse than my manure pile.”

  From long practice, Ben hid his irritation successfully. “Allison thinks the same?”

  “Hell, yes!” Expression bullish, Edgerton glared at Ben. “Slick a scheme as any I’ve ever heard of.”

  “She put a lot of money into starting that business,” he said mildly. “Sure, Ms. Markovic would walk away with some money, maybe sixty, seventy thousand in cash. But if most people think the same as you and your wife, her business will go under. I don’t think she’d come out of it much, if any, ahead.”

  “Sixty thousand bucks on top of what she recovers by selling the building and the business? That’s not a bad take. And then she can move on, pull the same shit somewhere else.”

  Unwilling to argue the point, because, yes, he was already considering that very scenario, however unlikely he believed it to be, Ben steered him to recollections of Friday. Mrs. Edgerton had attended the quilt sale earlier in the day Friday and spent money there, as well as a larger amount at the evening auction. Edgerton offered the names of a few people who weren’t already on Ben’s list but sneered at the idea any of them would steal.

  “These are folks who have lived around here their whole li
ves,” he insisted, as if that was all Ben needed to know about them.

  Choosing not to point out that he’d arrested more than a few longtime residents for crimes ranging from misdemeanor shoplifting to rape and negligent homicide, Ben ascertained that the missus was up at the house and went to talk to her.

  She was even sharper-tongued than her husband had been. Ben drove away without having learned anything useful, but with a sour taste in his mouth and a cramp of pity for what Nadia must be experiencing.

  There were more people he should talk to, but he was increasingly doubtful that he’d learn anything new. He needed to get a more complete list of volunteers from Nadia... With a grimace, he corrected himself. He should get that list from Julie Baird or Katie-Ann Chupp. Because, much as he disliked the idea, Nadia remained his only potential suspect right now. Katie-Ann—yeah, he could count on her for complete honesty. But this, if memory served him right, was church Sunday for the Amish. With no child missing, no dead body, he couldn’t justify bothering her before tomorrow.

  * * *

  BEN HAD WORKED BEFORE with Tricia Mears, the deputy prosecuting attorney who was waiting for him at the station. Thanking her for coming, he escorted her to his office. As soon as he shut the door, she said, “I have your warrant.”

  He needed to search Nadia’s financial records, something that also would have to wait until morning, when banks opened. If she really were a thief, she’d hardly be brazen enough to deposit the money. If she found a secure enough hiding place, she could filter the cash slowly into her finances with no one having a clue.

  “You drag a judge out of church to get this signed today?” he asked.

  Maybe in her late twenties, tiny and blonde, she grinned. “Wouldn’t dare. But I was parked in Judge Greenhaw’s driveway when he arrived home after church. He asked if this couldn’t have waited, but he didn’t seem to really mind. And, like everyone else in town, he already knew about the theft.”

  “Did he have an opinion, too?” Ben asked drily.

  “Hadn’t had occasion to meet her, he said, but he understood why you had to look at her first.”

  “Thanks for getting right on this,” Ben said.