How Secrets Die
Page 32
Forgetful? That assessment didn’t match with Sarah’s impression of Julia, but she certain sure wasn’t getting into a discussion of Julia’s mental state with Donna. Instead she gave the woman a quick smile and hurried to her buggy, relieved to get away.
* * *
AFTER SETTLING THE mare in the small stable behind Blackburn House, where her shop was located, Sarah rounded the massive Italianate Victorian mansion to the front door. She always found it hard to imagine that the building had once been a private home. Who could possibly need such an imposing residence? Amish families, even those with eight or ten children, were content with simple farmhouses.
Well, Blackburn House had long since been turned into shops and offices, and she was fortunate to have her quilt store in what had once been a fashionable parlor. Doubly fortunate, because her business partner was Allison Standish, the owner of the building.
Once she was inside the double front doors with their elaborate fanlight, Sarah could glance up at the marble hallway that stretched practically the depth of the building. The quilt shop was on the right, with a small workroom behind it, while to the left was the showroom for Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry, with its office. Toward the back, the bookstore and storage rooms took up the rest of the downstairs space. The cabinetry showroom appeared to be empty at the moment, which probably meant Nick Whiting was in the workshop behind the building.
The bell over the door jingled as Sarah walked into her shop, and Allison slid a bolt of fabric into place and hurried toward her. “Here you are at last. Nick said you probably inhaled some smoke when you were trying to find Gus Hill. We were worried about you.”
Nick, besides being a partner with his father in the cabinetry shop, was the brother of the police chief, to say nothing of being a very special person in Allison’s eyes. Most of the community expected to hear momentarily that they were engaged.
“Nick worries too much, if he said that. I’m fine. I stopped over to see Julia Everly. Did Nick tell you the fire was on property she owns?”
Allison nodded, her dark red hair swinging against her cheeks. “Is Julia all right? I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
Julia had been a close friend of Allison’s grandmother, and Allison seemed to feel a special bond with the older woman on that account.
“I think so. Worried about whether or not she should sell the property, but I managed to distract her.” Sarah’s thoughts flickered to Julia’s quilts, which might or might not be suitable for display.
“Everybody’s worried about the fire, as far as I can tell.” Allison glanced at the two customers who were browsing through the racks of fabric in the back of the store, and lowered her voice. “I didn’t quite see what Nick and his dad were so upset about. Apparently the barn was empty.”
“That’s just it.” Probably Allison, having spent all her life in the city until she’d come to Laurel Ridge in the spring, had little idea how country people felt about barn burnings. “There was nothing in that barn that could have started an accidental fire.”
“You mean they think it was deliberate?” Allison shivered a little. “That’s frightening.” She had had a close encounter with a fire herself not so long ago. She wouldn’t have forgotten.
Sarah nodded. “There’s nothing worse in a farming community than the idea that there’s a firebug loose. It happened once when I was a child, and I remember it so well—Daad staying up at night, keeping watch, never knowing what might happen, afraid to leave the animals in the barn.” It chilled her just to think of it.
“Still, there’s no reason to believe this is more than an isolated incident.”
Allison was obviously trying to look on the bright side, and she was probably right. They might well discover some innocent reason for the fire.
Sarah began to speak, but the words froze in her throat. From the firehouse down the street came an ominous sound as the siren began to wail its alarm. There was another fire.
Copyright © 2015 by Martha P. Johnson
ISBN-13: 9781459294134
How Secrets Die
Copyright © 2016 by Martha P. Johnson
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