Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Vibrating with energy, she perched on the edge of the seat she’d taken across the desk from him. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Not yet. What I’d like is to find out where everyone who attended that auction stands financially, but I kind of doubt Greenhaw would go for such a sweeping warrant.”

  “That’s safe to say.” She rose to her feet. “Unless you’d like to...well, throw around ideas, I need to show my face at my grandparents’ for Sunday dinner.”

  He waved her off. “Go.”

  Only a few minutes later, someone knocked on his door. When he called, “Come in,” Officer Danny Carroll entered.

  In his early thirties, stocky and stolid, Carroll had demonstrated the kind of judgment and work ethic that put him at the top of a short list for promotion. Today, he and Riley Boyd had gone to Nadia’s block to speak to the neighbors who hadn’t been home yesterday.

  Ben leaned back in his desk chair. “Anything?”

  “I found one woman, a Laura Kelling, who saw a light in Ms. Markovic’s place during the night Friday. She’d gotten up to go to the bathroom, but has no idea what time.”

  Wonderful. “Overhead light?”

  “She was uncertain about that. She lives across the street, but a few doors down. Not a perfect angle. She said the light was diffuse, just a glow coming from somewhere inside, downstairs. She claims it went out while she was watching.”

  “So something about it caught her eye,” Ben said thoughtfully.

  “That’s my take,” Carroll agreed.

  “And she couldn’t pin down the time at all.”

  “She went to bed about ten because she needed to be up by six yesterday morning. She admits to getting up at least once, sometimes twice a night.”

  “Ms. Markovic was home just after midnight. Is it likely this Ms. Kelling would have needed to use the bathroom that quick?”

  Officer Carroll shrugged. “Depends when she cut off liquids for the night.”

  That was true, unfortunately. Ben could imagine a defense attorney trying to persuade a jury that the witness’s bladder would have held out longer than two hours and that, therefore, the light she saw had shone inside what should have been a dark building well after Ms. Markovich had gone to sleep.

  After which the prosecutor would point out that they had only Ms. Markovic’s word for when she turned out the lights and went to sleep, and that it was entirely possible she had gotten out of bed at some point during the night to hide the money in a location the police were unlikely to find in any initial search.

  Something he probably should have had done yesterday, he reflected, although he had taken precautions to ensure she couldn’t sneak the money out of the building and hide it elsewhere.

  “Okay, thanks,” Ben said. “Have you spoken to everybody?”

  “Yep. Sundays are good that way.”

  Left alone again, Ben realized he was disappointed. He would have liked incontrovertible evidence to turn up showing that someone besides Nadia had taken the money. And he knew better than to develop feelings for a suspect, far less allow sympathy or any other emotion to influence him. Because of his usual objectivity, he’d been called a cold bastard; no one outside his family having any idea how much rage burned in him for one particular class of criminals. He’d succeeded in hiding it from the people he worked with until the day he came close to crossing a line that would have ended his career and conceivably resulted in jail time.

  The hatred for rapists was one explanation for why his blood boiled every time he pictured a man slipping uninvited into Nadia’s bedroom, detouring from his main purpose to look his fill.

  Statistically, the odds were the thief was a man. In this case, the auction volunteers, who were most likely to know who had the money, were all women except for a few men dragged in to assemble the stage, do some heavy lifting and build quilt display racks. Imagining a woman in Nadia’s bedroom instead of a man wasn’t a big improvement. Either way, what sense of security she’d gathered around herself after the tragedy would be stolen again.

  Unless, of course, nobody else had ever stepped foot in that bedroom, and she knew exactly where the money was.

  He wondered whether she’d give permission for a thorough search of her premises.

  Ben groaned, rasped a hand over his jaw and decided to call it a day.

  * * *

  NADIA ENDED THE DAY feeling battered. Sick to her stomach, bruised head to toe. Remembering Ben Slater’s chiding, she dragged herself to her kitchen and examined the contents of cupboards and refrigerator. She’d skipped lunch and had no appetite for dinner, but he was right—she had to eat. Even a salad felt like too much work, so she settled for cottage cheese and a small bowl of strawberries. Finally, new lock or no, she carried a kitchen chair downstairs and braced it under the doorknob. In theory, there’d be an awful noise at the very least if someone tried to open the door.

  Nadia watched TV shows that didn’t really interest her until it was late enough to go to bed. If she’d had a sedative, she would have taken it. After very little sleep last night, she was mind-numbingly tired. But once she climbed into bed, lights out, she lay stiffly. The nausea soothed by her bland meal returned with a vengeance. As if she’d recorded today’s phone conversations, they replayed in her head, some voices heavy with disappointment, others sharp. A few vicious.

  Have you no shame?

  I suppose you think we’re country hicks, too dumb to see through your little story.

  I won’t be buying so much as a spool of thread at your shop again, and I hope every other woman in this county feels the same.

  Plenty of people had been neutral, promising to let her know if the credit card had been run or check cashed. Perhaps half had promised to replace the money. A very small minority had been, like Louise Alsobrook, really nice.

  Of course, it was what the nasty people said that was stuck in her head.

  Nadia tried with the “sticks and stones may break my bones” thing, but still felt like an old woman when she opened the store come morning. Thank heavens she didn’t have to teach a class today! She hoped makeup, applied more heavily than usual, disguised some of the signs of her exhaustion, especially the purple bruising beneath her eyes. The fact that her eyes appeared sunken...well, there wasn’t anything she could do about that. Plus, her head ached, blinking almost took more effort than she could summon and she wasn’t sure the muscles that would allow her to smile were functioning.

  But this was the one day of the week she had no help, and the sign out front listed open hours that included Mondays, ten to five. If anything of her new life was to be saved, she couldn’t hide in her apartment.

  Mondays were the slowest days, businesswise, so she wasn’t surprised, and was almost relieved, that no one at all came in to browse until after eleven. Then it was a husband and wife she pegged immediately as tourists. They exclaimed over the displayed quilts, gasped at the prices and bought a set of machine-quilted place mats.

  Her next visitor was Colleen Hoefling, who wanted to hear what, if anything, the police had learned, and who purchased fabric for her next quilt, or so she said. Nadia suspected Colleen, like most serious quilters, already owned enough fabric for her next ten or twenty quilts. She was simply being nice.

  Colleen also shooed Nadia upstairs to get some lunch, insisting she knew how to use a cash register.

  After eating, Nadia came down to the sound of voices.

  The first was scathing. “And who do you think stole the money if it wasn’t her?”

  “I don’t know,” Colleen said, hers distinctly cool, “but I’m appalled at the rush to judgment I’m seeing. Nadia has been nothing but friendly. She’s warm and likable. Do you have any idea how much time she gave to make the auction a success? I’m not sure it would have happened at all without her.” S
he talked right over the other woman, whose voice Nadia had recognized. Peggy Montgomery, whose consigned quilt was currently starring in the front window display. “What’s more, Nadia is a fine businesswoman with a good eye for color. With the way she’s selling our quilts online, she’s giving all of us opportunities we haven’t had.”

  “And making a sizable commission.”

  “This is her business. I, for one, am a terrible saleswoman.”

  Continuing to lurk out here made her a coward. Nadia girded herself and entered the store.

  “Peggy,” she said with a smile that probably looked ghastly, but was the best she could do, “how nice to see you. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Thank you, but no,” she said stiffly. “I just wanted a word with Colleen.” She turned and strode out the door.

  Nadia waited until it closed behind her before she turned to Colleen. “I expected more people like her today.” She wrinkled her nose. “What am I saying? I’m nowhere near halfway through the day. There’s plenty of time.”

  “You heard her?”

  This smile felt genuine. “And you. Thank you for the defense.”

  Colleen shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with everyone. Peggy is a good example. She’s a nice woman. This wasn’t like her.”

  “I’m the newcomer. The outsider.” Nadia had figured out that much Saturday. “Painting me evil is better than imagining someone you’ve known all your life stealing money that would have helped struggling people hold onto their land or rebuild.”

  The other woman sniffed. “I’ve lived around here all my life, and I have no trouble imagining a few of my neighbors feeling justified in doing whatever they pleased.”

  Nadia was laughing when the bell on the front door clanged. She turned to meet a pair of very dark eyes. Ben Slater wore his uniform today, a badge on his chest and his holstered gun at his hip. The visible weapon had the usual effect.

  Her laugh had already died before she saw his stone face. “Chief Slater.”

  He bent his head. “Ms. Markovic. Mrs. Hoefling.”

  “I’m happy to stay a little longer, if you need to speak to Nadia,” Colleen offered.

  “That would be helpful,” he said. “Perhaps we could go upstairs, Ms. Markovic?”

  As chilled as she was by the expressionless way he was looking at her, Nadia didn’t see that she had any choice. She thanked Colleen and led the police chief through the side door. She sidled by the chair she’d left at the foot of the stairs, since she had every intention of bracing it in place again tonight—and every night, for the foreseeable future. She didn’t look back to see what Ben Slater thought about her primitive defense.

  In the small living room, she faced him, chin high. She couldn’t make herself ask how she could help him. Hating her awareness of him, she just waited.

  “I’m here to ask if you would permit a full search of this building without my getting a warrant first.”

  “I feel sure you wouldn’t have any trouble getting one,” she said bitterly. “Given the local consensus on my guilt.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but he said only, “You must realize this is something I need to do.”

  Nadia crossed her arms. “Shouldn’t you have done it Saturday? Over the weekend, I could have taken the money box anyplace.”

  He didn’t say a word. His expression stayed impassive. She stared at him, understanding embarrassingly slow to come.

  “You’ve had me watched. Did somebody follow me Saturday?”

  “I’m doing my job.”

  Air rushed out in what felt too much like a sob, but she clung to her dignity—and her anger and despair. “Do you know what it will do to my business once word gets out that the police suspect me to the point of searching my premises?”

  “The sooner we can clear you,” he said woodenly, “the sooner your reputation will be restored.”

  Her laugh was caustic. “What a nice, positive spin! I suppose practice makes perfect. I guess all that experience is why they made you chief.”

  The only satisfaction he gave her was the tightening of his jaw muscles and some tension at the corners of his eyes.

  “When do you plan to do this search?”

  “If you agree, immediately.”

  Nadia was so law-abiding she’d never so much as gotten a traffic ticket. The police officers who spoke to her after the shooting in Colorado had admired what they called her bravery. Now, seared by humiliation, she wanted to tell Ben Slater to get a warrant. I should have hired an attorney, she realized. She would, first thing tomorrow morning. But not anyone local.

  Knowing her cheeks were burning red, she said, “Fine. Do it.”

  He took a step closer. Lines deepened on his forehead and his voice came out rough. “This is not meant to suggest we believe you stole the money.”

  “No? What other homes and businesses are you also searching?”

  “You know there aren’t any yet.”

  “I didn’t think so. If you’ll escort me downstairs, I’ll let Colleen go home. I’d just as soon no friends were here to watch.”

  Nadia walked past him, pride all that held her together. She heard his tread on the stairs right behind her. Naturally. He couldn’t let her out of sight, in case she tried to move her stash.

  Alone in the store, Colleen had been studying a quilt hung on the back wall. Her eyes widened. “Nadia?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for staying, but I think I’ll close up now.”

  “I’m sure people will understand.” Colleen obviously didn’t, but she knew not to ask questions. “Call me anytime, okay?”

  “I will.” Nadia gave her a swift hug and retreated before she could burst into tears. “Thank you.”

  The other woman gathered her purse and bag full of fabric and thread, leaving after a last, worried look over her shoulder. Nadia hastened after her, flipping the sign to Closed and locking the door.

  “Make your calls,” she said with frozen dignity, and went to the back room to sit in front of the quilting frame. With her hands shaking, she couldn’t so much as thread a needle, far less work on the half-finished Bear’s Paw quilt in the frame.

  She heard Slater’s voice, coming from just outside the doorway. Which probably meant he hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a moment. “It’s a go,” he told someone. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “IF YOU’LL ALLOW US to search your car, I see no reason you have to be present while we’re doing this,” Ben said.

  The woman sitting in the back room didn’t even look at him. She’d gone deep inside; if he weren’t watching carefully, he wouldn’t have been able to tell she was even breathing. Horrified, he wondered if this was how she’d escaped a second bullet during the hours when she’d pretended to be dead.

  “You wish,” she said coldly.

  “What?”

  “I’m staying.”

  Ben almost stepped back, in case icicles had actually formed in the air. “Why?” he asked.

  At last Nadia’s head turned, and her gaze was the furthest thing from icy. Her magnificent eyes burned. “I intend to document every bit of damage you and your men do.”

  He might have taken offense, except he couldn’t deny damage did sometimes occur. He knew of instances where a search left a house trashed. He’d never allow that, but in an old building like this, boards might have to be pried up. In the shop, the bolts of fabric sat on some kind of wood base. They had to be hollow, which meant his team would need to look inside however they could. Display quilts would be lifted or removed from walls in case Nadia had added a safe or cubbyhole beneath one. Damn near every possession she had, upstairs and down, would be handled. He couldn’t help feeling some dismay when he looked at the hundred
s of bolts of fabric. This space would be a nightmare to search. He’d remind people to wear gloves to avoid dirtying fabric that would then have to be cut off the bolt and discarded. And there were the quilts he now knew were each worth hundreds to thousands of dollars.

  “My team will be here any minute.”

  Nadia turned her head away and stared straight ahead, although he knew she wasn’t focused on anything. She couldn’t see out to the alley through the large window, because a filmy blind covered it.

  For just a minute, he looked at her straight back, squared shoulders and the pale skin and delicate vertebrae on her nape, visible beneath a heavy mass of gleaming dark hair confined in some mysterious fashion. Her complete stillness disturbed him anew. He couldn’t see her forgiving him for this.

  He had to do his job.

  Teeth clenched, he left her, reaching the front of the store to see his sole crime scene investigator about to rap on the glass door. The couple officers Terry Uhrich had trained to assist him were only a few steps behind. Ben let them in.

  “Ms. Markovic has chosen to stay,” he said in a low voice. He nodded toward the back. “She’s in there.”

  Uhrich didn’t look happy. “You told her to keep out of the way?”

  “I think she understands.” Her sense of dignity wouldn’t allow her to do anything so crude as to physically obstruct the searchers. But they would, one and all, end up ashamed of themselves for intruding so unforgivably. Ben remembered her horror at the idea of a man studying her sleeping, nearly nude body, and knew what he was doing to her was worse. Did he really believe he was doing what he had to? Or was that simplistic crap, justifying the fact that his investigation had gone absolutely nowhere? Right this minute, he was at war with himself.

  They started with her car, parked in the alley, in case she changed her mind and decided to flee. Ben, of course, remained inside with her. Terry decided then to do the apartment, undoubtedly hoping Nadia would take refuge in it once they were done.

  She followed the three men upstairs, Ben trailing behind, and stood in the middle of the living room with her arms crossed, glaring at each man in turn as they searched her kitchen cupboards, refrigerator and freezer and antique buffet holding dishes. The two officers pulled out the refrigerator; one crawled beneath her table while the other lifted each chair to peer beneath the seat. Cushions were removed from the sofa and armchair, and both were turned over in case wads of money were stuffed between the springs.